I’m going to Reno tomorrow. Believe it or not, this will be my first weekend trip since I moved to California. I remember more than two years ago when I told myself there were so many places to go around here, from the beach to the mountains to the desert; but I haven’t ever gone. No one to go with, no money, too bored.
Been to the beach a bit, San Francisco for a few hours here and there, but still haven’t skipped off to gamble or been to Disneyland or zipped up to Napa.
For the last few days, the song stuck in my head (there’s always some song stuck in my head) has been Peter Allen’s immortal “I Go To Rio,” but my brain keeps substituting “Reno” for the city.
Woh-ho-oh-oh, when my baby
When my baby smiles at me I go to Reno
I’m weird. I know.
Reno. ew! Makes Branson, MO look like Paris. It’s all about Vegas baby.
Yeah, I’ve sort of gathered that it’s a little less… sophisticated. My first clue was when I saw a picture of my hotel “suite.” It has a whirlpool spa. In the living room. Next to the couch.
Hmm.
“Reno? Why Reno?”
“Not Reno, dummy, Rio! Rio… de Jenero!”
When it comes to Reno and Vegas I must admit I like Reno better. To be honest, I didn’t like either one. But I found Reno to be a bit more honest, a little more grounded in reality.