Austin360 blogs > Bottlecaps & Wingnuts
Mugged
Among the stranger bits of advice I got when I revealed that Shannon was pregnant was this: “Get in shape.”
It seemed counterintuitive. This was my last chance to stay out late, sleep late, party like it was 2003. This was my last chance to spend money wildly at restaurants before I had to spend it on diapers.
Besides, I knew a woman carrying a 10-pound baby does not want to see her husband losing weight.
But it was good advice, though I didn’t follow it.
Why do I bring this up? Oh, you might have seen the new Jabba-esque mug shot over to your left. In retribution for my sins, I’m guessing, the officials here have decided to update the mug shots on all the blogs. Or, possibly, just mine. I haven’t checked yet.
I wasn’t happy about this. The previous mug shot was taken just as I was finishing my seventh month of Weight Watchers and three months after I had kicked off my train-for-a-triathlon program.
I was 212 pounds at the time and pretty happy about that. It was spring 2005.
To be fair, by the time we were telling people Shannon was pregnant in fall 2006, I weighed about 232 pounds.
The picture at left? Well, I guess if I’ve gone this far, I might as well admit it: 252 pounds, roughly.
It’s been my fault, I know. But it is hard to fit in exercise when you’re the stay-at-home dad of an infant. If the boy’s not sick, then I am. If we’re good, the weather’s bad. If the weather’s right, we haven’t gotten any sleep …
But Shannon’s determined (and when she gets that way, there’s no stopping her), to get us both in shape for Baby No. 2. She’s buying organic foods, cooking healthy, giving me the evil eye when I just want to have ONE cheeseburger, because hey it’s the WEEKEND…
It’s been several months now. I haven’t seen but one cheeseburger since February (it was good). I see Suzi’s sesame chicken plate in my sleep, but I have lost 10 pounds.
So, no, I won’t be vain. That’s me on the upper left.
But if I see the south side of 220 again, that updated mug shot is gonna be updated once more.
Permalink | Comments (0) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Hot times at the Farm
“Let’s go spend the night at the Farm,” Shannon said, “before it gets too hot.”
Seemed like a good plan to me. So, after about 6 hours of sleep on Friday night, we got up, packed and headed south.
Traveling with an infant, I’ve learned, is not hard. You just take everything you own.
As we headed down I-35, I looked up at the gray skies and said, “I sure hope the sun comes out.”
You know where this is going. The Weather Channel says it was 96 degrees in Pleasanton on Saturday. The thermometer at the Farm said it was 104 degrees at its peak. I’m willing to bet it was somewhere in the middle of those two readings.
It was a good time. We ate fried chicken and macaroni salad, I drank beer in the afternoon, took a break when the heat got to me, then tried to get geared up again in the evening.
But I have to admit, just short of 37 years old, the heat is starting to get to me. It’s been a lifelong silent point of pride that I could tolerate hot weather just like the old-timers. But I’m starting to get conditioned, I guess.
Can’t do nothing about the years. But I need to get outside more. Gotta retrain these old bones.
The boy, having recovered from his illness, was plenty happy through the 26 hours we were away from home, even though we pretty much failed to bring along anything for him to entertain himself with.
Finally, once it got dark, I managed to cool off enough to enjoy the evening, which was capped by Uncle Jimmy bringing out his guitar and telling me I was going to sing “Pancho and Lefty.”
I do know all the words, I promise. But I was flustered enough by my failure to keep pace with the music that I faltered a time or two. Trust me when I say I ain’t much of a singer.
Here’s a few pictures…
No, that’s not where I slept. But I would if I didn’t fear it would come crashing down on me in the middle of the night.
We found a friend. But the boy just wasn’t impressed.
It was too hot for close-up photos: The boy lunges for the camera.
Permalink | Comments (0) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Detonation
Shall we test the limits of this family blog?
