I’m thankful that you can drive about 25 minutes in any direction and be in the middle of beautiful and/or forbidding wilderness. — Andrew Kiraly
I’m thankful for our corps of diehard Vegas defenders who spring up to fight for — and, more importantly, patiently explicate — our city whenever some national journalist (a tuft of recently deployed parachute still sticking out of his back pocket) hacks out some jejune chunk of misinformed screed about Las Vegas. AK
I’m thankful for the River Mountain Loop Trail, the Las Vegas and Flamingo Wash trails, and the soon-to-be mother of them all, the Vegas Valley Rim Trail, because they put cyclists and runners out of motorists’ way and provide more consecutive off-traffic miles than you can shake a bike pump at. — Heidi Kyser
I’m thankful that Marty Walsh’s Trifecta Gallery is going out in ferocious, thoughtful style, with the macabre fun of Abigail Goldman’s dieoramas (Nov. 6-28) followed by Wendy Kveck’s visually compelling paintings of very complicated women (Dec. 4-28).
— Scott Dickensheets
I’m thankful for those translucent, pinkie-sized geckos that come out at night and chill on the walls near the porch light, all emanating their timeless bug-eyed reptile wisdom. AK
I’m thankful for the half-dozen close friends I’ve made who haven’t moved out of town yet. HK
I’m thankful for the possibility, however slight, that when the seedless grapes of our Legislature gather again in February they will set aside their ideologies and, in some cases, their pathologies, in order to work together for the greater good of … uh, yes, I am completely serious — why do you ask? SD
I’m thankful for when I stumble into Donut Hut on east Desert Inn at the otherwise inadvisable hour of 3:17 a.m. on a Sunday morning with the intent of ordering a single, blessed, numinous, glazed old-fashioned, but the nice lady behind the counter keeps doing that inescapably sweet “Aaaaand?” thing after every donut I order, basically creating a recursive, Escherian verbal donut trap in which I’m psychologically herded into ordering an entire mixed dozen — blueberry cake, fritters, double chocolate, glazed, maple bars — after which the lady behind the counter — as though, ironically, in gratitude for me being such a willing subject to her virtuoso donut mindfreak — throws in an extra fritter, a powdered, some donut holes. And a glazed old-fashioned. AK
I’m thankful for Brunchlesque (Nov. 16 at Boomers Bar), just because I like saying it: Brunchlesque, Brunchlesque, Brunchlesque! SD
I’m thankful for scrappy neighborhood gardens, independent farms and community supported agriculture that litter the desert with baskets of fresh food. HK
I’m thankful for the imminent opening of The Writers Block bookstore downtown, and super-extra-gonzo thankful for my amazingly wonderful wife’s forbearance once it does. SD
I’m thankful for all the tiny little Chihuahuas in my neighborhood. Tiny little Chihuahuas dancing on the sidewalks. AK
I’m thankful that former library district honcho Charles Hunsberger had the idea, back in the ’80s and ’90s, to commission great architects to design our public libraries. HK
I’m thankful for the frequent, heart-gladdening eruptions of quail in my edge-of-the-desert nabe. Families — usually a mother and a line of chicks — speed-waddle along the sidewalks, suddenly veering to invade random front yards with wanton adorableness. If only they wore shark costumes and rode Roombas, it would be perfect. SD
