Way back in high school, I took driver’s ed in a dumpy complex adjacent to Austin’s Burnet Road. That’s BURnet. One of my instructors, of uncertain wisdom, taste in clothes, and sexuality, frequently told me to turn onto BurNET. I wanted to slap his rat-tail for not knowing how to pronounce the street printed on his paycheque.
I discovered a more tactful way I could have taught him. The Texas Hill Country has a line for this very occasion: ‘It’s Burnet, durn it, can’t you learn it?’
There’s a blog for everything, Austin hamburger reviews included. His conclusions are mostly accurate. I felt my veins pulse a little as he trashed Burger House on Spicewood Springs, though. The burger is oh-so-gooey (as it should be!) and is spiced with a mystery concoction that complements, not dominates, the flavour. The fries were rather weak, but that side is something almost every good burger spot in town tends to botch.
As you can see, I take my burgers seriously. I keep meaning to post a Top 5 list.
In what is potentially my greatest act of self-initiative thus far, I signed up for league dodgeball. What, I wasn’t shamed enough in elementary school?
All the elements were in place. I felt like treating myself for my upcoming birthday. I woke up early on Sunday and couldn’t get back to sleep. And most of all, this tune kept running through my head. It was clear I needed pancakes. So on my bike I hopped, all the while humming about pancakes. I wouldn’t get to have strawberry pancakes (Kerbey Lane Café doesn’t serve them), but anything pancake-related would satisfy the musical demon.
At Kerbey Lane, it became more than a craving: it was a divine mandate. The Pancake of the Day…
…was Strawberry. Weebl’s Stuff, you’ve done it again.
I was walking by Austin’s Paramount Theatre a couple weeks ago. The lettering on their sign was unfortunate. Not nearly as dumb as other theatre mistakes, but still amusing:
Paramount, like many arthouse theatres, is pandering to a microscopic niche market: the group of people that know what they want but would rather they didn’t. ((If you’re totally lost, here’s a hint.))
It’s already a tragedy that Spamarama, Austin’s signature event—hell if I care about Austin City Limits Festival or SXSW—is being taken over by Hormel Foods. They’ll probably situate lawyers at the front gates instead of security guards. What’s worse, though, is that the Spamarama name is being invaded from the underground by Christian values. This fringe site indicates that Spamarama now stands for the impressively overstretched ‘Students Proclaiming Awesome Message about Repentance and Mercy Available.’
Amazing. 268 acronyms of that length to choose from, and they chose the one that coincides with the festival making original sin—very original sin—out of pseudomeat.
I encountered a man wearing this T-shirt at Eeyore’s Birthday Party today, of all places. It explains my position in life so well. I want one.
A friend commented to me that she was going miniature golfing at Peter Pan, which is Austin’s dumpiest, raddest, boozin’-after-9-est place to partake in the activity. I used to be a hardcore golfer as a kid, so I felt a little reminiscent. Mini golf is one of the most fun G-rated destinations available. So why have I not played in 10 years?
As I mentally flipped through every joint in Austin I’ve ever visited to play since 1991, I was immediately horrified. They’ve all shut down. Every. Single. One.
Five failed miniature golf courses in less than ten years! Only two were under the management of the Putt-Putt franchise, which has cut corners in recent years to stay afloat. But what of the other three? It’s an inexplicable phenomenon, and I’m sure Austin is not the only city feeling it. This leaves Kiddie Acres (by its name, the place would make me feel a little out of place just going there to golf) and Peter Pan as the only two Austin landmark mini golf courses. Both have always been rather run-down, which have only added to their charm.
Is such a dwindling art recoverable? I doubt it; any calls to action or recommendations I could make would be drowned out by those made by other people. If you feel strongly, pressure the people at Putt-Putt to return to Austin and let them know they would be much appreciated. In the meantime, make sure to spend your hard-earned dollars at Peter Pan Golf (beer to drink at said location: optional) to offset the killer property taxes they must be paying.
If you need me, I’ll be drinking malt liquor underneath the Artarama sign.