It has been a long, long week in the Thomas household, but the boy is feeling better. His coughing is less frequent and more productive. Yesterday afternoon, he had a spell where he felt so good that he rolled around the carpet and giggled and demanded we roughhouse it a bit.
Of course that tired him out for the rest of the day, but it’s good to see the gigglemonster return.
But the real difficulty this week has been the diet. The boy’s liquid diet. All week he has refused to eat anything very solid because, well, it hurt his throat. Who can blame him?
So it’s been yogurt and liquidy baby foods and milk, milk, milk. A little pudding or sherbet when Shannon spoils him…
And, well, the diapers have shown the effects. It has been ugly. But yesterday, right after lunch, he was sitting in the highchair when I hear the ugly sound of a napalm poop bomb.
This is going to be ugly, I thought. I cleared the countertop. I got a pair of diapers (just in case). I pulled out about 100 wipes. I got the surgeon’s mask (not really, but I wish I had). Then I retrieved the boy.
Nothing on the highchair. But when I placed him on the counter … OH MY GOD. Let’s just say it had shot up through the top of the diaper all the way to his armpits.
I got the shorts off. Then the diaper. I wiped and wiped and wiped and wiped and, good Lord, there’s still more. When I got the bottom pretty clear (all the while trying to keep the boy from reaching down anywhere below his shoulders), I took a look at the shirt.
Basically, there was no way I could get this shirt off him without dragging the extremely soiled portion of it over his oversized head and basically getting whatnot everywhere.
No time to think, I grabbed a pair of kitchen scissors and cut the shirt right off of him.
After another 50 or so baby wipes, I took the boy straight to the bathtub. He, of course, thought this was the best thing ever. A bath in the middle of the day!
Convincing Shannon, via cell phone, that cutting the shirt off was necessary wasn’t as easy. But, later, as we swapped the boy in the parking lot, I think I was able to make my point by re-enacting the detonation.
Gotta get that boy back on some solid foods.
Permalink | Comments (2) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Attitude? Teeth? No, sick!
The boy has been sick for awhile, though it took us some time to figure this out.
By last Thursday, Friday, he was refusing to eat solid foods, or anything he had to chew for that matter. Shannon had left for Dallas on Friday morning to visit her best friend and I had figured that the boy was finally rebelling against the baby food I was feeding him.
We battled it out for a day, him only eating certain things, me continuing to try and sneak some more substantive food in there. He was big on taking a mouthful and then spitting it out. It seemed the boy had an attitude and was testing me.
Via phone conference on Saturday afternoon, Shannon suggested he had some major teeth coming in and that was causing his lack of appetite. I couldn’t feel any teeth, but it seemed to make perfect sense. I thought back and realized that it was anything he had to chew that he was spitting out. Not just the chunky baby food that he tolerated, but even things I knew he liked (he would greedily reach for a cut-up grape, swish it around for a few moments, and then ptui! out it came).
That, combined with oceans of drool, seemed like a good answer.
By Sunday night, though, it seemed there was more to it than that. He was getting more sluggish, he was feeling a little hot. A complete lack of appetite for even soft foods by Monday morning indicated things weren’t good.
Late Monday afternoon he woke up from his nap with a 103-degree fever and a worrisome rasp / squeak when he tried to breathe. We, of course, called the doctor.
Tuesday morning: The doctor says he’s probably had a sore throat for about a week and it has peaked, causing a double ear infection to boot.
I know the boy’s demeanor doesn’t help — he doesn’t act sick until he’s really sick — but, man, I’m terrible at diagnosing illnesses.
I’ll diagnose the Spurs’ illness: They’re old.
Is this it? Is the mighty run over? Well, at least I have that Game 1 double-OT victory over the Suns to remember it by. A mighty last stand before being overtaken by the irrepressible onslaught of time.
Go Spurs, go!
Permalink | Comments (1) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Smatterings
The first two pages of Joe Nick Patoski’s Willie biography are excellent. Will keep you updated.
