More adventures in Margaritaville

Today was the day of Mrs. Toast's big TLA presentation, and I'm happy to report that all went exceedingly well. Leading up to her big dog-and-pony show, she had been very nervous about the idea of standing up in front of several hundred professional librarians, all of whom would be eyeballing her skeptically while thinking, "who is this person, and what can they possibly tell me about Collaborative Wikis that I might find remotely useful?" As you may be aware, most librarians are possessed with a vast amount of wisdom about everything in the universe, their brains full of knowledge to the very limit of human capacity. It can be difficult to squeeze in new facts without the danger of information they have already learned popping out from the opposite side of their brains to make room for them (aka "The Kelly Bundy Syndrome"); this makes them a very tough crowd to play to.

But as the lights in the conference room went down, the first of her PowerPoint slides appeared on the screen to audible oohs and ahhs from the audience, who were simply blown away by the awesomeness of her font selection, background imaging, and tasteful use of bullet points. By the end of her show, she had them on their feet applauding and cheering, and library groupies came up to her afterwards to ask for her autograph and to find out where they might catch her next presentation.

You think I'm making this up, don't you?

Anyway, while Mrs. Toast was knocking 'em dead at her convention, I decided to head back over to the Riverwalk. It's kind of odd when I stop to think about it; the first time I came here was well over 20 years ago, and although it's changed and grown over the years, it still hasn't lost the casual charm and wonderful ambiance that I love so much about this place. With its unique combination of dining, lodging and entertainment concentrated in a spectacular riverfront setting, I don't think there's another place in America quite like it. It's small wonder that the International Travel Association recently rated San Antonio as the #12 most popular city in the USA for convention and seminar travelers, one of the smallest cities on ITA's list, even beating out major destinations like New York and Los Angeles.

However, on my way from our hotel, I again passed by the Alamo and was struck at the difference in the scene from when we had been there the previous evening. Gone was the respectful reverence displayed by the few people who were present last night; in its place was something like a circus sideshow carnival. Groups of small kids ran around screaming, oblivious to the solemnity of the location, their parents nowhere to be seen. Tourists mugged for the camera in front of the mission doors, some mocking the siege of 1836 by pretending to "shoot" each other. Across the street from Alamo Plaza, barkers attempted to cajole passing tourists to enter the Wax Museum, Ripley's Believe it Or Not, House of Mirrors, and some other unknown attraction that featured a ten-foot-tall 3-D animated cartoon caricature of "Davy Crockett" clutching a rifle and wearing an oversize coonskin cap. I thought it was rather appalling, and couldn't help but wonder what Crockett, Travis, Bowie and the others might think if they could be here to see it now. Growth and popularity does have its negative side.

After a little bit I came to the Rivercenter Mall, which seemed like a much more appropriate place for commerce, and I think anyone who plans to visit San Antonio needs to spend a little time here. Now, I would not normally recommend something like this as tour highlight; after all, I'm not really a retail sort of guy. But how many shopping malls in America look like this?


For anyone visiting from out of state, this is definitely the one-stop shopping spot for all your tacky Lone Star souvenirs: cowboy hats, belt buckles, stuffed armadillos, fake longhorn antlers, giant coffee mugs and shot glasses, mini oil derricks, A&M T-Shirts, and other, er, items. I mean seriously, folks, what better captures the essence of "Texas" than shellacked petrified cow poop? No home should be without one.

The mall has a lovely outdoor foot court, where you'll enjoy being serenaded by live music as you watch the cruise boats full of tourists go by. However, ornithophobics beware: the avian life here, including ducks, sparrows, big fat black grackles, mockingbirds, and pigeons -- oh yes, most definitely the pigeons -- are so used to handouts from humans that you will be mobbed if a crumb so much as falls out of your mouth onto the ground. At one point a woman stood up and offered a nearby coven of pigeons some sort of food item, and they swooped in and dive-bombed her like a squadron of fighter jets. Alfred Hitchcock immediately came to mind.

