Read the following little tone poem inspired by the above music. Naomi is a German electronic duo that I recently discovered. I've been listening to them a lot, and had them in my earbuds on the Las Vegas sojourn.

hello goodbye

the red the black

the low the high

the cards the jack

I've lost it all

and yet I'm back

the drinks the dress

the drunk the smoke

the leers the breasts

come here I'm broke

I've lost it all

I bleed, I choke

I walk outside

and leave the smoke

breathe deep I choke

and still I'm broke

I can't go back

it's all a joke

the blonde the red

the black the king

the queen she said

come back she sings

I walk away

I stop drinking

Imponderables

When a cow laughs, does milk come out of her nose? If the Mafia put out a contract on a mime, would the hit man have to use a silencer? Why does there seem to be interstate highways in Hawaii?

Have you ever asked questions that don’t have ready answers? I was recently in a place that provoked a lot of questions—questions are easier to come by than answers.

My bride had a business meeting in Las Vegas and I got to tag along in my erstwhile role as trophy husband (I’m too old for that title now actually). I had no burning desire to go to Las Vegas other than to be with my beautiful bride and, as much as I love my children, it’s nice for everyone concerned to make my heart grow fonder.

I’m also not a gambler, but I was intrigued to find out how I would react to losing a (small) predetermined amount of money. The projected loss was inevitable, inexorable, even. I was also eager to be a firsthand observer in the premier tabernacle of tastelessness.

The first obvious observation upon landing in Sin City was that there is no corporate civic shame. The airport was filled with slot machines. They were attended by two basic types. You could tell the ones who just got off the plane—they couldn’t get the money out of their wallets or purses fast enough and they had big grins on their faces. And then there were the ones who were on their way home who, through grimaces, were releasing their final offerings to the oracles of despair.

It used to be a bit different. The Strip is Everything now. But if you venture to downtown Las Vegas, you get a hint of what was, and there's a bit more of a relaxed atmosphere in the casinos. Of course you can't get there by the much touted monorail. Said monorail goes from the MGM Grand in the southern end of the strip up to the Hilton on the north side. And with all the billions the casinos are raking in you'd think they would subsidize the meager public transportation especially since it stops at all the mega casinos along the way. But no, every time you walk up to it, they want five dollars. Hell, you can travel nearly all day on the Washington DC Metro for about a buck seventy. That's another difference. Airlines used to fly you there for next to nothing, many casinos were noted for their elaborate and inexpensive buffets and if you were spending a lot of money, drinks were on the house. Now it's all about development. The casinos are racing each other to build yet another tower—they figure the people will still come. They're probably right. But it's more about money in their pockets than ever before, not so much about the customer.

Another keen observation I had was that the people who run the show don’t care what you look like. This is a good thing if you’re in the business of making as much money as possible.

Which led me to another imponderable question: Las Vegas is a place with a remarkable number of beautiful people (most are employed in serving or enticing). At the Rio Hotel and Casino various Carmen Miranda look-alikes had more fruit on than clothes. How is it, then, that our country can produce so many people who are downright hard to look at? Further, if you called them slovenly dressers, you might be describing what they’d hope to be some day. The hotels and casinos obviously don’t care what you look like—George, Abraham, Alexander, Andrew and Ulysses are the standard they measure things by.

The bottom line is that Vegas is mostly a veneer. It's like an 80 year old chorus girl—you don't want to look too closely—just have another drink.

So what’s good about Las Vegas? It’s a stunningly beautiful place—the desert, that is. Rose- and cream-colored undulating rock formations enhanced already spectacular sunsets. Nearby Hoover Dam is fascinating—you can walk down into the bowels of the dam if you opt for the hard hat tour. You used to be able to see Siegfried and Roy in outrageous costumes and postures exploit white tigers while they preach to you about animal conservation. We settled for “O” at the Bellagio. 

All the people who want your money are very, very friendly.

By the way, as I was losing my allotment of money, the voices in my head kept up a steady argument that everything was okay and I should consider increasing my donation. I was not persuaded. Viva Las Vegas, but adios as well.

There are some nice things to look at, and some nice stories.

These guys asked me to take their picture with their little point and shoot. I kept covering the flash with my finger on their tiny little camera, so I just got mine out instead and gave them my card and said if they sent me an email I'd send the pics to them.

Kevin was off to flight school. They were in Las Vegas alone. Samantha's from Boston, he's from Atlanta, they've been together for about three years and figured it was time to get married.

I walked around a lot. I'd rather spend the time outside anyway as all the casinos we visited were a smoker's paradise. Our clothes still reeked when we got home. So I wandered around on the two beautiful days out of four and took some photos.

Our abode for a few days—The Bellagio

The 2000 glass flowers by Dale Chihuly set in the recessed area in the ceiling above the reception area at the Bellagio. The receptionist said it was more than $10 million dollars to acquire the art and get it installed.

For scale—I wonder how many multiples of thousands of Darfurians could be fed for a mere $10 million.