Austin360 blogs > Bottlecaps & Wingnuts > Archives > 2005 > December
December 2005
Thunday Night Foothball
“That’s the greatest play I’ve ever seen!”
Take a drink.
“That penalty was the worst ever!”
Take a drink.
Yes, kids, it’s the blog I’ve been wanting to write all football season: The ESPN Sunday Night Football Drinking Game. I know there’s only one Sunday night game left in the season, but since it’s the Cowboys (hopefully) competing for a playoff spot, better late than never.
Whenever commentator Joe Theismann uses a superlative (see above examples), take a drink.
Whenever Thiesmann whines about something (if you’re a beginner, you might try every other time), take a drink.
Whenever Thiesmann whines about something that happened more than a quarter ago (he does this), finish your drink.
When either Mike Patrick or Paul Maguire say something equivalent to “Shut up, Joe” (God bless them), take a drink.
Whenever the announcers are completely oblivious to what is actually happening on the field (the Pat Summerall memorial rule), take a drink.
For every multiple of five ESPN original programming commercials you see (DUTY! HONOR! COUNTRY! SIR!), take a drink.
Any time you see the same commercial twice in the same commercial break (I hate this), finish your drink.
Any time an announcer talks about a second-rate player as if he’s a Hall-of-Famer (“Boy, that Todd Bouman sure is going to be a great one for the Saints”), take a drink.
Every time the announcers jinx a player (“Brett Favre hasn’t thrown an interception in four quarters … oops, he just threw one”), finish two drinks.
Thanks for playing and Happy New Year.
Permalink | Comments (1) | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Behold, brisket tacos
Much as I believe in the separation of church and state, I believe in the separation of barbecue joints and restaurants serving all other forms of edibles.
Ask for barbecue, I’ve always believed, at a place that does not specialize in — nay, serve exclusively — barbecue, and ye shall ask for an unholy eating experience.
So it went against my better judgment …
(As my belly has grown large over the holiday season, it has become great with power over my increasingly feeble brain. “Feed me,” it says, and my brain obeys.)
… better judgment that I ordered the brisket tacos at Matt’s El Rancho.
They were fantastic. Not particularly brisket-esque, but shreds of tender beef stuffed generously into two tortillas. I eschewed the green sauce in favor of the hot sauce that came with the chips.
Highly recommended.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
10 minutes at Ego’s
Winding down 2005 with a last spasm of debauchery (did I mention I’m getting back in shape starting Jan. 2?), I bought an $8 bottle of Bud Light at Ego’s on Tuesday.
Yeah, the beer is expensive there, but not that I expensive. I’m including the $5 cover charge I paid for the privilege of having that beer.
Of course, I could have stayed. Bret said the band was pretty good. Josh didn’t seem to be unhappy there. And Ego’s itself — yes, this was my first visit, despite the fact that I have worked across the street for four years now — was very cozy, other than the overpriced beer.
But I’m one of those completely unhip fellows who, unless I have gone to a bar specifically to hear that band perform, would rather talk to my friends than shout over the music. Yes, I know. Hopeless.
So we retreated to the Mean-Eyed Cat, where someone was running through an entire Son Volt album on the jukebox (which I didn’t need to shout over) and the beer came in economical pitchers.
The highlight of the evening? A spirited discussion on the merits of the Townes Van Zandt documentary, “Be Here to Love Me,” and a jovial threat from the bartender when I suggested that it’s a better (though entirely different) film than the Johnny Cash movie, “Walk the Line.”
If there’s a better place in the area for a trio of San Angelo expatriates to hold court, well, it’d be Poodie’s. But in Austin, the Mean-Eyed Cat gets my vote.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Christmas in San Antone
Before I spent Christmas with the in-laws, I figured nobody got that Robert Earl Keen song quite like I did.
Oops. Turns out the in-laws’ family gatherings are just like ours.
Not that there wasn’t bright spots to spending Christmas in San Antone: Santa was very kind.
And it was 80 degrees and sunny on Christmas day — I got to sit out on the back porch, cold beer in hand and soak up sunshine like some turkey-stuffed reptile (yeah, the kids steered clear of me).
