Cracked Eggs

Ever since I've lived here, I've used the analogy that Las Vegas is a town full of cracked eggs whenever anyone has queried about life in the neon jungle. Being a sun-belt city based almost entirely on tourism, the majority of the population comes from somewhere else. And they all bring baggage. Rare indeed do you find an actual Las Vegas native. Do they even exist? Are they 'normal'?

But just like my time in Alaska, it seems that everyone out here is not quite right. Oh, I'm not pointing fingers, I'm the same way--anyone who knows me knows that I'm kind of the odd man out already, which is why I feel like I totally fit in here in my adopted hometown. I guess what I'm saying is, everyone out here has some sort of issues they carry with them, be it a shady past, a string of failed marriages, business ventures, or both, or some other sort of personal demons. Nobody out here is dull and uninteresting--everyone has a story and everyone has baggage. I defy you to find another city populated with as many colorful personalities as there are in Vegas. Hell, our extremely popular mayor was a famous mob lawyer fer cryin' out loud! So for us, weirdness starts at the top.

But that's not to say it's a good thing or a bad thing. It just is. Linda and I were having this conversation last night over dinner, and we both agreed--everyone we meet is just slightly off-kilter, kind of like the village in Northern Exposure, writ large. But weird, quirky, and a colorful past is exactly what Vegas is all about--both the city and it's population. It takes some getting used to.

So it makes for an interesting conversation whenever you meet somebody new. I'm not exactly jaded, but it's getting to the point where nothing surprises me any more. Just the other day one of my players told me that back in the 60's he wrestled an Orangutan down in Florida for twenty bucks. Got his ass kicked, too. I used to have dinner once or twice a week with an ex-showgirl who knew Elvis personally and partied with Frank Sinatra back in the day, yet spends her autumn years dealing blackjack and wishing life had a rewind button. And I know a dealer that got so drunk on her dinner break one night, that when she went back to the pit, she tapped into a game in the wrong casino! The thing is--I hear stories like this on a daily basis.

People always tell me that my life is interesting, but it's a dull shade of gray compared to my friends--just check out the archived posts from Linda or Carmen and you'll see what I'm talking about. Even more interesting, I sat up all night over a year ago listening to my gal Jovanka tell me all about surviving the war in Serbia, escaping to Greece, eventually finding her way to the United States at great personal peril and sacrifice. It makes me sound like a piker when I talk about the hardship of dealing with a blown transmission on my pioneering trek westward. My life has been an afternoon in the hammock compared to a lot of people I know.

What does it all mean, in the grand scheme of things? Your guess is as good as mine, but I suppose it means that I should keep an open mind whenever I meet somebody new or get past the outer layers of someone I thought I already knew. Everyone I encounter walks a different path, yet I believe our paths cross for a reason.

The trick, I think, is finding the reason why all these cracked eggs ended up in the same bowl at the same time.

Mikey