Diary of a Weekend in Corpus, Part II
If you haven't already, I recommend you read my earlier post entitled "Diary of a Weekend in Corpus, Part I." This entry will serve as the summary for the intrepid group's activities for the remainder of that hallowed weekend:
1. After waking up bright and early at 11 a.m. on Saturday, we decided a trip to the beach was in order. The Hooks didn't play until 7:05 p.m., so we had some time to kill (read: drink). First, we set out for the now-cliched Whataburger by the Bay. Upon ordering and taking a table, Original began complaining about the unfriendly behavior of a few of the local females he had met the night before. Said complaints were rather profane, setting off the ire of a bitter middle-aged man at the adjoining table.
Bitter Middle-Aged Man: "Hey guys, I have a young lady here. Watch your language."
Original: "Oh, sorry about that, sir. I'll watch my filthy mouth."
Tim (thinking): "Why didn't he just tell him to shut the %$& up and to eat his %^&ing burger? That Original sure is a Southern Dandy."
2. So we finish our meals (for the record, Scott had another seven (7) hot apple pies and spent the majority of the time gushing about what a shrewd consumer he is) and head outside. We are accosted by the strange homeless dude in the maroon shirt (we actually spotted him inside the restaurant earlier), who repeatedly asks each of us for $0.50 so he can get something to eat at Whataburger. Original, benevolent heart that he is, responds by asking said gentleman if he has any shirts that aren't maroon. Maybe it was the Whatachicken talking, but I thought this was hilarious. Yes, I know that's not very Christ-like of me. I gave the guy some change in an attempt to right the cosmic scales.
3. We stopped at a local convenience store to purchase beer for our trip to the beach. Before we could get inside, another local derelict began ranting at all of us about the problems in the world. Apparently, there are a lot of problems, and much of them involve gibberish. Someone explained that our only real problem was deciding which beer to buy. After purchasing said beer, Diddy gave the insane derelict some change with one condition: "Don't use this to buy any crack now, you hear?"
4. Original felt pretty confident that the directions he got from a complete stranger with no map about how to get to Padre Island were rock solid, so we proceeded to set out without any further information. About thirty minutes later, we dead-ended at a Coast Guard base far away from Padre Island. After getting our bearings by the formation of the clouds and the whip of the winds, we eventually got to Padre Island and found a suitable beach. Now, this isn't South Padre Island, with all the crazy kids, narcotics, and tomfoolery. We would never hang out there. We're too old to listen to loud music, play frisbee, or whatever the devil it is the kids are doing nowadays. The beach we stopped at is on the northern part of the island; I was really impressed with how clean it was. As a Houstonian, I was expecting something more in the vein of Galveston's littered crapfest; this beach was worthy of a postcard.
Upon deployment, we immediately began doing damage to the beer; at this point, we really only had about an hour and a half before we had to head back to get cleaned up for the game. I don't remember anything momentous happening at the beach. That may have been the beer, or it may have been my steadfast refusal to leave the ocean the entire time we were there. The water was amazing, the sun was out, and we were drinking. Life was fantastic. Scott later asserted that he suffered third-degree burns from his well-researched decision not to wear sunblock, but the beach time was still an unadulterated success in the rest of our respective books.
5. After heading back to the hotel to clean up, we headed over to Whataburger Field early. Why, you ask? Because they were giving away free Hooks camoflauge hats, that's why! Now nattily attired, we took the advice of one gentleman who told us the brand new Brewster Street Bar & Grill (right next to the field, opened about a month before) featured tremendously cheap beer. We had been told to check this place out before, so we heeded his advice. To say that I'm glad we did would be an understatement. This place was simply unbelievable. I've spent some time in bars in my life, and I've eaten my fair share of mediocre bar food. Brewster Street, however, had the best food I've ever had at a bar in my entire life. Words cannot describe how good it was. The menu features the Brooks Kieshnick burger, which is a tortilla burger named after the former Longhorn great and Corpus native. Scott once again asserted that he would pursue nuptials with the Kieshnick if it wasn't frowned upon by society. I'm pretty sure he was talking about the tortilla burger and not the man (besides, Ben Zobrist would be crushed to know Scott was cheating on him). The beer was cheap and cold as well. Frankly, we could have stayed there for the rest of the night. It made Whataburger by the Bay look like amateur hour. I think a big part of the reason we're all so geeked to go back is just to eat again at Brewster Street. Lord help my waistline if the good folks there ever decide to bring the concept to Houston.