Haven’t kept up with the Roger Clemens thing because, man I just don’t care. But the new accusation that he began an affair with Mindy McCready when she was 15 years old puts the Clemens mess on a whole new level.
Most people probably don’t know who McCready is — but they would had she been a little more famous before her fall. Don’t know about her legal/domestic/drug problems? Read about them right here. Her decline would be Mike Tyson-esque if she had made it another step or two up the fame ladder.
If I ran the universe, the following rules would be in order:
Every apple I picked up would be crisp.
I would decide what happens to people convicted of harming a child. Cruel and unusual would be a starting point.
A Comfort Inn on the outskirts of Fredericksburg would never, ever cost more than, say $70 a night. For other people. For me, it would be free.
Cab rides home from bars would be free. Cab drivers would be paid by the government based on how friendly they were.
I would get an extra hour a day to use at my leisure. Let’s make it two.
Spent Saturday in Fredericksburg with Shannon while the boy had some quality time in San Antonio. Yes, it was our fifth anniversary (seems like just yesterday I was wearing that black tuxedo and sporting a $70 haircut).
We spent hours at Hondo’s on Main talking to our old friend VelAnne. We spent just as long at the Fredericksburg Brewing Co. talking to each other. But the day, of course, included a side trip to Luckenbach.
I haven’t been out there in awhile. What’s changed?
Here in Austin, all the old regulars are still at the Showdown, but the bar is going away.
Out in Luckenbach, the bar is still the same as it ever was. But the people I knew are gone.
I told Shannon it would’ve been nice to see someone we knew who wasn’t memorialized on the wall.
Permalink | Comments (0) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
The Willie archivist
If you ever wanted to hold a small plastic box with the remains of two (not just one, no sir) Willie Nelson joints enclosed, I’ve got just the place for you.
I spent last Thursday afternoon in quiet Willie Nelson research mode at the Southwestern Writers Collection in the Alkek Library on the campus of Texas State University.
Specifically, the Willie Nelson Collection — donated by Willie as well as Bill Wittliff and others. Much of the material in this collection is paperwork relating to the early Farm Aid concerts, but there’s enough cool stuff thrown in to make it worthwhile.
First, I had to find the place. I have to give UT props over Texas State for one thing: the Longhorns are pretty good at labeling buildings. But it only took two guesses to find the library, given the knowledge that the building I was looking for had at least seven floors.
As I walked across a common area that seemed to be a maze of stairs and an ADA lawsuit waiting to happen, I thought that in my jeans and maroon T-shirt, maybe I could even pass for a student.
Not a chance. As one courteous young fellow held open the library door, it was “after you, sir.”
The little office of the Southwestern Writers Collection was interesting enough to be sole reason for the visit: It was ringed by original posters including Jim Franklin’s posters for the opening of the Armadillo World Headquarters and Willie’s first Fourth Of July Picnic in Dripping Springs.
That was about as much information as I would find on the Picnic, though the files held enough promise for me to return for another round of research when I can find a free afternoon.
In addition to a few Willie personal items (roaches, sunglasses, belt buckle), there were official concert itineraries, correspondence to Willie and a treasure trove of concert memorabilia — mostly backstage passes and other official laminates.
The research provided at least one awkward moment: One box held a 1970s-era Playboy magazine with an article written by Larry L. King about the 1975 Picnic. Of course, I had to thumb through it to find the article — with a library (female) employee sitting at a desk about 5 feet away.
She immediately got up and ducked into a nearby room for a few moments. Coincidence? I don’t know. But I didn’t get a chance to look over and tell her I was only reading that Playboy for the article …
Permalink | Comments (0) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Bluebonnets
Shannon let me know that lack of bluebonnets was no excuse for failing to take the baby-in-the-bluebonnets picture this year.
But the only decent stands of bluebonnets I’ve seen were arms-length from passing traffic on MoPac Boulevard. I thought about hiking down the service road with the boy and letting Shannon drive by and snap photos …
But we settled for a small smattering of flowers in Mary Moore Searight Park.