But I pressed on, looking for a place to hang out and consume all those margaritas you nice readers have been asking me to have for you; after all, I take my responsibilities seriously and wouldn't want to let anyone down. Finally I found it: the Ibiza Bar (left), a funky little restaurant and watering hole that's part of the Hilton Paseo Del Rio complex. I've always wanted to visit the Balearic paradise, and this Ibiza will probably be as close as I'll ever get. The beverage that subsequently appeared on my table nearly brought tears to my eyes, it was a truly magnificent frozen concoction. And as I lifted it in symbolic toast, I honestly wished all of y'all could be here to enjoy one with me. We'd have us one hell of a fine time.

Oh, and don't forget to pick up a souvenir on your way home; that petrified meadow muffin ought to look great in your den.

Photos from San Antonio

We're staying at the Menger Hotel during our visit to San Antonio, which is located right next door to the Alamo. The Menger is quite famous in Texas history; past guests have featured such notable personalities as Teddy Roosevelt (who recruited his legendary "Rough Riders" in the hotel's bar), Babe Ruth, Mae West, Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee (although presumably not at the same time), just to mention a few. Much of the original hotel's furnishings and artwork have been preserved, and staying here is a lot like being a guest in a museum.

The hotel is allegedly haunted as well, and many guests have reported sighting various ghosts and apparitions on the property, including "kitchen utensils that transport themselves," according to the hotel's PR staff. We haven't seen any ghosts so far ourselves, but one vaguely spooky sighting did occur this evening while we were walking around the hallowed ground of the Alamo. Several blocks away is the Crockett Hotel, which features a large green neon sign on its roof. From a certain angle, the name "Crockett" seems to float over the Alamo, giving Davy somewhat of an enhanced presence here at the spot where he died.

There's a picture of this phenomenon along with a few other photos I took today around the hotel; just click on the thumbnail below to view the album. Hope you enjoy them.

Road trip!

We've been preparing for a fun-filled 700-mile round trip to San Antonio this week, which explains why posting has been light lately. I really enjoy road trips; they bring back fond memories of my old hippy days cruising around the country for months at a time in a VW bus, and there's a special allure in the freedom of the open highway that I still find very satisfying. Of course traveling these days is a bit more luxurious, thanks mainly to improvements in automotive technology; our current vehicle is much more reliable than my old microbus. While the VW was "home on wheels", it had a disturbing tendency to break down in the middle of nowhere, and much traveling back then was from one repair shop to the next. I still recall one sad night when the engine sucked a valve stem, shattering a piston and leaving me stranded in the Great Salt Lake desert. I was forced to swallow my pride and call my parents back home in Boston to wire money to have it repaired, dashing the illusion of independence that I tried so hard to cultivate in my rebellious youth. But the old bus finally managed to gasp and lurch all the way to California, completing my grand coast-to-coast adventure. Hopefully we'll be spared any similar mechanical failures on this trip.

Technology has also contributed to improve the experience in other ways; the new van's four-channel stereo sound system and mp3 player will surround us with great road tunes ("Born to Be Wild", "Running On Empty", "Life in the Fast Lane", etc.) as we cruise down the highway, and I have a designated space below the dash to set up the trusty laptop running DeLorme Street Atlas. This software, combined with a portable GPS receiver, shows our precise location on the map display and tells me exactly how to get where I want to go. At the risk of sounding like a DeLorme commercial, after I used it for the first time I could no longer imagine driving into unfamiliar territory without it ever again. It virtually guarantees that you'll never get lost no matter where you are, and shows lodging, restaurants, and other points of interest along your route. You can zoom in anywhere from street level to full cross-country view. I love it.

