If the U.S. women’s curling team wins the program’s first medal this weekend, it will be bronze. A win, to be sure, but a disappointment for Team Peterson.

After edging Switzerland in the 11th end on Thursday to advance to the Olympic semifinals for the first time, Team USA found itself on the other end of a rematch on Friday, losing 6-4 in regulation.

United States Taylor Anderson-Heide, left, and Cory Thiesse compete against Switzerland during the curling women’s semifinal match at the 2026 Winter Olympics, in Cortina d’Ampezzo, Italy, Friday, Feb. 20, 2026. (AP Photo/Christophe Ena)

U.S. skip Tabitha Peterson got the U.S. a point with her hammer throw in the ninth end to pull the Americans to within 5-4 heading into the final end, and placed her final throw inside the 4-foot ring.

But Swiss skip Alina Paetz, continuing a stellar games performance, knocked it out with the hammer, and scored a point in the process, to send Team Switzerland into Saturday’s gold medal session against Sweden.

Team Peterson, which also includes Tara Peterson, Cory Thiesse and Taylor Anderson-Heide, will battle Canada for bronze Saturday at 7:05 a.m. CST.

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By JUAN A. LOZANO

HOUSTON (AP) — U.S. Rep. Tony Gonzales of Texas claimed Thursday he was being “blackmailed” following a report he allegedly had an affair with a former staffer who later died.

The claim by the married Republican congressman comes after the San Antonio Express-News reported that it had obtained text messages in which the former staffer, Regina Ann Santos-Aviles, wrote to a colleague that she had an affair with the lawmaker.

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The Associated Press has not independently obtained copies of the messages. On Thursday, an attorney for Adrian Aviles, Santos-Aviles’ husband, said the husband had found out about the affair prior to his wife’s death.

A spokesperson and an attorney for Gonzales, who is running for reelection in Texas’ March 3 primary, did not immediately respond to emails seeking comment. On social media, the congressman posted a partial screenshot of an email from the husband’s attorney and accused him of seeking money.

“I WILL NOT BE BLACKMAILED,” Gonzales wrote in a post on the social media site X on Thursday. “Disgusting to see people profit politically and financially off a tragic death.”

In the email posted by Gonzales, attorney Robert Barrera discussed a possible lawsuit against the lawmaker and a potential settlement with a nondisclosure agreement. The email says that the maximum recoverable amount is $300,000.

Barrera denied he was trying to blackmail Gonzales.

“It is a desperate attempt to make him look again like a political victim,” Barrera told The AP in a phone interview on Thursday. “There’s no blackmail here. I mean, it’s just ridiculous allegations.”

Regina Ann Santos-Aviles, 35, died in September 2025. The Bexar County Medical Examiner’s Office later ruled her death as a suicide.

Gonzales, whose district stretches from San Antonio to El Paso and runs along the U.S.-Mexico border, has six children with his wife

According to Barrera, the email that Gonzales posted online was part of back-and-forth discussions he had been having with the lawmaker’s attorney after Aviles decided he wanted to recover damages through a potential lawsuit on behalf of his wife under the Congressional Accountability Act.

The act provides legal protection for employees in the legislative branch against harassment, discrimination or retaliation.

Barrera claimed that after discovery of the alleged affair, Gonzales retaliated against Santos-Aviles by dramatically restricting her job duties and privileges and restricting her job advancement.

Gonzales has been endorsed by President Donald Trump and is facing a primary challenge from Brandon Herrera, who narrowly lost to Gonzales in 2024. Herrera has called on Gonzales to resign in wake of the report.

In a statement to the Texas Tribune this week, Gonzales called Santos-Aviles “a kind soul who devoted her life to making the community a better place.” He went on to say he would not “engage in these personal smears and instead will remain focused on helping President Trump secure the border and improve the lives of all Texans.”

Barrera said his client wants the lawmaker to acknowledge the alleged affair.

“There’s nothing political here. There’s no demand for him to resign. That’s up to the voters of that district, whether they want a man like Tony Gonzales to lead them into the future,” Barrera said.

EDITOR’S NOTE — In the U.S., the national suicide and crisis lifeline is available by calling or texting 988. There is also an online chat at 988lifeline.org

Follow Juan A. Lozano: https://x.com/juanlozano70

The year I turned 7 has blurred in my mind the way old photographs fade and fray at the edges.

We had just moved to Mabank in the thick of “white flight,” though I wouldn’t understand that phrase until much later. Life here, an hour southeast of Dallas, felt small-town simple: penny candy at Hughey’s Department Store, matinees at the Matex Theatre, teachers leading us down the sidewalk in our “tennie” shoes to whatever film they decided was worth a lesson. On special days, we clutched nickels and headed to Hughey’s counter, overwhelmed by glass jars of jelly beans and chocolate balls.

