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The Snake-Fu bends space and time...

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Snakeosaurus...

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Snakes goes to Renfest

To say I get around these days is a massive understatement. Recently, your buddy Snakens made it down for the Texas Renaissance Festival, commonly dubbed 'Renfest'. The festival traditionally holds 8 themed weekends, and this particular weekend was titled the Scottish Highland Fling. Donning my kilt and broadsword, I made the journey through the forests of east Texas, an adventure I'll not soon forget. Renfest is located near Conroe, tucked away in the woods outside the small town of Plantersville; a perfect setting for any medieval era. Following a long caravan of vehicles, I made it to the festival gates around 11:30am. Joining me were the lovely Ryall twins, Elizabeth and Rachel, who you definitely remember from the Shuffleboard Mania video. Once I got to the entryway, I called Elizabeth to let her know I'd arrived. She told me to hang tight while she and Rachel came over to give me my discounted ticket. While waiting, a lady asked to take my picture, stating that she wanted photos of good-lookin' men in kilts. Well, she obviously came to the right person. I mean, come on, I've got my tartan threads, my renaissance shirt, sword, shades, and Aussie hat. How could you NOT want some of that? The twins finally came out front, wearing what looked like steampunk attire. And I must tell you, they looked rather stunning. But really, they'd look great in any garb, be it Scottish, Pirate, or Roman Bacchanal.  It's like I've said before: if you've got it, flaunt it. I do it every day... ANOTHER ROAD TO ANOTHER TIME It was great to see Rachel and Elizabeth after all this time. They're regulars at Renfest, sparing no expense on their outfits. They wore checkered corsets, gold-rimmed goggles, and feathered top hats - steampunk all the way. After Elizabeth gave me my ticket, we strode into the festival and into a world unlike anything I'd imagined. The area was magnificent to behold. Enclosed in fortress-like walls, the festival spans over 50 acres and resembles a Victorian-era town. You've got replicas of the Globe Theatre, English-style pubs, sword blacksmiths, and real Celtic bands. Even the road is made of old English cobblestone. Down to the smallest detail, Renfest captures it with stunning accuracy. First stop was the leather shop, filled with more steampunkers. I felt like I was in Around the World in 80 Days. Since I needed something to carry my sword, the twins helped me pick out a leather belt with sword straps (commonly known as a frog). Afterwards, we headed to Rachel's car to acquire some more accessories. She gave me a leather pouch for my camera, and a drinking horn for all the mead we would soon imbibe. We then traversed the area to catch various stage shows. One was this fire-juggling duo, whose act consisted of throwing torches around unsuspecting fans and balancing beer on their foreheads. The next was this wayward band of gypsies, known as Wine and Alchemy. The group consisted of a sitar player, a fiddler, several guitarists, and a belly-dancing singer. Oh, and there was this guy who looked like the maharajah from Indiana Jones. Here I got several great photos, including key shots of the Ryall twins applying lip gloss. We also managed to fill the horn with some apple pie-flavored ale. Told you it didn't take long... Walking further down the cobblestone road, we chanced upon two German fellows with their tankards of beer. These guys are Renfest celebrities - they're pictured on the brochure. I laughed and reveled with these merry folks from the Rhineland. They even taught me how to say "that's what she said" in Bavarian. Michael Scott would be proud. We toured the expanse of the festival, drinking ale and meeting more interesting characters in this strange and wonderful place. HARBINGER ALES OF THE NIGHT As dusk began to settle, we mosied on over to the picnic area. And by picnic, I mean wenches, beer, and fireworks. We ran into a barbarian whose staff consisted of a growing supply of braziers. We saw the Monty Python Knights of the Round Table. A couple of stormtroopers, with Leia in tow, came by and got some photos with us. Apparently they just couldn't let go of Halloween weekend. And I was formally introduced to the Drunken Monks, a liberal sect of friars who openly profess salvation through alcohol consumption. These guys are as tough as nails, something I'd find out later that night. After an impressive fireworks display, Snakes and our beloved twins headed back to the leather shop. They had to get ready for their Saturday night drum circle. This involved, well, drums and a bonfire. Not to mention a slew of belly dancers. Rawr!  Rachel also hooked me up with a bottle of Loki Ale. Now Loki is true to its namesake, the Norse god of mischief. It's like Gentleman Jack, only sweeter and more diabolical; another thing I'd find out later on as the evening progessed. We then parted ways to rendezvous at the campground and into one of the more surreal nights of my life. PARTY IN THE VALHALLA I arrived at the campsite, famously known as 'Valhalla'. It's got a huge bonfire in the middle, and there's a parachute strung up in the trees above. I called the twins to let them know where I was, and began to set up my tent. To my chagrin, the tent was much, much smaller than the advertised photo. The label said it was a two-person tent, but they must have meant children or midgets. For this piece of crap stood less than three feet tall and measured only four feet wide. No wonder I got it for just $18. The pirates nearby eventually saw my tent, and started jeering drunkenly at me. I casually retorted that we were in tough economic times, and people had to scale back certain expenses, including camping. Another person asked if the tent was for me or for my dog. And Rachel, when she saw it, just laughed out loud and asked me why the eff did I buy a kiddie's tent. FYI: if you shop for camping gear at Wal-mart, make dang sure the items in the store match what's on the web site. Regardless, I was starting to feel pretty good. The Loki had relaxed me quite a bit, and I schmoozed with several of the Valhalla folk. Rachel broke out her violin and played some classical nocturne pieces. We were starting to gather a crowd by our campsite. It was a beautiful sight indeed. Afterwards, the drums commenced and the twins engaged in belly dancing. I couldn't help but think of that famous Black Eyed Peas song. Tonight was gonna be a good night. THE DRUNKEN MONKS After the twins retired for the evening, I took my Loki ale to the campground of the Drunken Monks. I could see why their area was so popular. These guys were leading a non-stop drum circle that captivated the attention of not one, but two liberally clad ladies, who belly danced the night away. And I must say, they were not shy about displaying *ahem* certain features... Even better, the Monks were distributing free beer. Now who could say no to that? I got a chance to participate in the drum circle. I'm not a drummer, but I was somehow able to hammer out a beat that fit in quite well; odd, considering I have no rhythm. I attribute this to the spiritual power the Monks infused into our circle. Either that, or the beer. I KICK ARSE FOR THE LORD Around 3:00 AM, we got a visitor. Some shirtless dude in jeans stopped by, observing our festivities. He was obviously inebriated, but then again, so was everyone else that night. But there was something different about this fellow, something almost - sociopathic. A short time later, my hunch proved correct. I was sitting on a couch talking to one of the belly dancers, when I saw the shirtless dude almost fall backwards into the fire. The head monk (known as 'Octavius') caught the guy groping his girlfriend, and swiftly exercised his Marine combat training. The sociopath dropped an F-bomb and took a swing at Octavius, who caught his arm and pinned him back with a rear half-choke. Another monk jumped in at that point, and simultaneously thigh-kicked him and delivered a punch squarely to his jaw. None of this seemed to faze the shirtless dude, at which point I realized he was probably on something other than alcohol. He hit Octavius again in the ribs, and it took three people to forcefully eject him from the campsite. I witnessed them kick him all the way past the RV and into the woods.  We thought we were done with Mr. Social Misfit, but twenty minutes later, he showed up again. He plopped down on the ground by the couch, looking at us with stupid defiance in his glazed eyes. This time, me and the rest of the Monks all surrounded our soon-to-be-hurting friend. Octavius brandished a thick Maglite flashlight (the same kind the cops use), and warned him to get out. The guy retorted with another F-bomb, and drunkenly informed us he wasn't budging.  Wrong answer. Octavius and another monk dragged him behind the couch, hit him over the head a couple of times, and pinned his arm behind his back. At that point, we yelled for Charlie, one of the resident police officers who patrols the Renfest campgrounds. He sped over on his ATV to where we'd subdued the shirtless idiot, and led him away in handcuffs. For all their humble mannerisms, the Monks clearly drew the line at aggravated assault. Ah, where grace and mercy end, ass-kicking begins. SHEEP THAT BELLY DANCE AND THE KUNG FU SCOTSMAN After getting approximately 2.5 hours of sleep (thanks to some teenage jackass who ran around tooting his horn at 6:00 AM), I had breakfast with the Monks. They offered me fruit, biscuits, and even gave me a discounted ticket for Sunday's admission. I guess my part in subduing the sociopath had scored points with them. Besides, you know how the Snakeman makes fast friends. I made my way over to the festival gates. After about two hours of photographing, I hurried over to the noonday parade. This gave me an exciting opportunity to see all the Renfest participants. I saw Spanish conquistadors, the King and Queen of Renfest, various knights, and the famous centaur (whose image is actually on the Wikipedia entry for Renaissance festivals). Near the parade's end, I spotted the Ryall twins among the other women adorned in chainmail.  They had their chainmail garments strategically fashioned, and were dolled up like sheep. As they strode by, they seductively shouted "BAAAAAAA!" to the crowd of onlookers. Now that's some serious wool there, folks. The parade ended at the chainmail shop, where the twins and all the other ladies had been outfitted. We were treated to a belly dancing show on the upper deck. The show featured several Egyptian-style dancers, a girl dressed as a cat (also named Kat, coincidentally), and our favorite twins. I could see why they suggested parents might want to relocate their kids to a more family-friendly area. This stuff wasn't exactly G-rated. After the show, I met up with Elizabeth and Rachel for one last stroll around the park. Rachel hadn't quite forgiven me for downing all of the Loki Ale the previous night (among other shenanigans). Plus, stories had been circulating about me all morning. Something about a guy in a kilt and Aussie hat, who nearly stumbled into a fire while clutching a bottle of Loki. This stunt apparently earned me the nickname 'Stumbly'. A fitting title for any drunken Scotsman. Kat had a newborn in tow, so I volunteered to push her baby stroller around. This ended up being a smart maneuver on my part. For one, it got me out of the doghouse with Rachel. Secondly, it helped display my chivalrous side, something that's become all but dead in the outside world. Definitely a win-win scenario. There was still some more footage (heh) to be captured in this place before leaving. I made sure to get a couple of Snakes nods from the twins, in addition to their seductive "BAAAAAA" sound. And I let Elizabeth take over filming duties while I performed one of my kung fu forms. In my kilt, no less!  THEY SING TOO, SNAKENS Probably the most magical moment occurred when the twins sang 'Happy Birthday' to a barbarian named Ben. The harmony between these girls was amazing; their grace and poise warming to the soul. I'm so glad my camera battery lasted just long enough to capture it on digital film. That experience alone was worth the four-hour drive. Thus, Snakes experienced his first (but certainly not last) Texas Renaissance Festival. I'll forever cherish the mead, the Drunken Monks, the music, and the Valhalla campground.  Most of all, I will cherish the Ryall sisters, who kindly adopted me into the Renfest family; whose lavish beauty and humor only serve to reveal twin hearts of gold.