One thing the GPS software can't do, however, is compensate for the unruly nature of Texas drivers. Around our small town, people are very courteous and safe - but once out on the highway, especially in bigger cities like Houston, Austin, Dallas and yes, San Antonio, all bets are off; if you drive like you were taught in "defensive driving" class, you'll be run off the road. On the Houston freeways in particular, everyone practices what I call the "hole theory" of driving, which is as follows: you own the "hole" that exists between your front bumper and the rear bumper of the car in front of you, and you guard it at all costs. This hole must be large enough to allow time to react if the car in front of you slows down or, God forbid, stops (the trick to this is to watch the brake lights not of the car in front of you but the car in front of him). But, if your hole is too large you will be taken advantage of by every other vehicle on the freeway who will cut you off mercilessly. You might as well display large signs on the front and rear of your car reading "PLEASE CUT IN FRONT OF ME. I AM AN IDIOT."

So with this in mind, I found the following "Rules for Driving In Texas", which should be helpful for anyone motoring across the Lone Star State:

1. A right lane construction closure is just a game to see how many people can cut in line by passing you on the right as you sit in the left lane waiting for the same jerks to squeeze their way back in before hitting the orange construction barrels.

2. Turn signals will give away your next move. A Real Texan never uses them.

3. Under no circumstances should you leave a safe distance between you and the car in front of you, or the space will be filled in by somebody else putting you in an even more dangerous situation (Aha! See? It's the Hole Theory!); therefore, tailgating is a "must" for all Real Texans.

4. Crossing two or more lanes in a single lane-change is considered "going with the flow."

5. The faster you drive through a red light, the less chance you have of getting hit.

6. If you MUST use turn signals, here's how to do it, Texas-Style:
* Signal only when you feel like it.
* If you feel you must use your directionals, make sure they blink only once, then turn them off.
* Signal only after you change lanes. When driving straight, make sure that at least one directional is blinking at all times. This keeps the drivers behind you on their toes.
* Signal as you approach a curve in the road.
* If you intend to make a right turn, use the left signal.
* If you intend to make a left turn, use the right signal.
* When approaching an intersection, signal to turn and slow down. When other drivers or pedestrians cross in front of you, turn off the signal and go straight.
* When you intend to make a turn, start signaling approximately 6-8 blocks before your turn. Slow down for each block as you approach them.
* Always apply your brakes way before you signal.
* When making a left turn at a busy red light, wait for the light to turn green before you turn on your signal.
* Wait until after you have started to turn or change lanes to use your signals.
* If you must use hand signals instead of your directionals, use your right hand or have your passenger do it out the right side window.

We'll be off shortly and I'll post an update once we get to the Alamo City. If we make it there alive and in one piece, that is.

The need for speed

We made it to San Antonio in near record time today, covering about 350 miles in about five and a half hours. I could have done even better than that, except for encountering road construction while going through Houston (which is a little like saying "encountering water while swimming").

I confess that I can be a bit of a lead-foot at times; many years ago, I formulated a theory which I call "The 15-mile-per-hour rule". It postulates the following:

1. Highway design engineers plan for roads to be traveled at a certain normal, safe speed, taking into consideration such things as sight distance, curve radius, road width and bank, pavement texture and smoothness, natural terrain, and a multitude of other factors;

2. Once the engineers design and build a section of road, they turn it over (along with their statistics for what normal speed of travel the road was designed for) to the policymakers who set speed limits for it;

3. Those lawmakers arbitrarily deduct 15 miles per hour from whatever figure the engineers give them. For example, if the engineers say "this road, being straight and wide with limited access, can be traveled safely by a normally competent driver at 85 miles per hour", then the lawmakers set the speed limit at 70. If the engineers tell them the road is designed for 50 mile per hour travel, they set the speed limit at 35, etc. etc. They do this because they realize that -- incredibly -- not everyone in the country is as good a driver as I am. They must compensate for those less-than-outstanding, sub-average drivers who lack my precise control ability, lightening-quick reflexes, and advanced situational awareness. For example, there might be some damn old fool who will get all flustered going at 55 miles per hour down a perfectly straight, level, dry road because he's afraid he can't control his own bowels let alone a two-ton automobile, and the powers that be better de-rate that speed limit down to 40 so a tree doesn't jump out in the middle of the road and bite his car, boy howdy!

