Navigating the famed Las Vegas Strip, it was difficult to tell where the Great Recession ended and the hard neon sell began.
There were people of every description on the make. Some dressed as the late 80s horror doll Chucky (too late?) or the scandal-marred muppet Elmo (too soon?). One danced for weed and had his pipe filled by a guy in a San Diego Chargers jersey, another sat in bright green sunglasses with a sign, "Why lie, I need beer?" while a third, apparently successful, kicked back with a mix of Jagermeister and Jack Nicklaus strawberry lemonade.
Others were more enterprising, from the guy who implored passersby to kick him in the nuts for 20 dollars to the aspiring John Holmes with the sign: "Want to be porn star. Donations needed for penis enlargement and Viagra." But perhaps the most offensive - even more annoying than the poor souls endlessly snapping cards adverstising call girls when they weren't shoving them into your hand - were the onslaught of hyperactive shills offering cash, free hotel rooms, steak dinners, show tickets, the Grand Canyon and live organs in exchange for a conversation.
"How'd she know we were from Canada?" I asked as we escaped the suction of another clipboard-bearing fiend.
"We didn't tell her to #@$ off," she replied.
I didn't remember peddlers being a problem the last time I was in Vegas but then again the only thing I do recall is cheap magaritas, complimentary highballs, and a fist fight outside the Luxor. Apparently it's enough of a problem that Clark County commissioned a $581,000 report on pedestrian traffic (almost two Prince George core reviews, Shari Green fans!) that looked at cracking down on the 'card slappers' - even though their right to slap is protected by the First Amendment. It was also revealed that Las Vegas still does sin better the Borgias, the Marquis de Sade and Larry Flynt put together - the famed four-mile Strip has gone from feeling two million pairs of feet 30 years ago to 20 million in modern times.
It also now has a Walk of Fame-style star commemorating the illustrious career of Englebert Humperdinck. But I digress.
Joel Stein wrote in Time magazine you should do Vegas as if you on the run from the law and that's kind of how we did it this time, holed up like fugitives from justice on the 26th floor of the Flamingo. We felt like grownups or felons or both keeping what sparse cash we had in the room safe and slept ungodly amounts for the first few days, slipping out sporadically for stuffed-crust pizza, Krispy Kreme donuts, two-dollar footlong hotdogs, Cinnabons and cheap Walgreens supplies. Roaming fees and ridiculous rates for wi-fi also cut us from our usual digital oxygen - texts, email, Facebook, Internet - making for an experience that was at times as disturbing and retro as the ashtrays and striped wallpaper in our suite.
It led us to one of my most enduring new memories of Vegas - stuck on the north end of the Strip waiting for the bus called the Deuce, with just enough cash to pay our fare and buy a pack of cigarettes.
Yet for all its fallen charm, there's still magic in Vegas - literally, in fact, as we spotted Lakers star Ervin Johnson signing autographs at Caesar's Palace. Where else could you see a 12-ball from The Hustler signed by Jackie Gleason and Paul Newman or a softball inked by each of The Eagles? Where else could you hear a guy lament about how John Boehner won't be able to quell Republican conservatives and make a deal on the fiscal cliff as a pelican named Bugsy with a bum leg walked by with a wounded swagger?
Where else could you see an ad for a nightclub named Tao proclaiming there was always a happy ending and not think it's blatantly racist but still appropriate? How else could you see Ce Lo Green appearing as Liberace and not get the joke for three days?
That Saturday North America's biggest rodeo was in town and down the street at the MGM Grand Juan Manuel Marquez would break the heart of the Philippines by knocking out Manny Pacquiao in the sixth round of their fourth fight. But we went to watch the Cirque du Soleil's Mystere and enjoyed the extraterrestials from Quebec spinning, dropping, throwing, flipping our minds all over Treasure Island.
Clowns, acrobats, cowboys and gladiators, all in one city, all in one night.