6. We then headed back to Whataburger Field for the game. Our seats were on the fourth row down the right field line; yet another great view. We had to deal with the sun in our eyes for the first few innings, but thankfully I was equipped with some sweet shades I had purchased earlier at the Bayfront Plaza. Diddy called them "J-Lo sunglasses," but that guy wouldn't know Cool if it chained him to a radiator and beat him with a stick. We settled in to watch Troy Patton make his home debut for the Hooks. Needless to say, he did not disappoint. The kid can deal; he pitched six strong innings and struck out seven (the bullpen then came on and recorded the three additional strikeouts necessary to ensure all in attendance got a free taco; unfortunately, we failed to take advantage of this). If Patton's not on the big club in 2008, T-Poo should be hung in effigy (assuming he hasn't been by then, anyway). Oh, and Hunter Pence went yard too. No way the 'Stros could have used him this year. Good move, Purpura. The Hooks won, thus leaving H-Town Sports undefeated at Whataburger Field.
7. As you might expect, several gems and quips were uttered throughout the game to the delight of our surrounding fans. A brief recap:
a. Tim: "Dude, why don't people ever wear batting helmets out to games? They're just as cool as hats; in fact, I think they're even cooler. If I had a batting helmet, I'd wear it. Man, I'd even wear it out to the bars tonight."
Original: "Done and done."
[Original returns with a newly purchased Hooks replica batting helmet...]
Original: "I asked for an adult helmet, but it turns out they don't make 'em for adults. Big surprise. You get the kiddie helmet, Junior."
Tim (donning cheap, plastic helmet): "Sweet. How do I look?"
Diddy: "Like a complete tool. Good job, idiot."
b. Woman Sitting Next to Diddy: "You guys are so funny."
Diddy: "Yeah, we're drunk alright."
Woman: "Where are you guys from?"
Diddy: "Houston."
Woman: "Oh, I love Minute Maid Park. And what's that place across the street? The BUS? I love that place."
Diddy (slurring): "The BUS is for suckers. The beer is way cheaper and bigger at the Balcony next door. Only morons go to the BUS."
Woman: "Oh, okay. I'll try the Balcony next time I'm in Houston."
Diddy: "You'd better."
As Scott is about to become a daddy, a discussion of proper child-rearing techniques naturally arose...
c. Scott: "I don't think my life will change all that much when the baby comes."
AFKAF: "Yeah, right. Having to be responsible for another life won't affect your social life at all."
Scott: "No, seriously. People said the same thing when I got married, and that hasn't changed anything."
Diddy: "That's because people like your wife. We probably won't like your infant unless it drinks."
Tim: "Yeah...and you're going to have to take care of it. Cribs and stuffed animals will take the place of big screen TVs and kegerators. Speaking of, why do people even buy cribs? I'd just keep my kid on the floor so it wouldn't fall off anything."
Scott: "Uhhhh...."
Tim: "Seriously, dude--if you ever want to leave the kid with me so you and E.T. can have a nice night out on the town, I'd be glad to help out. If it starts crying, I'll just wrap it in plastic and hug it until it stops."
Elderly Woman Behind Me (horrified): "Young man, I hope you never have children."
Tim: "You sound just like my mom."
8. After we bid adieu to Whataburger Field, we headed out to the bars. Again, not really sure which ones we hit. At one such establishment, Original started throwing ice cubes at my helmet. Yes, I was wearing my batting helmet out to the bars. I'm a man of my word. I warned him that continued pelting of ice cubes would result in an old-fashioned slap to the face. Original continued, taunting me to slap his cheek. Unfortunately, the bar was crowded; I didn't have room to get the necessary crow-hop I needed to make it count. Original apparently thought this meant he was safe. Not so fast, my friends. Ever the innovator, I repositioned myself and backhanded the taste out of his mouth. Before I could properly celebrate, AFKAF delivered a closed-fist blow to my cranium by pounding on my batting helmet. Funny thing about those replica helmets--they don't cushion any blows. In fact, the small, jagged pieces of plastic inside the helmet actually enhance the pain. My head ached for the rest of the night. Fortunately, I don't remember much else aside from hitting Whataburger by the Bay for the third time in two days (second time that day) and passing out in my clothes.
9. We awoke the next morning with the taste of victory and hot apple pies in our collective mouths. As we set off for the airport, we reflected on the weekend's events and giggled like school girls. Oh, and we pledged to do it all again next summer. I mean, we owe it to the Hooks. Obviously, we're good luck.
