It’s not dead, it’s diversifying.
With most places, there’s typically a natural reason for it to exist. It’s on a trade route, it’s near a body of water, or it’s strategically important for the military. With Vegas, it’s because it’s in the middle of the fucking nowhere. You don’t go on accident, you go with intentions and most of the time, these intentions ain’t good.
It’s in our nature to crave excess; it’s in our nature to be gluttonous. Sure, it started with gambling and prostitution, but then the powers that be realized that they were missing out, and so it started to diversify into every realm of hedonism you can imagine. You don’t just eat a meal; you break your diet and you binge, you indulge yourself. You don’t just see a show, you go for an experience you can’t get anywhere else.
No matter your vice, they have it available, bigger and better than anywhere else, at least that’s the idea. If they can’t get you with gambling, they’ll get you with shopping. If you don’t want to shop, you can rent a Lambo, and if you’re not a car person, you can rent a tank and drive over a car. If you want to cosplay as John Wick, you can do that too. Yes, I’m serious about every bit of this.
In Vegas, the rules don’t apply; you get a free pass from the consequences of your behavior. Day drinking is the norm. People are free to remove their masks and behave how they’ve always wanted to, without inhibition or fear of judgement. This is why they have so many conventions; nobody actually cares about the conventions, it’s just an excuse to come get nasty for a few days under the guise of a work trip. “Sweetie, this is a work thing, I have to go.” you say, knowing damn well that you’ll only be spending 6 hours out of the three days you’re there at the convention, and most of that will be talking to others and making plans for where you’re going to go that night.
Now, given how much I’ve traveled over the years, you’d probably think I’d hit Vegas at some point. The truth is that with my poor impulse control, I’d gone out of my way to avoid the place. I don’t drink anymore, and despite my predisposition to addictive behavior, I’ve never been a fan of gambling so I didn’t really see the point in visiting.
That was until the wife told me that No Doubt was playing at the Sphere and that we were going. We have a great partnership, but this trip wasn’t up for debate. Yes, I am painfully aware that Gwen is problematic to say the least but my wife’s first concert was seeing them on the Tragic Kingdom tour, so I started doing research for the trip.
My goal was to go with an open mind, without preconceived notions or expectations. I wanted to experience the place fresh and objectively, for better or worse. Yes, I did my homework because I knew full and well that there was a lot going on and I wanted to make the most of the trip and not feel like I was missing out. Plus, I’m a history nerd, I can’t help it.
Writing this, I’m still trying to recover from the trip, mentally more than physically. For someone who’s awkwardly sensitive to energy, the place is overwhelming to say the least. I knew this going in, that it was going to be bright, loud and crowded. While I was there, I hardly slept since I was caught up in the current of nonstop energy but, as soon as I got home, I crashed hard yet still went straight to work after dropping off my suitcase and picking up my knives.
“But Vegas is dead man….”.
That’s what everyone kept telling me yet this isn’t what I experienced at all. Granted, I was also staying at Caesars Palace in the middle of the strip, on Memorial Day weekend, with No Doubt playing multiple shows, Gwen’s cowboy fuck toy performing, the Jonas Brothers and some big shit K-Pop group (not the demon hunter chicks unfortunately) all playing, plus a couple of various conventions happening. In other words, there was a lot of shit going on that weekend.
Since it was my first time in town, I had nothing to base it on. When I asked a few locals about it, they all seemed to agree that Vegas was definitely changing and evolving. While it wasn’t doing pre-COVID numbers, it wasn’t the ghost town that the rumors and influencers suggested.
We landed in the early afternoon and found out the hard way that the rideshare area of Caesars is at the far side of the hotel, at least from where we were staying. That, and rolling suitcases don’t work for shit on carpet. From the moment you walk in, it’s designed to overwhelm and distract you. Some people have been there for a few days, others have been coming for years. Newlyweds are walking by, celebrating the best day of their lives, while some guy in the corner is putting his last bit of hope into a slot machine, praying his luck will finally turn.
