I’m typing this blog entry from my new apartment. It’s not on the Strip, but it’s close. Dangerously close. Two nights ago I drove from my parking garage to that of the Venetian—in about 100 seconds. I was in the poker room after another 100. Like I said, it’s dangerous.
I’ve actually got some experience living among tourists. When I lived in Chicago, my apartment was right on Michigan Avenue. Which is similar to Las Vegas Boulevard … but with more tourists. Felt that way, at least. I was across the street from Millennium Park and the Art Institute of America, two of the busiest tourist destinations in the country. So every time I left my apartment—every time I wanted a cup of coffee or burrito—I’d have to fight my way through a never-ending sea of tourists.
And now I’m back in the same boat.
But like I said, living by the Strip is a blessing and a curse. Here’s what I’ve observed so far:
-I hang out on the Strip a lot. Still. Unlike most locals, I haven’t yet grown tired of the "the scene." It’s been four years, and I’m starting to worry I’ll never get tired of it. And, obviously, when you spend so many nights on the Strip, it’s great to be able to get there so quickly.
-The traffic. When there’s heavy traffic on the Strip, there’s heavy traffic in front of my apartment complex. But this shouldn’t be too much of a problem … as long as I don’t leave my apartment on holidays or weekends. Or during rush hour.
-The lack of proximity to everything that isn’t the Strip. I’m far from Trader Joe’s, from the gym and from all the ethnic restaurants I’ve grown to love.
-Before, when my friends visited Vegas, they wanted me to pick them up from the airport. Now, they’re going to want to stay with me, too. And seeing as though I’ve got an extra bedroom, I probably can’t say no.