At the old-fashioned end of Las Vegas Boulevard, where even plastic is a cheap reproduction of itself, the elderly and the infirm ask for the autographs of Sinatra and Streisand impersonators: "I have always been such a big fan of yours." Of whose? Of the real Frank, or of his grinning simulacrum? Alas, answering such a question would give even Jean Baudrillard an aneurysm.
Perhaps these doddering, super-annuated bobby-soxers, by means of some mystically mixed martini, really have been flown to an entertainment moon where the second-coming of the once and future King of Swing can be witnessed. Or maybe they simply return year after year because the enjoy the act of ersatz Frank.
Personally, I do not bother tackling these enormous psychological imponderables. After a day spent wandering around the Convention Center I just hide in my room and read the wonderful works of H. G Wells. I have always been a fan of his.
