Las Vegas really is a terrible place. It's the land of excess, and I've never seen anything like it. You can get lost in The Forum at Caesar's Palace (huge anachronism, by the way) literally for hours. I've done it. Every designer worth mentioning has his own little nook in there, and they're just itching to sell you that $400 shirt that is "oh my God so fabulous!" I shit you not, there is a shoe store with a 300-pound security guard at the door. We named him Bubba. It's no wonder so many folks from other countries hate America; I hated myself a little bit for contributing to such abundance.
What's more (and worse, in my opinion), there is a depressing number of parents who take their small children to Vegas. I'm not a mother, and hopefully won't be for a while yet, but even I know that it's not okay to drunk-stumble down the Vegas Strip with a margarita in one unsteady hand and the handle of a stroller in the other. I don't approve. Not to mention the plethora of "escort service" business cards adorned with nude women that litter the sidewalk. I'm not even comfortable seeing that. How do you think it makes your impressionable 10-year-old feel? Do you really want them to get their first anatomy lesson from a hooker's business card? Kids+Vegas=scars.
As much as I bitch about the city, though, I can't deny that I'm going back in March. I'm a consumer. They've got me hooked. Mind you that I'm staying in the cheapest hotel I can find, and have made a pact with my brother to spend money only at the sketchy places.
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