Ode to Las Vegas—Why Can't I Quit You?

Plus: The Golden Bachelor

Happy Friday, friends! This is your weekly reminder to set your timer for a writing sprint or two and get to work (after you finish reading this newsletter). You’ll feel better, I promise.

Anniversary trip to Vegas, many moons ago.

By the time this publishes, I’ll be in Las Vegas. My husband is speaking at a conference this weekend, and I came along for the ride. To celebrate, I thought I’d stray from my usual Friday content to talk about this city I love to hate. Or is it hate to love?

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been to Vegas—the first time was just after I’d graduated from college and my roommates and I decided to make a trip on the spur of the moment. We all piled into my friend’s boyfriend’s blue Ford pickup and hit the road—in those days, I could ride for hours in the back of a truck with no complaints. I think we might’ve brought blankets and pillows. Who knows? We had no plans (and no money) to rent a hotel for the night, so our intent was to stay for a few hours and then drive back. I have no memory of what we did or where we went, but eventually, we made it home.

In my 20s, a group of girlfriends and I came every summer. Five or six of us would split the cost of one hotel room, and we’d sleep until noon, spend the rest of the day at the pool, and then gamble into the wee hours. In those days, we’d play fifty-cent blackjack at Slot’s o’ Fun for hours and hardly spend more than twenty bucks.

Later, I began coming with my husband. We had more disposable income then, and we’d usually come with other couples. We’d reserve tables at restaurants like Le Cirque and Aqua and order from their prix fixe tasting menus. For a few years, Neversoft, my husband’s company, held their annual Christmas party in Vegas. Other times, we treated relatives visiting from England to fancy dinners, Cirque du Soleil shows, and helicopter tours of the Grand Canyon. It's stuff I can’t imagine spending money on now, both because it’s excessive and we’ve had to tighten our belts quite a bit in recent years.

As I’m writing this, I’m remembering so many trips. At least two bachelorette parties. Family reunions. Once, we went to a NASCAR race, which was kind of fun, but only because we hung out with my brother and sister-in-law and played slots with my grandma. On a different trip, I literally ran into Dennis Rodman at a strip club as I was exiting the restroom. On yet another, I sat next to Josh Duhamel at a slot machine while we waited for Jerry Seinfeld’s show to start. I’ve walked the strip so many times seeing this or that casino and thinking it was only a block away, only to find it was actually an hour-long walk.

The family that gambles together stays together.

Some people go to Vegas for the entertainment, but I come from a family of gamblers—some of my earliest and best memories were hearing quarters clink on my grandma’s kitchen table as the grown-ups played poker. I sort of grew up in casinos. My dad was a parking lot attendant and later, a limo driver for Sahara Tahoe (which no longer exists). He’d occasionally get comped for shows (Tony Orlando and Dawn was a highlight), and I remember my parents ushering me through the casino floor. I was afraid to look at the slot machines because children weren’t allowed.

The funny thing is, I can’t say I like Las Vegas all that much. It’s the sort of place you’re excited to get to but less than twenty-four hours in, you’re desperate to get the hell out. Two days is a long stay.

But you know what? I’ll be in town for four days on this trip, and I can’t wait. I’ll gamble, and I’ll eat, and I’ll drink, and by day two I’ll be ready to go.

What can I say? It’s Vegas, baby.

I had no plans to watch ABC’s latest reincarnation of “The Bachelor,” re-named “The Golden Bachelor” because it features a 72-year-old widower. I haven’t seen an episode of the show since the mid-2000s, so I figured why start again now? This isn’t to say I don’t like reality dating shows—I’ve seen every episode of “Love is Blind” and others I can’t remember the names of because what’s the point? But my best friend mentioned she’d watched a few episodes and enjoyed them so I decided to check it out.

The first thing I noticed about “The Golden Bachelor” is that there’s a lot of crying. And it’s not because the women are upset about being rejected, although there is some of that. In this case, it’s often the bachelor himself who cries. He lost his wife of forty-three years unexpectedly six years ago, and the subjects of lasting love, loss, and profound grief come up in every episode. The women he’s dating have also suffered huge losses—many of them are widows navigating the new realities of dating as seniors.

Let’s put aside the fact that this is a highly-produced and at least partially scripted television show for a moment. It’s rare to see such honest displays of emotion, and it’s even rarer to see older people featured this way. But these are people who have lived life. They’ve raised children, they’ve got grandchildren, they’ve been through divorces, they’ve lost spouses, and they’ve survived serious illnesses. They wear hearing aids, have had knee replacements, and some probably have pacemakers, among other physical challenges. Their perspectives are, for the most part, much more complicated and, sometimes, more nuanced than their younger counterparts.

I’m now closer in age to the Golden Bachelor and his dates than I am to the younger bachelors/bachelorettes. There’s a part of me that feels like I’m on the cusp of some of these huge life changes—serious illness, the death of loved ones, and eventually, my own death. And while I don’t obsess over any of it—not often, anyway—I understand that nobody escapes this life unscathed. As silly and problematic as the concept of The Bachelor/Bachelorette is, “The Golden Bachelor” is a reminder that life is a journey and it’s interesting to finally see people closer to the end of theirs than to the beginning.

Friday Recommendations

Over the weekend, we watched “Polite Society” on Amazon Prime. It’s about two sisters, Ria and Lena Khan, who are very close—Ria dreams of being a stunt woman and Lena is a failed artist who’s recently quit art school. When Lena becomes engaged, Ria is convinced she must save her sister from her impending marriage and attempts to pull off an ambitious wedding heist so that Lena can return to her true calling—being an artist.

“The Pigeon Tunnel,” a documentary by Errol Morris (Apple TV), is an interesting conversation with John le Carré about his life and books. As someone who hasn’t read le Carré (and isn’t particularly into spy novels) I found the discussion about his work fascinating, but come to find out, there are many more layers to the story and the man.

Enjoy your weekend!

Holly xx