Summer Guide 2003
I can’t believe Daddy is making me spend the summer back here in Reno, again. Terrorism? La di dah. I had my heart set on spending the break in the south of France, shopping and sun worshipping. Makes me so mad I could just stomp my foot.
I guess I’ll just have to make the best of it. Reno’s become quite a pretty town since I started my bachelor’s. I can’t believe it’s been almost 10 years. They’ve moved quite a few of those cow pastures out of the way to make way for some beautiful shopping malls out there on South Virginia Street. It’s a veritable cornucopia of shopping these days. OK, maybe it’s not Fifth Avenue, but I’ll bet Daddy’s bottom dollar that there’s a Trader Joe’s in there. Barnes & Noble and Borders, why I just must stop in and pick up something for mornings next to the pool. How about The Dummy’s Guide to Grad Schools? Daddy is always so proud when I improve my mind.
My friend Beth says the Reno Philharmonic is still making beautiful noises. Seems like I’ve heard Barry Jekowsky’s name before, could he be a Yale man? And what happened to the museum? It looks like someone fed our little Nevada Museum of Art some steroids. It looks absolutely fabulous, nautical in a way that reminds me of Boston harbor.
Why, what’s this? Reno News & Review? Oh, my god, how droll. This wasn’t here when Daddy put me on the corporate Lear to Boston University. I should be able to find out what to do this summer in here. Theater? I thought they were going to tear down that eyesore Reno Little Theatre. Oh, they did. Brüka? Riverfront Theatre? Who are these people? Lear Theater? What’s this arts section? Who lives in these Artists Lofts?
Oh, goody, Starbucks, look! There’s one, two …35, 36 …
Why, it appears that Reno has become the cultural center of Washoe County. That’s delish. Daddy would tell me not to be catty.
And Lake Tahoe, my beautiful Lake Tahoe. I’ll bet Samantha’s father has his boat moored up there again this year. Maybe I’ll be able to reprise my time with—oh, what was his name? Biff, Rock? Utterly blasé. Still, the Fourth of July is always so stunning up there, and an extra Xanax makes me feel soooo edgy. I’ll bet there’s enough shopping on South Shore to make Daddy wish he’d sent me to Cannes. Speaking of Cannes, where am I going to golf in this god-forsaken desert? Daddy said something about a Montreux Golf Course and Country Club. Surely those dreary duffers from the Old Southwest won’t be choking up the links.
Maybe this summer won’t be so bad after all. Maybe I’ll be able to get Heather off her fat bottom (Fat, I wish. That girl has secrets her shrink wouldn’t dream of) and take me on a day hike on that new Tahoe Rim Trail. I wonder if any of my other friends came back to Reno after college. Maybe someone’ll know at the Caughlin Club. <div align="right">—BUFFY</div>
Flying high in the buff
If you ever go parasailing at Tahoe, wear a one-piece bathing suit. I’ll never forget the time I ended up flying topless. My niece and I headed to the lake for a day of Sea Doo-ing and parasailing. We went to Ski Run Boat Company in South Shore, (530) 544-0200; although Action Watersports of Tahoe, (530) 544-29420, is also a good for this stuff. When you go parasailing, the cute boat guys usually ask how high you want to go and how wet you want to get. Well, Janine opted for the highest and the wettest. High was fun, wet was not. When the guys slowed the boat down to dip us in the water, they were unable to immediately accelerate again, which meant our entire bodies were submerged. When they finally got the boat to go, they really punched it. Well, as my body was getting violently yanked out of the water, my bikini top was violently yanked off. I was mortified. After all this drama, we calmed ourselves by attending a play at South Lake Tahoe’s Valhalla Boathouse Theatre at the Tallac Historic Site, Highway 89, Calif., (530) 542-4166. Watching a play in that homey, old, converted boathouse on the edge of the lake amid thousand-year-old trees will calm anybody’s nerves, unless, of course, one of the boat operators who saw you topless happens to be there. <div align="right">—Buffy</div>
Yoga makes Janine and me sexier
A couple years ago, as I was brushing my silky hair, I dropped my hairbrush. I bent down to pick it up, and I couldn’t reach it. I couldn’t touch my toes. “My God,” I thought. “I jog every day—OK, every couple weeks—and I can’t touch my perfectly painted toes. No wonder I’m not as ‘limber’ as Charles’ last fling was. She was a yoga teacher, and I’m just a rich, gorgeous socialite.” Well, I decided I ought to be as lithe and flexible as that ex-snob of his was, so I started taking yoga classes. My two favorite places are spots that also offer kids classes. I love hanging out with Janine, my niece, and she loves doing all the sophisticated things I do. The Yoga Center, 519 Forest St., 881-7848, has First Friday Family Yoga. The drop-in cost is $6 per kid, and parents and adults get in free. Yoga Loka, 6135 Lakeside Drive, Suite 121, 337-2990, also offers a children’s yoga class at 4 p.m. on Thursdays. They ask that you pre-register with Holly by calling 843-8390. Holly’s a great instructor and a real nice gal, nothing like how I imagine Charles’ ex-girlfriend to be. <div align="right">—Buffy</div>