When I accepted a job at the Weekly almost a year ago, I had never been to Las Vegas even once in my life, and I’d also never gambled at a casino.
The brash decision to shed my Midwestern roots for the blind allure of desert living was undoubtedly informed by the Sin City mythos I’d consumed as a fan of popular media like Fallout: New Vegas and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but the exciting, off-the-cuff adventures that fueled my perceptions are just one of several truths I’ve discovered as a local.
To avoid burying the lede, I’ll say that the Strip is about as diverse and consumerist as I anticipated—though that doesn’t mean I’m not still frequently struck by the sheer absurdism and grandiosity of it all. Are we just pretending this is normal?
Beyond that, the little surprises—like the fact that I can see mountains from my apartment windows and learning that highways can inexplicably just end—have somehow left an even stronger impression.
Winters here are just nice fall days back in Chicago, whereas the dastardly summer heat is more or less as insufferable as a zero-degree windchill. Cacti can grow berries. My dog and I kind of miss seeing squirrels. And after a handful of tragic slot spins and overly ambitious roulette bets, gambling already seems pretty dumb.
With that said, I also have Lake Mead—or what’s left of it—virtually in my backyard, and I quite enjoy taking a trip to Boulder City to remind myself that the fast-paced life of the Valley isn’t inescapable.
Back in town, I’ve rubbed elbows with anyone from the bougiest of casino execs to Bryce Harper’s high school coach, sly political aspirants, Maya Angelou’s former tour manager, tenacious Arts District pioneers, a remarkable woman who defies her own Alzheimer’s diagnosis through poetry and many more.
In 2026, I’m looking forward to furthering a newfound kinship with pockets of the Valley’s outsized Filipino and “Ninth Island” communities, whom I’ve found to be unashamedly authentic and amicable across the board. I’m also intent on delving further into the intersection of classic Vegas iconography and the sleek realities that mark its future.
I still have plenty of unanswered questions. How long can Circus Circus continue to hold out as the lone surviving gritty, unapologetic caricature of everything I thought this place would be? Where are you guys hiding all the pierogies? And will the Raiders learn how to tank with grace next season?