One of the few things that shocked me was the number of families in the casinos, in the middle of the night, pushing small children in strollers. My best guess is that they were still operating in a different time zone and had just arrived but still, it was bizarre to see.
Caesars is as tacky as I’d hoped. It’s grand and regal, yet it sure as shit ain’t high class. For a first timer in Vegas, it’s perfect since it’s in the middle of everything. It’s not as snobby or pretentious as The Wynn or The Venetian; it’s a hell of a lot nicer than Circus Circus or the Lux. For the record, I didn’t actually go into Circus Circus or the Lux since just driving by em gave me the creeps.
The best way I can describe it is, imagine that one person you know who’s been broke their whole life and they suddenly win the lottery, plus they have a weird obsession with the History Channel. For the life of me, I cannot understand why the fuck they need so many winged lions everywhere on the property. Two near the main entrances? Awesome, it looks epic as fuck and makes a statement. Two dozen in random places all over just makes you look like you ran out of ideas and wanted to fill space.
Overall, check-in was easy, and finding our room wasn’t as difficult as I’d expected since it was down one hall and up an elevator. The room itself was nice and had a decent view. Most importantly, it was clean and didn’t look like anyone had died, recently at least. We dropped off our bags, took a deep breath, and then walked back to the other side of the hotel to catch an Uber to Fremont Street. This is where the stereotype comes in, since, even as fast as I walk, it still took 10 minutes to get from the room to the pick-up location and, it’s easy to get lost in the hotel.
The day we arrived was also the 11th anniversary of my Old Man’s passing. There was definitely a level of guilt with being there yet I had to remind myself that the dude wasn’t a prick and certainly loved to party so I know that the last thing he’d want is for me to be depressed and not make the most of it. That’s not to say he wasn’t there; he was. One of the very first things I found outside of the hotel was a Buddhist shrine which is about the last fucking thing I’d expect to see at Caesars.
I’m not big on ritual or formalities but the shrine was a counterbalance to the chaos and provided me with a space to clear my head and stay slightly centered. This is where I’d sit and have my coffee in the morning while watching the faithful light incense and pray. Aside from the Neon Museum, this was probably my favorite place in the city. Please note, if you visit, you will almost certainly be offered beads by a “Monk”. Don’t take em, it’s a scam, they’ll start harassing you for a donation. The real monks tend to mind their own business and are there to meditate.
Another little fun fact about the “Las Vegas” strip is that it’s not even in Las Vegas; it’s in Paradise, Nevada. Fremont Street is actually in Las Vegas, but the strip isn’t, and the two places each have their own vibe. There’s a bit of overlap in the history but for the most part, Fremont is the classic, neon-lit old town and it wears its history with pride while the Strip is the newer section a few miles south. For the record, you don’t want to try to walk from the Strip to Fremont.
One of the most definitive signs that things are changing are all the fucking dancing gorillas. Just like the winged lions, one or two is cool, but I saw more idiots dancing in gorilla costumes than I did show girls. That said, not a single Elvis impersonator to be found. I’m not asking for a movie-accurate version, just a fat guy with sideburns and a tracksuit singing “Love me tender”. Seriously, is that really too much to ask?
If you’re on Fremont, it’s worth taking a cab a mile north to visit the Neon Museum but make sure you visit at night when they have everything lit up, well, most everything. The $30 you’ll pay for admission is worth it, but be warned, you’re only allowed to take photos with your phone. They’re polite but very strict about this so do yourself a favor and watch a few videos on how to do take good night shots with your phone. It’s the last place you can see these old signs, and I have nothing but admiration for the people who run this place. Yes, I will be going back, and next time, I’ll be doing one of the tours since I know I missed out on a lot of what the place has to offer.
The Strip
Arriving back late, my wife was tired and I was wired and knew there was no chance of sleeping. The room was quiet yet I could still feel the energy radiating from the strip so I grabbed a few joints and found a place to get coffee and then went out to take photos.
I didn’t even know I was walking past a strip club when I heard someone yell at me “Hey, you look like you’re into some freaky shit! I bet you’re into midgets! We got six little midget bitches on stage right now!”.
