Thursday, November 8, 2012

Son of a Preacher Man (Reno, NV)




“D. Her name begins with D. She’s white and she’s from England.”

“Noooo – Aretha Franklin. I know this intro; I know these chords.”

We managed to find another good radio station with familiar songs and another source of pointless conversation to keep us bemused for this particular, peculiar 900-mile journey.

“Listen–these horns aren’t nasty enough – way too refined. (Pause) Definitely the Duh lady from England. (What’s her name?!) Although no one knew she was white until her first live performance. They always said Hall and Oates are blue-eyed soul. They had nothing on this lady.” 

 This is even before the first words are sung. Another 11 hour day, and we are bored silly.









“Do you know why they paint the porch ceilings light blue?”

“Because it looks like the sky?” He asks skeptically.

“Precisely correct. It looks like the sky to spiders, and so they don’t spin their webs there.”

“You are so making that up,” He retorts.

“That’s what they told me when I lived in Pennsylvania Dutch country getting my Master’s at Lehigh. "I mean, I didn't learn the spider thing at university - that came from the Mennonite family next door," I clarify. "DUSTY SPRINGFIELD!” 

And sure enough, I use my new $7 app, put the phone against the speaker, and win another round of our music game.

"I loved that show - NAME THAT TUNE. Why don't they have a show like that now?" He asks.

"There are all these lyrics shows where you have to know the words, and I am terrible at the lyrics. Great with chords; shite with words. I had this one Van Morrison tune I sang in the Pennsylvania group. Three lousy verses - actually it's beautiful poetry AND you have to carry a tune! and I always broke out in a flop sweat every time we performed. I wanna be the Na Na Girl. Kathy Lee Gifford was the Na Na girl."

"What on earth are you blathering about?"



Days 15 – 17 – RENO, NEVADA

Trip: I must have slept a lot, because there are precious little notes from this time period. I do recall salt flats with stone memorials and messages for miles and miles on the side of the road. We are going too fast and they are too small to get a good image, but I notice it is mostly love notes and remembrances of lost ones.

When we arrive at CIRCUS CIRCUS, we enter in an entirely different arena than we are scheduled to be in. We walk for what seems like miles through lots of overweight people in polyester outfits and cowboys in wheelchairs (“The Wheelchair Rugby Nationals!” someone informs us at the front desk.) Lights are flashing and bells are ringing, and there are more jeers than cheers from a fascinated flummox of fairly older folks.










"Do you see all of this splendor?" my wise uncle from Idaho said when we visited Vegas. "Who do you think pays for all of this?" I can still see his sly smile today: "It isn't the winners, that's for sure." And then they move to the outskirts of town and live in the Long Holiday Motel, which reminds me of LEAVING LAS VEGAS.


We had our first Amazing Race moment when we went to the wrong door after more than 11 hours of driving. I am at the top of a flight of stairs with a bad foot and the following:

1.     My Computer
2.     Heavy nap sack
3.     Mini cooler
4.     Suitcase pocket book
5.     His computer
6.     Leather Coat

He has already descended and there is no way I can maneuver my way downwards. Before I realize it, He is long gone. Not even the crab walk is helping at this point, as bags keep slipping off my shoulders (don't spill that drink!) and I am balancing with the handrail - quite a sight, for sure. When I finally catch up to him, our first real argument ensues. It isn’t until much reflection that I understand that in his former life, He never walked with her (or she with Him).

“I guess you’ll have to retrain me,” He grins and says sheepishly.

My Love and I are both exhausted in many different realms: please recall the past 22 hours in the car and miles of casino walk with the bad foot, Amazing Race moment, etc. We finally get all our stuff moved into our lovely hotel room, even the ukulele, despite his protest.

"When are you even going to play that thing," He asks. "I never know. But when when the mood strikes, the uke needs to be there." And that is that.

Settling in after a long hot shower to clean off all the exhaustion and road grime and Oooh - these sheets are high thread cotton - great pillows! Oh yes - We are finally horizontal on a serious mattress. BONUS! Within steps there is a real bathroom with running water.

The people next door didn't share our view of the universe at this point. They have been yelling at one another since our beleagered arrival - you can even hear their words and epithets. It becomes so awkward listening to the demise of whatever they are dealing with, that we changed everything up.

I grab the headboard of the bed and start banging it against the wall, and it's difficult to contain our laughter. Our fake sex noises overcome their argumentation, and that calms that room right down. I think I might have even heard some giggles. Nighty-Night.

The next day, we lost $5 on the slots and were mesmerized by Baccarrat… and that’s all I have to say about that.

(the Erotic Exotic Halloween party on the second night will come at a later time) 

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