Thanksgiving in Vegas
Todd Swank's Diary Entry for December 1, 2024
This year, Thanksgiving took a detour from turkey to slot machines. Avery ditched us for Abby’s family in Atlanta, so Miss Sheri, Luke, and I were left to fend for ourselves. Luke suggested Vegas, and honestly, it took me less than a second to say, “Done!” We stayed at Planet Hollywood because we got a good deal and it’s right in the heart of the Strip. It was a good call because, let’s be real, where else can you burn off Thanksgiving calories walking through a casino?
Before our trip, I read about the $20 trick—you know, where you slip a folded bill between your ID and credit card when checking in and ask for an upgrade like you’re James Bond ordering a martini. I tried it and asked for a view of the Bellagio fountains. The guy smiled, nodded, and handed me keys to a top-floor room with the view I wanted.
Success, right? Well, sort of. The view was incredible, but the windows looked like they hadn’t been cleaned since the Hoover Dam was built. I couldn’t help but wonder: Should I have asked for more? A suite? A butler? A window squeegee? Note to self: next time, aim higher.
The casinos really go all out for the holidays, and the Bellagio’s display was stunning—massive trees, gingerbread houses, and enough twinkling lights to guide Santa in a blackout. Of course, the beauty was slightly overshadowed by the crowd, which felt more like a Black Friday sale at Walmart. But hey, nothing says holiday cheer like elbowing your way through a sea of selfie sticks!
The Wicked Spoon at the Cosmopolitan is a buffet that flips the script on your standard Vegas chow line. Known for its elevated dishes served in individual portions, it’s like fine dining met all-you-can-eat gluttony and said, “Let’s party.” When Luke picked it for Thanksgiving, we showed up at 11 a.m. expecting chaos. But after a quick chat with the hostess—whether it was my charm or my funny arms doing the heavy lifting—she whisked us into the VIP line.
Inside, the spread was ridiculous. Sure, they had turkey, but also crab legs, sushi, prime rib, and desserts so fancy they almost felt out of place next to my second (okay, third) helping. By the end, we were so stuffed it felt more like a food coma than a holiday celebration. Not exactly your classic Thanksgiving, but skipping the line and eating like royalty? That’s a tradition I could get used to.
We dined like royalty for every meal, but none of us had ever been to The Cheesecake Factory, so we decided to give it a try. We were thoroughly impressed—until Krazy Kory called. When I told him where we were eating, he laughed and said, “Don’t you have one of those in Minneapolis?” I said, “Yeah, but we’ve never been.”
Note to self: Don’t answer Kory’s calls during meal time.
Exploring the Vegas Strip is like navigating a giant maze of sights, sounds, and endless walking. What seems like “just across the street” somehow turns into a trek worthy of a medal. Good thing we enjoy each other’s company, or someone might have gotten left behind at the Bellagio fountains.
In our three days in Vegas, we clocked over seven miles a day on foot. Between navigating the endless attractions and weaving through sprawling casinos, it felt like we were training for a marathon—with the finish line rewarding us with the chance to hand our money to a slot machine.
Caesars Palace is pure iconic Vegas—an empire of excess that’s been dazzling the Strip since 1966. With its grand Roman architecture, sprawling Forum Shops, and fountains that practically beg for a gladiator duel, it’s no wonder it’s one of the most legendary casinos in the world. I’ve always thought about rocking a toga here, but let’s face it—I’d look less like Caesar and more like a guy who just got booted from a fraternity party for being too old.
The sportsbook was a thrilling new chapter in my and Luke’s sports obsession—parlays, DraftKings, and fantasy football are usually our thing, but this was a whole different level. The bonus? Live NFL games during Thanksgiving and Black Friday to keep us glued to those massive screens. We left Vegas with a dream: $20 bets on the Vikings to win the Super Bowl. If we really believed they’d pull it off, you’d think we’d bet more. But hey, miracles happen... just not usually to Vikings fans.
Vegas has plenty of highs, and this stoned dog is clearly one of them. Not sure what its purpose was, but I felt a special connection with him—probably because we both looked out of place but totally fine with it.
We spent an afternoon at AREA15, a must-visit for anyone looking to escape the ordinary and embrace the extraordinary. It’s like stepping into a sci-fi fever dream—a playground of immersive art and mind-bending experiences. We wandered through Omega Mart, where grocery shopping feels like an episode of "The Twilight Zone," and then ventured into Wink World, a psychedelic funhouse of infinity mirror rooms that felt like falling into a kaleidoscope. By the end, I couldn’t tell if I needed a nap, a therapist, or another ticket.
The LIFTOFF ride at AREA15 was an experience that blurred the line between thrill and terror. Seated around a bar and strapped in tight, we were slowly hoisted over 100 feet into the air. The panoramic views of the Las Vegas skyline were stunning, but dangling high above the ground had my anxiety working overtime. I focused on snapping pictures of the Strip to keep my mind off the fact that my feet were basically swinging in the breeze. It’s the kind of experience where you’re torn between awe and asking yourself, “Why did I think this was a good idea?”
We saw Michael Jackson ONE at Mandalay Bay because after loving Mystère last time, we knew Cirque du Soleil wouldn’t let us down. This show is a fusion of MJ’s greatest hits, gravity-defying stunts, and enough special effects to make you feel like you’re in a music video on another planet. It’s an immersive celebration of the King of Pop—complete with holograms, insane choreography, and performers so talented they make you question why you ever quit dance class. Highly recommended, even if your moonwalk still looks like you're trying to scoot across a sticky floor.
I was absolutely loving the show and, despite the strict “no photos” rule, I decided to be a stealthy rebel. I snapped this shot, thinking I was as slick as a moonwalk. Moments later, an usher materialized out of nowhere, hit me with a firm “Sir, please stop taking pictures,” and vanished just as quickly. My family’s faces turned redder than MJ’s Thriller jacket, while I offered a sheepish thumbs-up and promised to behave. In my defense, I just wanted a keepsake—because nothing screams “cherished memory” like getting publicly busted mid-performance.
The Sphere was a must-see on our trip, and it absolutely delivered. We caught Postcards from the Edge and were completely floored by the insane visuals on the massive wraparound screen—it’s like the future of movies landed in Vegas just to flex. The only downside? Why do these films always feel the need to remind us how terrible humanity is? I get it, we’ve got our flaws, but maybe toss us a little hope instead of a guilt trip. The experience itself was so immersive, it didn’t even cross my mind to miss the popcorn.
