The beauty of ancient places is accidental; the ugliness of Vegas is planned. Yet to stand in front of the phony Doge’s Palace at eleven and hear the chimes of Big Ben from London, the pealing of the bells from Paris, and the explosion of a volcanic waterfall is to experience something unintended. A random Universe created by a thousand monkeys. It makes you ask, “Why am I here?” The answer is Spamalot.