Therefore the conclusion: since I am not only an accomplished but may I say (ahem) excellent driver, EVERY STRETCH OF ROAD, ANYWHERE IN IN THE UNITED STATES, CAN BE SAFELY (if not legally) TRAVELED AT 15 MILES PER HOUR ABOVE THE POSTED SPEED LIMIT. This is the speed that the designers of this highway -- and dare I say, God himself -- intended for me to go.

Now, I fully realize that my little theory is not going to be very persuasive when I am staring down the muzzle of a radar gun wielded by some tired state trooper, sitting in his black-and-white, just waiting to nail his last speeder of the night so he can make quota, stop for some coffee and donuts, finish his shift and go home. No siree.

The last ticket I got was nearly ten years ago, heading back to Texas from visiting relatives in Pagosa Springs Colorado. We were heading down Highway 285 out of Sante Fe, on our way to intersect I-40 at Clines Corners ("Worth Stopping For!"). If you've ever been on this piece of road, you know it's about 45 miles of perfectly smooth, level highway that cuts straight as an arrow through some pretty barren countryside. The only thing you're liable to encounter out there is a tumbleweed. So at two in the morning, with not another vehicle in sight for miles, I was proceeding at what I thought was a perfectly reasonable 80 mph, trying to make some time on the long drive home. (OK, it might have been 90. Whatever.) Suddenly, a pair of headlights topped a little rise coming at me and my radar detector simultaneously began squealing. I quickly braked down to legal speed (55? WTF?) but it was too late - I was busted, and I felt that sickening feeling of my heart jumping into my throat as he turned on his flashers, did a U and pulled me over. The nice patrolman gave me a "break" in that he only wrote the ticket for 70; if I had been tagged at more than 16 miles over the limit, the fine would have doubled. Still, as there was no way I could appear in court, that trip wound up costing an additional $140 mailed to the Great State of New Mexico after we got back.

Since then, I haven't had another ticket -- perhaps due to being more careful, maybe a little more lucky as well. I don't take as many road trips as I used to, and I've learned to slow down and enjoy the scenery a bit more too. Sure the Bluebonnets, Indian Paintbrush, and other wildflowers along the road are pretty to look at, but then there are times like today when you just want to freakin' get there.

I did have one sort of close call on the way; we took Beltway 8, also known as the Sam Houston Tollway, around the outskirts of Houston. Coming up on the first toll plaza, traffic seemed lighter in the left hand lane, so I moved over. Suddenly I saw a sign and realized why - it was the EZ-Tag lane, but I was blocked in by traffic and couldn't move back over in time. As I whipped past the toll booth, I was sure the automated camera had snapped a photo of my license plate, and I would be getting a notice in the mail to pay a heavy fine. At the second toll plaza near our exit, however, I mentioned it to the attendant and asked if I could pay the missed toll there in order to avoid a ticket. "Is it your first time?", he asked, and when I said "yes", he laughed. "Don't worry about it, they won't bother you."

So I have learned (at least) two things today:

1. There are a certain number of "freebies" that you can get away with on toll roads within a certain period of time. The exact number and the exact time frame is probably not publicly available information.

2. Somewhere in a database on a computer at the Harris County Toll Road Authority, there is a record of my license plate number, noting its exact location at a certain time today. I have no doubt that this information would be readily available to any federal government investigator with sufficient clearance and/or reason to want to view it, say if someone thought I might be (gasp!) a suspected Toasterist Terrorist.

Don't you just love domestic surveillance?

But as I said at the beginning, we got here safe and sound (Amen!), and San Antonio is as beautiful as ever. The margaritas are, if anything, even stronger than I remember them being from our last trip, as you may be able to tell from this post. I'll have more to write about that later in the week.