But on Christmas Eve, we very nearly had the Trifecta of Family Fun.
It all ended with a bang when one little girl broke her arm on the trampoline in the backyard. That’s one long Christmas Eve in the emergency room. (To add insult to injury, she got roller skates for Christmas the next morning … skates she can’t use until the cast comes off.)
Earlier, it kicked into high gear with a dog fight injuring an aunt’s coddled poodle. The damage was slight but the nerves were shaken.
All we lacked was the actual physical confrontation when two little girls decided Santa-Claus-is-watching-be-damned, we’re gonna rumble. They didn’t, sadly. There goes our trifecta.
Top redneck Christmas gift: I didn’t receive many in this category, but one stands out.
I have a koozie, shaped like a fish head. Two of them actually. Two plastic fish, big mouths gaping in a frozen gasp for a cold can of beer. They’re sitting on my desk here at work.
And the more I look at them, the more I think, “man, there just needs to be a beer in that koozie.”
I can’t wait to try ‘em out. There’s one for each hand.
Permalink | Comments (4) | Categories: By Dave Thomas
A toehold on technology
In 1986, when I was 15 years old, most folks had to go to the bank on Fridays to make sure they had cash for the weekend.
Now we have ATM cards. Debit cards.
In 1986, if you didn’t know where in the heck you were going, you had to be able to read a map or pull over at a gas station and ask the attendant.
Now there are GPS devices in the cars to tell you where to go.
In 1986, if you wanted to call your friend en route to where you were going, you pulled over and used the pay phone.
Now we have cell phones. Everyone has cell phones.
In 1986 we sent letters. Now it’s e-mail. In 1986 there was the Walkman. Now it’s the iPod.
All this technology. All this change.
But I want to tell you, I have to tell you, that in the near two decades since 1986, the process for having an ingrown toenail removed has. not. changed. one. bit.
Ouch.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
If only it were hip to be square
The Longbranch Inn (1133 E. 11th St.) is not what I expected.
There’s nothing bad about the bar that I can put my finger on — the dive-style atmosphere, the not-too-dark lighting, the long wooden bar and cement floor and, heck, everything else just feels comfortable to me. It’s the kind of place I could spend a free afternoon and feel quite at home.
Hey, the jukebox even includes Townes Van Zandt, John Lee Hooker, Willie and plenty of Johnny Cash.
But the hipster aura of the place on Thursday night was just about overwhelming.
Trust me, I’m so far removed from the hip scene that I’m not exactly sure what makes a hipster. Is it the old-style glasses? The carefully tousled hair? The thick sense of irony? All were in abundance at the Longbranch on Thursday.
Me, I got a few Lone Stars from the bartender (who wasn’t quite aloof and far from surly, but sure wasn’t overwhelmed with joy to be serving me) and felt out of place. When they played Buck Owens on the jukebox, I was anxious. The hipsters have stolen Buck Owens, too?
I got there after work, about 11:30 p.m., and had promised myself I’d leave by 1:30 a.m. It wasn’t too hard to do so.
Still, I’ll give it another shot. Earlier in the day, before it’s hip to go out.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Jingle bzzzzt!
This idea is worth a million bucks.
And I’m sharing it with you. Because I have no capital. No investors. No spare time. If you make the million bucks, you can share some with me.
OK, here goes: Christmas-light bug zappers.
I was inspired by my neighbor, who still has his bug zapper hanging in his front yard (though it hasn’t been turned on in awhile) alongside his wee smattering of Christmas lights (I don’t have any lights — we live on the Grinch end of the street).
So what do you think? If there’s anything better than watching holiday lights, it’s getting a satisfying “zap!” when a big bug flies into ‘em.
True, they wouldn’t be much good in the frozen northlands, but in the Deep South and anywhere else warm enough for bugs — man, it’d be a smash hit.
Permalink | Comments (1) | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Will work for Mistletoe
Was zoned out on the drive to work when I saw the panhandler waving a big stick over the top of my truck … wha?