What a difference a year makes.
Here’s a photo from last year. (No, I don’t know who that joker holding the boy is, but he sure needs a shave and a decent T-shirt.) It was probably a little early to take the boy out into the world. I’m sure his only thought at this point was “Bright light! Bright light!”
About a year later, and this is the official photo. (Yes, all the bluebonnets in the park can be seen in this frame.)
Happy spring, y’all.
Permalink | Comments (1) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Breakfast Haiku
In the spirit of “how fast can I write a blog entry?”, I give you …
Breakfast Haiku
I can feed myself.
But Dad is even better.
Hey! I hate turkey!
Permalink | Comments (1) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Stuff for your Smurf
The boy is turning into a sweet potato.
If you’ve seen the photos and thought he had a yellow tint, it’s not just the photographer. He does have a yellow tint. And the doctor says it’s because he eats a lot of yellow vegetables.
It could be better: He could eat lots of peas, and we’d have a tiny little Incredible Hulk. It could be worse: He could eat lots of carrots, and we’d have a burnt-orange kid.
Too bad there’s no blue vegetables. We could have a Smurf.
So it’s been one year. I’ve seen other parents list the top baby items they couldn’t live without. And I don’t want to be left out. Besides the obvious (car seat, crib), here are the things that saved our sanity in the last year:
Top item: A clean, comfortable, cheerful and pleasant nursery. During the construction phase, I might have cussed the nursery. I might have thought that the painting and the pictures and the furniture was going overboard. But I sure don’t today. During the parent-freaks-out-over-first-month-of-first-child phase I slept in the recliner we had in there many times. The boy likes being in his room and that makes all the effort we put into it worth it many times over.
Runner-up: The video monitor system. It’s expensive. Two of my cousins teamed up to buy us the one we’ve used and I bless them heartily. Ours is a camera mounted over the crib (with cool night vision!) and a monitor that stays by my side. Boy making an odd noise? Click the button to see what he’s up to. Worth every cent.
Three: The baby mobile that goes on the crib. Soothing music. Hypnotizing motion. Freaky-looking jungle animals.
Four: Coffee. If you don’t have a taste for the cheap stuff, work on it. Because you will no longer be able to afford $4 cups when you have a kid.
Five: A good pediatrician. If you don’t like yours, keep searching. Nothing beats having confidence that your sick child will get prompt and careful attention.
Six: A digital camera. It’s the only way to satisfy a grandparents’ demand for photos.
Seven: Friends who will give you hand-me-down clothes. Sometimes it seems odd to put the soccer shirt on the boy, or the Cozumel T-shirt, when we’re not soccer fans and haven’t been to Cozumel. But it beats buying clothes he’s going to outgrow in three days. And he doesn’t mind what he wears / drools on / smears sweet potato on.
Eight: Exersaucer. A cure for constipation. A contraption that will let you eat a sandwich in peace. An immobilizer that will let you take a quick trip to the bathroom. Plus, our kid actually likes it.
Nine: A good stroller. We have a fleet of them: the expeditionary scout stroller, the all-terrain strike force stroller and the battle wagon. Overkill? Not if you like getting out of the house and saving the last shreds of your sanity.
Ten: Baby books. Lots of them. If they’re touchy-feely, have flashing lights, crinkly pages or pop-up action, even better. For a sweet little while in the early months, the boy would sit in my lap and listen to me read them and watch as I turned the pages. Now, he has to turn the pages, chew on them, fling them around. We’ve taken a backward step from literacy, but I think once he realizes that the toys he likes so much right now have an extra benefit, I think we’ll take a great leap forward.
Permalink | Comments (0) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Showdown’s over?
I have it on good authority that the Texas Showdown, beloved bar on the Drag, is going to close down within the next month or so.
They’ve been there, close to 26th and Guadalupe for more than 20 years, 14 of which I have been a loyal, if infrequent customer. Infrequent, save for a marvelous 2-year span when Shannon and I were true regulars.