Headin' for Alamotown

Hope everyone had a nice Easter weekend. After our unexpected snow storm on Saturday, the weather warmed up a bit and we were able to enjoy the festivities with the family yesterday. The only problem was our grand-niece and nephew, who became so irritably cute while playing with their pet Easter Bunny (named "Winston") that we just couldn't stand it any more and were forced to lock the children in a pen for the rest of the day:


Ha ha! I'm kidding - please don't call the DFPS on my ass. But seriously, they were really adorable, and I hope that this photo of rabbity cuteness brings me oodles of comments. After all, it seems to work for Schnozz. Oh what the hell, here's another pic:


Hey, if we're going to pander, we might as well go all the way! I would actually consider getting a rabbit ourselves, if we didn't already have three highly territorial cats who would no doubt be less than pleased at the obvious competition for the petting and ear-scratching. So, I guess whenever we need a bunny-fix we'll go visit the relatives. ("Hi, we just came over to see Winston. Oh, and how are you guys, by the way?")

In other news, we're about to depart here tomorrow morning to spend a few days in beautiful San Antonio. Mrs. Toast is making a presentation at the annual meeting of the Texas Library Association, so I've decided to tag along, seeing as how no air travel will be involved.* She will also attend various meetings and seminars as she learns all about the latest hoop-de-doo in Libraryland. (Pardon me; I'm using this technical jargon because I know that occasionally Actual Librarians may read this blog.) Those of you who have been following this journal for a while now may remember our previous trip to the Alamo City last year for ALA, when many margaritas were consumed and general hilarity ensued as we hung out with a bunch of other wild 'n crazy liberrians, er librarians, from all over the country. We're hoping that this visit will be equally exciting, although this gathering will be strictly Texas librarians ... only a small subset of the greater information-resource culture that included the party animals from Boston we were with last year. We'll do our best, however, and depending on Internet availability at our hotel, I'll hopefully have some further adventures and photos to post later in the week.


*Honestly, since her presentation also involves a laptop and digital projector, I suspect she is bringing me along mainly for the technical support.

Wrapping up the weekend

We made it safely back from San Antonio yesterday, fortunately with no speeding tickets; thanks to Chandira for the good karma. Included in our Saturday travel was a lengthy stop at the San Marcos Outlet Mall and Prime Outlets, which together rank as "the third best place to shop in the world" by ABC-TV's "The View". With architecture designed after the Piazza San Marco, it seemed like a fitting place for Mrs. Toast to shop for chic clothing and comfy shoes in preparation for her Venice trip -- now only four weeks away (I was content to browse through Pottery Barn myself).

Following this shopping marathon, we ate dinner at an authentic Irish Pub that we serendipitously discovered in downtown San Marcos. I had originally thought of having an ordinary steak, but after checking out the fare I just had to try the local specialty instead. Really, it's not every restaurant on this side of the pond that features bangers and mash on the menu. It was delicious, served with rich onion gravy and a traditional pint o' dark Guinness Stout. Maybe next time I'll order the Shepherd's Pie.

Today's been spent unpacking, and joining millions of other Americans who have been putting off a particularly unpleasant task until the last moment: "And it came to pass that in those days there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed." --Luke 2.1

This guy has been dead for 2,000 years and we're still being taxed. No wonder he was such a great leader: when he gives an order, it sticks. With that in mind, I dedicate today's episode of "The Buckets" comic strip to those of you who will be joining me in rendering, according to the IRS, approximately $2.7 trillion this year to Caesar's successor, Uncle Sam.

Happy rendering!


Credit: by Greg Cravens and Scott Stantis, ©2007 United Features Syndicate

Today's lesson in Hystery

On our way back home from San Antonio last week, we decided to get off the freeway and take the more scenic "back route". This would mainly be Highway 21, which is designated by the Texas Department of Highways as the "Independence Trail". It roughly follows the path of the early pioneers as they journeyed from the central and southern portions of the territory to Nacogdoches, which for a time was the capitol of the new Republic of Texas.

