Smokin' Aces, Sun Valley Martinis, and Sushi Buffets: a trip to the biggest little city in the world.

It's almost that time of year for my annual trip to Reno, NV.

Before you out and out just ask "why?", know these important facts:

1. I won't get a chance to ski at Lake Tahoe.

2. I won't get a chance to hang with any friend(s) who even enjoy spending time outdoors.

3. There's a chance everything I own will smell like cigarettes + wet dog.

4. I'm gauranteed at least an 8 hour flight layover there and back.


Now we have that established, why in the world would I make such a trip?

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The best way to describe the city of Reno, Nevada is to offer up a compare/contrast example. Everyone has probably heard about the Drive-Thru Wedding Chapels in Las Vegas, right? Some are "drive-thru", some are walk-in, all of them are used for haphazard legal unions that join two overserved individuals as one -- at least for the night. These are often times the oases that scared, excited young couples who run from home use to celebrate matrimony away from disapproving loved ones...etc.

Well, in Reno, they have these very same chapels. However, in the three days on earth that I have spent in that city, I never saw a couple stumble out of there giggling or laughing. I never saw two wild-eyed, lust-filled teens scamper in.

No. I saw groomsen. Bridesmaids. Half-dress/half-jean combos, cowboy hats with tuxedo pants and t-shirts with buttons. I saw best men and maids of honor. I saw family pictures and wedding vails galore.

You see, the walk-in chapels aren't used for that many exceedingly bad decisions made in haste.

They are home to exceedingly bad decisions made in earnest.

This fact is by far the best way I can characterize the city.

If that description doesn't sell you on why I can't wait to get back, than maybe knowing my extensive poker plans there will be enough.

I am set up to play in a nice home "bar" game the day I land in this paradise city. It is quite different in Nevada than it is back here in Chicago, as you can imagine. The bars out there are allowed to host their own poker tournaments without having to worry about anything. From what I hear it is a nice, low-limit game that is sure to lead to lots of laughs, smoke-filled eyes, and more than two or three stories to tell in the morning -- and that's if I don't happen to be lucky enough to win.

This will be immediately followed up by three days of touring the card-rooms of Reno -- something I haven't had the privilege of doing up until this point. If it is anything like the rest of the city, I am sure it is bound to be a little bleary-eyed, confused, and lookin' for a good ole time.

Still not convinced it would be a good trip? Well, then let me tell you about the real gems of Reno - the dive bars.

We've all been to dive bars. I would say they have an appeal to most anyone who enjoys a good time relaxing and hanging out, right? The dingy appearance, the cheap food, the regulars and the characters -- who doesn't love them?

I hate to say it - but until I went to Reno, I never truly understood the meaning of "dive bar". You see, what I was familiar with, what you remember, what the world pictures when it thinks of a dive bar has nothing on one in Reno.

First of all, they are on every corner in Reno. They are between every corner in Reno. They are under every burning lightbulb in the town. They are everywhere. They really don't have names. They are signified by an open door. You can smell them coming.

Carding? Please, no one inside one of these places even knows what a Nevada license looks like, much less all of the other states that someone who works 10 minutes in the bar industry would see in the state of Nevada.

The bar stools? Resplendid creations complete with broken legs, torn padding, and video poker for every station.

The bartenders? Typically people who couldn't balance a cash register if they tried, make up the drinks as they go along, and don't know a shot glass from a glass pitcher.

The entertainment? Pool tables, darts, etc. All of which are used as props. Props? Well, you see, you never really get to use the equipment -- its more to aid and abet the current bar fight or wild-eyed ballyhoo that is going on at the time. My two memories of a Reno pool table were 1. playing 9-ball on it for 15 minutes, and 2. watching 6 Australian soccer hooligans scream, dance, hug and glom while standing atop it until one of them wasn't wearing pants and two of them were making out with a giddy 65 year-old bachelorette in the corner. Put that on the tourist brochure.

Wait, did I mention most of the customers come in through the back door?

Wait, did I mention that these bars are open 24 hours?

Wait, did I mention that day and night blend together in these places worse than in Alaska?

I didn't think so.

Wait, did I mention half the town is "tweaking"?


IS THAT NOT ENOUGH? Well then, do this. Google "sun-valley martini" until you find out what it is. You will be in awe.

Well, that's it. I know I have done enough to justify this trip. I'm sure there are going to be requests for people to come with me. I can imagine the emails flooding in.

Nevertheless, if any of you need me to list any other reason why to visit this place, I guess I would be remiss if I didn't mention my oldest friend lives out that way. And, no it isn't this guy. . This guy isn't as creepy. Not to say he isn't creepy looking. Which isn't necessarily something I look forward to saying, because it has been suggested that we look alike. I doubt it - my nose is 1/10th his size. And I don't think I am going as grey.

Actually, people might say that because we pretty much share a sense of humor and perspective on the world that is hard to explain. Maybe we formed it throwing pillows at his grandpa's bedroom door during sleepovers - just to see what hilarity could ensue. Maybe we formed it grilling out and throwing snowballs at Kevin Vogt. Maybe we formed it during Sachs family vacations, where I was the "other son". Maybe we formed it discussing politics all night long after randomly awkward social encounters with varying groups of friends in high school. Maybe because we both always felt a little out of place, we ran in completely different social circles, went to different schools, and sometimes didn't share one single life choice for years at a time. But all that said, we never forgot our latest joke or our earliest. We never thought there was a bad time to call - or a bad time to drop in. If I had to bail him out of jail and give up my house in the process, I would demand that he at least buy me a beer once I did. If I needed a wingman or an accomplice in crunch time, he would take the fall quicker than a Niagra canoe. He would be the first person to call that a gay analogy, and then the first person to offer up a self-directed insult of his own.

When "hey I gotta go I'm busy" means that you are actually in the middle taking customer service calls while doing a double shift after school, you know that's a good friend. When that phrase doesn't come out until 20 minutes into the story, then that's a different level. We all have friends that find it tough to squeeze time for you into their hectic lives, and they will tell you all about it. I say cheers to those few people who never say that. It's because the last thing on earth they are going to let get in the way of a friendship is time.

With that being said, on with the festivities. In slightly over two weeks, I will be living it up in the biggest little city. Remember, google sun-valley martinis.