[hanginwithsnakes-blog]

Horned Frogs and Halloween, Vol. 2

As interesting as it was to muse over TCU's perpetual evolution, I wasn't too thrilled. I had expected to reconnect with most of my old friends, but that didn't happen. Going to the game was out, too--I had arrived at halftime and TCU had already gained an irrevocable lead. People were starting to leave by the time I got there. This game was clearly over. Worse, my buddy from the kung fu school, who had invited me to a happenin' Halloween costume party that evening, texted me that the event was off. Apparently, his lady-friend overruled his prior plans and made it an exclusive party of two. This weekend was starting to crater in a hurry. JOE T'S AND EDDIE V's Luckily, Menendez's sister invited me to hang out with them after the game. Having nowhere else to go, I decided to take them up on their offer. We met up at Joe T. Garcia's, a well-known Tex-Mex restaurant with a Spanish presidio-like interior. At least I'd be able to salvage some fun for the evening. We shared stories and margaritas, and were entertained by a mariachi band. It wasn't half bad. Our next stop was this high class wine bar/jazz club called Eddie V's. As far as I know, no relation to Pearl Jam's frontman. Here I sipped on fine wines, and watched this smooth jazz trio vent out some tunes. And you know, it turned out to be an okay night after all. I reconnected with at least one friend, and made three more in the process. That's when the station changed dramatically. My former co-worker, Lonnie, called me out of the blue. He was headed to Lizard Lounge in Dallas for their award-winning costume party, and your friend, the Snakeman, was cordially invited. Hit the afterburners. ENTER RORSCHACH I was ecstatic. My Halloween costume wouldn't go unused after all. Not sparing the gas pedal, I made it from Fort Worth to Dallas in just under 25 minutes. Once I pulled up to the Lounge, I quickly texted my friend to let him know I'd arrived. Donning my mask, gloves and trench coat, I entered the club as everyone's favorite antihero: Rorschach, from the movie Watchmen. At first, I was only trying to locate Lonnie's and his group. I walked through the crowded dance floors, the private lounge area, and the outside courtyard. Unwittingly, this gave me a prime opportunity to showcase my costume. The response was incredible. I had people high-fiving me, saying "Rorschach, yeah!". Near the private lounge, I passed a group of vampires who, when they saw me, clapped me on the back and asked for a photo. Outside, some muscular Mexican mafia-type gave me a fist-bump and said, "Alright, brother." I got another photo opportunity with a pair of hot Asians dressed as angels. Another guy, face streaked with fake blood, hit the floor and screamed, "Rorschach, I WORSHIP YOU!" And then there was this goth chick. Clad in a dark purple negligee and wearing yellow-iris contact lenses, she stared at me for a good 10 seconds. Then she hugged me tightly, like I was her miracle drug. Never had any costume of mine received such mad props. And all it cost me was a meager $12. TOO SOFT ON CRIMINALS Eventually, Lonnie texted me with a where-the-hell-are-you message. I had gotten so caught up in the hype that I'd forgotten he was waiting for me on the upper deck. So I made my way up the metal stairs past the DJ spin booth.  Up top, I scanned the crowd looking for my friends. It was difficult to see, and I was starting to get mobbed again by people wanting a piece of Rorschach. But soon enough, I spotted him and his crew by the prow of the upper deck. Grabbing a Shiner, I made my way through the covered lounge to my friends. But a bunch of skater dudes crowded the walkway, trying to impress some Lady Gaga-type who wouldn't give them the time of day. I tapped one on the shoulder to let me by. He stared at me for a moment, and then him and his friends start dancing in an aggressive manner at me. Rorschach was not impressed by this immature show of defiance. So, I glared at him as if to say "I am giving you one last chance", and motioned him to the side with my gloved fist. The kid backed down, saying "easy, Rorschach", and I strode past him to join Lonnie.  Ah, too many boys and not enough men these days... COSTUME CONTEST It was good to see Lonnie after all this time. He was smoking a cigarette with a strawberry blond named Ashley, a quietly sinister girl wearing a leather goth gown. Lonnie informed me they were holding a costume contest in an hour or so. After some drinks and reminiscing, we made our way down to the main stage inside. We got there right as they were starting the contest. I quickly cut through the tightly packed crowd, and one of the security guys pulled me up on stage. We were told to line up by the stairs to the right. Then one by one, they started bringing us on. Needless to say, the costume lineup was impressive. One guy dressed as Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas crossed the stage, met by raucous applause. Another guy bearing the Snake Eyes armor from the new G.I. Joe film came on next, meeting similar praise. Through the course of the contest, I saw a psycho version of the Easter bunny (named Peter Rottentail), a Rough Riders-era Teddy Roosevelt, and a guy dressed as a cannabis plant. And this insanely gorgeous woman in high heels graced the stage. She had on the skimpiest Victoria's Secret-wear I've ever seen, and sported red sparkly horns on her head. They euphemistically called her, "THE DEVIL."  I can't imagine why... TIME TO SHINE When they announced "Rorschach", I immediately leapt towards center stage and threw some punches at the crowd. They were loving this. The blood-streaked guy and his girlfriend were going nuts, chanting my name like it was a tent revival. Peter Rottentail and Snake Eyes shook my hand, too. Whatever I'd done, I'd clearly done it right. The DJ congratulated me on making it through the first round. When time came for Round 2, the elimination process became a little more severe. Mr. Cannabis got the axe, as did a clown dressed as Pennywise from "It". Even "The Devil" was eliminated, prompting loud booing from the male audience members (the girls cheered, though; I thought that was pretty funny). Then they called me out on stage again. I didn't know what to expect, so I just gave it my best. I displayed a little kung fu action, throwing a spinning backfist and a sidekick. Rorschach's a fighter, after all. Once again, the crowd went insane. The DJ gave his approval, and I advanced on to the third and final round. I had made the final cut. Nothing could stop me, or so it seemed. IT IS NOT THE CRITIC WHO COUNTS... There were about 12 contenders remaining, and the DJ didn't spare any time weeding the rest of us out. Snake Eyes was the first to get axed, and when that happened, I sensed I'd be next. Despite the overwhelming approval, I was voted off. This set off even more booing and hissing from the audience. The blood-streaked guy was practically crying. I exited the stage up the stairwell on the right, as they whittled it down to the Top 3: Meg from Family Guy, Jack Skellington, and Teddy Roosevelt. I couldn't believe it. Sure, I hadn't come in there with any high expectations of winning. But I still thought I had a pretty good shot at it, considering the audience's reaction. I had multiple people (including Snake Eyes) come up to me and tell me I should have won. In any case, the DJ was trying to get a feel from the audience who the winner should be. At this point, practically everyone was now chanting, "TEDDY! TEDDY!", so we all had a pretty good idea.  