my fourth of july with explosions in the sky.

it started at a watering hole. or a swimming hole. honestly, i'm still not sure which one is which, or if there is a difference.

fourth of july is a holiday dear to my heart.

maybe it's that epic film from my youth, when i was half as old but twice as wise, independence day, where we learned about how humanity really can pull together long enough to entrust jeff goldblum to bug a hyper-sophisticated extra-terrestrial super computer and save us all from annihilation.

it's more likely though that my genuine affection for this holiday derives from the amalgam of antics that have occurred on it for so many years running now.

last year i found myself in nashville, being showered by firework ash on the bank of the cumberland river and then at a bar across from the grand ole opry.









before that, i had been dragged into a spontaneous road trip to florida where i used 1 burger king cup for the entire trip (getting refills at burger kings all along the way) and hit golf balls into the ocean, been in washington d.c. sharing a hotel room with a group of 14 practically perfect strangers, and at age 12 meeting a girl who would subsequently become my pen pal for the following 12 years, only to get married off to another, more proximate man, but not before teaching me it's ok to be a fool for blondes.

yes, the 4th and i, we have a bond. an agreement per se. i say to the 4th, do me a solid, and break this year in half in style. the 4th says, sure thing, but be prepared to suffer from two good months of meaningful weekend postpartum.

so here i now sit, the next most exciting event to look forward is a trip to green bay in august. that's not a typo -- i really wrote green bay.

this year was no exception to the traditional rule for me, as i embarked on a great day with great friends -- first at krause springs:



then to see the austin natives back playing their 10 year anniversary show at stubbs, explosions in the sky.



it was another experience to add to my 4th list that seems to lack anything too ephemeral. and i can appreciate that.

so adam beaugh bought a jet ski.

by Lorne Chan:



but that's only why this story begins.

The wreck happened about two weeks ago, and today Adam took it to a shop in New Braunfels to get it fixed.

Since he framed the blank check I wrote him instead of cashing it, I'm repaying Adam with a series of lunches. New Braunfels is about half an hour away from San Antonio, so it's not much of a distance to travel, one easily traversed by my guilt.

We decided to meet at Gristmill, a Gruene favorite. That would have been all if not for the fact that Allen Rogers realized he had a court date for a traffic ticket in San Marcos today, giving him the ability to join us for lunch.

Allen Rogers, who's become a bit of a quitter - I think Alicia Rainwater's quitacity is contagious to other WDEers -- decided midway through the drive that he wasn't going to be able to make it to both Gristmill and San Marcos. Quitting on Gristmill, we audibled to a BBQ joint in San Marcos.

Turns out Allen Rogers isn't a true quitter. While the kid's thing is his apathetic swagger, it veils his gumption.

Upon arrival, Rogers said, "let's still go to gristmill. for dinner. after we go to schlitterbahn."

Now Adam and I have full-time jobs, although nobody really considers mine to be a real job. Adam's thing is that he does a really goode job at stuff, and going to Schlitterbahn meant standing up a prominent but short-lived former member of the WDE. It took Adam Beaugh a moment to decide he was standing up said member, although he can get periodic updates. I let my boss know I wasn't coming back to the office after lunch in a 32 second conversation.

After Allen paid a fine and I served as his character witness, we went to Target and Old Navy outlet to get some board shorts and flip flops. While I unsuccesfully tried to play catch with a 3-year old at Target (my thing is childlike joy sometimes misconstrued as alcoholism), it led to this exchange.

Adam: "He doesn't want to play catch with a communist"
me: "Yeah, I would cut the ball up into a bunch of pieces."
Adam: "And it wouldn't work anymore."
Allen: "A big red ball was just the perfect analogy for communism."

***

Walking up to buy a ticket for Schlitterbahn is the second biggest racket in New Braunfels. There's always a way to get a discount, often on the side of a Dr. Pepper can. Walking up was going to cost us 43 dollars a person.

On the drive in, we noticed that everybody had the same idea to go to Schlitterbahn today. Apparently, it's hard to find a job this summer after three and a half semesters at Texas State. So you go to Schlitterbahn.

