If you’re intrigued, then you can read the full LAS VEGAS WEEKLY story by clicking HERE. And here’s the introduction…
If you watched sitcom television in the 1980s, you probably remember that on Thanksgiving you’re supposed to go around the dinner table and say what you’re thankful for. You probably also remember that, ultimately, the only acceptable thing for which you can be thankful is “family.”
Yet, saying you’re “thankful for family” is kind of like saying you enjoy eating pizza or that you’re attracted to Megan Fox—it goes without saying. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with eating pizza or desiring Megan Fox in moderation. But if you spend all your time eating pizza in fantasyland, you’ll never make it to the new Hawaiian restaurant down the street, which is particularly unfortunate for you, seeing as the cute server who works there just broke up with her boyfriend.
This analogy carries over. When you say you’re “thankful for family” every Thanksgiving, your gratitude muscle atrophies. So earlier this week I ventured out into this uncertain city to find a new person, a new place and a new thing for which I could be thankful.