Lone Star Rally Weekend (aka hide and watch)

(A forgotten draft, but wanted to save these thoughts, so posted anyway)

It's November.  It's Galvestson.  It must be Lone Star Rally weekend.  The best opportunity for lawyers and mutual fund managers to put on leather, bandanas, and sleeveless shirts that show off their multicolor tattoos of French postage stamps and not be looked at as odd.  It is the one weekend they can get away with referring to their wives as biker bitches.  It is rally weekend in Galveston.  

It is the one weekend a year where everyone that lives in Galveston is willing to admit that the crowd is not too rowdy and the money is terrific, so we can put up with a little noise.  Well, actually it is a lot of noise if you live in the right spot, but hey, it's just for a weekend.  At least no one is puking in my yard or throwing beer cans out their windows.

Open Letter to Whomever Stole My Kayak

To whomever stole my kayak...please come back and get the paddles.

I don't need them, since I don't plan to buy another kayak (unless you need two).  So come back and pick them up when you can.  They are just a reminder that whatever I have you can come and take, and that bothers me.  So, please come back and get the paddles.

I assume you are an outdoors person, because you stole one of our bikes last year.  Hey, "Play 60," right?  Anyway, you'll need the paddles in order to get any real enjoyment out of the kayak.  And I think there's a life jacket in the little fore hatch of the boat you took.  You'll be ready to go, once you come back and get the paddles.

Not sure what else I have that you might want.  I noticed when you broke in a couple of months ago, you were trying to disconnect our old Nintendo Wii before you apparently got called away on a bigger job.  It's an old Wii, first generation I think, but if you'd like to pick that up while you're here, I'll just set it outside.  I also have a VCR and an AM/FM clock radio that I've been meaning to donate.  I'll leave those out too.  That's assuming you come back and get the paddles.

I hope the stuff you're stealing from us is enriching your life in some way.  But to be frank, the whole business where you just come by every so often is a little unnerving for my wife and angering for me.  I worked hard for many years.  Maybe my job wasn't as difficult as walking the streets with a 40, looking for things people leave unlocked in their backyards, but hey, it had a pension plan.  I was even able to retire early, though now I am considering picking up some part time work, since I am supporting you also.  Anyway, to calm my wife's nerves, could you please let us know ahead of time when you plan to come back and get the paddles?

If you do come back, you may notice some changes.  First, I fixed the broken window latch (thanks for letting me know how easy it was to open that window and climb in).  Also, I put a lock on the shed.  Only a couple of bikes left in there now, but that's where the paddles are. So, you may need to borrow a pair of bolt-cutters from someone's garage, when you come back to get the paddles.

One other thing you may notice is better lighting.  I thought it might be a deterrent, but my wife says it will probably just help you to better see what you're taking.  Oh, and I put some alarms on the doors and windows, kind of a musical, ding dong, jet engine loud, 180 decibel siren.  When you hear it you should probably hurry, because thanks to your repeated diligence in pointing out my lack of security, I now keep my pistol loaded and I removed that darn trigger lock that was slowing me down.  Just something else to be aware of, if you come back to get the paddles.

Finally, I hope you are not camera shy.  I put up a couple of the outdoor type to kind of get an idea of what happens while I'm asleep.  The image is quite good, even at night.  But don't worry.  As long as you keep taking just one thing at a time, I don't think the police will post your picture anywhere that your family might see it.  I'm pretty sure things worth $500 or less aren't going to justify a manhunt either.  I'll probably be the only one that sees it.  Maybe I'll recognize you around town and we can formally meet.  We could talk about kayaking.  That is, if you come back to get the paddles.

Seems like a lot, but it's a fairly simple checklist really.  Just remember bolt-cutters, ear plugs, a sturdy bag for all the old electronics, and a pretty thick coat (or even better, Kevlar). Oh, yeah, don't forget to smile.  And please, come back and get the paddles.

Vote Anyway

     Went to the courthouse for early voting recently. It was the primary. So I wasn't really voting as much as just helping one of the parties pick a team to play against the other team (party). The libertarians and independents have yet to field enough players for there to be a tournament, so it is just head-to-head competition, for now.

     I tried to prepare by reading some candidate questionnaires the paper published. I also tried to read some of the mass mailing literature that is smothering all the real letters in my mailbox and forcing me to recycle three times a week. It was hard to read the mailings though, the pictures were so distracting.  I thought the picture of Faircloth looked like Saul from "Breaking Bad."  That might actually work for him, since Saul is getting his own show.  But, I think a lot of votes are cast on how people look. It is hard to get past some images. Your mind seems to stack them in the doorway so that rational thoughts trip over them on their way out. Then before they get back up, your amazingly efficient brain has already made a decision.