There’s more blogging on this topic to come.
For now, let’s wrap up the Willie Nelson Fourth of July Picnic extravaganza:
What did I learn from my research?
I had thought that the early days of the Picnic were always multiple-day extravaganzas and that the Picnic hit its peak in 1980, attracting 100,000 or more to Willie’s Pedernales Country Club. Not true. There’ve only been 3 multi-day Picnics: 1974, 1976 and 2003. And the crowd of 80,000 in 1976 was the Picnic’s largest.
What were others most surprised by?
Most people I talked to who had read through my chronology were surprised to see the Picnic didn’t come to Luckenbach until 1995. They had assumed Luckenbach was tied to the early days of the Picnic. It’s not a bad assumption, given that Luckenbach had hosted large events in the ’70s and that the Waylon hit song “Luckenbach, Texas” came out in the middle of that decade. But it’s true, they didn’t get together until ‘95.
If you could change the Picnic, what would you do?
I would love to see a big-name female singer take the stage late in the evening. Paula Nelson and Pauline Reese are excellent, but I’d like to see the boys’ club broken up a bit more. Emmylou Harris has played the Picnic before and Rosanne Cash would be a natural fit, given the Outlaw offspring that pack the Picnic these days. But I’d love to see Lucinda Williams play the Picnic. Or maybe even … Loretta Lynn? And I’d put her on right after David Allan Coe. How’s that for contrast?
Permalink | Comments (0) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
And then I wrote
Not only did Sunday mark the boy’s first birthday, it marked the publication of my long-researched history of Willie’s Fourth of July Picnics.
In my next blog, I’ll talk about my findings (so scientific), but let me take a moment here to pimp, er, push, uh, promote what I wrote.
If you want to read my beautiful and lengthy year-by-year online-only treatise on the entire history of the picnic: you can read it by clicking on this link.
If you want to read my story that appeared in the Statesman: you can read it by clicking on this link.
And, sigh, if you just want to look at the pictures (like everyone else) then click on this link right here.
And, if by some small miracle, you have documentation (ticket stub, concert poster, newspaper article) to prove what Willie was doing on the actual Fourth of July in 1977, 1982, 1988, 1989, 1994 or 2002, then send me an e-mail or comment.
The research continues …
Permalink | Comments (0) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Birthday visuals: A haiku
A few pictures from the first birthday festivities on Sunday:
(Click on the photos for a larger view)
Birthday boy
Birthday ribs
Birthday bib
Birthday cake
Birthday gift
You mean that’s it?
Permalink | Comments (1) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Birthday No. 1
We made it. And I’m sure glad we kept it a low-key affair. The boy’s first birthday took a lot out of us and he didn’t even know what was going on.
Here’s the birthday from his perspective:
Hey, everybody is singing to me. There sure are a lot of funny people here. Daddy smells like barbecue smoke. Hey, we get to sit outside. Mmmm. Rib bone. Mmm. Rib bone. Rib bone. Rib bone. Rib bone. Rib bone. Rib bone. Rib bone. What’s this? Cake, you say? What is this “frosting” between my fingers? Let’s give it a taste … sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Tears. Failed nap attempt No. 1. Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Presents! Crinkly paper! Other stuff! Crinkly paper! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Tears. Failed nap attempt No. 2. Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! Dinner. Milk. Sleeeeeeeeeeeeep.
It’s amazing how you can spend Saturday cleaning the house and Monday morning it looks like a federal disaster area. It’s amazing how you can spend Sunday afternoon just entertaining a one-year-old and feel like a zombie on Monday afternoon.
And we want to have another kid? I have to do this more than once a year?
And how is the 1-year-old? He’s thinking about walking. Talking? Well, he’s more into mumbling to himself.
(‘ll post some pictures later this week.)
Permalink | Comments (1) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Willie’s Verizon Wireless Picnic
So the Fourth of July Picnic is returning to Texas. Good. Going to San Antone. Good. Set for the Verizon Wireless Amphitheater? Eh.
