Lost Vegas

Everybody thinks of Las Vegas as the crime scene of the "lost weekend."

Don't they?

Because whatever happens there...

...happens in movies like The Hangover.

I've been to Vegas a handful of times, but I've never had a crazy time there. I've shivered in bed with the flu. I've flirted with the sommelier of a fancy restaurant. I've dipped naked in a clothing-optional spa hot tub. I've watched myself sleep in a mirrored ceiling.

But I've pretty much remembered everything and regretted nothing.

In a land of intentional regrets, I guess I just don't belong.

I don't gamble.

I don't like comedy shows.

I don't walk around with a giant souvenir cup slung around my neck.

But I love the desert. I love hotels. I love bright flashing lights and sitting by the pool under the bright hot sun.

So I was happy to lure my two girlfriends from New York City to the Land of the Lost - to find myself again through the eyes of those who know and love me best, and to make some new memories that will last me through the lonely days in LA.

And I'll be happy to return to Las Vegas, and, like Los Angeles and San Diego, to use its metropolitan center as a jumping off point to other far-flung places like Death Valley, Boulder City, the Grand Canyon...

And I won't apologize for remembering every single moment.

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