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[sen_no_ongaku]

As soon as you debark from your plane at Las Vegas's McCarran International Airport, you can plop yourself down in front of a slot machine and go to town. Right in the gate area. With careful planning, you could arrange a trip that would allow you to fly into Vegas, gamble, and then board a plane home without the hassle of paying for a hotel room, re-checking in at a flight kiosk, or having to navigate security a second time.

In fact, there are machines all throughout the airport. And I don't mean sprinkled gently around; one machine tucked away in a corner here, another shoved against a wall there. There are gently roped-off clusters of slot machines all over the place. Nearly everywhere you walk is filled with the soothing, arpeggiated, C major tinkle[FN 1] of people winning and losing money.

Thankfully, there are no such growths in the baggage claim area, where I write this as I wait for the rest of my family to trickle in.

[EDIT: Crap. There are banks of them even here. I couldn't see them over the now-dissipated bustle. At least they're not noisy.]

Perhaps the most telling initial impression I have of Vegas is descending over a vast, vaguely wavy, light brown expanse, and seeing a carefully tended, bright green golf resort built around what I assume was a small artificial lake, isolated in the middle of the desert, a man-made oasis. And I began to consider all of the effort and resources, the countless gallons of water, the cost of transporting goods, and so on, that go into maintaining this little playground for the affluent.

I've heard it said that Las Vegas is the result of excess unchecked; the desire to be entertained and amused given no boundary and spared no expense, made flesh and given life. I believe Tim Powers in Last Call likens it to a cancer feeding on -- or perhaps even formed of -- the childish, selfish, instincts in all of us.

Related, I think, is David Foster Wallace's wonderful essay on cruise ships, "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again", the crux of which is that (not only) cruise ships sell is the experience of having all of your needs catered to, all of your responsibilities lifted, to have the affront of boredom alleviated; and, at heart, to be back in the womb, warm and as far from death as you can get, relieved of even the necessity of chewing and swallowing your sustenance.

I also recall Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and Hunter S. Thompson's claim that Vegas represents the *real* American Dream -- or at least its dark mirror -- the desire to get rich quick and with as little effort as possible, to gain without sacrifice; and perhaps the more universal human sentiment that I deserve to get lucky. That to balance all of the stupid shitty things, all the random failures, big and small, marked on the scorecard of your life, that the universe, that Lady Luck, that (even) God, or what have you, owes you this one big jackpot to make it up to you.

sigerson once observed that the truly insidious thing about the slot machines -- and perhaps about gambling in general -- is that to come away ahead, you have to give up. To say to yourself, "I'm not going to win any more. This is as good as it's going to get." You must adopt an attitude that is anathema to what it means to be steeped in American culture: to be told every day that you are special, and that the only way to lose is to stop trying.
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1) And my understanding -- though I have neither proof nor perfect pitch -- is that every slot machine is, indeed, in C major.

Comments

[2h2o.livejournal.com]

I flew into Vegas at night. There was a perfectly straight line of white lights dividing the wastes from putative paradise. It's a fucking weird place.

An idle thought: Vegas is the earthly oasis, while the desert, as seen and populated by Christian ascetics, is the spiritual oasis.

[mansikka.livejournal.com]

1) And my understanding -- though I have neither proof nor perfect pitch -- is that every slot machine is, indeed, in C major.

(does some remembering of slot-machine jingles) Indeed they are. I can't remember a counterexample.

(not sure if I have perfect pitch or else really, really, really freaking good pitch memory - one or the other, it got me through sight-singing in a snap and I can recognize any of the 12 notes with no problem, although I can't tell you how many cents flat or sharp it is.)

[nadyezhda.livejournal.com]

I agree with you 100%. I think this is well-written and sigerson's point is right on. (I quit, by the way, $10 up after 1 (relatively forced) visit and will never go back.))

LV reminds me a lot of my home town and the area around it, not surprisingly given it's only a 5-6 hour drive away. But there's something really magical for me flying around that area- the desert part, I mean- since it used to mean I was almost home. I haven't gotten that sense anywhere else in the world that I've settled...

[pantshead.livejournal.com]

I read a book a few years ago which postulated that the city of Los Angeles (and surroundings) had basically willed itself into being. The land was uninhabitable desert before settlers came and brought water in from outside. I get the same feeling from Las Vegas, except it's as though the dream is still present and palpable. (Maybe it's just the heat wavering the air--when we drove through last July, it was 115°.)

I was really fascinated by a description I read of a woman winning a payout on a slot machine. It was the author's distinct impression that the woman wished it would stop paying out so she could go back to playing. For the addicts, I think the real drug of the slot machine is weightless, dizzying moment when all the cylinders are spinning and anything can happen. The moment they stop, you're back on earth.

Also, should anyone wish to play the slots: don't play the ones in the airport. They have the absolute worst odds in the whole state. (This I learned from a programmer who worked to create those odds.)