1. After waking up bright and early at 11 a.m. on Saturday, we decided a trip to the beach was in order. The Hooks didn't play until 7:05 p.m., so we had some time to kill (read: drink). First, we set out for the now-cliched Whataburger by the Bay. Upon ordering and taking a table, Original began complaining about the unfriendly behavior of a few of the local females he had met the night before. Said complaints were rather profane, setting off the ire of a bitter middle-aged man at the adjoining table.
Bitter Middle-Aged Man: "Hey guys, I have a young lady here. Watch your language."
Original: "Oh, sorry about that, sir. I'll watch my filthy mouth."
Tim (thinking): "Why didn't he just tell him to shut the %$& up and to eat his %^&ing burger? That Original sure is a Southern Dandy."
2. So we finish our meals (for the record, Scott had another seven (7) hot apple pies and spent the majority of the time gushing about what a shrewd consumer he is) and head outside. We are accosted by the strange homeless dude in the maroon shirt (we actually spotted him inside the restaurant earlier), who repeatedly asks each of us for $0.50 so he can get something to eat at Whataburger. Original, benevolent heart that he is, responds by asking said gentleman if he has any shirts that aren't maroon. Maybe it was the Whatachicken talking, but I thought this was hilarious. Yes, I know that's not very Christ-like of me. I gave the guy some change in an attempt to right the cosmic scales.
3. We stopped at a local convenience store to purchase beer for our trip to the beach. Before we could get inside, another local derelict began ranting at all of us about the problems in the world. Apparently, there are a lot of problems, and much of them involve gibberish. Someone explained that our only real problem was deciding which beer to buy. After purchasing said beer, Diddy gave the insane derelict some change with one condition: "Don't use this to buy any crack now, you hear?"
4. Original felt pretty confident that the directions he got from a complete stranger with no map about how to get to Padre Island were rock solid, so we proceeded to set out without any further information. About thirty minutes later, we dead-ended at a Coast Guard base far away from Padre Island. After getting our bearings by the formation of the clouds and the whip of the winds, we eventually got to Padre Island and found a suitable beach. Now, this isn't South Padre Island, with all the crazy kids, narcotics, and tomfoolery. We would never hang out there. We're too old to listen to loud music, play frisbee, or whatever the devil it is the kids are doing nowadays. The beach we stopped at is on the northern part of the island; I was really impressed with how clean it was. As a Houstonian, I was expecting something more in the vein of Galveston's littered crapfest; this beach was worthy of a postcard.
Upon deployment, we immediately began doing damage to the beer; at this point, we really only had about an hour and a half before we had to head back to get cleaned up for the game. I don't remember anything momentous happening at the beach. That may have been the beer, or it may have been my steadfast refusal to leave the ocean the entire time we were there. The water was amazing, the sun was out, and we were drinking. Life was fantastic. Scott later asserted that he suffered third-degree burns from his well-researched decision not to wear sunblock, but the beach time was still an unadulterated success in the rest of our respective books.
5. After heading back to the hotel to clean up, we headed over to Whataburger Field early. Why, you ask? Because they were giving away free Hooks camoflauge hats, that's why! Now nattily attired, we took the advice of one gentleman who told us the brand new Brewster Street Bar & Grill (right next to the field, opened about a month before) featured tremendously cheap beer. We had been told to check this place out before, so we heeded his advice. To say that I'm glad we did would be an understatement. This place was simply unbelievable. I've spent some time in bars in my life, and I've eaten my fair share of mediocre bar food. Brewster Street, however, had the best food I've ever had at a bar in my entire life. Words cannot describe how good it was. The menu features the Brooks Kieshnick burger, which is a tortilla burger named after the former Longhorn great and Corpus native. Scott once again asserted that he would pursue nuptials with the Kieshnick if it wasn't frowned upon by society. I'm pretty sure he was talking about the tortilla burger and not the man (besides, Ben Zobrist would be crushed to know Scott was cheating on him). The beer was cheap and cold as well. Frankly, we could have stayed there for the rest of the night. It made Whataburger by the Bay look like amateur hour. I think a big part of the reason we're all so geeked to go back is just to eat again at Brewster Street. Lord help my waistline if the good folks there ever decide to bring the concept to Houston.
