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Posted Friday, Oct. 23, 1998, at 3:30 AM ET

On the surface it may not seem it, but when Hal Rothman called me one of his "favorite carpetbaggers" over lunch it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Hal is a University of Nevada, Las Vegas historian and, for my money, the foremost guru about the new Las Vegas, which he likes to call "the first 21st Century city." His most recent book, Devil's Bargain, deals with tourism and the American West. He is fond of saying that Las Vegas' biggest problem is too many grandstanding intellectuals and hipsters flying into town for a few days to tell the world what Sin City is all about. But me, he likes. I pay for lunch.
The reason Hal likes me is that I am as enamored as he is of the world's largest Coca-Cola bottle, which towers more than four stories over the World of Coca-Cola museum on the Strip. We're enamored of it as a symbol of what Las Vegas is becoming. Even a decade ago it would have been hard to imagine one of the most mainstream, conservative, and family-oriented companies on earth eager to be identified with this place. Now, in a telling marriage of brands, the company is peddling sweatshirts with "Las Vegas" written under three stylized Coke bottles, and there is nothing like the World of Coca-Cola anywhere else outside of Coke's hometown of Atlanta.
The Strip is becoming a permanent World's Fair. That is why Coke is here, as are the nation's most successful and innovative shopping mall and a growing wave of celebrity-chef restaurants from across the company. And it's not all about leisure. Much like the 19th century and early 20th century expos and fairs showcased the latest industrial achievements, Las Vegas is now where new technological marvels are introduced. That's why more than 200,000 people descended on Vegas last year for the annual COMDEX computer convention. There is a COMDEX held in Las Vegas for most industries, which is why the intersection nearest the World of Coke boasts more hotel rooms than does the entire city of San Francisco.

******

I can rationally discuss the significance of Coke's presence on the Strip, but I must recuse myself from reviewing the museum on its merits. You see, I'm something of a fanatic. My father works for a bottler, and I drink more Diet Coke in a day than anyone would deem advisable. Anyone, that is, except the pleasant voice at the toll-free number listed on the can.
It's true, once when Kat mentioned that I drank too much of the stuff, I picked up the phone, dialed the number, and asked if there was such a thing as too much of a good thing. It's the sort of impulsive gesture I used to pull to amuse her during the wooing stage. Now that we're married, I just go off to Vegas for weeks at a time.
"How much do you drink in a day?" the sweet voice had asked, trying to mask her concern. I told her. Silence. Then I heard noises in the background at Coke HQ. Was it the sound of a helicopter coming to evacuate me, to whisk me down to Atlanta for some intensive R & D? I could picture them all lining the helipad. "Doctor, we're finally going to be able to cut open a 14-canner and see what we've wrought," one mad scientist would tell another, with a Strangelovian gleam in his eye.
Ms. Coke had regained her composure and interrupted my fantasy by assuring me there was no known limit, adding something about inconclusive caffeine tests on rats. Everything will be OK; keep on chugging.
A German tourist sitting next to me watching Coke TV ads from the 1960s leaned over and asked, "Do you also have a Marlboro museum in America?" I don't think I would ever visit, say, a Colgate or a Gillette museum, but this guy was onto something; a Marlboro museum would be as fascinating as Coke's. Particularly the "What we knew and when we knew it" exhibit.

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Posted Friday, Oct. 23, 1998, at 3:30 AM ET
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Andrés Martinez is author of the forthcoming book Doubling Down. He is currently gambling his way through Las Vegas.
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