Las Vegas Weekly

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My friend E. flew into Vegas for the James Randi Educational Foundation SkeptiCal Conference, and on Friday night I stole him away from Penn Jillette’s Rock & Roll & Bacon & Doughnuts Party—Penn is huge in the skeptic community—and brought him to Club Nikki at Tropicana. I wanted to give him an authentic club experience, and I wanted to get a skeptic’s take on Vegas nightlife.

“This is not a place where skeptics thrive,” E. said. “You have to be willing to embrace the artifice.”

Of course, he said that as we were walking in. And whenever you enter a new environment, you’ve got your defenses up. You analyze, you intellectualize, you question, you doubt—you do what skeptics do, in other words.

But as the hours went on, the Ciroc and 7s went down and Club Nikki’s Champagne Fairy made her rounds—Aureole’s Wine Angel ain’t got nothing on this girl—our conversation shifted from Richard Dawkins and Neil deGrasse Tyson to Britney Spears and Match.com. We lightened up, in other words. We laughed, we did tequila shots, we danced (with girls!), and we didn’t head out until 3 a.m.

Goes to show, just because you’re skeptical of something doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it.