Turns out this guy — I don’t know if he was homeless or just a sidewalk entrepreneur — had hunted down some mistletoe and was selling it for a couple bucks a sprig. He had the mistletoe tied to the stick and a sign that, charmingly, read “Mistletoe.”
Now that sure beats the heck out of standing there with a sign that says “Anything helps. God bless.” Now there’s a guy with some get-up-and-go.
Was at the O’Reilly Auto Parts store — looking for a gas cap for a ‘99 Honda Accord — when I noticed that every parking spot was stained black by leaking oil or coolant or transmission fluid or brake fluid or (from my truck) power-steering fluid.
Every spot. And no, there’s nothing ironic or funny or odd about that. I just happened to notice it and it just makes sense.
Been watching a lot of SportsCenter recently. And now that ESPN’s movie “CodeBreakers” has aired already, thank God — DUTY, HONOR, COUNTRY, SIR! — every commercial break now seems to include the promo for ABC’s “Dancing with the Stars.”
Specifically, the one with a suddenly very-old-looking Jerry Rice, pants pulled up a little too high, giving that odd look that I can’t quite read.
Is he thinking, “Man, I could be going to the playoffs with the Broncos right now.” Or maybe, “I can’t believe I signed up for this.” Or perhaps, “I can dance if I want to.”
Either way, the commercial makes me sad. Poor, poor Jerry Rice.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Limping to the end of 2005
The Dallas Cowboys are doomed. Whipped senseless by the Redskins on Sunday, they’re destined to stumble and belly flop all over the last two games of the season.
College bowl season is here and the Aggies are at home, hiring a defensive coordinator who was fired from his last coaching job.
Fitness? I’m a mess, having reached the low point of holiday-fueled consumption and apathy. Heck, bring on the cookies and beer, it’s still almost two weeks until New Year’s.
The holiday season brings out the stress in everyone. Expenditures are rising. Income is not.
I think I have a cavity. My toe hurts.
And on Monday afternoon?
The sun came out. Sunshine, for the first time, it seems, in years.
Good ol’ Mother Nature.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
High style, cheap suds
Friday night at the Chevron at Congress and Riverside — very large limo parked in the corner. Saw a fellow headed for it with three 12-packs of beer. Didn’t see the other two, but one was a 12-pack of Natural Light.
Now, I would be the last one to be snooty about what a fellow drinks, but if you’re gonna ride in the limo, why not spring for the Bud Light, eh?
Another mystery, this one from Shannon: “Why do they call it a VFW — why not just a VW?”
Good question. What happens if the U.S. fights a war here? Would veterans of that war not be able to go play bingo at the hall with the veterans of foreign wars?
Permalink | Comments (2) | Categories: By Dave Thomas
I heart buffalo wings
SAN ANTONIO — So I was walking from the cardiology center to Wingstop for some buffalo wings …
… OK, there’s not so much connection there as you might imagine. It was Shannon who was undergoing a stress test at the cardiology center here in the Alamo City. It seems her heart was all aflutter and not necessarily with love for me.
(Well, maybe a little.)
Tests are ongoing, but early results confirm that I’m in love with a Good-Hearted Woman.
I wasn’t much on spending three hours in a waiting room. I got so bored I read the People magazine article on Kenny Chesney. Later, I got so bored I thought about reading it again.
Hungry, I took a walk. Tempted, I was heading for the buffalo wings when I saw …
(How were the wings? I still call BW3 my favorite, but the “original hot” wings at Wingstop aren’t bad. They were — at least at this location — a little too soaked in the buffalo sauce. I spent a good portion of yesterday sporting burnt orange fingertips and I was a little self-conscious about it.)
… I was heading for the buffalo wings when I saw a car in the parking lot with this bumper sticker: “Keep San Antonio Lame.”
I loved it.
What do you think? Was this person showing a little self-deprecating love for their hometown? Or do you think the car’s owner would much rather be keeping Austin weird?
Either way, that’s good humor.
Permalink | Comments (2) | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Austin’s best migas?
I almost don’t want to tell you about the Mexican food place I discovered this month.
