"Maybe we could get two rooms--one for sleeping and one for partying?"

GRANDMA MOSES MEETS LAS VEGAS "How many people do you think we could fit in one hotel room?" one of my young classmates asked. "I don't know, maybe 10?" replied another. The class, Learning from Las Vegas, was an American Studies seminar centered around Robert Venturi's study of architecture and public space. Our patient professor, Eric Schroeder, had taken us from architectural neophytes to burgeoning scholars. Well, at least we learned the difference between a decorated shed and a duck--terms used by Venturi to describe Las Vegas' distinctive architecture. Our Las Vegas excursion was the culmination of 10 week's extensive study. The academic aspect of the trip, however, was not uppermost in most students' minds. A vision of wild parties, loud music and sleep deprivation after days of endless walking, lectures and academic overload made me feel, at 40, like Grandma Moses. My classmates assumed the aspect of beings from another dimension, separated by time and energy. It was time to use my negotiation skills. I spoke up desperately, "Maybe we could get two rooms--one for sleeping and one for partying?" Rolled eyes and disgusted expressions greeted my suggestion, but after intense negotiations, we agreed. The party poopers could have their own room. Now there would only be four people in the room instead of 10. Quite an improvement. I sighed with relief. Somewhere between Bakersfield and the Nevada state line my role as resident Grandma Moses/party pooper disintegrated. Without realizing it, I had become just a fellow student on an adventure. By day I was the model student, camera and notepad at the ready. But beneath the glaring Las Vegas lights, I became a dancing, carousing, Karaoke-singing fool. No one was more surprised than I, but after initial guarded looks, I had been accepted. I wasn't reliving my youth; I had only discovered the youth still hidden in the tapestry of approaching middle age. I still found myself saying things like "I'm getting too old for this" or, worse yet, "When I was your age." My classmates still made comments like "My Mom has an outfit just like that." But in that shallow, postmodern city, I discovered a braver, brighter thread with which to weave my life. -- Alexandra L. May '97