- By Andres Martinez - Slate Magazine

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Posted Wednesday, Oct. 21, 1998, at 3:30 AM ET

I cut loose from the Strip late in the morning and ventured out into the Las Vegas few tourists see--the sprawling land of faux-Mediterranean gated communities, Office Depots, and apartment complexes with such improbable names as Oasis del Mar. But before doing so, I spent some quality time at the pool.
Shockingly, the pool attendant, who looked old enough to gamble legally, pulled out a calculator to subtract the $10.70 for sunscreen from the $11 I was handing over. Sad thing is, he probably had a computer in his classroom. "That'll be 30 cents in change," he announced with flair after a digital pause, as if resolving a baffling mystery.
Sexism distorts language, to the point where my pool attendant would never be called ditsy, flighty, or an airhead. Men are either smart or dumb. Only in rare cases when everyday befuddlement visibly overwhelms raw intelligence are they a benign-sounding "absent-minded." It is for women that we reserve an entire catalog of terms to specify the extent to which someone might be out to lunch.
I raise the issue because when I mentioned to Kat that Las Vegas, the nation's fastest-growing metropolitan area throughout the decade and a surprisingly great place to live, also happens to have a high DF, or Ditsy Factor, she cautioned me that I was sounding sexist. She knew I'd perfected the DF as a gender-neutral reading, but we were both stumped to find an appropriate gender-neutral name for it. You'd still think I was talking only about women if I went on about a city's "airhead factor" or "flighty factor," and "absent-mindedness factor" doesn't quite cut it.
So, let's just stipulate that men too can be "ditsy" (which after all Merriam Webster defines as being "eccentrically silly, giddy or inane") and get on with it. The point is that Las Vegas' DF is rather high. This was first brought to my attention anecdotally by a number of employers in town who bemoaned their difficulties in finding competent, serious employees in the labor market. Now I've backed up their impressions with hard math.
For you number crunchers out there, the DF formula is:

DF = ([number of breast implants per capita] + [vanity license plates per capita] + [Gold's Gyms per capita] * 1/foreign films playing in local theatres)/ NPR market share of local radio audience.

******

In the late afternoon, as the gorgeous desert sky turned red, I headed for Boulder City, the charming town south of Las Vegas built 70 years ago to house workers brought in to build the awesome Boulder--now known as Hoover--Dam.
I was going there to appear on a TV show, which presented a dilemma. Talk about being ditsy. 1) I'd matted down my hair just right with gel for the occasion. 2) I don't usually use gel, but then I've only been on television a handful of times, and I found it terrifying. 3) I was driving a (rented) convertible for the first time in my life. Hmmm.
Boulder City residents are notoriously active in their public affairs, as they try to maintain their town's unique identity. Theirs is the only community in Nevada where gambling is not legal, and one of the few not to embrace the cult of growth for growth's sake.
Bob Faiss is arguably the most prominent gaming attorney in Nevada, representing many casino interests, but he'll tell you, with a bit of a chuckle, that he'd be on the front lines to combat any move to bring gambling into his beloved town. I like Bob. He is a genuinely nice guy, and the prototype of the traditional sharp-but-gentlemanly lawyer. Currently he is one of many authorities in town struggling to come to terms with the issue of problem gambling as a regulatory matter, something that until recently hadn't been on anyone's radar screen. Casinos are trying to figure out how to emulate the alcohol industry's approach to addiction, rather than repeat the tobacco industry's missteps. Stay tuned on that story.
On Tuesday evenings Bob leaves his imposing corner office on the top floor of the Bank of America Tower in downtown Las Vegas to be back in Boulder City to tape his weekly "Hi Bob" local-access TV show. He'd graciously asked me to come on to talk about my book, and I was grateful for an opportunity to get my stuttering and gaffes out of the way before going on with Katie Couric next year. But when I walked into the studio and Bob mentioned that the show would run 21 times over the next week, and is also carried by some Northern Nevada stations, I felt a knot forming in my stomach. Then I looked in the mirror. My hair was a disheveled mess.

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Posted Wednesday, Oct. 21, 1998, at 3:30 AM ET