Meg came in third. Jack Skellington came in second, and the $1000 grand prize winner was none other than Theodore Roosevelt, 26th President of the United States. I had to give him props for the Rough Rider outfit. He looked just like him. EXIT RORSCHACH Regardless of the outcome, this was clearly one of those win-win scenarios. I'd made it to the final round, something I'd never done before in ANY contest, let alone a costumed one. And I'd clearly won over the masses. I can't tell you how many people were still giving me major kudos for my threads, even after the contest ended. What can I say? Another solid weekend for the Snakeman...er, I mean, Rorschach.

[hanginwithsnakes-blog]

Horned Frogs and Halloween, Vol. 1

**So much happened over Halloween weekend, I gotta make this a two-parter. A single entry would not do it justice... This Halloween saw Snakes returning to his roots. The home turf, the stomping grounds, origin of the species. Whatever you wanna call it, I went back to the big Fort Worth for...*wait for it* TCU HOMECOMING! But as I'd later discover, it was merely a preface to even more insane fun over the weekend. If I had to evaluate the uniqueness of Perpetual Fall 2009 so far, I'd put it well past a 10. PATRIOT GAMES For Texas Christian University's homecoming game this year, our rival was the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. I had to arrive late due to some planning of events at the kung fu school. So, I ended up rolling into Frog Alley around halftime. I didn't miss much. The score was approaching the 30-point mark, and UNLV had yet to score a point. I wondered if it's because UNLV's progressively worsened over the years, or if TCU really is that good now? Seriously folks, check the rankings; the Horned Frogs are a big deal now. Anyway, I made my way to the trailer of fellow alumnus, Stuntz. He's got trailer space reserved near the stadium, colloquially referred to as "Stuntzgate". I wondered what kind of reception I'd receive, given my recent expatriate activities at UT Austin. Would my Frog companions still welcome me as one of their own, or would I be met by cries of "traitor!"? SOMETIMES YOU CLOSE YOUR EYES... To parlay favor, I'd brought with me a six-pack of Shiner. Only when I got there, there was hardly anyone I recognized. I probably stood there for a good 15 minutes, scanning the throngs of alumni for any familiar face. At last, I saw Travis bringing over some bratwurst. So, I made my way over and gave him the high-five and the Beta Upsilon Chi handshake (my former fraternity). After a while, I was able to spot two other familiar faces. My buddy Nicoletti, a previous TCU student council president, was there to share in the memories. We chatted and reminisced for a whole 10 minutes. Then, I met up with a former wingman of mine, Menendez, along with his sister and their significant others. But besides that, there wasn't really anyone else I recognized, let alone remembered.  Not the kind of reunion I'd anticipated, AT ALL.  ...AND SEE THE PLACE WHERE YOU USED TO LIVE I felt like a man who has returned to the house he left years ago, only to find it remodeled beyond recognition. A house where the furniture has been replaced and walls have a new coat of paint. Looking around, I could see how much of the TCU campus had changed. They'd removed or relocated Frog Fountain, and installed a new student center about 300 yards from where it used to be. I never did see where they put it. Beyond that, there were two student housing centers, way too posh to be called 'dorms'. And to the left of that was a rebuilt (and expanded) Milton Daniel Hall. In my day, that was known as the Semester One dorm. This meant that the rowdy kids who lived there usually flunked out after one semester--too much socializing and not enough studying. Obviously, the newly remodeled exterior and lavish accomodations had cut down on the attrition rate.  Had all this really happened in only 10 years? I couldn't believe it. TCU had become a different place. Gone were the verdant fields where I used to play ultimate frisbee, and the fountain where I successfully wooed a girl named Renee during my first week. My buddies had either aged beyond recognition or were simply absent. And seeing UNLV lose 41-0 was just too easy of a victory to savor. I'm not one for cliches, but this one just rang true: sometimes you can't go home again. WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG But don't think I'm dogging on my old school. Despite the lackluster reunion, it doesn't change the fact that I had four awesome years there. I learned to think, honed my writing skills, and developed my first real sense of ethics and spirituality. I ran for president of my fraternity, hosted several college radio programs, and met my first love at a college church retreat.  And to top it all, TCU is where I received the timeless moniker of Snakes. In every way, Texas Christian University helped shape my identity. What I witnessed here was a perfectly natural phenomenon: progression. That's all. People grow up, advance in their careers, start a family, and gradually shift into other phases of life. Some stay local, while others travel to lands few of us dare to dream. It's all good. Take my associate, Rylander--honestly now, how many of us get to live in China for a whole month?  And like my TCU bretheren of old, I, too, am not immune to change. The wheel of time constantly turns, and I must turn along with it. This road that we call life has carried me to some incredible destinations and experiences. Who would have guessed that, in my own time, I'd be filming mockumentaries in Austin, practicing Chinese martial arts, and surfing off the Texas Coast? The road goes on forever, and the party never ends. Stay tuned for Part Two...