We decided on a much cheaper and just as enjoyable alternative of floating the Comal, although it meant encountering a few people with these. Ridiculously underprepared with our tallboys in plastic bags, whatever, we weren't going to turn back after coming this far. We weren't going to Alicia Rainwater it. Besides, it was 3:15 and Adam and I had already quit work for the day.

"Feeeeeeeeeeck," Allen said. "I forgot I have a conference call at four." Conference calls, like uncoordinated asians, are not waterproof.

Rogers got in the water anyway, hopping out after 20 minutes while Adam and I waited in the water and our beer quickly warmed. Not that our been was making it alive out of the first tube shoot anyway.

Luckily, since he was grossly unprepared and substantially unprofessional - he makes up for it with an apathetic swagger - Allen's conference call only lasted two minutes.

***

We lost four of 12 beers waiting for Allen and left behind five beers going through the first shoot. On the second shoot, I left behind a portion of my scalp.

On the second shoot of the Comal, there's a fun little course on the left where you go through a mini waterslide. Us oblivious professionals went to the right, where there's a waterfall that collects lost flip flops and souls.

Adam went first and flipped, Allen went second and flipped.

I will now place a disclaimer that while I have met most of you and hang out with Josh Rives, like, every day, for those of you who have not met me, I am a cartoon character.

I am an wispy, 5-foot-nothing 100-and nothing Canasian who attempts to overcompensate for his lack of any physical ability (except in the bedroom! hiyo! not really, i'm a virgin! but because I love Jesus and am waiting for marriage! or so he says! no seriously, that's why!) with witty writing that lacks subtlety.

As I went over this ridge, the current tossed me over like I was less human being and more a piece of debris. This also meant that the current sucked me back in.
I tumbled backward, my head nailing the rock while I did the slowest, least graceful underwater somesault possible. I'm no merman.

Emerging five seconds later, the first thing I heard was a stranger saying to me "dude, your head's bleeding."

I touched my head with my hand but couldn't see a thing other than a red hand. It was all blurry.

Oh right, my glasses were now somewhere by Atlantis at this point.

***

"What'd you lose?" asked a precocious 11-year old in snorkeling gear.

"My glasses. Prescription."

Immediately, he and three others dressed like him dove for the waterfall. These were no normal children. These were the princes of the ruthless lazy river.
The one who asked me what I lost turned out to be a modern-day Jules Verne. But he was still coming up empty. Each time he did, he returned above sea level with a deeper resolve.

His incredible ambition was only outmatched by ridiculous failure of buoyancy.
He came up for air and asked me a more specific question.
"What color?" "What brand?" "What shape?" this child was no Rainwater.

The breakthrough came when another kid came up with a pair of sunglasses. "show me where you found those," he questioned the kid, as if somewhere in the Comal river is a Lens Lagoon.

"explain how you fell," he said to me. "

As I went into elaborate detail, weaving a story that likely would have bored the WDE by now, I could feel his mind at work, eliminating possible quadrants. For Cody, this was no tube shoot. This was a high-pressure sudoku puzzle.

"I know where it is," he said.

45 seconds later, he had them in his left hand.
I gave him a hug and pulled out a wet five-dollar bill I had on me.
In my fit of nervousness and blunt force trauma, I offered the kid a much larger reward than five dollars.

"I'm an honest man," I said. "Give me some information and I'll get you more money."

"Don't worry about it," said a man standing behind me. You don't need to do that.
"I run these boys."

***

We happened to stumble upon the biggest racket in New Braunfels, a pimp named Andrew.
He and his cousin Jose send out these four boys to retrieve lost items while they collect the cash.

Child trafficking is a very serious thing. In no way do I endorse it.
But you have to admit, Andrew is a visionary in watersocks. He called his star child and the finder of my glasses Cody Banks because he "makes 100 bucks a day."

My sending more money, while he appreciated the gesture, was unnecessary.

a) it would be frowned upon for a grown man to mail money to an 11-year old boy as gratitude for his profession. his parents would ask a few questions.
b) pimps hate it when you cut out the middle man.
c) not tax-deductible.

I talked to them for another minute. Turns out he runs that spot and the boys are there every day. In the 10-15 minutes we were there, they collected a bunch of hats, sunglasses and flip flops. They did not find our beers or my dignity though.