This caught me off guard for a few reasons. First, you’re not allowed to call em midgets anymore. I’m not sure if it’s dwarfs or little people or what, but I know midget is a bad word. Second, I was minding my own business, taking photos of nothing special, so how the fuck did he know that I was into the freaky shit? No, I didn’t go in. I was tempted, my wife wouldn’t care but I’m just not the strip club type, especially when I’m carrying a grand in camera gear. That said, I really wish I could remember the place since when else could you see just one, let alone six of em on stage?
Another valuable lesson I learned that the travel guides leave out is watching where you look. You’re going to be walking a lot and you’re going to be taking escalators and it’s very important that you’re careful or you might see some things you ain’t ready to see.
I was taking pictures and turned around and looked up, fully expecting to see the warm glow of the neon lights. Instead, I got to see a full moon. Listen, I love big booties like I love fried chicken, so in no way am I body shaming this young lady; it just caught me by total surprise, and it was RIGHT THERE. It was not a mini-skirt, it was a micro skirt, and if she had farted, I would have tasted it. And no, I didn’t take pictures because I’m not a creep, but I can promise you someone watching me on a security camera definitely saw me gasp in shock.
The next morning, I was wrecked.
I’m not a breakfast person unless it’s either the middle of the night or you count coffee and cigarettes. My wife is so we found Chéri Rooftop across the street at The Paris. It’s a cute place if you want to see and be seen, but a DJ at 11 is a bit much for me. Normally, I can’t eat before noon, but I needed protein, so I ordered the steak frites medium-rare. Unfortunately, it came out raw.
In their defense, it was a 10-ounce Flatiron and this cut of meat is notoriously difficult to cook, plus the place was slammed. Had it been rare, I’d have been fine, but the middle was raw raw. I’ve been with my wife for over 5 years now and she’s never seen me send anything back. But I had to. I told the server and went out of my way to be as cool as possible, but I had to send it back.
15 minutes later, they sent me out another one. This was raw in the middle too. Now I was pissed. Not about the fact that it was raw, I was pissed that I was most likely going to have to get into it with these people and pull the Chef card and explain the difference between raw, rare, and medium rare. Believe it or not but I fucking hate these situations, I don’t like being that dude.
Fortunately, the manager came up, saw the steak, and immediately apologized. Apparently, he’d taken the first one back and saw that it was raw, and then saw the one on my plate. Without asking, he told me he was taking it off the bill and wanted to know what he had to do to make it right. I told him there was nothing else to do, he had already done it.
Because of the customer service I got, I’m honestly looking forward to going back to this place. The steak was a fluke, the Kitchen was getting its ass handed to em and mistakes happen. The fact that the manager came over and went above and beyond to fix it means more to me than a raw steak, and I have no doubt that my next meal there will be stellar. Oh, and if you’re looking to day drink, this is the place to start since they serve booze in a fucking full-sized disco ball because, it’s Vegas
Our next spot was Planet 13
Of course, Vegas has the world’s largest cannabis dispensary, because why the fuck not? For those who live in places that don’t have dispensaries, I can imagine it’s like going to Toys’ R ‘ Us for the first time. But I live in Oakland and I’m not trying to sound like a snob, but we have dispensaries all over the place. I got married at one for fucks sake.
While it is a whole lot of hype, it’s not a bad place. Something that a lot of first-timers, including myself, don’t realize is that because of some stupid bureaucratic bullshit, cannabis has to be sold at least 1,500 feet from places that have gambling. This is why Planet 13 is right across the street from the Trump hotel since they don’t have a gaming license. This is also why you don’t waste your money on the bullshit they sell on Fremont or the Strip since it’s garbage and has next to no potency.
Another thing that most people don’t realize is that they offer a free shuttle service to and from the dispensary. All you have to do is call and set up a time and it will save you a few bucks that you can spend at the shop, which is a bit pricey compared to what I’m used to in Oakland. That said, the lounge is absolutely worth spending some time in since it’s one of the nicest I’ve ever visited.