[hanginwithsnakes-blog]

THE SUCCESSFUL INFILTRATION OF THE UT GAME

One thing I'm known for is inadvertently gaining access to large venues. It first happened to me as a kid, when, at Hurricane Harbor, I casually wandered into the 6th place in line to ride the Black Hole waterslide. Later, as a college student, I gained access to TCU football games by pretending I was one of the Hyperfrogs.  Now, in a move that will surely cause fickle stirring among my former fellow Horned Frogs, your beloved Snakes got into the acclaimed UT vs. Colorado football game for only $20. YOU CHEAP, TAYLOR SWIFT-LOVIN' TRAITOR These days, UT football tickets run a high price. We're talking $80 a pop, not including VIP seating. So, you factor in overall attendance (over 100,000), and that's at least $8 million per game; Big revenue generator for the university AND the city of Austin. Lest I be misunderstood, I'm not a cheap individual. I just like to find inexpensive alternatives to high-priced events. While questionable, this practice is technically legal (note my creative use of the word "technically" to absolve myself of any responsibility). So it happened that I attempted this feat on the day of the UT vs. Colorado football game, with the help of several others who will remain unnamed to protect their innocence. We stopped by Pan's place to get a couple of printed copies of the ticket. The idea was to wait until kickoff, and then purchase a scalped ticket for less than the going rate. At the time, the best we could hope for was like $40. My expectations were pleasantly surpassed. Just across the street from the stadium, we chanced upon a young Buffalo holding up a ticket, asking for no more than $20 – score! It looked like I'd be able to make it in time for kickoff after all. Agent #1 gave me explicit instructions. All I had to do was present my purchased ticket at the gate, and once inside, I would then switch to the paper copy, show THAT copy at the designated section, and finally rendezvous with the rest of the crew. It seemed easy enough; in theory at least. I went in through Gate 7, and gave them my scalped ticket. Once inside, I pulled out the printed copy and asked where Section 38 was located. She informed me it was the student section, at the end zone underneath the giant screen. I began heading over there, and like the Taylor Swift song, I was laughing on a park bench thinking to myself, hey isn't this easy? Well, not sitting down, but definitely laughing to myself over the ease of it all. THE MARK OF THE BLUE LONGHORN I got to Section 38 and produced my ticket, and that's when I hit a major snag. The gate attendants informed me that I had to have a blue UT stamp in order to get into that section. They'd doubled up their security efforts in order to prevent would-be game crashers from doing what I was attempting.  I couldn't get into the targeted section to join my peeps, and I knew full well I couldn't go back to the gate where I'd come in. They'd surely scan my ticket again, and once they realized it was a duplicate, I'd be shown the door immediately. I went up to a couple of event staff members guarding the concierge behind the end zone. Asking them where I could get a stamp, they walked me over to the entryway nearby. This was the LAST thing I wanted. There were two gate attendants per entry booth, each armed with scanners. To make matters worse, the area was patrolled by an Austin cop, a state trooper, and what looked like a Texas Ranger.  Oh, and also present was a K-9 German shepherd, on a very LONG leash. NOW LISTEN UP, MR. SNAKES. THERE'S TWO WAYS WE CAN DO THIS... I felt like Tim Roth in Reservoir Dogs. You know, the scene where he encounters the K-9 unit in the subway restroom: "Panic hits me like a bucket of water...I'm standing there drenched in panic. All these sheriffs looking at me, and they know, man. They can smell it. Sure as that bleeping dog can, they can smell it on me."  In reality, his character fabricated the whole story to get closer to the criminal gang (he was actually an undercover cop). But you see my point. The heat I sensed from the UT law enforcement officials was real enough. Luckily, this gate attendant also ordered me back to where I came in. I was more than happy to oblige. They surely would have sensed I was up to something had I inquired again. I knew I wouldn't get a third shot at this. Faced with a seemingly irresolvable situation, I did the only thing I could. I waited. Now I understand why field agents are trained to play it cool when plans fall apart. Our minds have a tendency to convince us we are more pressed for time than we actually are, which in turn, triggers the panic reaction if left unchecked. Here in this place, patience was my ally. I surveyed the surroundings, casually walking to different sections of the stadium. I even allowed myself to enjoy the 1st quarter (as much of it as I could see anyway). While doing so, I casually glanced at each entryway and the gate staff manning them. I paid close attention to things like body language and level of boredom. Towards the end of the 1st quarter, my window of opportunity opened. Near Gate 14, I saw three younger staff members lounging around the ticket table. They had that obvious I-don't-wanna-be here-any-longer look, so I made my move. NICE GUY EDDIE Feigning a naive out-of-towner, I asked, "Can you stamp my ticket? I got here after kickoff and looks like they forgot to stamp it over there by Gate 7." The inexperienced youth named Eddie looked at me quizzically. "Did they scan it?" he asked, with decreased enthusiasm. "Well, yeah!" I retorted. "I'm in here, aren't I? I guess they were getting bored of stamping tickets all day!" I chuckled slightly, believing every word I said. "Alright, then," Eddie said, giving in, and stamped my ticket. If I had been pushy about it, they would have smelled a rat. By not taking it seriously and poking fun at everyday human incompetence, I got into the UT game almost for free. Ah, if only the same ruse would have worked at the U2/Muse concert the following Monday. But I'm not complaining. It was a helluva show and worth every bit of the ticket price. Seriously folks, catch the U2 360 Tour if you can.  HOW DOES FREEDOM FEEL?  At last, I was finally able to join my UT peeps. Sporting an orange shirt and Bevo-style cap I made my way into section 38. The gang was relieved to see me, and told me I got in by a narrow margin. Apparently, one of their friends tried the same stunt earlier, except they SCANNED her ticket and when it didn't register, she was escorted out of there in a hurry. Major suckage. So Snakes experienced his first football game at The University of Texas at Austin. Seeing the Longhorns positively DESTROY Colorado was a sight to behold unto itself.  And, I might add, there's a super high level of camaraderie amongst UT fans, unlike anywhere else I've seen. People don't just randomly pick UT as their college of choice - they are BORN to be Longhorns. Thinking back, I couldn't help but notice how WELL the Reservoir Dogs reference fits here. Here I was, at a one-time rival school, posing undercover as one their own. I successfully bypassed a seemingly fool-proof security system, and when plans fell apart, patience and wit saved me from blowing my cover. Even funnier, my UT colors happened to match Tim Roth's alias in that film.  They called him "Mr. Orange."

