COLUMN: Les toilettes on the finer side of the strip
Let me begin by pointing out that, according to some graffiti sprayed outside a comedy club, 22 percent of the people reading this will likely try to lick their elbow sometime in the next 24 hours.
I wish them the best in their endeavors.
Now, as far as spring break is concerned, the rule of thumb – a much easier appendage to lick – is normally quite simple: What happens in Vegas, or any other town with the reputation of being the “sin capital of the world,” stays in Vegas.
When in the course of human events, however, occurrences occur that are so stupidly intense as to merit immediate reading in a college newspaper – i.e. learning how to say “I have a cat in my pants” in two different languages – the rule takes a backburner to the common good.
Purposefully touring the finer restrooms of major Las Vegas casinos also fits smartly into this category. You see, while they’re known by many names – lavatory, can, latrine, john, outhouse, privy, wash room, restroom, and bathroom – their function is all the same: Entertainment!
Wow … someone back that turnip truck up a little bit. Did I just say entertainment was one of the purposes of a part of the house affectionately known in many regions as “the crapper”? Well, if the designers of establishments such as the Venetian, the Paris France, and New York New York are to be believed, a casino is only as good as its “human waste removal systems.”
A few choice examples of such “themed” toilets should suffice in proving the point that when you take away drinking, gambling, and gratuitous sex, the only things left to do in “the city that never sleeps” are: a) gorge yourself at one or more of the city’s bazillion buffets, b) go to Circus Circus and fling rubber chickens into pans in the hope of winning various and sundry stuffed animals, or c) go to “the pot.”
Let us begin at New York New York, which ranks as my personal favorite in this highly competitive list. Taking its occupants back to an era when men were “guys,” women were “dolls,” and dogs were “cats.” This bathroom was still packed with all the modern amenities. It struck the perfect balance between the awe of automatic sinks, toilets, doors, soap dispensers, dryers, and mechanical pant unzippers, and the justified feeling that Gene Kelly could, at any moment, dance and sing his way across the lime green tile (posthumously, of course).
The Paris France falls in at a close second by transporting us to turn-of-the-century France when the French were at least superficially interested in hygiene (whereas today, most Frenchmen consider semi-annual trips to “les toilette” [fr. literally “the crapper”] more than sufficient). Elegant sinks, posh mirrors, and heavy wooden doors all added a certain spice to the air, and the only drawback, at least for me, was that these restrooms were devoid of bidets, a device used in many European countries to replace toilet paper.
A few steps over to the Venetian – which last Monday was unofficially awarded the Anti-Black Lung commendation for being the most smoke-free casino in Vegas – saw the rise of an interesting feature: Urinal art. Hung above these devices – sanitized by Swisher – were several recreations of early Roman art. While some of these paintings were “nude” (literally “completely devoid of bidets”), the general feeling was one of a bathroom steeped in … um … culture.
Still, while these three examples may serve as feathers in the city’s cap, many restrooms left much to be desired. Circus Circus sticks out in my mind only because it was able, apparently by means of a highly sophisticated sucking device, to pull in enough cigarette smoke to cure ham.
Others, such as Caesar’s Palace and the Excaliber, were screaming for something more. Perhaps recreations of gladiatorial fights with guest appearances by Russell “Master and Commander” Crowe and/or full suits of armor with matching war horses would have been enough to spice up this critic’s … um … experiences. Anyway, the point is that potential exists.
Now, this article’s potty purposes aside, spring break was a blast; more fun than should be allowed in this or any other state. For those of you who went with me on the trip, this article ranks in at No. 10 on the list.
For those of you who don’t have the slightest idea what I’m talking about and are only concerned with figuring out what intoxicant I happen to be on, let me leave you with one last piece of advice that will hopefully make this worthwhile:
If you’re going to try to lick your elbow, for heaven’s sake, don’t do it in the bathroom.
Matt Wright is a senior majoring in English literature. Comments may be sent to him at mattgo@cc.usu.edu.