The dressing gown is so passee. I am all about saying “all about” now, and also all about cowboy boots. As soon as I bought my boots, I saddled up the barbecue we found by the road and rode a steak into the crematorium with it. Wearing my boots (and shorts better to show them off), shouting at the traffic, and waving my fist at the sky. The thunder, lightning and torrential rain were all distracting my steak from getting cooked on the potent brew of lighter fluid and soaking charcoal. For the sky, it was all about beseiging the barbecue with a plague of raindrops of biblical proportions. Yes, bible-sized raindrops, and I’m not talking about the abridged bible in 24 hours for dummies version – the full on written by monks called King James bible is the one I’m talking about.
Then there was a play – Blue Surge. Its content ratified half of my theory about Austin entertainment involving nudity and french dialogue, and I didn’t miss the french dialogue. Then it was live hip-hop. And rum. The best thing about the Hole in the Wall is that it’s so dark and dingy, that you don’t notice how much rum is in each drink. Well not until you try to leave, and attempt to regain mastery of the old leg one-two. Just imagine, 12 hours before I had managed to punch Bruce (of Bruce’s KO Boxing fame) in the face by simultaneously surprising both us with my fancy footwork. Now I can scarcely walk.