Viva leaving Las Vegas!

Marilyn Monroe stared at me from across the room. Her hair was silvery, her lipstick bright red, he ears surprisingly small. She was of two colors -- and three hues, actually -- dark gray, light gray and red lips somewhat apart. Her teeth showed between her lips, her teeth at the white end of gray, but not actually white.

The framed photograph had been manipulated to make it look like a painting. It was an okay picture, but not one I would pay for. Not even 50 cents. Ms. Monroe would not fit in any room of my house.

Westgate Resort and Casino in Las Vegas, Nev., exists for two things: gambling and sex. I was there for a Vietnam veterans reunion, which kind of falls under the convention label, but Las Vegans expect conventioneers to lose money at the gambling sites and in bed with ladies of a price. Our attendees might have lost some at gambling, probably not much in bed. We are 67 and up, into the 80s, maybe even some 90-somethings who can still get around.

My wife and I do not gamble, and neither of us has a need for paid sex, so the only money Westgate got from us was room payment and a few meals at the overpriced restaurants. Our first night, we went to an in-house steak place. We did not order the $70 steak meal, certainly not the $90 or $95 steak meal. Instead, we got the less inexpensive ($29) roasted chicken.

When commercials say “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” the advertisers mean your money stays in Vegas.

In the airport, a man pushing my wheel chair said all prices were much lower, numbers and percentage, when the mob ran the place. “That all changed when corporations took over,” he said.

For gamblers and sex seekers, then, your choice is cheap prices backed up by bodies, or higher prices backed up by letters listed on Wall Street.