They have a full menu of dabs, pre-rolls and infused beverages, plus the service was amazing (shout out to Milli from Miami!). Just be warned, it’s easy to spend a few hours in this place without realizing it. Oh, and if you want to commemorate the experience, you can get tattooed while you’re there. I didn’t, but you totally can.
Dinner was spent at a place that really ain’t worth mentioning. It’s not that the food or service was bad; it just didn’t elicit any kind of response. The only real point of interest was that, on the way out, I was spotted by someone who clearly wasn’t a fan. The reason I even noticed him was because they were sitting at the bar of a nice restaurant, wearing a tank top that used to be a t-shirt while drinking a Bud Light. In other words, they stuck out, and when they saw me, they did a double-take, nudged the girl sitting next to them, and pointed at me. Had I been with Mike or alone, okay maybe, but I was there with my wife, so I told her we needed to go and I explained as we were on the way to the Ferris Wheel.
The High Roller.
A lot of people think I hate heights, I don’t; I just have an irrational distrust of man. I can stand on the edge of a cliff looking down a thousand feet and want to get closer to take photos, but I just instinctively don’t trust engineers for some reason so I can’t stand being on tall buildings and things like that. No, it’s not rational, and I know that, which is why I still bought tickets for the fucking thing since I’m not going to let my bullshit stop me from enjoying an epic view. The same thing happened a few months ago when Mike and I were at the Astoria Collum in Oregon. It looks awesome in the photos, once you go inside and all you can see is a never-ending spiral staircase, it’s a lot to handle, yet I continued to put one foot in front of the other until I got to the top and was able to enjoy the scenery.
Yes, the High Roller is worth the $30 I think I paid for tickets, especially if you go at night. Topping out at 550 feet, this thing is the second-tallest Ferris wheel in the world which means it’s hard to miss despite it being about a block off the strip. The good news is that the ride is slow and smooth; you really don’t get any kind of “lift-off” sensation in your gut. It lasts about half an hour which is kind of perfect since it lets you really take in all of Vegas and enjoy it, but it’s over before you get bored and need to piss. If you’re a nerd like me, take some time before you go to look at a map and get to know the layout of things so that you know what you’re looking at while you’re there. Would I go back? With other people, yes, it’s worth it, but with my wife, no, we’ve seen it.
We headed back to the hotel and I said goodnight to my wife. We’ve been together for years, she knows I get like this and if I try to go to bed, I’ll lay there restless, even if I take edibles. Sleep can wait, I want to see and experience cool shit. That said, my body was starting to feel the impact of walking 12 miles on 6 hours of sleep. I don’t remember much about the second night aside from the street preachers showing up to condemn the crowd and one of the bands switching from whatever they had been playing to cover “Highway to Hell” to drown out the noise of these unfuckable little creatures.
Sometimes you have to do things you hate for the greater good.
I am not a morning person. I wake up, I take a piss, and I make a cup of coffee, then I go outside and have at least a smoke or two in total silence while my brain tries to boot up. I like my mornings quiet and peaceful. In hindsight, I should have just brought some coffee pods and my own creamer but I didn’t. Instead, I had to get dressed (not cool) and take the elevator to the lobby/24-hour rave so that I could stand in line for 30 fucking minutes at Starbucks. I’m getting angry just typing. Starbucks is garbage, but it’s either garbage or having to go God only knows how far to get coffee. Oh, and don’t forget, I’m getting it for both my wife and me, which means after waiting for overpriced shit, I still had to take the elevator back to drop off her latte. After that, I was finally able to go back down to the rave and out the front door and sit at the shrine in peace.
Saturday was No Doubt.
Again, I know Gwen got weird, and in no way do I agree with her stance on things. In this case, I’m supporting the Art, not the Artist, and more importantly, I’m not shitting all over my wife’s happiness. I know that a lot of my fans are going to gawk at the fact that I went, how could I??? But you’re talking shit while on Facebook or some other platform that’s fucking us over one way or another. My wife doesn’t use social media, and she stopped shopping at Target, so in a sense, she’s ahead of the curve with this. That said, with the way that things are interconnected in this world, unless you’re living off grid as a monk, something you’re doing is fucking someone somewhere else in the world. We can’t ignore it, we have to be aware and go out of our way to minimize it, but Gwen ain’t in the Epstein files, so get off the cross if you want to give me shit about this.
