A New Yorker escape to Las Vegas?
As a New Yorker subscriber, I carelessly checked the wrong box someplace that plops its non-magazine advertisements in my mailbox. Today's was a doozy, for a weekend appreciating CityCenter in Las Vegas. Maybe it's just me, but the thought of a bunch of erudite cartoon fans, tweedy academics and reedy black-clad artists descending upon Vegas en masse seemed, well, funny. Like a photo in need of a caption.
The idea behind the New Yorker desert adventure is to appreciate the art and architecture. People who sign up for the weekend -- at hotels running $200-plus per night -- are to treat themselves to self-guided tours of works by luminaries Pelli Clarke Pelli, Claes Oldenburg, Daniel Libeskind, Maya Lin, Henry Moore and more. The first 20 people who signed up for the weekend will have Adam Gopnik as their private art tour guide. There's a spa included, because luxury fits the profile, but if you want to check out "Thunder From Down Under," you're on your own.
It's the combination of highbrow New Yorker readers with lowbrow Las Vegas that seems so silly. Sure, Las Vegas isn't all about jello shots, slot machines, Engelbert Humperdinck and strip clubs anymore; it has Cirque du Soleil, lots of art and genuine rock shows. It's got, as CityCenter would remind us, big fancy architecture. And anything that keeps magazines rolling off the presses has got to be good.
But will discussions of the latest pieces by Sy Hersh and Atul Gawande ring across newly lain terraces? Will Susan Orlean's chicken-and-whatnot blog be the talk of the (Vegas) town? Most important, if you're going, will you tell us all about it?
-- Carolyn Kellogg
Photo: Las Vegas' CityCenter at twilight. Credit: Ricardo DeAratanha / Los Angeles Times