Along this route are many Historical Markers. These are big slabs of granite with engraved iron plaques attached that tell a brief story of why that particular spot was historically significant. Since this area of the state is literally crawling with History, there is one of these markers approximately every other mile along the highway, representing spots where, say, some settler's wagon shanked a wheel and broke down in 1847, and it took so long to fix it back then that they had a couple of kids and a small town grew up around them before they were able to move on. The one pictured there on the right, for example, marks the location of a 150-foot-deep hole in the ground just outside of Marble Falls. No, I am not making this up. Grave-digging was a long, tough job back in those days, which made disposing of a body much more difficult than it is now -- especially if the person died under, shall we say, duress. One didn't just call the funeral home to "handle the arrangements". Therefore, according to the plaque, this particular very deep and Historical Hole became the final resting place for at least 17 individuals. Apparently, if you wanted to dispatch some frontier ne'er-do-well, you hung or shot him and then simply tossed his body in the hole. How very convenient. If Jimmy Hoffa had been around at the time, I'm sure he would be down there too. Now you see what I mean: isn't that an interesting and colorful slice of American History?

Someone with a true appreciation of our nation's History would want to stop at every one of these markers, take photos of it, and perhaps pause to thoughtfully contemplate the hardships that our forbearers had to endure as they struggled to survive in this wild, foreign land. Our homage to these hardy pioneers, however, basically consisted of me briefly taking my foot off the gas to slow down from 80 to 70 mph as we flew past, and the following exchange:

Mrs. Toast: Hey, there was another one of them hysterical markers.
Me: Huh!

To your left is an actual "live" screen capture taken of our vehicle (the little green arrow) on our GPS mapping program as we moved along our way. If you look really close at the image and zoom in on it, you might be able to make out our little tiny van. If you look really closely you can perhaps make out a little teeny tiny figure at the wheel wearing little teeny tiny glasses and an itsy-bitsy teeny tiny oxygen hose. You may even possibly be able to see that at the exact moment this image was captured, I am shaking my fist at the gigantic hay-hauling truck in front of me that is going 40 mph in a 70-mph zone. That is the disadvantage of taking the back roads: it's mostly two lane highway, and if you get stuck behind some smuff ("smuff" is my term for a S.M.M.F., which translates to "Slow Moving Mother Fu..." well, you know) the trip can take even longer than going via the freeway, which is 40 miles further in actual distance.

Anyway, as you can see, at this point in our journey we were passing by the Historic Texas Town of Dime Box. There's an interesting and colorful story of how Dime Box got it's name, and how significant it was in our history -- but frankly I haven't the slightest freaking idea what it is and (with all due respect to the 40 or 50 people who live there) don't really care. Texas has lots of oddly-named towns with similar interesting and colorful history, such as "Cut-N-Shoot", "Hoop & Holler", "Looneyville", "Uncertain", "Oatmeal", "Ding Dong", "Lollipop", "Gun Barrell City", "Chocolate Bayou", "Truth Or Consequences" (oh wait, maybe that one's in New Mexico), and "Dallas". Those last two got their names from popular 70's TV shows, the latter starring someone named "J.R. Ewing", who caused the nation much consternation when he got shot. I think before the show came along "Dallas" was simply known as "That Big-Ass Cowboy Town on the Trinity River".

Yes friends, you can count on this blog to be your definitive source for interesting and (mostly) accurate hysterical, er historical, information.

More photos

Here's a few other shots I've taken so far on our visit:


This is a quieter, less developed part of the Riverwalk. Below is a picture of the place where I had lunch today, and some dining companions who shared my table:




Of course, the waitresses hate these birds because they (the birds) shit all over the tables and they (the waitresses) have to clean it up. I thought they were amusing, though; after all, back home I seldom get the opportunity to share my lunch with friendly vermin.

