Bonus Quote of the Day (J.D. Moehringer, on Vegas, Boom and Bust)

“Vegas is America. No matter what you read about Vegas, no matter where you read it, this assertion invariably pops up, as sure as a face card in the hole when the dealer’s showing an ace. Vegas is unlike any other American city, and yet Vegas is America? Paradoxical, yes, but true. And it’s never been more true than during these past few years. Vegas typified the American boom—best suite at the Palms: $40,000 a night—and Vegas now epitomizes the bust. If the boom was largely caused by the housing bubble, Vegas was bubble-icious. It should be no surprise, therefore, that the Vegas area leads the United States in foreclosures—five times the national rate—and ranks among the worst cities for unemployment. More than 14 percent of Las Vegans are without work, compared with the national rate of 9.5 percent.”—J.D. Moehringer, “Las Vegas: An American Paradox,” Smithsonian Magazine, October 2010

Many of my work colleagues, now out in Sin City for our annual convention, will relate to this piece—which, judging by a number of reader comments on Smithsonian’s Web site, has a lot of Las Vegas residents in a real snit.

As someone who has visited Las Vegas several times over the years, I found myself continually agreeing with J.D. Moehringer, a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist who has gone on to write a fine memoir of his own (The Tender Bar) as well as to collaborate with Andre Agassiz on his. But judge for yourself. I think you'll enjoy his dry wit and sharp eye for detail.

Song Lyric of the Day (Gram Parsons, on Las Vegas)

“Ooh, Las Vegas, ain't no place for a poor boy like me
Every time I hit your crystal city
You know you're gonna make a wreck out of me.”—“Ooh Las Vegas,” written by Gram Parsons and Ric Grech, performed by Gram Parsons, from the Grievous Angel LP (1974)

Today, I pay tribute to my work colleagues who are now gathered for our company’s annual convention in the “crystal city” described by Gram Parsons (1946-1973).

It’s the better part of valor, I believe, for bloggers not to comment on matters that take place in the organizations that pay their daily wages. But Las Vegas itself—well, that’s another matter.

Offhand, I can think of only four distinctive and beneficial contributions to American culture made by the desert metropolis:

1) The statue of Elvis Presley, with a guitar slung over his shoulder, in the Las Vegas Hilton;

2) The King of Rock ‘n’ Roll’s hit song, “Viva Las Vegas” (and the numbers he shared in the movie of the same name with the young Ann-Margret);

3) Bruce Springsteen’s equally electrifying cover version of said tune; and

4) Andrew Bergman’s underrated but hilarious 1992 film, Honeymoon in Vegas, starring Nicolas Cage, Sarah Jessica Parker, James Caan—and featuring 15 skydiving Elvises in its climax.

(Notice a pattern here, folks?)

Sure, I’m bothered by any city where it takes a taxi to get to Sunday mass because it’s too long and too hot to walk the one-to-two miles from the hotel to church. And I have to admit I blinked when the pastor announced that one of every 10 dollars in the collection plate each week came courtesy of chips that were subsequently cashed in.

But I shouldn’t have been entirely surprised by any of this. After all, I distrust any city where slot machines are in airports, waiting to deprive me of my few and hard-earned dollars—to “make a wreck out of me,” as Parsons sings—even before I get to my hotel room.