Memories of Booza Palooza 2014

[Dear Booze]

There are only two roads into Reno and each one is worse than the other. Once you commit to one of them, there is no turning back. At least, not for us.

This was the start of our annual pilgrimage to the unholy mecca. It was our journey into the land of fuck-ups and losers. Whoever said “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” must have been some sort of a fucking communist. We would never join them. We were there to drink their booze - it’s the one thing in which they don’t have a shortage. We were being lowered into their diamond mine and we were bringing our own pick axes.

Our plan was to take Reno for everything it had; we would rape the city and burn all bridges behind us. For fuck sake, this was Booza Palooza!

We started the day at 7:30 AM when Six of us met at Allen’s house and prepared for the four hour trip to Auburn, where we would meet up with Steve for a game of golf. After that we would all continue on to Reno, where we would meet up with the remaining Booza Palooza participants.

Khan, Angel and Larry rode with Allen in his Subaru and I rode with Snyder in his Ford. When given the choice, I always choose riding with Snyder. Allen tends to get uptight when anyone is drinking in the car. Snyder doesn’t give a fuck. And I had come prepared with a thermos full of Irish coffee.

After a long game of golf in the scorching heat of Auburn, California, we arrived at the Silver Legacy Hotel and Casino. It was 8:45 P.M. and we were immediately struck by the smell of cigarette smoke and the sound of money and laughter and screaming and the overwhelming feeling of madness in the air. It was all around us and all of us understood there would be trouble to be found, problems that we would cause and, most importantly, a good time to be had.

We also knew that we would not be able to tame the numinous nature of alcohol. At some point in our lives, we had all tried and failed. It can be as unpredictable and feral as spilled mercury. So, instead, we would simply put our faith in it and let it guide us. We would bow and agree to its terms.

It wasn’t for us to understand or even define. Our plan was to accomplish all things through the magic of grain alcohol
We set out with a fantastic universal sense that wherever we were and wherever we were going would be the best place to be. We were the chosen ones. We were rightious. We were winners. We were the elite.

“Let the drinking begin,” someone proclaimed as we all downed our first cocktail. Mine was good. A perfectly constructed Jameson and Soda. It went down well and I started ordering one after another.

Oh, what a sea of booze lie before us. It was striking, and majestic, and vast. Usually, I like to stick my toe in with a cold Guinness or two and wade in at an even pace with gin or rum or whiskey until there is no turning back. But on this day I ran right in and dove headfirst into the first large wave I could find.

There was talk of going out to dinner as a group. “Fuck that,” I told them. “I’ll get a hot dog or something later. Right now, I’m ready to drink.”

Khan insisted that is was the right thing to do and described the benefits of starting a big night of drinking after a good meal. He had a point. Fortifying ourselves with food would increase our stamina. I finally agreed and we all headed to the Hash House A Go Go restaurant at Harrah’s Hotel and Casino.

It was the longest meal in my life. It felt like I was six-years-old on Christmas morning and I was being forced to sit through a huge breakfast before running into the den to see what Santa left.

We spent the rest of the night playing blackjack at Harrah’s, Craps at Cal Neva, and Three Card Poker at El Dorado. By that time we were all pretty drunk and the normally quiet Allen started talking. “El Dorado is a Spanish word which means The Dorado,” he said after much thought. He’s an odd one.

Saturday was the big day. We were planning to visit as many off-strip bars as possible. We were looking for the very best Irish Bar in Reno.

In 2013, we had done the same thing. But we had wasted a lot of time by following the recommendations from people on Trip Advisor and Yelp. The top-rated bars turned out to be terrible. So this year, we picked the worst-rated bars and started there. It turned out to be a brilliant plan.

We piled in two separate cabs and started our expedition. But the first couple of places we tried were closed. It was only 11:00 A.M. and many Reno bars don’t open until 3:00 P.M.

Finally, we found Ryan’s Bar and Grill. What a shitty little place. Perfect. The bartender, Pete, was a middle aged guy with a bad case of the hangover shakes. Snyder bought the first round. Three Guinness, one Bud, one Jameson Soda, one Bombay Tonic, and one Captain Coke. The bartender rang up the order and we were shocked that the grand total was only $23. Great prices! Khan took advantage of this and bought the next round by announcing “I want to buy a round for everyone in the place!” I looked around and noticed that there were only ten of us, including Shaky Pete.

The unfortunate thing about Ryan’s is that they don’t allow smoking. So we decided to move on.

There were a few other people who were supposed to meet up with us too. People who we had never met except on Twitter. But we hadn’t seen them yet so I had started tweeting our location as we moved from bar to bar.

It was at a bar called Shenanegan’s where we all agreed that we should steal something from each place we visited. Larry immediately excused himself and headed to the restroom. A few minutes later, he returned and informed us that he stole all of the light bulbs in the men’s room. It was time to go.