San Antonio is much more than just the Riverwalk; The Alamo is hallowed ground not only to Texans, but to all Americans for its place in our country's history. The names are those of legends: Crockett, Houston, Travis, Bowie, and more. Tomorrow we may try to get out and visit some of these famous landmarks. It's started getting cooler and rain may be moving in, but I'm still having a grand time. If the weather holds up, I should have more photos to post later.

"You may all go to hell, and I will go to Texas."
-Davy Crockett, Nov. 1835

A Bunch of Wild 'n Crazy Liberrians

Just in case anyone might be wondering what the heck brings me to San Antone, I've tagged along with Mrs. Toast who is attending the semi-annual convention of the American Liberry Association (er, excuse me, the American Library Association - damn those margaritas) of which she is a member. Now before anyone starts snickering, you can shed any preconceived notions you may have of librarians being up-tight, bespectacled, bun-haired little old ladies who spend all their time telling people "Shhhhhhh!". No, we're not talking about the NFRW here. Librarians are savvy specialists on the cutting edge of information technology, but I'm told they actually cultivate the old-fashioned stereotype because (a) they think it's a big joke, and (b) it lets them get away with things that no one would expect. In reality, when librarians take off their glasses and let their hair down they become seriously wild party animals; it's almost like having a secret identity. We hung out with a few of them this evening, and they could drink me under the table.

And damn, this town is definitely crawling with freaking librarians tonight; some 7,000 of them are here attending their midwinter conference. This is nothing compared to the 30,000 "informationologists" (a trendy inside buzzword) who will gather for the main ALA convention this coming June in New Orleans, but in the meantime they're thick as fleas on a dog here this weekend. Did you know that there's a secret hand symbol that librarians use to identify themselves to each other in public, kind of like "Gaydar"? Really. They put their thumb and forefinger together in the shape of an "L" (for "Library") and hold it up to their forehead - see example here. Apparently, I must look like a librarian too, because many people on the Riverwalk have given me that secret gesture as I've walked past them today. I feel honored.

Seriously, I really am enjoying this visit to San Antonio, which is one of the top tourist destinations in Texas. It's beautiful, with a decidedly European feel to it. Try to imagine a cool Paris outdoor cafe:


Set the cafe in a Venice-like waterfront atmosphere:



And then just for fun, toss in serenading Mariachis singing in Spanish:


The icing on the cake is that so far, the weather has been absolutely perfect ... mid-70's during the day and low 50's at night. Writing this blog while hanging out on the riverfront with a cool drink has been tough, but I've managed to force myself. I've even worn my "Mr. Toast" T-shirt that I got for Christmas, in case anyone might see me and want my autograph, or something like that, but so far no one's paid me any notice.

Except for the secret order of Liberrians.

Welcome to Margarita, Texas

We made it! Here's a photo of the view from our hotel room balcony:


The trip here was fast and smooth; the most exciting event being a lunch stop for hot dogs at James Coney Island where I proceeded to spill mustard on my shirt. Yeah, I'm a wild man. My trusty DeLorme Road Atlas navigated us perfectly through unfamiliar freeways and downtown streets right to our hotel. Did I mention how much I love this software? (This, alas, is a testament to my geekiness - in case there was any doubt.)

Our digs aren't luxe, but they're not bad -- somewhere between a Hilton and a Motel 6. The real appeal, naturally, is outside the room in the form of the famed San Antonio riverwalk, home to some of the best Tex-Mex cuisine on the planet. After getting settled in at the hotel following our arrival, we wasted no time in getting to a riverside table and ordering mucho margaritas. For some strange reason, after consuming several of these we became unable to pronounce the word "library", which instead became "liberry". People who work in these establishments were, of course, "liberrians". I can't explain why we found this so riotously amusing; I'm certain the margaritas had absolutely nothing to do with this.

More adventures to follow!