Las Vegas is a Rorschach test, a depiction of the inner self turned outward by forces great, gaudy, and frankly ridiculous. It is a spectacle, a sham, a show, and a topic upon which no one is opinionless. Vegas divides and conquers, it captivates and disgusts, compels and repels us with equal and opposite centrifugal force. The way you feel about Vegas right now, in your mind’s eye, is a window into your very soul.

I spent my entire adult life ignoring Vegas, perhaps even lightly hating Vegas, until a couple of years ago when my older brothers—lifelong Deadheads and jam-band enthusiasts—induced me to attend a weekend of noodle dancing at the Sphere. To my own shock and delight, I had a good time—no, a great time, if I’m honest, between the food and the music and the fun and the almighty brain-scrambling out-of-body nonsense bacchanalia of the place itself. Now I keep going back for events, on vacation, for work, to play. Invite me to Vegas, and I’ll say yes.…