Day 9: Nevada
1 July 2008I thought it would be at least a little hilarious to be at a casino in Reno at 10am on a Sunday. Over the course of the day I made at least 14 jokes via various means of communication about shooting a man just to watch him die, so I suppose I got my money’s worth just from that, but still. I kept waiting for the long-dormant need to gamble to suddenly surge through me, but it just never happened. If I want to sit in front of a screen and throw away money, I have Amazon Prime for that, thankyouverymuch.
I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to take pictures or video tape in casinos so I didn’t do much of either– in fact, all of my photos from Nevada Day are limited to highway exits that show towns named after my brothers:
Or pictures that prove that you can not only buy booze in the Reno CVS, you can buy a box of wine for $2.99.
I have no intention of drinking this, I just knew that I had to own it upon seeing it. This is a constant disappointment to my mother, who was recently overheard on the phone saying to one of her sisters “I don’t think Cristin’s had a single drink this entire trip” without the note of pride that should be present from anyone who knew me during college when I regularly took down a bottle of champagne while studying. Alone. On a Tuesday.
I’m starting to have some fairly intense episodes of road hypnosis, where I’ll be in the middle of a six hour stretch of driving and find myself making firm decisions that I have no way of carrying out while on this vacation. I am cutting all of my hair off and going back to the bob. I am figuring out a way to start horseback riding again, even though I can’t think of a less possible activity to accomplish within the 5 boroughs. I am going to Home Depot and coming up with some ingenious way to display the dozens of magnets I have bought on this trip that does not involve a refrigerator. It’s becoming hard to weed out the good decisions from the not-so-great ones, as everything starts to sound like a great idea when I get into this kind of a lull. When we were at a vegas rest stop I saw one of those tubs that I generally associate with sidewalk chalk (small, plastic, brightly colored with a handle) filled with Double Bubble for sale. “Christ, that would be awesome,” I thought because, in that moment, I really wanted some effing Double Bubble. Never mind that my teeth are made of clay and started shrieking at the mere sight of it or that Gum is on my list of Never Haves (along with Coke and Oreos) because I never learned to spit it out before my mouth automatically assumes that it’s real food and should be swallowed. Or after we passed billboards for 18 places in the span of 50 miles that were selling moccasins in Oklahoma I was all “Maybe we should get some moccasins. If there’s this much supply there must be some kind of demand. Maybe I’M the demand and I just don’t know it.” I snapped out of it, and own neither a tub of gum nor moccasins. I will be cutting all of my hair off, though. It’s just a question of whether or not I can hold out until after the weather gets less humid and more short hair friendly or if I’ll snap the second we get back to new jersey and start sawing away at it with gardening shears.
During one of these quiet moments of thought while I was cruise controlling along at 78 mph I struck and, I’m assuming, killed a bird. It didn’t hit the windshield full on, but kind of glanced off of it and continued on to my left and before I could process any thoughts about it my mom went “ThatWasntYourFault” like she was scared I might start crying. Of course it wasn’t my fault. Hitting something on the ground is my fault– I feel bad when I can’t swerve to avoid tumbleweeds, and even worse when we stop for gas and I notice little parts of them stuck in the grill of the Prius. “I ruined that tumbleweed’s life,” I said somberly the first time it happened. For a while I was clinging to the thought that the bird was fine– there were no parts of him stuck to the car tumbleweed style and he did continue airborne after we made each other’s acquaintance, but judging from the volume of our moment of interaction, I can’t imagine that he had a very good afternoon. I was a little angry that he didn’t cling to the windshield, bug-eyed, as he would have if I lived in a cartoon. But I refuse to feel guilty about this. If you can’t navigate around the prius then maybe you should be taken out of circulation.
I managed to take all of 45 seconds worth of video while we were in Reno, and normally I would never subject the world to anything this Blair Witch style where I am not wearing nearly enough make up for this extreme of a close up, but there are a few quick shots of my mom in there and the look of pure happiness that she gets when within 50 feet of a slot machiene is like Christmas Morning mixed with Puppies and Rainbows and Marshmallows.
Cristin Hates Reno from Cristin Stickles on Vimeo.
2 Responses to “Day 9: Nevada”
July 2nd, 2008 at 12:36 pm
your mom’s face was priceless!
Dan says you’re not supposed to film in a casino. Good thing you guys are on the run anyway.
July 2nd, 2008 at 1:22 pm
I was never all that good—my parents held out on buying me a horse until about 5 minutes after I gave on getting one—but I’d totally do a day of horseback riding with you in the city. TONY did an article about it a few months ago: http://www.timeout.com/newyork/articles/spas-sport/28187/blazing-saddles
$35 an hour in Queens; that could make for an interesting afternoon of bruised calves and sore thighs.