When they came for the old Fremont Street motels, I said, “Well, they were old and kind of ratty, anyway.” When they began opening up bars that served Strip-priced cocktails, I said, “I guess it’s nice to have options.” When they replaced the old motels with shipping containers topped with Burning Man art, I said, “Um, OK.” But when everybody started using the same buzzwords, wearing the same clothes and stressing the need for “radical inclusion,” I began to feel uneasy. By then, dessert was removed from the Gold Spike menu (“He doesn’t believe in dessert,” a waiter told me), and we were asked to write our hopes and aspirations on cards which would then be set afire inside a giant, cube-shaped effigy. Briefly, I considered rallying against the idea of large metal icons anchoring our public spaces and of cleansing our dreams with fire … but then I thought, gee, I’d rather catch up with my accumulation of TED talks via my Google Glass, and maybe have an artisanal doughnut. Do we believe in doughnuts?
Best of the City 2017
Our eighth annual celebration of all things Las Vegas, from the best casino comebacks to irresistible pot products