[hanginwithsnakes-blog]

CRAWFISH IN BRUSHY CREEK/REMEMBERING DISTRICT 9

I don't know if anyone else has noticed this, but some strange creatures are habitating in Brushy Creek. The last two times I've played disc golf over there, I've stumbled upon at least two crawfish in the creek bed. And the weird thing is, they seem to have shown up not too long after District 9 came out.  For those who don't know what I'm talking about, District 9 is the summer blockbuster in which lobster-like aliens are stranded on Earth and oppressed by the South African government. They are pejoratively referred to as "prawns". Now you know. Anyway, I found the first prawn tumbling in the current near Basket #4. I thought it was dead, perhaps a discarded piece of fish bait that washed up from an inlet. But no, this thing was very much alive, and it appeared to be super-pissed. When you're missing some of your legs and both claws, that's to be expected.  I took it back to where we were playing the first hole again (in an attempt to beat par), concealed between both of my discs. If nothing else, it would make for a good scare. I went up to Jonathan and said, "Prawn, anyone?" and revealed the creature lurking beneath. But I didn't get the screams I thought I would. Well, when you're playing with a bunch of dudes, girlish screams are discouraged and/or suppressed. In most cases, you are liable to get your man-card revoked for that. So, I threw the injured crayfish back into the stream. It landed on its back with a soft thud and did not appear to be moving. I often wonder, did some wayward predator finish the job? Or did it somehow muster the will to crawl under a rock, regenerate, and plot its revenge? Perhaps we'll never know… A week later, I encountered a second prawn while hopping over the creek between Basket #1 and the second tee. As I was balancing on the rock in the water, Rylander and Charlie both shouted: "Snakes, by your foot!" I froze for a second, thinking it was something dangerous like a snapping turtle or queen snake. But there, in that narrow gap between the rock and the bank, was another fully-intact crawfish. Its claws were outstretched in an obvious defensive posture, and he looked ready to throw down. I never could take my mom's advice to leave small, seemingly dangerous animals alone. But I had experience on my side; I used to catch sand crabs all the time when I lived in Hawaii. The worse they'll do is pinch you hard, causing you to swear in front of Grandma, but that's about it. So, I scooped this little guy up with my frisbee, and acted like the late great Steve Irwin. Charlie was looking at me anxiously. The small, insectile face of the crustacean was mere inches away from my own, and I kept talking to Rylander as it moved back and forth. At one point, it closed in, ready to claw one of my eyes. But, being the dominant species I am, I simply tilted my frisbee and watched him slide backwards. There are advantages to being bipedal and having thumbs. As much fun as I was having reenacting Animal Planet, it was time to tee off. So, I grabbed Mr. Crawdaddy and threw him back into the stream. As the current carried him away, I wonder if he thought I bore him any ill-will. I mean, I really sympathized with the plight of his fellow prawns in District 9. Maybe one day, there will be an understanding between our two species. But I soon lost interest as my disc sliced off into the forest. So much for maintaining par.

Close encounters of the reptilian kind...

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Life and Death in the San Marcos River

Style points...

A recurring legend of the Snakes mythos is the San Marcos incident. Note my clever use of the word 'incident' to create a foreboding tone...dun dun dun! What is this incident, you ask? Well, in short it was a near-brush with death in the San Marcos River that occurred, ironically, through an act of chivalry. SMITING FOR FUN Rylander spearheaded a kayaking trip down the San Marcos River in May of 2007. Our party numbered around 8-10, and through the course of the trip, we had several harrowing encounters. Irving dumped shortly after we launched, losing his glasses in the river, and had to navigate virtually blind. A few miles down, we narrowly avoided a water moccasin sunning itself on a rock by the right-side bank.  Fortunately, Andrew Weldon courageously grabbed a large rock, and smote down that serpent with one swift blow to the head. I still wonder why I never took offense to that, given my famous label.

Cottonseed rapid EDDY-FICATION Not long after, we chanced upon a group of tubers who were obviously new to the river. I never understand why people tube down this river, given the amount of rapids. Interestingly enough, the tubers sustain the least amount of injuries. And there's a simple reason for that: the beer cooler. By the time they reach any white water, they're usually so sauced that any thoughts of peril have long since gone out the window. I've seen people wash out of their tubes (clutching cans of Coors all the while) and get dashed against the rocks without even feeling it. Anyway, there were three female tubers caught in a minor eddy off to the left. Having no other means of propulsion, they tried in vain to swim out of that gargantuan suck-hole; Although now that I think about it, they didn't appear to be trying very hard…They were probably just waiting for the right man to tow them out of there. And that man just so happened to be Snakes. So they call out to me as I passed by: "Can you help us out of here? You look pretty strong." Truth be told, I actually had put on more muscle--I'd been weightlifting and taking supplements for the last 6 months or so. I instructed the ladies to link together, and the brunette in a cowboy hat grabbed hold of my kayak rope. We then set off. For a short while, the ride down the river was uneventful, albeit relaxing. I engaged in some non-versation with the chicas, who wanted to know if I was really Canadian (my hat read 'Canada' in the back). I humored them with some pretend bear-trapping stories in Alberta. Take a note, students: witty anecdote, even if false, can be really convincing to those who take things at face value. CHIVALRY WILL KILL YOU, SNAKES But the mingling was short-lived. Such was my immersion in the cowgirl and her friends that I hardly noticed the current picking up speed. All of a sudden, Rylander calls out, "Snakes, LOOK OUT! To your left!" I turned around, and that's when I saw it--a two-by-four caught in the rocks, with nails sticking out of it. Beyond that, I could see two huge boulders that were channeling the water through like a hydraulic turbine. I quickly told the girls to move off to the right. The current was moving faster, and I was heading straight for the board. Envisioning all the nasty ways I could be impaled and get tetanus, I turned my kayak abruptly to the right. But I turned so sharply that my kayak almost flipped over, and I fell off. That's when Rylander shouts: "NO SNAKES, DON'T GET OFF!" But I was beyond hearing, as the current swept me closer to my perceived doom. FLOPPING WITH DISASTER I got swept under the board of death, which, ironically, ended up being my salvation. I grabbed hold of it with my right arm, and somehow I still held onto my kayak with my left hand. So there I am, hanging on for dear life as the current's pulling me apart, TRYING to pull me into those ominous boulders. Now I know what a grape's last thought must be before getting crushed in the wine press. Had I understood the nature of my predicament, I might have gone into a real panic, and it would have been all over for your beloved Snakes. Luckily, I didn't look behind me. There was only one thing to do. I'd have to let go of the board and somehow get onto my kayak. No easy task, given the water pressure. So I let go of my paddle (it would have done me no good, anyway), and--LUNGED--as hard as I could. It was later recounted that I executed some kind of weird flop over and to the right. Almost like a slither-flop, if you will.  Whatever I had done clearly saved my life. I was able to escape the grip of the naturally occurring hydraulic. Its momentum, combined with my unusual lunge, caused me to barely skirt the rocks and avoid disaster. My arms and upper body embraced the kayak like a Titanic survivor. But my legs were still underwater, getting scraped on the rocks. Remembering that agonizing scene with Burt Reynolds in Deliverance, I pulled my legs close to my chest and just prayed for safety. YOUR SYMPATHY IS PATHETIC My troubles weren't over yet, though. The current was still moving a pretty good clip, and I had no paddle. Worse, the water had gotten under my contacts, so my vision was blurred. Still lost in my fear of becoming an instant contortionist in the rapids, I T-boned a tree growing out of the water. Off I go into the drink and once again, I'm in a similar position as before. With one arm I'm clinging to one of the tree's roots, and the other's holding onto the kayak. Water's pouring into my mouth, and the tubing girls are just drifting by indifferently. One of them even made a half-hearted attempt at sympathy, by asking me if I was 'alright'. She must have realized the lameness of her question right away, because she was sure out of there in a hurry. I clambered up onto the makeshift island formed by the tree's exposed roots. A few yards away, I could see my compadres all gathered on the left bank, so I wearily made my way over. Some of them had their heads in their hands; others were walking around the bank, trying to make sense of how we survived such an unexpected water hazard. To say that we just needed to de-stress a bit would be an understatement. MORAL OF THE WATER HAZARD However, we soon remembered our surroundings. This was the San Marcos River, surrounded by lush vegetation and cool, spring-fed water. And with such great friends around, it was still a paradise no matter what happened. And I knew later on that we'd all be laughing about it. So we hopped into our kayaks and finished our journey without incident-except for the remaining narrow gap underneath a bridge. The rapids there caused a few expletives when most of us capsized. If there's a lesson in all this, kids, it's two-fold. Lesson #1: when your guide tells you to stay to the right, for heaven's sake, STAY RIGHT! Lesson #2: don't pick up strange women in tubes on the river, no matter how well-intentioned you are (or how hot they look). They got themselves into that little whirlpool; they can get themselves out.

