Sunday, 8:34pm, enjoying a nightcap with a friend outdoors during an unseasonably warm California evening. They say you’re not supposed to check your phone in social settings because, you know, you might receive an email that says…
Just finished a trip to Wynn this weekend and took some photos of the new room renovations… Would love to share them.
Instantly, my company that evening was worthless.
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$1352. That was the nightly rate for a two-bedroom, 3000 square foot Skyloft at MGM Grand… for a weekend… my birthday weekend. Taxes, fees, everything. You usually can’t score that on weekdays, weekends hover closer to $2500, and even recessionary rates of ten years ago never got this good. And so, some ten months prior to my arrival, I kindly let MGM withdraw the first night’s deposit and locked something in.
But I also knew it wouldn’t be that easy…
Outside of Vegas, I try to get the most bang for my buck. California casino? Where I go is based on the deals I find rummaging through my inbox. Reno, Laughlin? If the whole thing’s not comped, forget it. Even during my one trip to Macau, the value proposition was at the top of my list.
But in Vegas, something special overcomes me. The moment I pull up to Mirage, or Bellagio, or Wynn, I don’t give a flying fuck about my wallet, bank account, or assets; for the next couple days, I’m living a goddamn fantasy. No other place in the world inspires careless frivolity and financial irresponsibility the way Vegas does.
“Hold my beer.”
-Encore Boston Harbor
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