But it wasn’t the candy or the matinee that stuck with me. It was the sight of Snow.

Market Street (Desiree Rios for the Texas Observer)

I knew him only as Snow, though I can’t rightly recall if he introduced himself that way. Turns out his real name was F.C. Brown. I saw it in the library record, scribbled in somebody’s hand: born in 1891 in Henderson, left behind as a child, raised up by his grandparents. Later, he was reunited with his mother here in Mabank.

He worked where the dead were—digging graves, clearing cemeteries—and when he wasn’t working, he was parked on a wooden bench or a windowsill along Market Street, water jug beside him, boots set firm as though they’d never move.

When I was 7, he was ancient. He didn’t seem tied to a house or a family. 

What I know for certain is this: The first time I ever heard the word “slavery,” it came from Snow. It had never been taught in school, never been spoken of in my house. I didn’t know what it meant, only that it was serious and true. And it stamped itself on me.

One afternoon, he told us the story of Juneteenth. I had never heard the word before; my brow furrowed. He said it was the day his grandparents were freed. “Free from what?” He looked at me a long beat, then said it plain.

In my memory, he spoke in a low, deliberate way, so all us kids would gather round a little closer. He wore striped overalls, his legs crossed at the knee, hands balanced easily on his walking stick. I’m told he always had a newspaper in his hand, but I don’t remember that.

Back then, almost no one talked about Juneteenth. Not teachers. Not preachers. Not even the history books we held in our hands. Today, thanks to Texas’ own Opal Lee, Juneteenth is carved into the calendar, a federal holiday with parades and proclamations. But in 1970s Mabank, the only reason I knew the word at all was because Snow spoke it into the open air.

The world tilted for me then. My parents had salted every meal with the N-word, casual and cruel. While I was too young to understand the weight of that term, I knew even then that it was wrong.

Yet, here was a man the whole town gathered around, teaching truth to children. Snow was the first person who ever tickled my conscience, the first voice that told me what I’d been taught at home wasn’t the whole story. 

The portrait of F.C. “Snow” Brown inside the library in Mabank (Desiree Rios for the Texas Observer)

Years later, when I was writing for the Texas Observer and other publications, my mind could still see Snow sitting there. I wasn’t reporting from some Austin newsroom; I was writing from the kitchen table, or pulling over on the shoulder of some two-lane road to scribble notes before they got away from me. I drove all over East Texas chasing stories nobody else wanted.

I wrote about Annie Ray Dixon, an 84-year-old Black woman shot dead in her own bed when a drug task force botched a raid in Tyler (they meant to hit the house next door). I covered the day Dallas bulldozed the makeshift homes of the homeless under the I-45 bridge so the Cotton Bowl would look prettier for the World Cup. I traced the story of Bobby Frank Cherry, the Mabank man the FBI arrested and convicted of bombing the 16th Street Baptist Church in Montgomery, where four little girls died in Sunday dresses. And I met Lee, who carried Juneteenth into the national light.

Every time I filed one of those stories, I thought of Snow. He was the first to show me that history wasn’t past at all. It lived in the choices people made in front of me, the injustices that carried the same old smell no matter how they tried to perfume them. I carried those lessons into courtrooms thick with lies, shotgun shacks sagging under poverty, city halls that reeked of power and mildew.

One day, Snow was gone.

No announcement, no obituary that I ever saw. His pew sat empty. I suppose it wasn’t his fault. I grew up; he grew old. And we both moved on.

But his memory lingers yet, quietly threaded into the fabric of Mabank. What’s left now is a painting Don Ray did back when he was still a lawyer in town. Later, he’d be known as a successful artist in New York. He finished the portrait in 1976, just as Juneteenth was gathering steam in Texas again. That can’t be a coincidence. It feels more like a nod—setting Snow down on Market Street as part of the state’s story.

Today, the painting hangs in the town’s library. Children drift past it without knowing his name. Adults nod at it without remembering his voice.

Sometimes, I stand before the painting, listening for his echo.

Brown’s grave (Desiree Rios for the Texas Observer)

The post Snow on Market Street appeared first on The Texas Observer.

Las Vegas is known as the Entertainment Capital of the World, the Gambling Capital of the World and, for better or for worse, the Marriage Capital of the World. Perhaps it’s time to add “New‑stalgia Capital of the World” to its list of nicknames because Sin City has become a reliable stage for people and things whose slide from the spotlight feels like a sin in itself.

