In town filming the latest Bourne movie, Matt Damon and his bros rolled deep into the private dining room at the recently opened celebrity hot spot Mr Chow.

The hip-hop icon celebrated his 29th birthday in Las Vegas.

Much like your love of the Terminator franchise, and the blockbuster, sponsored-by-Beelzebub partnership between Britney Spears and Iggy Azalea, and the Chipwich off the Interstate 15/Tropicana exit, it seems that nothing is going to survive this brutal summer.

Las Vegas found itself this week at the intersection of music and tragedy in a way that wasn’t at all unexpected—yet, when it happened, you still kind of weren’t prepared for it. Nothing can prepare you for it, really, no matter how much logic tells you that it’s inevitable.

It was, in the end, inevitable. Months of hype finally gave way to something you could’ve predicted from an isolation chamber on the surface of Mars.

How often does Las Vegas get to be the center of the sports world? When there’s a big fight, sure. And on May 2, we’ll get the crown for a news cycle with the Floyd Mayweather-Manny Pacquiao dance-off (which comes just hours after the Kentucky Derby).

It’s Easter week, a time to celebrate rebirth; to shake off the lingering sloth of winter and embrace spring; to eat way too much ham. But while everyone gets all Cadbury and PAAS for Sunday, no one ever thinks about all the time JC’s 12 pals had to kill waiting for him to start the show.

From Bieber’s 21st birthday bash to a Palin engagement, last week was hardly one of Vegas’ finest

So Ronda Rousey took home $130,000 for demolishing Cat Zingano at UFC 184. Given the fight lasted 14 seconds, that means Rousey’s hourly rate is just north of $33.4 million (and that doesn’t even count her pay-per-view cut)

In terms of Las Vegas landmarks, we seem to be at a crossroads. And not, uh, Paradise Road and Convention Center Drive, where the actual Landmark used to be.

Sure, there were Christmas decorations in the stores two weeks before Halloween. And sure, there were Valentine’s decorations in the stores the day after Christmas. So it’s easy to see how people can get confused by the seasons. But karma has a way of settling those accounts, because it’s not so much love that’s in the air as it’s been a Shakespearian week of unrequited, unfulfilled romance.

It’s so tempting to assume that when the calendar flips over, the slate is wiped clean; that 2015 will be a distinct and novel experience of place-in-time, and not, say, another beige plod around the outer edge of a carousel parked inside the world’s fluorescent-lightin’est, volume-cranked-up-to-fourin’est, Counting Crowsin’est Restoration Hardware.

If Google can scoop up YouTube and Facebook can gobble Instagram, then what the hell: Let’s get some good, old-fashioned consolidation going on in the nightclub game.

Until the Stanley Cup gets contested on the Strip (congratulations to the 2038 South Toronto LightningPanthers, truly the best hoverskate team in the league), we’ve got two major sports championships to choose from in town: the National Finals Rodeo and the World Series of Poker.

Quick—think back and count how many Mario and Luigi costumes you saw on Halloween night. Somewhere around 15 or 20, right? Then you were at a relatively small house party.