Anyways, she paid a few bucks extra for VIP tickets meaning that we got a gift bag with some merch, but no, we didn’t get to go backstage and party with the band. And yes, part of me wanted to troll her and hold a sign that said something along the lines of “Nobody blames Gavin for cheating!!” but again, I was there for my wife’s happiness.
One thing I didn’t do was LSD.
I’d seen clips of the upcoming show and it looked like the perfect setting but, I was with my wife and she doesn’t get down like that. This is by far one of the smartest things I’ve ever done. Listen, I can handle my drugs; what I can’t handle are roller coasters. I was tall for a kid, and my asshole of a stepfather made me ride/hate em. What does this have to do with eating a few hits of acid before a show?
Clearly, you’ve never been to the Sphere. First off, the seating is steep, and I don’t trust my balance since one tumble could send me falling over the side of the railing. Second, the building is designed to be a completely immersive experience and the visuals literally wrap around your field of vision, putting you into a simulation kind of environment. Oh, and the fucking seats vibrate.
This means that when the show starts with a giant fucking rollercoaster graphic and the seats are shaking, it feels like you’re on a giant fucking rollercoaster. No lie, while everyone else was having a great time, I had to turn my head so that I could see the audience; otherwise I would have ended up puking on the people in the next three rows. Please understand, I’m not complaining; it was the coolest fucking intro to a show I’ve ever seen and let everyone know that they weren’t ready for what they were about to experience.
I will always love and support small venues, but if you’re into a band and they’re playing at The Sphere, go see em there. This show made everything else I’ve ever seen look like a slide show, and I’ve been lucky enough to see the Flaming Lips a few times. How in the fuck these people came up with the idea for this, let alone the skill to pull it off is beyond me. Even though we were high up and had a hard time seeing the band on stage, we didn’t miss a thing since the visuals were more or less a hybrid of pre-recorded graphics overlaid with them performing live in real time.
No lie, it was so good that it would be easy to think that the whole show was pre-recorded and was being lip-synced. Trust me, this wasn’t the case. Gwen is still fit as fuck and just as manic and hyper as ever. She’s still got her pipes, and the audio was pristine to the point that the volume would drop slightly as she was dancing around in real time. Had it been lip-synced, the volume would have been constant. Same thing with some of the ever-so-minor changes that Tom Dumont did with certain guitar parts. What he was playing on the screen is what I was hearing and the dude is still holding it down and solid as ever. Same thing with the rest of the band. Tony Kanal was louder than ever and Adrian Young was just as rabid and charismatic as he was during their heyday in the 90s. They clearly spent time not only rehearsing but really becoming a band again, and you could tell that they were having a blast on stage.
Of course, they played their hits but they also played a few slightly less popular tunes such as “Trapped in a box” and “New” with a fresh energy, and of course, Gwen had to point out that her husband, country singer Blake Sheldon, was in the audience. I don’t really remember anyone really giving a fuck. By far, one of the most ironic parts of the show was when they played “Different People” which is one of my favorite songs from Tragic Kingdom, but given who Gwen has turned into, I had to laugh at the hypocrisy.
Now, maybe it was just me but I felt like the show ended abruptly without much warning and certainly no encore. She told us it was going to be the last song and that was that, a quick bow and “Thank you.” and that was that, the show was over.
Then came the fun of trying to get out of The Sphere with 17,000 other people. If you don’t like crowds, this ain’t the place you want to be since no matter what your exit plan is, you’re going to be waiting a while. No shit, it took over an hour to get from our seats back to the strip. The street was packed and the energy was overwhelming and this meant that I dropped off my wife, got my cameras and went back out.
