Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Reno 911
The green felt was awash in a smoky neon glow, poorly dressed people were pissing away their paychecks around us and watered down drinks were flowing. Joeja and I were home.
After a lovely 7-hour drive across the Nevada scrub, during which we saw a herd of pronghorn antelope (The lone member of the family Antilocapra americana or American goat-antelope and the fastest land animal in North America, reaching speeds of up to 60 mph. Oh, and it's tied with the moose for my favorite ungulate.), Joeja, h-bomb jr., Melissa, Will and I arrived in beautiful Reno this weekend.
Our rag-tag group of unwashed journalists dove into a weekend of revelry, gambling and an aborted karaoke attempt. In brief, we started by emptying a fifth of Jack in the hotel room, in between I nearly got in a fight in a karaoke bar while loudly singing U2's "In the Name of Love" much to the displeasure of a heavily muscled frat guy, and the trip ended with a dark, hazy hungover drive back (my wallet lighter by 30 dollars and my belly heavier by an In and Out Double Double).
As Joeja negotiated a lonely I-80 around midnight and I regaled the group with stories of the mighty pronghorn we saw flashing lights ahead. "Shit, it's a cop," Joeja said as he slammed on the brakes and accidentally smashed his palm into his horn, loudly honking his horn at the Sheriff's Deputy, waking both him and the other two people in Orovada and causing me to shit myself laughing (He got a ticket for 60 in a 45, which is only speeding if your an asshole Humboldt County Deputy with nothing better to do).
After a lovely 7-hour drive across the Nevada scrub, during which we saw a herd of pronghorn antelope (The lone member of the family Antilocapra americana or American goat-antelope and the fastest land animal in North America, reaching speeds of up to 60 mph. Oh, and it's tied with the moose for my favorite ungulate.), Joeja, h-bomb jr., Melissa, Will and I arrived in beautiful Reno this weekend.
Our rag-tag group of unwashed journalists dove into a weekend of revelry, gambling and an aborted karaoke attempt. In brief, we started by emptying a fifth of Jack in the hotel room, in between I nearly got in a fight in a karaoke bar while loudly singing U2's "In the Name of Love" much to the displeasure of a heavily muscled frat guy, and the trip ended with a dark, hazy hungover drive back (my wallet lighter by 30 dollars and my belly heavier by an In and Out Double Double).
As Joeja negotiated a lonely I-80 around midnight and I regaled the group with stories of the mighty pronghorn we saw flashing lights ahead. "Shit, it's a cop," Joeja said as he slammed on the brakes and accidentally smashed his palm into his horn, loudly honking his horn at the Sheriff's Deputy, waking both him and the other two people in Orovada and causing me to shit myself laughing (He got a ticket for 60 in a 45, which is only speeding if your an asshole Humboldt County Deputy with nothing better to do).
# posted by Druz @ 11:55 PM 
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WHAT? What's not to get? Jingling coins, free drinks, the possibility of striking it rich, the cloud of stinking cigarette smoke, and the crippled dancers! Oh, the crippled dancers.
Maybe I'm just morally bereft (maybe?) but casinos are like one of my favorite places to go - whether they are of the regular or Indian variety does not really matter.
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Maybe I'm just morally bereft (maybe?) but casinos are like one of my favorite places to go - whether they are of the regular or Indian variety does not really matter.
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