I Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans

Though I don't know if I could ever live there, I have a lot of fond memories of New Orleans. I went to college in Mobile, Alabama, and The City That Care Forgot (which no actual resident ever, ever, ever refers to as "The Big Easy", or pronounces "N'awlins") was less than two hours away. I know this because you could down your last Hand Grenade at 6:30 a.m. and if you had a good driver you could still make it back to Mobile for an 8:20 a.m. class. It looks like New Orleans may be in line for a big hit from Hurricane Katrina. A bullseye hit from a hurricane is about the only thing the folks in N.O., who generally don't care about anything, actually worry about. Here's hoping things go okay down in that part of the world tonight.

In lighter news, I thought I'd mention that we've had a great weekend here in Reno. Summer is winding down, which most people see as sort of a bummer. I, on the other hand, really relish this time of year. Fall in the northern Sierra is a time of clear skies, warm days, cool nights, and very few tourists. Once Labor Day is past you can sometimes get the feeling that you have the mountains all to yourself, even though the weather generally holds up for at least a couple more months. And when the cold weather does finally come, I'll finally be able to get that snowboard fix I've been jonesing for these last few weeks.

Thursday Melissa and I went to the Nevada State Fair. I'm a total freak for stuff like this, and I am not in any way being sarcastic. I love the whole Americana bit--I love the kids that raise rabbits and compete for blue ribbons, I love the giant vegetables, I love the quilts, I love the folk art, I love the whole schmaltzy bit. I mean look at this picture on the left--they actually have contests for growing alfalfa! How great is that? This guy from Lovelock apparently won second place, and I guarantee he's proud of that fact. So Melissa and I did the whole bit. We saw all the animals, smelled all the bad-for-you food, had people try to sell us hot tubs, made fun of the carnies under our breath, everything. We even rode a few of the rides, but that was probably a bad idea. The last ride we went on was something called "The Tsunami", but it wasn't in any way, shape or form what one would call "fun"; basically all it did was crush you into your seats at about 5-G's for a couple of minutes. It made me a little queasy, and Melissa actually felt ill for about three hours. Still, I loved it. What can I say, I'm a total junkie for this stuff.

Friday we drove up to the North Shore of Lake Tahoe to spend the night at a friend's cabin. The term "cabin" conjures up images of a primitive house made of logs that might contain a woodstove and maybe a few animal skins. This might be what "cabin" means in some parts of the world, but in Tahoe "cabin" means a $4 million dollar home with four bedrooms and 3.5 baths and a view that can't be matched anywhere else on earth. We had a fantastic time with Hannah--who's family owns the place--and friends, playing hyper-competitive charades on Friday Night (I was quite proud that no one was able to come up with the book title I submitted, The Electric Kool-Aide Acid Test), waking up to find that it is pretty much impossible to find a Bloody Mary on the anywhere on the North Shore before 11:30 a.m., and spending the afternoon taking Hannah's boat down to gorgeous Emerald Bay and the famous Scandanavian-style mansion Vikingsholm, which comes complete with sod-covered roof. We couldn't have had better weather--in fact, the water was even comfortable for swimming, which is an extreme rarity for usually-frigid Tahoe. We anchored the boat and swam to Fannette Island, Tahoe's only island and home to a castle-like "tea house" on it's rocky summit. It was the perfect end-of-summer day despite the fact that Melissa broke a sandal while climbing the island and I was forced to climb to the tea house with one bare foot after giving her my right Teva.