6. We then headed back to Whataburger Field for the game. Our seats were on the fourth row down the right field line; yet another great view. We had to deal with the sun in our eyes for the first few innings, but thankfully I was equipped with some sweet shades I had purchased earlier at the Bayfront Plaza. Diddy called them "J-Lo sunglasses," but that guy wouldn't know Cool if it chained him to a radiator and beat him with a stick. We settled in to watch Troy Patton make his home debut for the Hooks. Needless to say, he did not disappoint. The kid can deal; he pitched six strong innings and struck out seven (the bullpen then came on and recorded the three additional strikeouts necessary to ensure all in attendance got a free taco; unfortunately, we failed to take advantage of this). If Patton's not on the big club in 2008, T-Poo should be hung in effigy (assuming he hasn't been by then, anyway). Oh, and Hunter Pence went yard too. No way the 'Stros could have used him this year. Good move, Purpura. The Hooks won, thus leaving H-Town Sports undefeated at Whataburger Field.
7. As you might expect, several gems and quips were uttered throughout the game to the delight of our surrounding fans. A brief recap:
a. Tim: "Dude, why don't people ever wear batting helmets out to games? They're just as cool as hats; in fact, I think they're even cooler. If I had a batting helmet, I'd wear it. Man, I'd even wear it out to the bars tonight."
Original: "Done and done."
[Original returns with a newly purchased Hooks replica batting helmet...]
Original: "I asked for an adult helmet, but it turns out they don't make 'em for adults. Big surprise. You get the kiddie helmet, Junior."
Tim (donning cheap, plastic helmet): "Sweet. How do I look?"
Diddy: "Like a complete tool. Good job, idiot."
b. Woman Sitting Next to Diddy: "You guys are so funny."
Diddy: "Yeah, we're drunk alright."
Woman: "Where are you guys from?"
Diddy: "Houston."
Woman: "Oh, I love Minute Maid Park. And what's that place across the street? The BUS? I love that place."
Diddy (slurring): "The BUS is for suckers. The beer is way cheaper and bigger at the Balcony next door. Only morons go to the BUS."
Woman: "Oh, okay. I'll try the Balcony next time I'm in Houston."
Diddy: "You'd better."
As Scott is about to become a daddy, a discussion of proper child-rearing techniques naturally arose...
c. Scott: "I don't think my life will change all that much when the baby comes."
AFKAF: "Yeah, right. Having to be responsible for another life won't affect your social life at all."
Scott: "No, seriously. People said the same thing when I got married, and that hasn't changed anything."
Diddy: "That's because people like your wife. We probably won't like your infant unless it drinks."
Tim: "Yeah...and you're going to have to take care of it. Cribs and stuffed animals will take the place of big screen TVs and kegerators. Speaking of, why do people even buy cribs? I'd just keep my kid on the floor so it wouldn't fall off anything."
Scott: "Uhhhh...."
Tim: "Seriously, dude--if you ever want to leave the kid with me so you and E.T. can have a nice night out on the town, I'd be glad to help out. If it starts crying, I'll just wrap it in plastic and hug it until it stops."
Elderly Woman Behind Me (horrified): "Young man, I hope you never have children."
Tim: "You sound just like my mom."
8. After we bid adieu to Whataburger Field, we headed out to the bars. Again, not really sure which ones we hit. At one such establishment, Original started throwing ice cubes at my helmet. Yes, I was wearing my batting helmet out to the bars. I'm a man of my word. I warned him that continued pelting of ice cubes would result in an old-fashioned slap to the face. Original continued, taunting me to slap his cheek. Unfortunately, the bar was crowded; I didn't have room to get the necessary crow-hop I needed to make it count. Original apparently thought this meant he was safe. Not so fast, my friends. Ever the innovator, I repositioned myself and backhanded the taste out of his mouth. Before I could properly celebrate, AFKAF delivered a closed-fist blow to my cranium by pounding on my batting helmet. Funny thing about those replica helmets--they don't cushion any blows. In fact, the small, jagged pieces of plastic inside the helmet actually enhance the pain. My head ached for the rest of the night. Fortunately, I don't remember much else aside from hitting Whataburger by the Bay for the third time in two days (second time that day) and passing out in my clothes.
9. We awoke the next morning with the taste of victory and hot apple pies in our collective mouths. As we set off for the airport, we reflected on the weekend's events and giggled like school girls. Oh, and we pledged to do it all again next summer. I mean, we owe it to the Hooks. Obviously, we're good luck.
posted by Anonymous | 1:18 PM
1 Comments:
Rousing, ceaseless standing ovation.
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