I have
spent my entire adult life in Las Vegas. Those who move here, by choice or
compulsion, are quickly confronted by two cities with one name. There is the
illusionary neon canyon 45,000,000 people visit each year to play. Then there
is the real one. Strip away The Strip and the city is Bakersfield with an
unfounded self-esteem. This big city in a small town requires more wit than
brawn to survive. Vegas locals are Br’er Rabbit. Collective tricksters bought
into overt bending social norms for the perceived pleasure of outsiders. Oh you sweet marks, rest your head in the
comfort palaces. Leave your treasures then leave. Dare you move here. Our life
is the brier bush. Live here at your own peril.
We may
survive and thrive in this social and environmental waste land, but not without
a price. As Jaron and I survey the gyms we attend, there is a clear and present
difference to us folk. We age more rapidly than the rest of western
civilization. Blame it on the hard water, or the sun, or the fight for dominance.
Those who have yet accepted their lot in this hyper aging process put on the
trappings of a decaying society. Men dressed in the mindset of Forever 29, while females chemically coat their faces with zeal. The ladies do a much
better job at disguising their age. However, they cannot hide their hands.
Women’s hands are nearly as accurate as a driver’s license, carbon dating, or
counting rings in a tree trunk. It’s rude to ask a woman her age, but not to shake
her hand.