     Anyway, I did try to prepare. I even took some notes into the voting booth. Well, it's not really a booth. More like a tall TV tray with a shower curtain around it so the guy next to you can't cheat. Which he might try to do, if you take notes into the booth.

     A funny observation I made as I walked into the courthouse where the voting was being held was that there was a line outside the room and going down the hall of people paying their county taxes. But, there was no waiting to vote. In fact, there were more people working the polling station than there were voters. Seems like some of those people paying taxes would walk straight up to the voting room to express their satisfaction with the size check they just wrote downstairs.

     Okay, so here's the real stuff I wanted to write about.  I did some research and took my notes into the booth and was still overwhelmed by all the choices for all the positions. I was having trouble even finding the races I had made decisions on. Then, I thought, I bet nobody comes in here knowing who to vote for in every race. In fact, unless it's a relative or a person recently convicted of a highly publicized crime, I doubt anyone knows who most of these people are that are running in these races (another sport reference). So, I just threw out my notes (actually I gave them to the guy trying to peek around my shower curtain) and began to vote the way everybody really votes.

     First decision point, did I associate any names on the ballot with any really bad hairdo pictures I received in the mail? Those were automatically excluded. And, I didn't vote for anyone who had a nickname in quotation marks on the ballot. Next, did any of them have familiar names to me? That could go both ways. I sometimes vote for people with famous names, as long as I have a positive association with the name. For example, a guy named John Paul Listowski got my vote ‘cause I think that was a cool pope.  Also, any combination of the names John, Paul, Ringo, or George probably would work right now.  In choosing between Phillip Morris and Jack Roady, well, I don't smoke; but I do drink. So, that one was easy. Couldn't vote for someone named Hatmaker, because that name sounded like Dr. Seuss made it up and unless she was running against Mr. Brown who went downtown, I didn't think she would win anyway.  I also, didn't vote for anyone named Bret. I once knew a real jerk named Bret. It could be a name DNA thing, and I didn't want to take a chance.

     Final rule, I did not vote when there was just one candidate. It's a monopoly distrust issue. I once boycotted the newspaper when they bought out their only competitor.

     So, notes be damned, I completed 75% of my ballot using the techniques above. In most of the remaining races, I chose candidates using the time-tested tool of eenie meenie minie mo. I did resort to spinning the voting wheel on one and just closed my eyes on another.

     Then, I thanked the dozen polling volunteers and left feeling very satisfied. I did my duty as an American. I voted. I drug myself out of bed. I searched for the nearest polling location. I actually braved the brutal 50 degree weather and went in to cast my ballot: a ballot that expressed my desires for the leaders of our county and state.  A private ballot (thanks to the shower curtain), that contained my vote for all the people that I cannot remember the name of, for all the offices that I didn't even know existed. And there is beauty in that.

     I voted, but because I don't remember who for, I can gripe when the guy that wins turns out to be an idiot or can take credit for the genius that advances significant legislation to improve our lives. And, no one will ever know otherwise. What a great country.  So if you have no idea who to vote for, feel free to use my technique or maybe develop your own system.  But, most of all, VOTE ANYWAY.

I. M. Voter

Shhh! Don't Tell Anyone About Beerfoot!

Saw the signs for Beerfoot last fall and was curious about what might show up.

First beer I had there was a St. Arnold's Red Icon after the Mardi Gras Pet Parade.

I have enjoyed several beers there since Mardi Gras and every time I go I am anxious that it will have been "discovered" by the hordes of Pleasure Pierers or segwayers or sweaty, grumpy surrey-pedalers.

So far, it seems to have avoided the attention of the masses. I know this can't last. It is too laid back. The beer selection is too good. It is too relaxing and welcoming.

The concrete floors, whitewashed building, and the ocean breeze blowing freely through the oversized front window make you feel you have entered some other time, on some other island. It feels like it should be located in Havana or Key West and Hemmingway should be seated at the bar, except that he'd be watching March Madness on the big screen TV's or rocking on his bar stool to some AC/DC or Black Keys. He might shoot a round of pool or shuffle some board.

Either way, he would be served some choice beers (some brewed in house) by knowledgeable bartenders who seem to love talking about the stock. They would even let old Ernest have a sample, or two, or ... hold on now Ernie, don't get carried away.

Hate to recommend this place, because it will get crazy popular and the Hemmingways will leave for the summer. But, it is a cool venue with a great vibe and should be rewarded with all the business it can stand.

Cheers, Beerfoot! Wishing you great success, but also hoping you always have a seat for me and Uncle Ernest.

 

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