The music will be good. Always is. That’s why we go. But the picnic, year to year, is defined by its venue. And Selma’s Verizon Wireless Amphitheater is hardly inspiring.
Willie had a “family picnic” there in August 2001 and my best-ever girlfriend bought us tickets for my birthday (that’s why I married her).
Here’s what I remember about the show: Hayseed Dixie (the band that did the country covers of AC/DC songs) played. Dennis Quaid played, looking like he was taking it much too seriously. Willie played quite a while. And 20-ounce beers were $6.50 each.
I had fun. But it was no picnic.
So why have the Fourth of July Picnic there? Why was last year’s picnic in Washington at a corporate-owned amphitheater?
If you’ve studied the history of the picnic, you’ve noted that having a picnic in a rural field (Luckenbach, Carl’s Corner, Willie’s country club) presents quite a set of problems:
Nearby residents are often against it, sometimes enough to raise a legal challenge.
Facilities have to be provided. Most notably portable toilets. But there’s other logistical challenges. For example, in Luckenbach’s case, the town’s electrical system had to be upgraded before it could handle the demands that would be put on it. And, oh yeah, you have to build a stage, too.
You have parking and traffic issues to deal with. Then there’s the matter of insurance. And that’s just off the top of my head. There’s more. Much, much more.
But Willie has never really let any of that stand in his way. Yes, the picnic has been held in stadiums and amphitheaters, but it has made its legend as a party in a pasture.
The real change came in 1999, when the Texas Mass Gatherings Act was amended. Previously any mass gathering lasting 12 or more hours required a permit from the county. This is why during the Luckenbach picnics, the plug was pulled at the 12-hour mark, even if Willie hadn’t gotten very far into his set.
But the 1999 revision said that events lasting 5 or more hours needed a permit. This led to the 2000 picnic being held at Southpark Meadows (which was already zoned for such gatherings and didn’t require a permit) and, ultimately, the cancellation of the picnics in 2001 and 2002.
So why not get a permit? They did in 2002 for a picnic in Luckenbach, but when the Gillespie County judge made it clear that he wasn’t in favor of the picnic and he reserved the right to revoke the permit at any time, Willie deemed it was too big a financial risk to go ahead. And you can’t blame him: Why go through all the expense of setting everything up when the county judge could call it off the day before?
The picnic did receive a mass gathering permit in 2003 for a show at the new and natural Two River Canyon Amphitheater.
But I’d be willing to bet that’s the last time that happens. For the remaining days of the picnic, I’m guessing it’s stadiums and corporate-owned amphitheaters. There’s too many regulations these days. And shrinking crowds at the picnics make it riskier for promoters to be spending their money on bringing in portable toilets and building stages.
No more rural picnics? In retrospect, it makes that 5-year run at Luckenbach seem like it was pretty magical.
And, who knows? Willie isn’t known for doing what he’s supposed to do.
Maybe he’ll surprise us next year.
(And don’t get me wrong … I’ll be first in line outside the gates of the Verizon Wireless Amphitheater on the morning of July 4.)
Permalink | Comments (2) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Before and After
We’re still learning how to read the kid when he’s sick. We did OK during Christmas when we skipped a trip to Wharton and later he threw up on Shannon, proving we made the right call.
Not so good on Easter…
He obviously didn’t feel very good. But he was trying to play along.
A week later, you can tell he’s back to his usual mischievous self.
O Lord of the Cheerios, I bow down before thee …
Permalink | Comments (0) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Chopped hair; groomed steak
The boy got his second unofficial haircut on Saturday, in preparation for this Sunday’s birthday festivities.
I made the mistake of telling the woman with the scissors to go fast, for he was squirmy.
No, there was no blood. But his haircut ended up looking like I cut it at home, complete with uneven bangs and obvious chop marks.
I didn’t notice until we got home and the hair dried a little, but I don’t mind so much. In a week, it’ll grow out a little and in the meantime it gives him a certain ill-kempt charm. Besides, he doesn’t mind.