For some reason, the coffee shop I had been going to was closed so I figured that if I just started walking, I’d hit something. I didn’t, and despite my adventurous nature, I looked up the nearest one on maps and found a spot a few blocks north at the Wynn. On my way in, despite not looking or acting suspicious at all, I was stopped by security because they spotted my pocket knife and got uppity, acting like I was a terrorist or some shit. I was high as fuck and not in the mood for his bullshit so I got uppity back and told him he could hold it while I grabbed a coffee. I guess he had already called for back-up because his boss arrived a few seconds later and looked at him like he was stupid, then gave me directions to the cafe and told me to have a great night because he wasn’t a fucking paranoid idiot. Keep in mind, the knife in question has a 3-inch blade and a purple handle and was in my pocket, only visible by the clip, so it’s not like I was walking around with a Bowie knife on my hip.
That night, I decided to go visit the trump hotel (not casino).
I have a morbid sense of humor and it was right the fuck there, well, sorta, in reality it was nearly a half mile off the strip. Turning off the Strip, you have the back of a mall on the other side of the street and on the other, you have an empty field. Super glamorous right from the start. Granted, it was late, close to 1 AM but I only saw three other people walking to the hotel (not casino). It was a dude in his 50s with who appeared to be his wife and daughter. I wasn’t trying to be obnoxious, but I was filming and you could tell they could hear me and that the wife and daughter were embarrassed to be staying there. You could tell that she was not going to be, as the kids say, posting it to the ‘gram.
Who knows when the next time I’ll be in Vegas, I needed to see how weird it was firsthand. From the outside, it doesn’t even look like a hotel; it’s a tarnished gold rectangle with a red logo that looks more like an office building than a “Luxury resort”. I was expecting shiny gold statues and fountains and shit like that when I walked in but I’m telling you, it was fucking depressing.
It’s dull and lifeless and it was nearly empty when I walked in. The quiet was almost eerie compared to how loud everything else on the strip was, even at that hour and there was really nothing to see. I was there filming for less than a minute and not making any kind of scene since the place was damn near vacant when one of the staff saw me and started to walk towards me. I knew I was about to get kicked out and I just put my hand up and laughed and told them not to bother, that I’d seen all I needed and that the place was fucking pathetic.
I won’t say it was a waste of time since I don’t think I would believe it had I not experienced it directly first hand, but fuck, being there was just draining. That said, if you’re looking for some peace and quiet, you hate yourself and everyone around you, and want to support a predator, this is the place for you. The next time I visit, I’m going to interview some sex workers because I know they all have stories about this place and I’m willing to bet that a few won’t take clients staying there.
Pool day.
We knew we would be tired as fuck after the show and since it was a holiday weekend, we booked a daybed at one of the nicer pools at Caesars because we hate kids and didn’t want to deal with the bullshit. Call me an asshole, when I’m trying to relax, I don’t want to deal with your spawn running around screaming. I’m not saying that your kids are bad or that they shouldn’t be able to use the pool; I’m saying I’m willing to pay extra to not have to deal with them.
As par for the course, something got mixed up in the reservation and they had given away the spot that we had paid for in advance a month prior and tried to act like it was no big deal that we were getting moved. I was as polite as possible, but I made it clear to the clerk that we didn’t have, like, or want to be around kids at all and that we had booked in advance to avoid this. Thankfully, they fixed this by giving us a free upgrade. I’m pretty sure they could tell that between my wife and me, I’m the rational nice one.
Peter fucking Luger…
This spot has no business being this good. I don’t know why, but I knew the name and honestly thought it was just good branding and PR. There are a lot of places that are hyped up by folks who don’t know food, and sadly, they rarely ever live up to the reputation.
We didn’t make a reservation; we were hungry, it was close so we took our chances and got a spot at the bar. Immediately, my senses were on fire. I was in the presence of greatness. It’s hard to put my finger on it; it’s not just the atmosphere or the menu prices, it’s something about the way the staff moves, the speed, the care, the precision.
It was also the smell. Something about that place taps into the primal side, and suddenly I was hungry hungry. We did the steak for two and it was ruined damn near every other steak I will ever eat for the rest of my life. A massive, dry-aged, bone-in porterhouse, seared perfectly and served sizzling on a plate hot enough to brand you.