Man overboard!

[hanginwithsnakes-blog]

Sam's Town

SAM'S TOWN People have been asking me for months now, "Snakes, just what IS Sam's Town?" Well, to be honest, I never really knew myself. To find my answers, I had to go back to the beginning. Sometimes you just have to close your eyes and see the place where you used to live--when you were young.  NOBODY EVER HAD A DREAM 'ROUND HERE In reality, Sam's Town is a well-known casino in Vegas. It was touted by The Killers in their song/album of the same name, and was inspired by their drummer who would look out his bedroom window as a kid and view the sign. But one should not think that Sam's Town is CONFINED to the City of Blinding Lights. No way. That's just like me saying Margaritaville's situated in Rylander's back yard only, where Sean sits in the inflatable pool and sips on a Bud Light with Lime.  Sam's Town is far more ubiquitous. THIS ENERGY BENEATH MY FEET Sam's Town became apparent to me during the Endless Summer of '09. I caught the first hints of it during a fast-paced mountain bike expedition, and later during a Claritin-induced haze at Barton Springs. As I stood in the water practicing kung fu, the city skyline slowly materialized in the distance (similar to that Bird-of-Prey decloaking in Star Trek IV). And sure enough, I could feel it here, too.  Yes, Sam's Town made its presence known. Almost like something underground was gonna come up and carry me. Some cynical folk tried to convince me I was only looking at downtown Austin, and perhaps they were right. But I knew I wasn't wrong, either; for I had realized what was already there, and it was brilliant to behold. I realized The Killers must have gone through a similar experience. They must have known that they didn't just come up with the song Sam's Town. Like Michelangelo, their rock ballads sculpted away the raw stuff and freed the perfect creation within.  But as I would soon find out, the borders of Sam's Town didn't stop there. How foolish I had been to think that it only stopped at Zilker Park! NOBODY EVER PULLS THE SEAMS 'ROUND HERE During my unforgettable birthday/vacation to Rockport, TX, I began to get a better understanding of what Sam's Town really is. With some of my birthday gift cards, I purchased The Killers compilation album Sawdust, which contains rare demo tracks, B-sides, and a couple Abbey Road recordings. Well, guess what I found here? A rare acoustic performance of...SAM'S TOWN! I'll tell you, this one's got some heart to it--the acoustic ones tend to do that. Rylander and I listened to that album all the way down to the coast. Through Goliad, Refugio, and finally into Rockport, that album practically defined the entire trip. We happened to pick up a last-minute third passenger, Little Katie Driftwood. At the time, it was my first encounter with the affectionate tapir from Driftwood (although certainly not my last--rump shake!). Besides her growing obsession with me, I noticed something else about her, something far deeper. LKD happened to be a channeler for the same energy that I felt beneath me in Barton Springs--Sam's Town. THE ANSWER TO THE QUESTION ON YOUR MIND Why was I feeling this energy in places no one else would associate with a casino in Vegas? From surfing the waves of Port Aransas, to holding vigil at Fannin's Memorial in Goliad, Sam's Town stayed with me. Like a splinter in my mind, to quote Morpheus. Why did it always seem to come out of some nether region, like those two odd unicorns in Charlie the Unicorn 3?  The answer finally came to me on a salty piece of land, while fishing off the Beiter's Rockport pier. The spirit of Jimmy Buffett appeared, mounted on a seahorse and carrying a fly rod. What I'd agonized over for months, he was able to sum up in one sentence: "It's everywhere you want it to be." Then he saddled up and rode off into the waves. I stood there dumbfounded. Not because I'd just seen an astral projection of The Buffett, or the fact that he came to me on a giant seahorse - I simply couldn't believe that I'd missed the elusive OBVIOUSNESS of it all. Sam's Town wasn't just some positive viral force spreading to areas like Rockport, Austin, or even at the place of Fannin's Final Hurrah. No, I realized with deep conviction that Sam Town existed...in me. And by a large stretch of imagination, it was capable of existing within ALL of us. I SEE SAM'S TOWN, YEAH... So what is Sam's Town? It's a heart-pounding bike ride through dense forests, and romantic afternoons at Barton Springs. It's a vast land where the souls of Texas Revolutionaries still sing battle hymns, and tapirs call forth from the wind. It's a place of ocean getaways, Coronas on the beach, and great friends. In short, Sam's Town is wherever your heart is.

