We went to Vegas two weeks ago for my friend’s 30th birthday bash. It was excellent. Except for the part where I came home with some black plague-like throat infection. But that was later. I only lost $4 gambling but I spent about a billion dollars on other things, including $200 on MAC cosmetics I don’t need but which make me look like I’ve been airbrushed. But Vegas ain’t about “need,” baby, it’s all about the want, the gimme and the have.
We stayed at the MGM Grand and, except for the three hours we spent at various reception desks sorting out all the reservations snafus for the birthday suite and our room, it was birthdaylicious. They have lions on site for Pete’s sake: what’s not to love about that? The lions commute from a farm outside Vegas, so, even better, every few hours there are fresh lions.
Our room looked out at New York, New York’s rollercoaster. For three days, I’d wake up, open the drapes and watch the rollercoaster wind around the front of the resort named after the city I lived in for years. On the third day, this is how the conversation went:
Me: Oh.
R: What?
Me: Oh. That’s why all those buildings are so close together. It’s New York. Like New York. With all the buildings. Like New York, New York.
R: You’re smart, right?
Displaced 
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