Evaluating Vegas

When it was my wife and I, it seemed nicer.

In 1989, I graduated college, had no idea what I was going to do after, and moved back home with my mother. For three months, I languished. I researched. I tried to figure out who I was going to be in the world. After three months, I threw my hands up, packed my Bronco II with everything I owned, and drove north.

I had no destination in mind. Just drive north, young man. I drove to St. Louis. Meandered around. Two days later, I'd had enough and continued on. When I landed in Chicago, I knew I was home. I lived in the Bronco for four months while my teaching credentials were registered.

I stayed in Chicago for thirty years.

Three years ago, my wife and I moved to Las Vegas. Again, no clue what was in store. No jobs. Just enough money to get started. A few interviews that lead to nothing. A land of unlimited possibilities.

At the time, I wrote

"...for right now, Las Vegas stinks… of opportunity, potential, possibilities undreamt of, and a genuine sense of something different for which to look forward."

For the past three years, the wife and I would sit in the sun on our back porch and marvel at how much we loved living here. Even during a pandemic, it was lovely and sunny and there were casinos and restaurants. I tried to tap into the incredibly tiny arts and lit scene but was stonewalled a bit. "Never mind," I thought. "I'll get in there eventually." And I endeavored to make the money necessary to live.

Today, three years later, Vegas just kind of stinks. Or, rather, it took something from me in its freewheeling, anything goes attitude. In its temptations to circle that drain of desperation. It took my marriage and now I'm faced with this place of neon and desert alone.

Like 1989, I'm on my own and trying to figure what's next. Like 1989, I'm faced with a nearly unlimited set of possibilities. I can work anywhere. I can live anywhere.

In those terms, I'm looking at Vegas with a more critical eye. I'm not going to make a snap decision because I'm right here in this life situation because I made a snap decision. So thoughtfully, critically, pragmatically, I evaluate the future. Further, I'm gazing out across the desert horizon and looking to see what my next year or so will look like.

So, Vegas.

The plusses are solid. No questions about them. I feel like I was born to live in the desert. I love the weather, the sense of freedom, the old school Western vibe. The state of Nevada is a bit less restrictive in terms of taxes—unlike California, the place is quite literally the wild West.

In terms specific to Vegas, I'm a big fan of the art scene in Downtown LV. I haven't given that area much attention, though, and in the next few months, I'm going to see more clearly what that community feels like. I have several solid excuses for not going out and sampling this area as much as I could—working swing shift at a casino for the first year and a half I've been here and COVID so the 90-day crash course is not exactly fair.

My friend in Chicago tells me that this scene needs someone like me and I suspect he means it needs someone like I was in the 90's when I was more social and had a ton more energy. We'll see. It is, however, a plus. Wide open, tiny but growing, opportunities are here if I want to do some heavy lifting.

I like to tell a story about my friend and I one summer. We were both in Fourth Grade, we both lived in a trailer park in Phoenix, AZ, and we both were latchkey kids. One summer day, he and I noticed that everyone on our block had a lemonade stand. Little capitalists all, these kids knew how hot it was and despite a lack of much street traffic, had set up tables and pitchers of golden, tangy liquid and were looking to capitalize on man's basic thirst and good will to help a coupla industrious children out.

Tom wanted to do it, too. I convinced him in order for us to stand out from the crowd, we needed to have a pancake stand instead. It was different and who doesn't love pancakes? My mom made us around a dozen, gave us butter and syrup, his mom gave us plates and forks, and we were in bidness. Except no one wanted pancakes in 102˚ heat. So Tom and I ate them over the course of the day and called a delicious failure.

Every artistic business venture in my 56 years has been just another version of that pancake stand—some successful, others total losses. The smart money is finding my niche in the tiny Vegas art scene and fitting in. If I stick around, I know better will have to create my own pancake stand.

The minuses to Vegas are encapsulated by the casino culture. I worked as an Operations Manager of an Off Strip casino when we moved here and got a genuine trial by fire in the culture of gambling, boozing, and prostitution. Suffice it to say, it wasn't as romantic as Ocean's 11.

On top of that mild distaste for the culture of self indulgence, intentional manipulation, and a lack of personal self reflection in the need to hype your brand at all times to get a toehold in whatever section of the Vegas industry, I selfishly blame Vegas for the unanticipated (but completely foreseeable) demolition of my marriage. Yes. I know how stupid that is. It is human nature to want something or someone to blame when shit goes sideways and I've chosen to blame a city.

I've promised myself not to make a snap decision on this. My personal situation is at the hands of a snap decision made years ago (getting engaged on a third date to someone you only met two weeks earlier sounds romantic but is mostly just reckless) thus I'll take the next few months and assess.

The possibilities include:

Living in my Prius and traveling around the country, couch surfing, and living that David Carridine life from King Fu and saving people from more ruthless thugs. I could put my stuff in storage and just jam the country.

Moving back home to Kansas and helping my mother take care of my slowly failing father. The folks have a spare room, my sister has a basement. Wichita would be a way station. If involving myself in a supercool arts community, Kansas is not really top of list.

Finding a city in the US that has a more robust arts community like Denver, Austin, or Toronto. Maybe a smaller place like Marfa, TX.

If I end up getting some well paying in-office writing gig in Vegas, that solves the issue for at least a year but I really like the freedom of remote work.

I haven't given Las Vegas the opportunity at least not the part I'm most interested in. When we landed, I jumped into casino management cuz bills and then COVID descended upon us all. I haven't actually been out in those spaces so for the next few months, I'm going to get out of my cave and see what there is for me.