We hit a couple of other bars before we got to Filthy McNasty’s. We chose this place based on the following review on Yelp:

“This place was awful! My wife and I went there for a happy hour that ended up being non existent, and when my wife asked about a beer that they didn't carry the bartender and the one other guy in there started making fun of her. So we left without ordering anything. Stay away from this place.” (Posted by Brody H.)

Our reverse engineering plan was working perfectly. This place was exactly what we were looking for. There was only one other customer in the place, they allowed smoking, they had dice cups and a pool table, and the bartender was drunk.

We played a complicated dice game where, after a series of rolls and additions, subtractions and some multiplication, the loser had to drink a specific shot. We played for at least an hour. During that time, several other regulars came in and each one of them joined in on the game.

Finally, a couple of Twitter followers found us. Vince and Meg. I think they were married but I’m not sure. They joined in on the game too.

Eventually, I got stuck with a generous shot of 151 tainted with a few dashes of Tobasco. I can pinpoint that very moment as the beginning of the end for me.

We decided to move on to Corrigan’s, which was our favorite bar from 2013 and called for a couple of cabs. We didn’t know the address but were certain that the driver would be able to find it.

The first car was there within a few minutes. Khan, Steve, Larry and Snyder jumped in. Angel, Allen, Vince, Meg and I stood around in front of Filthy McNasty’s, waiting for the next one.

While standing on the sidewalk, waiting for our cab, I looked directly across the street and could see Khan, Steve, Larry and Snyder exiting their cab at Corrigan’s. Fuck. I was drunker than I thought. The cab driver literally drove them across the street.

We canceled the second cab and walked.

As we moved from bar to bar, we encountered a variety of personalities. Some were affable and happy we were there and others were cautious. I’m sure they whispered to each other “Who are these assholes? Who do they think they are, coming in here like they own the fucking place?” So, we found that it’s best to be as confident as possible. If we were preparing to go up against the enemy, on their own turf, we couldn’t show any sign of weakness. If they smell it – and they always do - the result will not be favorable to us. We entered every room with the confidence and swagger that’s usually afforded only to celebrities. We had no time for lines, limits or to fuck around with slow service. We were there to drink and the rest of the world was there to serve us.

Why did we start to believe it was us against them? I’m still not sure where that notion came from, or if any of us ever talked about it. It was just a mood, or an emotion, or a sense. Shit I don’t know. But it definitely turned into a theme that carried through the weekend.

We toasted to Reno, to our loved ones, to comfortable beds and payday candy bars, to reasonable green fees and drive-thru restaurants, to spiced rum and high school football coaches, to Simon and Garfunkle and perfectly fitting hats and MP3 players, and to the freedom to be assholes.

“We are here to drink,” announced Steve as entered a bar called Ceol. “If we’re doing it wrong, we are doing it right.”

That, I think, was the point of our pilgrimage. It was an overwhelming sense of inevitable victory over the forces of undrunkenness. Our spirit was able to prevail. We started with enormous momentum and coasted when we lost our steam. The brake lines had been cut and there was no point in steering. Captain Morgan was driving and we trusted him.

I thought it might be possible to stand atop the mountain, just above Donner Pass and survey the vast wasteland that is Reno. With a discerning eye, one would be able to make out the scorched earth left behind by us as we advanced through, and later withdrew from, enemy territory. But as I am able to reflect back on this journey, I realize that we barely made a dent in the city-wide inventory closet of booze. The city is still standing and awaiting our return.

[mistah willies]

Gawdam.

Where the hell have you been Dear Booze?


"The brake lines had been cut, and there was no sense in steering."

Gawdam.

Also, "Numinous."


Yup.




.

[oettinger]

Yes! Another Dear Booze post!

“This place was awful! My wife and I went there for a happy hour that ended up being non existent, and when my wife asked about a beer that they didn't carry the bartender and the one other guy in there started making fun of her. So we left without ordering anything. Stay away from this place.”

I try to imagine the faces behind this... just golden

[Dear Booze]

Yes! Another Dear Booze post!

“This place was awful! My wife and I went there for a happy hour that ended up being non existent, and when my wife asked about a beer that they didn't carry the bartender and the one other guy in there started making fun of her. So we left without ordering anything. Stay away from this place.”

I try to imagine the faces behind this... just golden

We told the bartender about our reason for choosing his place. Then, I pulled up the yelp report. He said he remembers them and said they were a pain in the ass from jump street.

[Dear Booze]

Gawdam.

Where the hell have you been Dear Booze?

Been traveling. Good to be back!

[mistah willies]

Welcome home young man.

[Dear Booze]

Welcome home young man.

Thanks.

So the Magazine is back in print?

[mistah willies]

Welcome home young man.

Thanks.

So the Magazine is back in print?

"There's a magazine?"



Indeed, looks like we will have some more excellent writing from the almighty FKR.


Yup.

[Dear Booze]

I was just reminded... after Corrigan's, we never saw Vince and Meg again.

[mistah willies]

I was just reminded... after Corrigan's, we never saw Vince and Meg again.

But you still have Khan, yessah mistah man.