It's BBQ Season. Be Careful Out There.
You. Yes, you. You are a Las Vegas expert. Your mere presence here confirms it. You've sought out this community for news and information, but also for the camaraderie of like minded individuals who care as passionately about our beloved Las Vegas as you do. You participate in the discussions here, both in the comments section, and on The Board, where your thoughts and opinions are appreciated by your brethren. You are safe here. You are appreciated here. You are loved here. But a word of warning: The real world is not so kind.
It's barbecue season. Someday soon, perhaps this weekend, you will find yourself at a backyard gathering, in a conversation circle, surrounded by neighbors, family, and/or co-workers. Tread lightly. These are The Others. They are not like us. During a lull in a banal conversation, someone will turn to you and say, "Hey, you go to Las Vegas a lot, don't you? What is a good mid-range place to stay?" Your eyes will brighten. A smile will form on your face. And you will begin speaking. You'll be surprised by how the words seem to flow from your mouth before conscious thoughts are even formed in your head. Tropicana, you'll note, is a historic property that was fairly recently renovated. It has a great pool, you'll say, and you'll mention its fantastic location at the Four Corners with easy walking access to New York New York, MGM, and Excalibur. But you'll note that its dining options are limited. You'll backtrack, mentioning the tram at Excalibur that runs to Luxor and Mandalay Bay. You'll be on a roll, your ebullience outwardly visible.
By the time you mention Monte Carlo, with its mid-Strip location and reasonably priced brew pub, your cousin will be staring at you. He will raise an eyebrow when you transition to Bally's. Before you can even mention its internal walkway to Paris, your neighbor Joanie will snicker. You'll barely notice, having already segued into a monologue on The Linq resort's brief flirtation with the name The Quad. It will be Kenny, who sits in the cubicle across from you at work, who will break your mania. "Boy, you really do like Las Vegas, don't you?" he will say. And The Others will laugh. They will callously pivot the conversation to 3rd grade Tee Ball tournaments, or the Game of Thrones season finale, or some other goddamned thing that is not Las Vegas related, and you will be left standing there, crestfallen, cold and alone.
And you will know what you must do. You will head straight to the picnic table buffet, where you will grab a slab of ribs, and smear it across your cheeks, leaving streaks of K.C. Masterpiece like so much war paint. You will kick over the table, sending the potato salad careening into the cornhole set. You will push the barbecue grill into the swimming pool. Standing atop the diving board, you will declare, "I am the God of Las Vegas, imbued with the power of a million neon lights, and I am not to be mocked!" Removing your clothes, you will dive into the pool, emerge from the water, and stomp across the lawn, pausing long enough to snatch Joanie's Bud Light Lime from her hand. You will chug it down in front of her, and toss the empty bottle at the vinyl-sided house. "One more thing!" you'll say before departing. "Flamingo is ok, but make sure to get a GO room."
Godspeed, brothers and sisters.
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