Enjoying Sam's Town

[hanginwithsnakes-blog]

Snow White and 6th Street

INTO THE FALL WITH SNAKES Endless summer ’09 has given way to Perpetual Fall. But that don't mean Hangin' with Snakes gets any less fun. No sir, this season has taken off at a rather alarming pace. I experienced ANOTHER awesome weekend in Austin, might I also mention it's my FOURTH IN A ROW? Well, the second one was technically Waco, but hey, I was with some Austinites. I’m wondering if this isn’t some repeated, subtle hint of where my real loyalties lie. In any case, the weekend had its own share of surprises. I got to see UT destroy Wyoming in high definition, and experience another great Rylander B.Y.O.M. (Bring Your Own Meat) cookout. Plus, I played a mean game of shuffleboard (alongside a pair of hot twins), met Snow White, and showcased a little kung fu. I defy anyone to tell me it gets better than that - for real, dawg. TORRENTIAL RAIN AND TAPIRS The drive down to ATX was a 200+ mile stretch of constant rain. I don't think I saw a single patch of blue sky the entire time. I narrowly missed a wreck in Waco - some small white Kia managed to shear off the entire rear bumper (and axle) of a Dodge suburban. I'm just glad I bypassed all that before traffic really started backing up. But it was well worth the effort, because who was there to greet me when I pulled up to Rylander’s house? Little...Katie...DRIFTWOOD! Ah, I love that little darlin' of a tapir. She's filled with so much affection, and is never shy about shaking her wooden little rump for the Snakeman. LONGHORNS, BRATWURST, AND ROADSTERS Quickly grabbing the Vader mask (of which we would have plenty of photos/videos later on), we piled into Andrew's truck and headed over to Charlie's house for a little UT football action. Charlie's got a nice pad indeed: a pool table overlooked by a HDTV on the wall, and another HDTV in the living room with an Xbox 360. After throwing the meat on the grill, we grabbed some cold ones and watched the game. Jackie dropped by, as did Katie (not Driftwood), so we had some female fans cheering with us dudes. It's interesting to note how these die-hard Longhorns have assimilated me into their collective, me being a Horned Frog and all. UT had a somewhat shaky start in the first quarter, and even a mistimed pass that resulted in an interception by Wyoming. Well, when it's the first away game of the season, some unfamiliarity with the territory is to be expected. But not to worry, the Longhorns soon gained a commanding lead over Wyoming, ending at 41-10.  Once the game was over, Daniel, Sean, Austin and your beloved Snakes engaged in some post-football Halo 3. I did pretty well, considering I haven't played in three months. I annihilated Sean-rad three times in a row using a ginormous missile launcher. Naturally, he repaid the favor by raining down death upon me via this flying vehicle called a ‘Banshee.’ It was a pretty intense Team Slayer match, to say the least.  We got the obligatory group photos, and I even got one flanked by Jackie and Katie (not Driftwood). Sean once again contributed to the moment by shooting me in the crotch with a Nerf gun a half-second before the photo was taken. So, for those of you who are wondering why my expression in the photo is one of pained exuberance, well, now you know. Jackie then displayed her new wheels - a black convertible Mercedes SLK roadster. You know the old cliché about good lookin’ gals and fast cars…yeah, never gets old. No matter how many crappy versions of Fast and Furious they make, people never seem to tire of it.  WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG Before hittin' up 6th Street, we returned to Rylander's pad for a little jam session. We each took turns on several guitar pieces; Andrew and Sean did a couple well-known Dave Matthews songs. Then it was Rylander's turn, echoing Satellite by Dave Matthews, and even throwing in a little Coldplay. Finally, when it came time for me to show my guitar prowess, I played the only song that came to mind - perhaps the only one that mattered. When You Were Young by The Killers rang true from my vocal chords and fingertips! I swear that tune's becoming my veritable torch song. And to think, it started out with a kiss…how did it end up like this? TWINS TO THE LEFT, TWINS TO THE RIGHT… …and I’m the only Snakes in town. Jimmy Buffett reference aside, we met up at Buffalo Billiards on 6th Street for some shuffleboard. It was here that I initially encountered Mike and Meredith, and one half of the Ryall Twins. Elizabeth met us at the bar, greeted us with a hug, and displayed the new tattoo she’d just gotten on her back - a pair of angel wings which had been worked on for two hours last week, and another two that day. I don’t know how some people can take the pain, honestly. After some meaningful banter, brewskies in hand, we all headed upstairs to the shuffleboard table. The other twin, Rachel, showed up around that time, with a friend in tow. Unlike Elizabeth, who had red hair, Rachel had curly blond hair. Now, you’ve gotta ask yourself: whose hair color is real, and whose is dyed? A scintillating dilemma, to say the least… We went back and forth on shuffleboard, but victory was one-sided. Literally, it was one-sided because one end of the table was uneven. The pucks would always slide off to the left, no matter how carefully you aimed. But as the game progressed, I grew less concerned with winning. I realized it was more about soaking in the experience. Why, you ask? Well, when you have the Ryall Twins flanking you on either side and She-Wolf by Shakira playing overhead, it don't get no better than that, son. Mike and Meredith led us upstairs to one of the night’s biggest discoveries – a FREE air hockey table! ‘What the puck jokes’ aside, it was amazing. Played a few games of well crafted 2D interstellar warfare, and after realizing that Halo tactics were out, did quite well. And for the Parrotheads out there, the Buffett song I mentioned earlier was ‘Fins’. SNOW WHITE, WHERE’S YOUR SEVEN DWARVES? As the evening wound down, we bade farewell to Elizabeth and Rachel, and began the walk back to the parking garage. That's when things took a turn for the surreal. And by surreal, I mean friggin' awesome! We passed by what looked like a bachelorette party, and Rylander suggested I get a photo with the perceived bride-to-be. But as I approached, I noticed she wasn't dressed like the typical bachelorette - no veil, no chains, or letters of last-minute appeal to not get married. No, this chica was dressed like Snow White. And this wasn't a bachelorette party…Wait, what the snakes had I gotten myself into?? Turns out it was just a usual gathering of friends, something called "girls night out". And one of them, for whatever reason, decided to become Snow White for the evening. I didn't ask questions; it might have ruined the moment (and let me tell you, this was one to savor). Rylander told us to scoot in close (heh) while he took our photo. So Miss White sidles up next to me and gave me a prolonged kiss on the cheek for the shot. Hey, there's no shame in that - even a Disney Princess needs to get out once and a while. Whistling while you work and tending to dysfunctional dwarves probably gets old after a while. :) We shot some more videos before reaching our parking spot, taking in the magic that is 6th Street. I even got a last-minute opportunity to practice a little kung fu next to the historic Driskell Hotel. Only in Austin can one do that sort of thing and be considered "normal." What can I say? Another solid weekend for the Snakeman!

