Intimations of Immortality Vegas Style

Flying over the Mojave desert, mountains rise up in jagged colors of rust and gray. The landscape is dry and dusty until there appears an oasis of palm trees and swimming pools amid an incongruence of modern high rises and ancient tributes. The Las Vegas strip. A mix of past and present imbued with the not-so-subtle notion that here might lie, in the homeland of Lady luck, the opportunity of dreams. Hospitality.

I begin my adventure standing in the shadow of a life-size pyramid and sphinx. I must stand too close to truly appreciate their grandeur because just behind me are six lanes of speeding, honking cars. Closing my eyes to block out the traffic, I inhale very deeply, each breath luring me back to the time of ancient Egypt. I imagine wearisome, shirtless workers dragging enormous slabs of concrete in the sweltering desert sun. Many of these are peons who will lose their lives in the construction of this pyramid, a testament to their pharaoh’s immortality. The queen herself, Cleopatra, sits protected from the scorching sun by minions hoisting palm leaves above her chair while she supervises the progress of her servants. My journey back in time is interrupted by a small, load-hauling truck driver goading pedestrians, "I get $20 for every one of you I hit." I saunter precariously away from the Luxor comparing the past to the future: will our modern day skyscrapers have the longevity of the pyramids? Will a woman such as Cleopatra ever become President of the United States? Progess.

Back in the present I feed a roll of quarters into a progressive slot machine that has a payout of 17 million dollars. Alas, Luck, not yet on my side, I traipse over to the fairytale castle of the Excalibur where a large statue of Merlin the magician stands in salute to the time of knights and chivalry. I imagine a princess confined by an ogre to a tower where a fire-breathing dragon frolics in the moat like a pit bull who attempts to cool himself in the backyard family pool. The princess paces, wringing her hands until she spies a knight, with shining armour, sword held high, charging through the heat of the aroused dragon's breath. Suddenly the beast's exhalation is displaced by the huff of a present day gentleman in knightly knickers forging through the hotel door with a rolling luggage cart. "Miss? Lady? Move! I need to get in." I press tightly to the wall as the man squeezes by as I ponder which produces better karma: allowing someone to rescue you or using your wits and prowess to rescue yourself? Feminism.

In preparing for my trip I studied the statistics of the various slot machine denominations. I chose dollar machines whose payback is 95%. My left brain innately calculates that in order to become a millionaire I might have to put $1,052,631 in this machine. Having only $480 left, my right brain figures it would be wiser to do a little more sightseeing to impress Lady Luck. I leave the Excalibur and head to Caesar’s Palace because it's on the same side of the street. If I wanted to cross to the other side the street I would have to walk half a mile to the pedestrian bridge because the 6 lane artery that severs the heart of Las Vegas cannot be safely traversed at ground level. When does taking risks become foolishness? Decisions.

Caesar’s Palace has all the glory of ancient Rome with statues and murals being the cue that one has entered the expansive empire. Cleopatra appears again but here the Egyptian queen’s sole relevance is that she was the buxom girlfriend of the great, Julius Caesar. I wander the grounds ignoring the budding blister on my toe from the stylish new flip flops I purchased for this trip until I arrive at the replica of the Coliseum, the ancient site of sporting events where life itself was at stake. Through a return to my hypnotic breathing I can feel the roar of the Roman populace as a 6 foot rotund soldier charges at another his bare feet stomping in the sand and the metal strips of his armored skirt clanging with his pace. He leaps into the air propelled by his blood curdling scream for he knows there is no winning score in this Death match. A commotion calls me back to the present. An NBA player and his entourage sweep by amid flash photography and pleas for autographs. Why are today's athletes revered as heroes when their lives are not really at stake? Values.

Thoughts of athletics give me sudden awareness of my own feelings of fatigue for in a four mile walk I have visited Egypt, Camelot and the Roman Empire. I contemplate a rest but my mind intimates that if I truly want to escape the daily grind of my 9-5 existence and live a life of luxury and philanthropy I will stop romanticizing the past and focus on making this gambling Mecca the beginning of a prosperous future. I head to New York, New York, the casino, hoping there will be less distraction in this resort because I have experienced the real New York City and the "Vegas NYC" is far less captivating. The skyscrapers are not as majestic. The Statue of Liberty does not rise out of a large harbor beckoning talented immigrants from across the world. In Vegas, she stands in a small lagoon flanked by a sign proclaiming "water for this exhibit is being recycled." In the reflection of the water, I notice the backs of some shabbily dressed, sun scorched, immigrant men who are lined up on the nearby sidewalk, desperately trying to get male tourists to take the "business cards" they are pitching. I pluck one of their colorful cards from the ground and learn that “A beautiful escort can be in your room in only 15 minutes." Glancing back to the workers I wonder what hardships they might have endured leaving home and loved ones to sneak across the border for the privilege of passing out “girly cards” in this land of opportunity? Capitalism.

By the end of my stay I have relinquished about $1500 to the slots, the one arm bandits in this city of showgirls and businessmen; this oasis of unnatural beauty where the glitzy lights of infamous resorts burn into my retina and dust from new construction dirties my shoes. I am sad my trip is over not because I relished in Las Vegas tourism but because my financial circumstances have not improved. At the airport, my plane happens to be delayed for "mechanical repairs” and for a moment my fear of flying produces nausea. Just when I feel that everything has gone wrong, I spy a bank of Wheel of Fortune machines loitering just past the ticket counter. Perhaps Lady Luck has found me after all. The Fates have delayed my departure and my concerns about the plane's instability disappear for about as long as it takes for my last $50 to be stolen by that flashing, theme-songed mechanical thief! Now totally out of cash, my stomach moans the question my consciousness is afraid to ask: What if something happens to my airplane in flight? Do I want to have spent my final hours on earth, alone in Las Vegas? Immortality.