Las Vegas used to be monotheistic, embracing the Church of Elvis. But Michael Jackson is the new deity in town.
The signs outside certain business establishments on the seediest Vegas streets make no secret of the customers to whom they cater: Gentlemen’s Club, they deceptively declare.
For an all too brief time, the Moulin Rouge was an integrated oasis in a segregated Las Vegas. As much an ideal as a hotel, Las Vegas’ first interracial resort was so novel that it made the cover of Life magazine, granting it the imprimatur of mainstream pop culture cool.
Feet moving at a glacial pace, Scot Rammer shuffles from the front door to his recording studio: a desk in his living room. There is no hurry. But even if there were, he couldn’t. Rammer’s right side is partially paralyzed, the aftereffects of a stroke he suffered in 2008.
The book on Satan goes something like this: He’s a bad guy, one who personifies evil and temptation, doing his best to seduce mankind into the ways of sin.
Las Vegas has landed amateur boxing’s showcase event, with the Golden Gloves national championships to be contested here next year.
It is not the most exclusive fraternity among men when one considers only 12 have walked on the moon, and only three have married a Kardashian. So far. (With two others on the fence.)
The sound of the end-of-day school bell symbolizes freedom from classes for most students.
So, if I said to you, “I’ve opened a bank account in your name. The account contains a balance of $5 million. To access the money, you’ll need the PIN number, which only I know. And I’m not going to tell you.”
Landry’s Inc. paid $38 million two years ago to acquire the rundown, money-losing Trump Marina, and analysts immediately predicted the gaming market’s demise. A few years earlier Trump Marina had been valued as high as $315 million.