Actually, I saw it soon after Shannon and I moved to that generic apartment on William Cannon Drive in January 2002.
(True story: My first day at the Statesman was Jan. 8, 2002 — the day Dave Thomas went to the Great Biggie in the sky. I got up that morning, turned on CNN and the very first thing I saw on the screen was “Dave Thomas dead.” Not an auspicious start to my Austin career.)
Nearly four years later, (Dave Thomas is still dead) and I finally went to La Fuentes (6507 Circle S. Road hidden behind some construction near So-SoCo — that’d be South, South Congress — and William Cannon.
I almost don’t want to tell you about La Fuentesbecause it’s almost too good to share. A quiet little restaurant, basically in someone’s front yard, it looks like the sort of place that keeps the Christmas lights up year-round. (I’ll get back to you on that come January.)
After two visits in two weeks, it has passed the tacos-and-beer test and the migas test with flying colors. It’s probably rash to say it after only one order, but I’ll just lay it out there: La Fuentes’ migas are right up there with Las Manitas’ for my favorite in town.
Shannon has had the cheese enchiladas and reports that they are “good.” That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic, but I could count on one hand the number of times the Enchilada Guru has given even the slightest nod of approval.
The chips are great, the salsa better. The queso? A little thin and bland.
Hey, if it were perfect, I would have kept La Fuentes to myself.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
On the road again and again …
ON THE ROAD — That’s where I spent my entire weekend, it seems. Saturday was northeast to my relatives’ place in Palestine and then, after turkey and guns, north to my parents’ house near Gladewater. Sunday was more adventurous — crossing Interstates 20 and 45, then traveling Interstates 35 and 10 to reach my in-laws.
Yes, three family events in 24 hours. I’m very tired. Here’s a few details…
Salado on I-35: I’ve passed by Robertson’s for decades, it seems, thinking it was a tourist trap for Yankees. That might be, but we’ve since learned that the beef jerky and dried sausage is excellent. And if you’ve got a lovely traveling spouse who will cut up the dried sausage and smoked cheese as you drive northward, then this is the way to travel. But bring your own crackers — they charged us $4 for two sleeves of saltines.
Mexia on U.S. 84: I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a town this size that appears to be so close to becoming a ghost town. Now, we didn’t stop — for all we know, this could be a thriving community. But there’s something about the way the land lies and the grass waves that makes it look as if the countryside is on the verge of reclaiming the town.
Uncle Ken’s land off County Road 379: Dad brought the old .22 rifle to liven up the Thomas family Christmas celebration. Am I a good shot? Pine cones and Coke cans tremble at my approach.
Starrville on U.S. 281 just north of I-20: Repeat after me … “STARRVILLE church of the LIVING GOD”. This is the best name for a church, ever.
Mom & Dad’s place: I got a bench vise for Christmas. You envy me. Later, we had to make an emergency run to RB’s liquor store for more “Pen-yot Gringo” wine (as Bullworker and I decided it should be pronounced) when Shannon ran out just before the traditional game of dominoes.
And that’s just the first day. It was one of those weekends I was glad to come back to work.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
A very special winter blog
That was fun, for a minute.
I put on my knit hat and sweatshirt in the morning and went for a winter jog. Sweating and turning the air foggy with my wheezing. Fitness or pneumonia, that’s my motto!
After a warm shower and the rest of the pot of coffee, it was time for Christmas shopping. I put on my second-favorite flannel shirt (my first-favorite was swiped by some unconscionable floozie taking advantage of my chivalrous nature, way back in the days of B.S. — Before Shannon) and warmed up the truck.
I listened to James McMurtry’s “Outskirts” from his first album, “Too Long in the Wasteland.” The icy-themed song reminded me of heading north from San Angelo, into the teeth of a mighty 1995 ice storm, to see another gal (this was many years B.S.) in Lubbock.
Unfortunately, the most memorable moment from that night was while I was still driving into Lubbock: The driver’s side windshield wiper completely fell of the wiper arm and bounced into the street.
I think it froze to death.