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For a town fond of imploding its architectural history, it has a softer, more nostalgic heart when it comes to honoring entertainers, TV shows, movies and fads that a fickle world has decided are past their prime. Here, pop culture that has lost some of its pop is often given a second chance with a fresh burst of neon and glitz.

Striking while the iron is supposedly hot isn’t always a sure bet, however. Paris Las Vegas bid adieu to “Bat Out of Hell: The Musical” after only 12 weeks, unable to turn the run into an unintended tribute to Meat Loaf, who died just eight months before opening night. More recently, “Bob Marley Hope Road” ran into a dead end in January, a mere six months after the ambitious, reggae-infused musical debuted at Mandalay Bay.

While icons past and present have their legacies wagered on productions that don’t always pay off, when stars do align above the bright lights of Vegas — with the right timing, a dedicated following, top‑notch production value and a bit of lady luck — everyone hits the jackpot.

Just ask Donny Osmond, the 68-year-old singer, dancer, actor and former teen idol whose enduring career spans pop music, television, Broadway and a long-running Las Vegas presence. When it comes to legacy acts and nostalgia‑driven brands finding room to reinvent themselves without abandoning what made them popular in the first place, few illustrate that dynamic better than Osmond, whose solo residency at Harrah’s has become a master class in honoring a long career while reshaping it for modern audiences. And nowhere embraces that balance more fully than Las Vegas.

Donny Osmond’s residency at Harrah’s delivers a polished dose of new-stalgia that celebrates a career spanning six decades. (Photo by Denise Truscello)

“It is actually the modern-day memory palace because nostalgia here doesn’t stand still to accommodate a certain generation,” said Osmond, citing his own success on the Strip as a proof point. “My ‘Donny’ show isn’t just a look back, but a living celebration of six decades of show business, blending past, present and future — proving that Las Vegas is one of the few places in the world where entertainment truly connects all generations and every demographic.”

Carrying that thought down the Strip to Luxor shows how Vegas might be the only vacation destination where Osmond’s wholesome show can share the same cultural landscape as a tasteful topless revue that’s been wowing audiences — older than his, of course — for more than 26 years. Performed nightly, “Fantasy” is a nostalgic heir to the classic showgirl lineage, keeping old‑school Vegas alive with its unapologetically risqué edge.

Crossing multiple music styles, the cast serves as torch‑bearers for a page in Sin City’s history, tempting tourists with modern digital dazzle yet proudly following in the same high‑heel footsteps as those who once paraded in “Lido de Paris,” “Folies Bergère” and the revue widely considered the OG of Vegas, “Minsky’s Follies,” which opened in 1957 at the former Dunes.

Keeping the Vegas showgirl legacy alive at Luxor are “Fantasy” dancers (from left) Mariah Nieslanik, Gigi Metayer, Ashton Bray and Abby Sullivan. (Photo by David Dickstein)

For the women on Luxor’s Atrium Showroom stage, carrying that legacy forward is both a responsibility and a thrill, said Mariah Nieslanik, co‑producer and featured dancer.

“This style of show matters because it is Las Vegas,” she said between two Sunday performances. “‘Fantasy’ proves that classic Vegas glamor can evolve, stay bold and still captivate audiences while honoring showgirl traditions. [The show] carries forward a legacy of iconic women who helped define Las Vegas, while continually adding fresh energy and individuality to the stage each night.”

Other pieces of the Vegas showgirl story now live in preservation rather than performance, a quiet thread of new‑stalgia.

Classic Las Vegas signage rests in the Boneyard at the Neon Museum. (Photo by David Dickstein)

Keeping the lights on for this lingerie-loving lineage and other pieces of the town’s brassy and bawdy history, the Neon Museum lets the past glow. Timeworn signs from the Dunes, Stardust and Tropicana — the resorts that gave Vegas its feathers, sequins and swagger — still attract attention in their afterlife. No longer luring passersby to stay and play, these retired beacons, including one from “Lido de Paris,” are treasured artifacts that draw the eye like desert flowers.

New‑stalgia greets visitors before they even enter the main exhibition space, affectionately known as the Neon Boneyard. The former La Concha Motel lobby — moved roughly 3 miles from its original Strip location – anchors the museum’s entrance, a classic slice of Googie architecture with a thin‑shell concrete roof that sweeps into dramatic parabolic curves shaped like a stylized seashell.

