Most things have already been said, in some way, some form, at some point in time, by someone or other. That's just kind of the nature of life- we all like to think that we're these ingenious innovators, creators of the one-true-unique idea to spark in this universe, but alas, such will not be the case for many of us in this lifetime. This may seem like a rather defeatist sort of realization to come upon and could inspire many to throw down their pens or pencils and spit in the direction of any new endeavor, but that, my friends, really would be defeat. It's not so much that there's nothing new to be added, but its the matter in which we tell our unique experiences and tales that brings something special to the table. After all, I'm certainly not the first person to make a blog post about ducks, or birds, or animals, or any such thing, and I'm certainly not the first or only person to ever pontificate on what the city of Las Vegas is or means. Las Vegas means a lot of things to a lot of different people, as do the annual migrations and habits of animals like these pretty little birds. Every year, much like the human visitors to the city, hundreds upon thousands of visitors flock to the city, dipping their feet into the toes of the communal excess and hedonism that the city so desperately tries to provide, before packing it in and moving on. Who knows where they all go? Well, I'm sure in the case of some of the ducks there's probably a geo-tracker tucked along their ankles or clipped to their wings, that allows some curious scientist a rough idea of their migratory pattern, but for the vast majority, their end destinations are as mysterious as their intentions for visiting. A snack, perhaps- but is it food for the soul, or simply a desire to glut themselves silly until their full to the gills? Perhaps it's an excuse to drop their young off at the pool and pretend to be young again themselves before the responsibility of raising a brood was a concern. Whatever their reasons may be, much like our feathered friends, the vast majority of humans visiting Las Vegas only migrate through the city, a brief intermission of sorts, without setting down roots. In a city of transients, being a resident is something strange, and typically worthy of a surprised remark by the few you indulge in the knowledge. The environment surrounding the city itself, should you ever venture past the oasis of the Strip and its artificial constructs, is thorny and harsh, an unwelcoming wasteland full of poisonous insects, barbed plants, and venomous snakes that begs to reconsider the sanity of those who seek to reside there. I guess that's why the people who stay, who grow up there like dandelions taking root in cracks in the sidewalk, take a perverse sort of pride in it. Living among the desert is unnatural, a fuck-you to nature and its attempts to dissuade fragile human beings from setting up base in this arid and unwelcoming environment, so the people who reside, who remain, must be hewn from a particularly tough, stubborn, or stupid stock.
So, fly away, little duckies, to greener pastures and cleaner waters. I won't blame you. I tip my hat to those who wish to be in the desert, who ran from inclement weather for the unnaturally predictable weather; hot and sunny. If that's the life for you, power to you. I, however, much like these ducks, have got to get a move on.
Cheers!
💙
XOXO,
NAU
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