Wednesday wasn’t quite so cold. I even dug up my mix CD of country Christmas songs for the drive to work. If there’s anything better than Willie Nelson’s intro to “Jingle Bells” (which is reminiscent of “Good Hearted Woman”) it’s Kelly Willis’ cover of “Santa Baby.”
A man could wreck his truck listening to her sing that tune.
Later there would be early deadlines. The realization I forgot my coat. Ice scraping. Idiots on the road!
That was fun, for a minute.
Now I’m through with winter.
Bring back the 100 degrees.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
South side bar food
My favorite bar that I almost never go to (Sam’s Town Point) now serves food.
Was in there the other day and noticed the menu — from steak sandwiches to chicken tenders to buffalo wings to nachos — while I was killing time and canned beers. The kitchen doesn’t open until 6 p.m. and I had to head home to cook spaghetti, so I didn’t try it myself. But it looked good.
Reader Lorenski (see comment below) takes me to task for apparently not paying attention during my recent viewing of “Walk the Line.”
I said: “The scene where Cash stomps out the footlights at the Grand Ol’ Opry was in a trailer or two, but not in the movie.”
Lorenski said: “You must have took a bathroom break, because I saw it plain as day.”
I offer my defense: I saw it at and Alamo Drafthouse. They serve beer. I did have to take a bathroom break. But I thought I had timed it for one of those romantic interludes.
OK, that’s a lousy defense. I must be wrong. I was also wrong that night, griping all the way back to the house that they should have included “A Boy Named Sue” in the Folsom Prison scene. I didn’t remember until the next morning that Cash debuted that song on his San Quentin album.
Oops. I guess it’s good that I get my prisons mixed up.
Dave’s Old News Movie Review: “Batman Begins” is lots of fun.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Beats going to the maul
The firewood at the H-E-B reeked of “urbanite.” All wrapped in plastic and bar-coded. Heck, it probably had a government warning on there somewhere.
I couldn’t bring myself to buy it. Shannon wanted to have a fire, but I felt like a terrible yuppie buying firewood at the H-E-B.
Of course, I should be splitting the firewood myself. My father-in-law gave me a half-truckload of oak a year ago. It was well-seasoned oak. (It was petrified.) I took it and bought a splitting maul at the local ACE Hardware (I didn’t want one of those plastic-handled sissy jobs they sell at Home Depot) and split enough of it for a couple of fires.
I did it just because everyone told me that I couldn’t split that Jurassic oak. I did it. But I’m not in any hurry to split some more.
Two options down, I decided to stop at TreeLanders on Manchaca Road — about half a mile south of Albertson’s on Slaughter Lane.
You know the place: It’s basically a spot on the east side of the road with a run-down truck and sign and stacks of firewood. The business itself is apparently a sizable one that does all sorts of work (roofing, fencing, tree trimming), but the spot where they sell their firewood looks abandoned. A fading sign says firewood is $10 a stack and “If attendant is not on duty” place the money in a lockbox before loading the wood.
Heck, I’ve never seen anyone here, much less an attendant. Still, it’s good-looking wood. And I sure admire their sense of trust — the sign even says “checks accepted” — so I put an Andrew Jackson in the box and loaded up two stacks of wood.
This is the way to do it. Almost feels as good as splitting your own.
Permalink | Comments (1) | Categories: By Dave Thomas
South Austin scooter
Santa Claus on Manchaca Road? Perhaps it was Gabby Hayes.
Yeah, I hate to end a week of good blogs on a lame note, but this was the most exciting thing to happen to me in the last couple days:
I saw Gandalf riding in a three-wheeled contraption, heading north on Manchaca. I did some critical observation (the contraption said “Bajaj” on the back) and some crucial research (Google) and found this. Apparently Bajaj is an Indian brand of scooters, motorcycles and three-wheeled scooters.
It sorta looked like this except much older and all white.
In fact, Billy Gibbons’ ride looked like nothing so much as the offspring of a scooter mating with a taco truck.
Heck, I need one of these.
Permalink | Comments (1) | Categories: By Dave Thomas
