Loving Las Vegas
When I was 16 years old, I wanted to be Joan Didion. I still want to be Joan Didion. She was such a brilliant writer she even managed to make migraines glamorous.
I was especially enthralled with everything she wrote about California, from the iconic long-form piece on Haight-Ashbury to the essays on Patty Hearst and John Wayne and the Los Angeles freeway. The image I conjured from her work was of a sleek, cold, modern, fast-moving and decadent utopia. LA always seemed to be zipping into the future, shedding the past as quickly as possible.
Yet as I stand here for the first time in Las Vegas, it seems to me that Vegas, not LA, is the true land of the eternal present. History is everywhere in Los Angeles, if you pay attention. But here, in Vegas, the past, present, and future converge into an endless, looping reel of the same day.
Las Vegas in My Dreams
In the movies (and most Gen-Xers grew up on Mob movies, which meant growing up on Vegas), it always looks like James Caan walks out of one casino and into another like he's walking across the street. I thought one could jaunt down the Strip, popping in and out of casinos like so many candy stores, stopping just about anywhere for a big steak and a full-bodied red wine whenever one felt like it.
But Las Vegas isn't like this at all. Each hotel/casino is a small city of its own. The place is designed to keep you inside one of those cities. Well into the fourth day of the trip, I was still exiting the monorail, hoping to just cross the street as in a normal city, but finding myself trapped in what felt like a 2-mile hike through souvenir shops, long hotel corridors, and casino after casino.
There is no stopping for quiet reflection over a cup of coffee here. The lights and the noise and the street performers and the traffic and the casinos never, ever stop, and you could spend an entire week or more here being entertained and fed without ever going outside.
This is what the eternal present feels like. Neon lights flashing and bells ringing, and those golden 3-D coins billowing from the slot machine screen when you get a win. I confess I expected more Dean Martin and less AC-DC on my first visit, but there is no sentimentality here. The music will be loud, it will be relentless, and you will eventually give in to a city that has absolutely no time for anything other than keeping those dollars flowing through space and time.
The Fremont Experience
But then, eventually, you will find the Fremont Historic District. I only found it by accident, as a friendly cab driver explained the point of the district while he was taking me to the Mob Museum (which is within 4 blocks).
The Fremont Historic District does not assault you with nostalgia, but you will find a few plaques and signs here and there that remind you of the older Vegas that most of us see in our dreams.
You will also find some of the older casinos that still look mid-century modern and are uniquely American, in contrast to the gleaming, global towers of The Strip. People seem more relaxed, and the tacky but lovable souvenir shops have some unique objects in the midst of the usual kitsch.
People seem more relaxed here, like they are having fun rather than recording the good times for social media or trying to live up to their movie idea of Vegas. When I visited, one youngish clerk who had served in Afghanistan spent forty leisurely minutes explaining why I should try psychedelic mushrooms as customers swirled around the shop, trying in vain to get a hit. This would be highly unlikely to happen on The Strip.
Las Vegas Redux
If you visit Vegas, maybe take at least one afternoon to stroll through Fremont. You will get some great pictures and a respite from the eternal present. And if you eat at The Triple George Grill, don’t be surprised if you hear the tinkly laugh of Marilyn Monroe as Dean Martin turns on the charm in one of the private booths behind you. This is just an illusion, of course. But it’s a good one.