Library card and $9.99 gym membership

We don't need no education 

We don't need no thought control
No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teachers leave them kids alone

                                                “We Don’t Need No Education” - Pink Floyd

“You dropped a hundred and fifty grand on an education you coulda got for a dollar fifty in late charges at the public library.”  -- Good Will Hunting

Recently, I toured UNLV’s Student Recreation and Wellness Center. A Massive 184,000 square foot exposed steel beam and masonry cathedral to co-ed fitness. An early 21^st century high-bay laboratory to self-preservation in the modern age of predestined indentured servitude. Six stories of offset multilevels with open air basketball courts, indoor soccer rinks and racquetball courts. Even the underutilized lap pool is of the highest quality and standards. The television walled cardio room projects silent images of corporate sponsored mental palate cleansing cocktails of talk shows, reality tv, and cable news.

Sharp lines pull the eyes down corridors lined with the best money can buy exercise equipment. Our handler pridefully notes the machines get heavy use during the bustling fall and spring semesters. But today the student population is light following the start to the summer term. Yet, the ghosts of exercises past are present -- stationary cardio workouts motivated by endless streaming tracks mixed by unrepentant hip-hop wordsmiths. Hey young ladies, it ain’t misogyny if you can dance to it.

A chemically enhanced uber-happy college ambassador bobs past. Not glancing once to his six. A freak of nature. Comfortable strolling backwards with the ease of a safari tour guide riding on imaginary rails. His jazz hands pointing out the facility amenities included in the massively overpriced experience of state school tuition. In tow, prefroshes and their parents. The eyes tell the tale. These are the damned. Time-share fresh fish sucking down the hook. Enthusiasm completely sucked out after the walk from the university book store to the dining hall, and through the immaculate dormitories.  Mindlessly shuffling past us, daydreaming their debt infused futures in the American Dream of the next generation having things better than the bygone ones. Doubt takes hold somewhere between the stair-masters and sexual assault response campaign posters.  

At least the federally subsidized cool air provides reprieve from the oppressive early summer Vegas midday furnace and distraction from decades of loan slavery. It’s a dry heat folks, and the gym provides free towels.