***

We went back on our merry way, finishing up our river float.
We ate at Gristmill six hours later than scheduled, where Adam ate the two best entrees they had to offer and two waiters said to him in the same stunned tone,
"that's a lot of food." One of them also dropped an f-bomb and refused to racially profile me.

I'm going to go wash the blood out of my hair.

vinyl & wine -- installment I.

It’s a shame we make the same mistakes over and over again.

A few days after I completed my first sitting of Vinyl & Wine, a friend and I had a conversation in which we talked about how it is often difficult to broach a subject when we know the conversation could be tumultuous; though we are quite confident the end result will be positive. Yet each time the situation arises, we find ourselves backed against the same wall, sweating profusely, flustered by all the permutations of possibly negative outcomes.

We make other mistakes too. We create agendas when none are required. We use thirty words when ten will do. We say things we do not mean. We mean to say things we forget or cannot find the words for. We all too often find ourselves to be all too human.

Then we hear a song. We drink a glass of wine. We laugh with friends. We write letters to relatives. We run into old flames. We kindle fires with new ones. We hold hands with our spouses. We find ourselves a collective of unstoppable forces united in the enjoyment of the beauty of the things we are beholden to. We are simple in our complexities. We are flawless in our recurring error.

This is the beauty of Kris Kristofferson. A man whose words are so simple, yet capture so much depth of meaning. A classic, and yet sometimes forgotten songwriter; amongst the greatest of a generation.

In the Austin Sessions, Kristofferson even further explores the rapt emotion and what feels like effortless depth of the origins of some of his greatest works, and does so by creating more raw, stripped down versions while adding delicate harmonies to create fullness and balance.

It was only fitting then that I happened upon the selection of a rugged yet flavorful Spanish Rioja red named Ergo, from Martín Codax, to match up with this album, creating a blend as natural and raw as the components themselves.

The Rioja is named for its region in Spain and is made primarily from Tempranillo, a rich, black grape used to create full-bodied reds. Tempranillos are traditionally rich with berry and plum flavors with touches of tobacco, herb, leather, and vanilla. The tannins are evident, but not overwhelming.

Truly it seemed unspectacular at first; by no means a shock to the pallet. Yet as both the wine and the words set in, both began to absorb my mind in a specific way. The richness was subtle and had to be earned. It seemed such an appropriate parallel for Kristofferson; especially an older, stripped-down, humbler, and wiser version.

The real beauty of Kris Kristofferson is that he cannot be taken on contrivance. I think this is why it was so important that this blend of the Austin Sessions and Ergo was my first venture with Vinyl & Wine.

Vinyl & Wine is a daunting task. Both music and wine are so organic in their nature, but more than that, are capable of being so dynamic, beautiful, and haunting. Who am I to manufacture a scenario where I pontificate on how to match these together?

Yes, the concept seems great, and I am fairly certain what will come of it could create a positive experience for those partaking, but what about all those negative outcomes?

I suppose making wine or music either one is a microcosm of life in that way. So many things could go wrong in the process to make the outcome not quite as beautiful as you might hope. But then there is also that chance, just that slight chance, in which it could all go right.

As far as the review goes, this album is so full of masterful work, it is nearly impossible to break down all the poignant statements and evident parallels between Kristofferson’s song writing, vocals, accompaniments, and melodies to the rugged and steady flavors of this choice Rioja.

One moment of clarity did strike however, as I listened intently the album through. During Kristofferson’s duet with singer/songwriter Marc Cohn on Lovin’ Her Was Easier (Than Anything I’ll Ever Do Again), he sings of loving a woman in such a way that it was as effortless a thing as any man could do in life. In one line he sings, “dreamin’ was as easy as believin’ it was never gonna end”, and in that line, in that moment, I saw clearly the fusion of our love of life and imbibing and romanticism. It brought to mind Lady Brett Ashley, and Tracy Lord, or a young lady who to refuses to call you back during the day but only at night, after a flight of Spanish reds, to help her get her dress unbuttoned.

We fall for it every time – the same mistakes. But it keeps life interesting.



Kristofferson playing Austin City Limits.