
So, I went to Vegas with my wife and some friends to see the Backstreet Boys at the Sphere.
It’s probably the third or fourth time I’ve seen them. Don’t judge. Not-so-guilty pleasure. They’ve still got it — and the Sphere? It exceeded every expectation I had. And I had a lot of them.
The video was all-consuming. Immersive doesn’t even begin to cover it. The Boys were basically just a cog in the machine — but in the best way. It was impossible not to lose yourself in the visuals. Thoughtful. Purposeful. Stunning. And listen — I worked in animation and VFX for 30 years. My eye is trained. Whether this was created by AI, humans or some terrifying hybrid of the two, whoever pulled it off? You were the real stars of the show. Kudos.
As for the music — spot on. Yeah, I’m sure there were backing tracks. Maybe? But who gives a shit? This isn’t the opera. It’s a 90s boyband circus spectacle. Brian’s voice has been struggling for years now. It’s raspy — he sounds a little like Walter Matthau at this point. But he’s still there. Still singing. Still part of the group. And honestly? That’s what makes it beautiful. It takes guts to show up when your instrument betrays you. And the fans? They showed up with him — singing every word. Probably the only backing tracks he needed.
Sobriety and the Strip Don’t Mix — Or Do They?
So what does any of this have to do with sobriety?
Everything.
I’m sober. In fucking Vegas. And I’m leaving Vegas sober. That would have been impossible if I were still drinking.
Being sober at a show like this is a gift. The sound. The light. The emotion. The company of my wife and my friends — felt in real time, unfiltered and unblurred. Not dulled by the slow descent into blackout. Not followed by that lovely game of “how did I spend $400 on merch I’ll never wear?”
My friend asked me if being in Vegas would tempt me. The drinking. The smoking. The gambling. My answer was quick: No. And the reason is simple — I don’t miss it.
I was never much of a gambler. It made me nervous. I’ve always been more into saving and investing than puking my money away. My wife and I usually take $20 each, blow it on the slots in seven minutes, then find dessert and go to bed — life in the fast lane.
As for the drinking? I just play the tape forward. I know where it leads. One is too many and a thousand is never enough. But honestly, my brain doesn’t even go there anymore. I came for the music. The experience. The time away with the people I love. If I’m drunk, it all goes to shit. Why bother?
The Venetian Iced Coffee Crawl
While my wife went hotel-hopping with friends, I decided to drink — but not alcohol. I took myself on a tour of the Venetian, armed with iced coffee. Three of them, to be exact.
I love iced coffee. Do I drink it like I used to drink booze? Maybe a little. But here’s the difference: I’m doing something that makes me happy without winding up passed out in a fountain with tourists trying to land pennies in my mouth.
Vegas, baby.
For sober me, what happens in Vegas doesn’t have to stay in Vegas. And that’s pretty fucking cool.

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