One bite and all six senses were screaming “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!”. Please keep in mind, I cook for a living, I’ve eaten all over the place, and this was by far one of the most delicious things I’ve ever experienced.
My wife looked at me and just mumbled “I… I… This is what I want, this for my birthday, I want this for my birthday.”. She was in shock too. I simply asked if she wanted to stay at Caesars again or if we should do the Bellagio.
Expensive as fuck? Yes, but it’s worth every penny. I’ve paid just as much to eat at places I forgot about a week later which is why I’m so cynical about spots like this. This place though, this place fucked me up. Two weeks later, my wife still won’t shut up about it, rightfully so, and I think I might have to get a t-shirt.
Monday morning
I made sure to get up early in an attempt to beat the crowd. It didn’t work out but I was still able to sit at the shrine for a bit. As odd as it sounds, being in Vegas somehow pushed me back to my Buddhist roots. While everything around you is in what appears to be complete chaos, bright, loud and fast, you’re able to sit and take it all in. It’s a strange paradox of being both completely inebriated by it while not getting swept away by the current.
All these people, all of their histories, victories and failures. Each one with their hopes and fears and, on the surface it looks random but it’s really a sum total of every choice we’ve ever made, for better or worse. Sitting there, I slipped into a deep meditation. I was just there, present, aware of everything without judgment or labels. I wasn’t thinking about Pete Luger or the flight I had to catch; I was just there. Normally it takes a bit of conscious intention to get into this state, but this just happened, and so I sat and enjoyed the peace of the moment while people rushed by wrestling with their minds.
This is when I saw the Hummingbird.
Quick background, my Old Man was a Monk, Hummingbirds were a big deal to him and now me. There really ain’t much if any food there for em, at least on the strip, and I didn’t expect to see one at all, yet sitting there, I heard the call and was able to get my camera out just in time to get a few photos of it feeding. Maybe it was a coincidence but I stopped believing in those years ago. I have no doubt that it was my Old Man reminding me that he was still there, keeping tabs on me and making sure I was still on the path. He’s been on the other side for 11 years and I still miss the motherfucker every day.
You can smoke in the airport.
I know, I know, it’s bad. But I am trying to quit, and it’s my last real vice. Not to mention my well-documented hatred of flying. The point is that normally I check in my bags, chain smoke 3 and then start the adventure through security and then I’m either rushing to the gate, or I have two hours to sit and stress out. Then I have to deal with the actual flight, landing and getting my bags and being able to go outside and smoke. Again, I hate flying as much as I love Pete Luger.
The point is, Vegas doesn’t give a fuck about you or your health and they have a few smoking lounges in the airport. Of course, they have slot machines. Since I had two hours before my flight, I got a cup of coffee and went to enjoy a cigarette. I was bored yet too tired to write or edit photos, so I decided to throw $20 into one of the machines. I pulled the lever, the screen spun around, made noise and flashed lights.
Meanwhile, I was waiting for the addiction neurons in my fucked up little brain to start firing. Nothing… I pulled the lever, lights, music, nothing. I did it again, hoping for some kind of endorphin kick. Nothing. I lost a grand total of $12 gambling, which doesn’t sound like much but when you think about all the other people who don’t gamble losing $10 each, it adds up, and the house always wins, that’s the point. That’s why Vegas can’t die.
People want to break free, we all crave a bit of debauchery from time to time and Vegas has been smart enough to diversify over the years so that no matter who you are or what you’re into, it has a way to satisfy you with something so massive and excessive that you can’t ignore it or find it anywhere else. It finds a way to tempt even the most pious man and turn them into an all-out hedonist.
The Rat Pack checked out long ago and while the past is still celebrated, times have changed and the city is always looking for a way to do things bigger, louder, faster and weirder than anywhere else. It’s unforgettable and over the top by design and that’s why it’s there, to satisfy a part of the human condition that craves excess. As long as humans have desires, Vegas will be there to satisfy.
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PS, I went back three weeks later and made a film, that will coming soon….