Friday, April 13, 2012

The Werzinger Building

April 13

Between being sick, and trying to catch up on real life stuff, somebody forgot to click the shiny orange "PUBLISH POST" button. Hint: that somebody was me. Enjoy a retelling of something that happened two weeks ago.

What a busy week this has been. My niece gave me strep, which has kept me down for the better part of three days. I was actually able to speak today, and was surprised to hear that I had suddenly become Sheperd Smith.

James McCartney is trying to get the other Beatles' sons to band together. Glory days! At last, the plan I've secretly dreamed about may come to fruition! I don't care what some folks are saying, or how James has tried to gloss over what he said, they need to do this. Now.

We're also taking care of an injured stray cat that we found in our front yard.
Just imagine little ole' me saying "good, Puss-Kitty" in Sheperd Smith's voice. For the record, I also like to call cats Puss-Kitty until I know their name.

All that, and we still went to Austin last week.
Some weekend highlights?
I thought you'd never ask!
Reginald Kitty is not amused.

* Why we can never go to Austin during South by Southwest, I'll never know. Yet, somehow, we ended up going right during the Urban Music Festival. You know, gold chains, shiny teeth, rapper sorts of drivel -- the Hippity Hoppity Brigade. That was a real laugh riot for me, considering I've only ever known one rap song in my entire life.

The video from the skit had Mark Saul dressed up in a cow suit, surrounded by raw meat. Such quality kids programming.

It made for some interesting hotel neighbors, though. Let's just say some people were thrown out of the hotel, and it wasn't us.

* The bluebonnets were at their glorious peak! The road from Fredericksburg to Mason was a blue carpet on each side of the road, with fields of purple, red, and yellow mingled in for extra measure. Just beautiful.

* The Werzinger Building. Apparently, it's the Frost Bank Building, but it will forever be called The Werzinger Building from now on.

* We made a stop at the beautiful LBJ Ranch, simply because it tickled us (we like to go there as often as possible, just because it's gorgeous). We made friends with some cows.

* The creepy tour guide at the LBJ visitor center. My only offense was to wear a v-neck t-shirt; that does not give Creepy Tour Guide the privilege of staring at my boobs. You are not Jack Barakat, so knock it off.
So what if this trip highlight was just so I could make a joke that only I would think funny? It's my blog, and I can.

* We visited the Texas History Museum. As a life-long Texan, I was appalled by two things: that we paid an astronomical amount of money to actually go there when all public school children are required to take Texas history classes (as a home-schooled kid, I focused on Constitution/Revolutionary history instead, taking quite a few years worth of those classes, whereas Texas history is a one-year endeavor); and, the museum sucked. The best part about it was the Texas Music exhibit; my favorite part -- since they did not give the immortal Buddy Holly enough wall space -- was the interactive mixing board. I mixed a country song with Rock 'N' Roll standards, and it was a vast improvement; it was so improved, that I lifted my arms in triumph, and announced "I am George Martin!" to the assembled school children. They just looked at me like I was weird. And I guess I am.

Would you like to see a slideshow?
Oh, come on; some of these could be stock photos!
Reginald Kitty is still not amused.

Also, while were all together, can we talk briefly (or, at least, attempt to) about the new One Night Only single? 'Cause it's ruddy fantastic. Perhaps I'm a touch biased (mainly because I love when pop songs mix in other string instruments), but this is the most mature song they've ever released; if they had better management, they could make it in our shallow American market, by jove! This makes me even more excited to hear what direction they're taking their next album.

My only complaint is the George Craig isn't twenty-three years old yet. (It may be totally unscientific, and I've never read anything about specifically narrowing down to that age, but my 'Theory of Twenty-Three' is more accurate than carbon dating. Ask me about it sometime.)
Side Note: My darling mother told me that the video would have been better "if he'd taken those stupid glasses off". I guess she missed the GIANT advertisement at the end. Isn't she adorable?

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