Vegas, Baby, Vegas

Ah, Las Vegas. The greatest trick Mexicans ever played on Americans. (For those who don't know, "las vegas" is Spanish for "the meadows.")

I was on a business trip to meet with a client at the ISSA conference in Las Vegas, and I just returned tonight. This business trip involved drinking margaritas the size of my head and indulging in all-you-can-eat Brazilian steak-house dinner (both of which resulted in some low-grade vomiting). Oh, and I did some business. Vegas, frankly, gives me the creeps. Mostly because it shouldn't exist.

Vegas is an entirely man-made oasis in the desert. They have to bus in water from Lake Mead, which is kind of a haul and there are palm trees planted everywhere which are not native to the desert. The resorts/casinos are all specifically themed and designed to make you think you're somewhere else in the world--Egypt, Italy, Paris, New York, Liberace's living room. Indoor shopping areas are paved to resemble cobblestone streets and skies are painted on the ceilings. Even the one natural element, the mountain, looks like something off Universal's back lot.

And the people. I've lived in Las Vegas, so I can say firsthand that it's the kind of place where you can go if you're Queen of England or Queen of the Trailer Park. Fashion extends from designer suits and couture dresses to fanny packs and sweatpants with camel toe. How in the hell do you get camel toe in a pair of sweatpants!!! I own one pair, and the crotchal-area is a good 8 inches below my lady-bits.

It's so good to be at home in Chicago!