I must remember: No sugar before haircuts.
This past Sunday was Shannon’s birthday and on Saturday night we went out to dinner. The big dinner. The triple-digit-steak-extravaganza. This time, it was III Forks there in the new retail district near City Hall.
We got there early for one round of drinks at the bar. I’ll just say that we spent more on that round of drinks and parking than we do on most meals. I had a beer (a $5 Fat Tire), Shannon had an appletini. Seriously, is there any reason for anyone to charge $12 for an appletini? Just because they can, I guess.
Shannon said it was good.
The meal? I’ll say it was real good. It gets my vote (for what it’s worth) over Ruth’s Chris and Sullivan’s.
Of course I’d pick the Lowake Steakhouse any day over any of ’em. (I’d link to their Web site, but they don’t have one — that’s a West Texas joint for you.)
Post-steak, we were headed for Little Woodrow’s in our ‘hood, when we detoured to the Horseshoe Lounge for several rounds of Lone Star. I would wager that most people who head for the ’Shoe from III Forks do it out of a sense of irony.
Us? Heck, we were back in our element. And enjoyed it mightily until a group of “ain’t-this-ironic” yuppies showed up. Then one guy, part of another group, wandered in and his first request was for an Amstel Light. The bartender just shook his head.
As we were leaving, Shannon said that bars should post their “Ironic Hours.”
Right there on the door: “You can only enjoy this bar in an ironic fashion after 11 p.m.”
That would be fine with me.
Permalink | Comments (5) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
We’re just sick people
The child-raising tomes I have consulted said to expect about eight illnesses in the first year.
I have lost count. But I think we’ve just wrapped up No. 4 or No. 5. So, with a week to go, I sure as hell hope we don’t come close to eight.
We’ve all been sick this week, and nothing’s quite so fun as a house full of coughing, sniffling, hacking folks. Who gets to nap now? Who gets the couch? Who’s gonna watch the boy? Who’s going to fetch food? (Actually, that one was never much in question.)
Recent first: We’ve had the first diaper where I had to call Shannon over and ask her to take care of it. How bad was it? Beyond my powers of description.
We’re on the mend. If it doesn’t rain, we’re gonna look for bluebonnets in Mary Moore Searight Park this afternoon. Hopefully, the fresh air will agree with us.
The first birthday is coming up. We’ve agreed to make it a small affair: Just the grandparents and my sister.
I was surprised Shannon agreed to this. But we’ve got our reasons, I guess. Me, I’m thinking the house and yard is too wrecked to display to friends (we’ve given up trying to impress family) and, God forbid, we don’t need any more gifts than can be prevented. Shannon, I’m guessing, is just too tired to think about feeding and entertaining a crowd.
Did anybody else hold a small-scale first birthday? Or is it a necessary tradition to have everyone over for a fest that extends way past the honoree?
Finally got around to tending to my DVR list. “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance” is a fine Western, I think. A little slow in some spots, but you gotta love any movie where the bad guys include Lee Marvin and Lee Van Cleef.
Permalink | Comments (4) | Post your comment Categories: By Dave Thomas
Eggshausted
Well, Easter didn’t work out for us, eggsactly. The boy’s second Easter — he was born on Good Friday last year — wasn’t a lot more active than his first.
We had gone to Zilker Park on Saturday. We figured it would be a healthy family fun day, with a 1.5-mile walk along the hike-and-bike trail to Zilker, fun at the park, and a walk back, the boy napping happily in the stroller.
Turns out the boy isn’t quite ready for the park. He’d have had more fun, if not for getting a little too much afternoon sun on the walk to the park. He gamely made an effort, though. Playing in the sand, playing in the grass, sitting on my shoulders.
But by the time we took an ice cream break, it was apparent he’d had enough. I left them in the shade at Zilker while I hoofed it back to the car and came to pick them up.
