H
ave y’all met Georgia Fisher yet? She moved here from Texas in fall 2013, and almost immediately started freelance writing for the RN&R. She became our special projects editor in January. She does our supplements, like the family guides, puts together some other features, and writes our weekly story on environmental issues. Nice gal, with a bit of Southern twang and a goofy sense of humor. She’s fitting in nicely at the office, although she does tend to apologize for things that warrant no apologies, like correcting somebody’s grammar or mentioning sex toys, which is especially disconcerting in a newsroom full of hardened journalists accustomed to cussing and yelling at one another. Anyway, Georgia likes to wax poetic about how much she loves Reno. At least once or twice a day, she’ll drift off into a reverie about how nice the weather is or how friendly the security people are at the airport. But until recently, she hadn’t really taken advantage of one of the great cultural advantages of living here: 24-hour availability of alcohol and generally lax attitudes about public drunkenness. So, being the cordial colleague I am, I offered to show her around a few of the local watering holes, and because we at the RN&R can’t do something simple like take a coworker out for an after-shifter without making a big fucking production out of it, we decided to turn our little bar tour into a game: bar bingo. We came up with a list of common barroom practices and experiences, like “hearing a song by the Beatles,” “winning a game of pool,” or “talking to somebody named Chris.” We assigned each item a number of points from 1 to 5. “See a bare nipple” was worth 2 points, for instance. “Get punched” was only worth 1 point. “Seeing somebody else vomit,” only 2 points, but actually “vomiting yourself”? 4 points. The first person to reach 5 points at each place would win the round, and then we’d head to the next destination. I had a loosely planned route in mind, which included places I hadn’t checked out yet, beloved old haunts and new favorites. Since we’re responsible about our binge drinking, we headed out on foot.
By Br ad By nu m an d Ge or Gi a Fi sh er
—Brad Bynum Brad and I share a cubicle wall, guys, and I rarely correct his goddamn language. But yeah, I’m sorry about it. He’s also the sort of colleague who’ll scream something in the background when you’re doing a phone interview with an elected official, or come to work with glue in his hair because he wore faux horns to a dance party the night before. He’s endearing for the same reasons. As for our little drinking game, you should know I’m not a party kid at all anymore, but I used to be. And as fast as I’ve fallen for Reno, few of my local friends are alcoholics or mentally ill or wild children or whatever. I miss the crazy, in other words, so it’s time to make some of my own. I also have a distracted way of matching my companion beer for beer, whether that person is a teetotaler or an adult male metalhead who’d put “do cocaine” as an option on our bingo list—which Brad did. Anyway, the plan was to wrap before midnight, as I was helping host a big baby shower later that morning, and Brad had a full calendar of his own. Spoiler alert: We failed.
Is it still journalism after you’ve been to eight bars?
—GeorGia Fisher
RN&R writers Brad Bynum and Georgia Fisher ended a debaucherous bingo night at 40 Mile Saloon.
“BAR BINGO”
photos by Eric Marks
continued on page 14
OPINION
|
NEWS
|
GREEN
|
FEATURE STORY
|
ARTS&CULTURE
|
ART OF THE STATE
|
FOODFINDS
|
FILM
|
MUSICBEAT
|
NIGHTCLUBS/CASINOS
|
THIS WEEK
|
MISCELLANY
|
XMONTHX XX, 2015
|
RN&R
|
13