Swingers gives the classic pastime of miniature golf a fresh update, enjoyed adults-only except on summer days. (Photo by David Dickstein)

Back on the Strip, another example of Las Vegas’ love for taking something familiar and turning the volume up is par for the course at Mandalay Bay. Make that four courses, each a themed nine‑hole reimagining of the old‑school pastime of miniature golf. The slick venue transforms a childhood favorite of Baby Boomers and Gen X’ers into a three‑level, neon‑bright playground with flirty cocktail service, a happening bar, tasty grub, competitive arcade and carnival games, and a club‑like soundtrack driven by a live DJ. Swingers’ adults‑only policy gives groups of friends a place to play when they’re on a break from the city’s hip and hypnotic nightclub scene.

Speaking of friends “on a break,” one of the newest new‑stalgic attractions in town is The FRIENDS Experience: The One in Vegas at the MGM Grand — and if those three words in quotes don’t ring a bell, this isn’t your stop. Opened in July — 21 years after the sitcom became full‑time rerun fodder — the attraction lets visitors wander through set recreations, props, costumes and behind‑the‑scenes content from the long‑running show.

The FRIENDS Experience: The One in Vegas attraction is geared toward superfans of the classic sitcom at MGM Grand. (Photo by David Dickstein)

Among the full‑scale replicated sets —beyond the obligatory Central Perk coffeehouse and opening‑credits fountain and sofa — is Monica and Rachel’s apartment, where the dreaded “break” word was first uttered in (as every superfan knows) season three, episode 15. Those not among the die‑hards may find the nearly $50 admission steep for an attraction that leans heavily on replicas. And for folks representing a beloved classic sitcom, the staff seemed disengaged on a recent visit — almost as if they, like Ross and Rachel, were on a break.

The city’s appetite for new‑stalgia extends to its famously fabulous food scene, where a few spots pay homage to dining concepts that have long been pushed to the back of the kitchen pantry.

The STRAT’s fine-dining Top of the World, soaring 844 feet above the city, is one of the few remaining examples of the revolving‑restaurant craze that peaked in the late ’60s and ’70s. Opened in 1996, when the resort was named the Stratosphere, the establishment famous for its ribeye and filet offers patrons a view of the entire valley every 80 minutes right at their table. So, while gamblers are betting high stakes on the casino floor, diners are cutting into high steaks on the 106th floor of the tallest observation tower in the nation — and one of the few still serving a side of spin.

Top of the World at The STRAT keeps alive the revolving-restaurant craze of the ’60s and ’70s. (Photo by David Dickstein)

“Revolving restaurants were built on a sense of wonder, and that idea still matters today,” said Alam Leyva, vice president of food and beverage at The STRAT. “At Top of the World, we see ourselves as caretakers of something rare, not just a 360-degree dining room, but an experience that invites people to slow down and really appreciate where they are. It’s a dining experience that feels immersive and uniquely Las Vegas.”

Just like Osmond’s show at Harrah’s — giving the seasoned showman an encore in this story much as Las Vegas has with his career. “Donny,” signed on through at least May, is built to pull audiences into the full sweep of his showbiz story, using technology, interactivity and narrative devices that go far beyond a standard Vegas concert.

“I balance nostalgia and innovation by telling my story in a way no one expects — through a rap, yes, rap, that is a 10-minute chronological experience taking the audience from the very beginning of my career to where I am today, with massive video walls showing every stage of reinvention along the way.”

An example of the innovation woven into the show is when he sings his monster hit “Puppy Love” with his 14-year-old self using AI technology.

“The face and voice are mine at that age,” he said, “while the physical performance comes from my 14-year-old grandson, proving that honoring the past and embracing the future can exist on the same stage.”

It’s new‑stalgia in action — a Vegas‑style fusion of memory and modernity that turns the past into something newly electric.

“It really comes down to whether an artist is willing to do the work of reinventing themselves in the first place,” said the performer who has reinvented himself more times than most artists get the chance to debut. “I see my residency as a perfect reflection of what Las Vegas does best — it’s a stage where artists don’t have to freeze in time but can evolve.”

If you go

“Donny”: 3475 S. Las Vegas Blvd.; 855-234‑7469; donny.com

“Fantasy”: Luxor, 3900 S. Las Vegas Blvd.; 800-557‑7428; luxor.mgmresorts.com

Neon Museum: 770 N. Las Vegas Blvd.; 702-387-6366; neonmuseum.org

Swingers: Mandalay Bay, 3950 S. Las Vegas Blvd.; 725-201-1422; swingers.club

The Friends Experience: The One in Vegas: MGM Grand, 3799 S. Las Vegas Blvd.; friendstheexperience.com/vegas

Top of the World: The STRAT, 2000 S. Las Vegas Blvd.; 702-380‑7711; thestrat.com