On Sunday, we drove down to the Farm. The boy napped a little on the way down there and things started off well, but he quickly dissolved into tears. There would be no Easter egg hunting for him. He spent the afternoon safe in Mom’s arms. Maybe in a few days we’ll stage some pictures with the Easter basket.
I don’t know if he has the dayc are crud (I do) or if, God forbid, he has allergies (me, too) but it appears that Saturday did him in.
We’ll know better next time. It’s not in the Easter spirit to say so, but he’ll give them eggs hell next year, I’m sure.
And, that Zilker playground looks like paradise for kids. I can’t wait until the boy’s old enough to enjoy that.
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Mary Moore Searight adventures
The trail’s old hat, it’s time to check out the playground:
“Whoa, I can feel that Tender Chicken & Stars coming right back up …”
(Imagine Jacques Cousteau voice) “Look, LaRonde, it’s ze magnifzent rhomboid squid…”
“Yeah, they let me in the yard for an hour a day. Other than that, it’s total lockdown.”
“Must … find … milk …”
(Insert obligatory “like sands through an hourglass, so are the days of our lives” joke here.)
Sand. It’s what’s for dinner.
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I wanna be Yard Dog
“Hey, Dave. You’re always doing the most hipster thing in the world.”
What’s that, Bret?
“Complaining about how SXSW is too hipster. You need to come to the Yard Dog on Saturday so you can be not-hipster.”
Yes, the average age of Bret and I is spitting distance from 40, and he’s still trying to convince me to do things using arguments like these.
I guess the fact that I went only encourages him.
Oh, we didn’t really go to the Yard Dog — Shannon the boy and I dropped by for about an hour or so to have a couple of Pabst Blue Ribbons, talk with some friends and get a little fresh air before retreating.
Bret’s been telling me about the Yard Dog (not the art gallery on South Congress Avenue, but the free South by Southwest day party they have every year) for nearly as long as I’ve known him.
For more than a decade, it seems, I’ve heard tales of free beer and live music and pictured this blissful, idyllic setting in a courtyard in the sunshine. The reality? A crowd of people in an alley, with two Porta Potties on one side, a beer tent in the middle and a band in the middle.
We approached from the beer tent side (I have an instinct for such things), parked the stroller in a driveway and lured my friends to me with the promise of seeing my boy and the added bonus of easy access to beer. No way was I pushing that stroller through the crowd to where the band was.
The boy might’ve liked it, for all I know, but I wasn’t going to find out. No, he squiggled in my arms, or Shannon’s arms, or on my shoulders for a bit more than an hour, having reached that age where he’s too old to sit quietly in the stroller and too young to be trusted to stand by my side and tell me nonstop that he’s bored.
I’ve gotta admit, I just don’t have the passion for live music — or at least new live music — that I once had. And Yard Dog wasn’t exactly what I pictured. But my friends did a good job of explaining to me that SXSW wasn’t all hipsters and Sixth Street and and expensive wristbands and standing in line for an hour waiting for a 1 a.m. show.
No, there was plenty of free music, free beer and daytime fun to be had, which suits me a lot better. At the least, I got to hear some music in the background as I stood outside with a cold one in my hand and talked to old friends.
I could do that, I guess.
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PJ spud
A multiple-choice question:
When do I have to take the boy out of his pajamas to take him to the store?
A) Now. Right now.
B) When Shannon tells me to knock it off and dress the boy right.
C) When other people at H-E-B start making fun of us.
D) When the boy says “Dad! I have to get dressed!”
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Latest comments
I would have carried him outside and used a hose...that's just me. Really nice story, Dave.
... read the full comment by stevear | Comment on Detonation Read Detonation
HAHAHAH That was one funny story! With 4 junior terrorists er...children of my own, I too have been the vicitm of Biomass destruction. I agree with you...cut your losses so to speak. One more thing...I didn't believe it before but it really is much funnier
... read the full comment by Jason | Comment on Detonation Read Detonation
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