I don’t really understand the pull of Las Vegas. I know plenty of people who have gone and loved it, and plenty of people who’d love to take a vacation there. I suppose it might seem exciting to some, a place of fantasy, where “what happens there stays there,” full of lights and casinos and performers and imitation world sites. A place where nothing is over the top, where there is excess on top of excess.
Here’s the thing: I hate excess. I cringe at the electricity being used, the water being sucked from the Colorado River into this city in the desert. I marvel at the amount of money passing hands, considering how much more good it could do if given to places of need rather than places of greed. Las Vegas is all about more, more, more, and I strive for less and less, for simple over splashy.
So, sorry Vegas. Dude and I won’t be getting married in one of your chapels of love. I won’t be watching slots spin and hoping for a quick payoff of all my student loans. I won’t be rubbing elbows with 101 Elvis impersonators. And I’m totally fine with that.
I went to Vegas on a work trip. I did not gamble. I did not see a show. I ate at a lovely restaurant. One night, I was awoken by a naked man locked out of his bedroom next to mine. Fun times. Nope.