Viva

I don’t know what it is about the city of sin, but I absolutely cannot get enough of it. Las Vegas is a desert mirage of grandiose proportions. The clocks stop [or rather, cease to be] and the multitude of toothless gamblers and Amazonian women propel forward as if with slow, chaotic purpose. I am infatuated with the din of clanking slots and techno, the barren breeze and the perpetual neon. I’ve seen the city from every angle; stripper pole to artisan bar; thousand dollar bottle service to e-infested late night rave; family musical to sensuous revue; cool, mountainous hike to sweltering poolside; strip to suburban home. The gaudiness is magical and the local inhabitants are simple in their wants but complex in their open-mindedness.

I have been to Las Vegas more times than I can count (I flew there four times last year alone), but I have never celebrated the beginning of a New Year in this necromantic cesspool of wonder. It is perplexing how uncontained my excitement is for my upcoming Sin City holiday…