Snow White and Mr. Snakes

[hanginwithsnakes-blog]

YOGURT + COCOA PUFFS = EQUALITY

I made a recent discovery when combining two seemingly heterogeneous food elements. Now, I'm sure most of us will agree that we keep our cereal and yogurt mutually exclusive. I mean, cereal goes in milk, and nothing usually goes in yogurt. However, this morning I was in a rush, and not having the time to make cereal, I grabbed a dry handful and went to work. When I got to my desk, I thought, "well, I've got my yogurt here, and my Cocoa Puffs there. What do I do?" I opened the Ziploc bag of puffs, and when I did some of the contents fell into the strawberry daiquiri-flavored Yoplait. I ate a few scoops, and the taste was unlike anything I imagined. I quickly realized the palatable appeal of this new foodstuff. It was like an accidental invention, sort of like the guy who let the animal fat congeal with potassium hydroxide a little too long, and voila, out came soap. Who could have guessed that two separate ingredients could be married in such a careless fashion, only to produce something so wonderful? That made me realize something else on a deeper level. Each one of us comes with our own set of "ingredients". Some we're born with; others our parents instill in us via Sunday School or The Wiggles. But as we grow, we find ourselves occasionally thrown into a group of people with different ingredients than our own. Like the speedbiker who is forced to wedge his Kawasaki among the Harley-Davidsons because he can find no other parking space. Or the Caucasian computer geek who ends up salsa dancing because he mistook the Peruvian nightclub for an Internet cafe. Those are the types who have unwittingly brought us into the age of equality and mutual acceptance. This last concept is so key. And yeah, maybe I didn't come up with the idea of cereal in yogurt. I've seen Starbucks selling these cups with honey oats in yogurt--I think they're called "parfaits". I know this idea's not original, because they obviously stole that term from the French. And I know for a fact they don't use Cocoa Puffs like I do. Anyway, I digress. My point is simply this: don't be afraid to combine disparate food groups or mingle with seemingly opposite social groups. Walk into those environments you usually avoid. Sure, you may face an angry pack of Hell's Angels as their choppers close in on your 250 cc crotch rocket. But, you may also find yourself dancing with a hottie from Peru named Mavila, who admires your pale skin, geeky glasses, and knowledge of JavaScript. Now that's what I call a tasty concoction.

--on the Beiter pier - Fulton, TX

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Kevin Fowler and Margaritafest

SNAKES AT MARGARITAFEST Endless Summer '09 continues baby! This time, we converged upon Waco for Margarita fest, held annually at the Heart of Texas Fairgrounds. I am just beside myself in coming to terms with this weekend's awesomeness. Not only did we get to sample different flavors of margarita for free, but we got to see three, count 'em three, superb Texas country bands: The Randy Rogers Band, Cross Canadian Ragweed, and Kevin Fowler. Plus, Snakes was in for a pleasant surprise during the Kevin Fowler show. Read on--you know you want to! TEXAS! <clap> <clap> RANGERS! So I roll into Waco about 1:30pm to meet up with Rylander's group at the historic Texas Ranger Museum. We go inside, and true to form, Rylander immediately commences with the eccentric photos. The ladies pose on these wooden rocking horses for some glamour shots. Then Rylander pretends he's a rocking horse, with Bonny riding on him like a bandito. Hey, save an oak horse, ride a cowboy, that's my motto. Yeah, except that they’re cousins, and this isn’t Arkansas...Then, I get some photos of the plethora of old and modern guns on display. I've never seen so many Colt .45's, Colt 1911's, powder muskets, and Tommy guns in one setting. My dad would love it. We then made our way to the kid's area, where the little ones garb themselves in miniature chaps, aprons, and cowboy hats, and get pictures taken against a desert sunset backdrop. Rylander and I, never the shy ones, put on the ladies' frontier dresses, vests, and moccasins. We tried a variety of poses; some met with success, while others resulted in bewildered stares from the museum staff. That whole ten minutes was just surreal. It was like a scene out of Waiting for Guffman, when Corky St. Claire leads that boot-scootin' musical number and very softly exclaims "Everybody dance!" Final stop was the gift shop, and while we had us a grand old time, we couldn’t find any souvenirs to our liking. I was holding out for a full-size portrait of Col. James B. Fannin, but alas, there wasn't one to be found. NINFARITAS and GUACA-PHONES After making the Ranger museum staff's lives just a little more colorful, we headed over to Ninfa's for lunch. More peeps from Rylander's crew joined us: two of his old med school classmates, and his cousin Katie with her new copper-colored hair tone. Rylander had taken one of the brochures from the Ranger museum, and planned to use it as a voucher to try and get free margaritas. The ploy nearly worked; he tells the waitress he would like to redeem his voucher from the Texas Ranger Museum for a free "ninfarita." She almost bought it; Rylander said it with such sincerity that she started writing the order down before checking herself. I guess the daily routine of the job does that to a person. When it came time for me to order my drink, I asked for a mojito. To which our previously bewildered server gruffly responded, "I'm sorry, we don't have <dramatic pause=""> MOJITOS." I then informed her to just make mine a hurricane, which resulted in an incredulous stare from her for a good five seconds. FACE-OFF! Apparently, she expected me to order a margarita, or at least some drink commonly identified by its Mexican terminology. That clearly threw her off her game. I can't say I blame her, though. When you live too far inland, ESPECIALLY in a town like Waco, the island beverage labels become a bit obscure. She should listen to "Boat Drinks" by Jimmy Buffett… One messy side note: my cell phone accidentally fell into the guacamole. Luckily, there was no damage, but having had a similar experience with chocolate two months ago I could have done without that gooey caper. Maybe I should stop bringing electronics to the dinner table altogether. TAKE ME OUT TO THE DANCE HALL... After drinking our fill at Ninfa's, we slid on our boots and headed over to the Heart of Texas Fairgrounds for Margarita fest. I can honestly say that the only thing better than one margarita is -- wait for it -- MORE MARGARITAS; especially when they're free! The place we were in contained several booths offering margarita samples to the public at no charge. So we all partook of that magical elixir of the southwest. The first sample I had was pretty good. The next two were kind of nil, very sour to the taste. The fourth and final drink had a tartness to it that provoked a reaction similar to getting kicked by a mule. Ah, the way it should be! Afterward, we made our way to the concert area. We thought we'd be stuck way off to the left, but Heather strategically maneuvered us through the sea of people to FRONT CENTER STAGE. Score! The first group to light up the party was The Randy Rogers Band. In a tribute to margarita mustaches everywhere, Randy came out sporting a real mustache, along with his entire group, except for the bass player, Mr. Chops, who instead had a pair of carefully tailored sideburns. I don't know what it is about bassists, but they always have to be different -- in an exceptionally cool way. This guy clearly had his game face on. You could see him smirking to the audience in different directions, at all the right times. And I could totally appreciate the chops look. If you remember, I had a similar getup earlier this year, a la "Wolverine". COWBOY, BABY Cross Canadian Ragweed was the next group to take the stage. I was lucky to find my spot after snagging a Bud Light Lime in between performances. The area was filling up fast with die-hard CCR fans. I didn't realize how long it had been since I'd seen them; they've totally revamped their image. Three of 'em were wearing those fedoras that have become such a HUGE trend among Gen-Y males these days. They've also got this strange wooden monkey carving sitting atop one of the speakers adjacent to the drummer. I guess that's their new icon or something. And here's the kicker: front man Cody Canada has transformed into—KID ROCK. I kid you not. The dude's wearing Kid's hat AND Kid's shades. He's even got that famed Kid Rock sneer. This is such a far cry from their last tour. Back then, Cody had dreadlocks. It was here that I accidentally expanded my social network. Call it a healthy side effect of rolling with Snakes. We were next to this guy and two chicks, who were from Arlington (my old stomping grounds). The dude was the brother of this very outspoken brunette named Lindsey, and Lindsey was apparently the BFF of the other girl, a cute blond named Jana. They had driven here specifically to see Kevin Fowler. Such was their enthusiasm for Mr. Fowler that Lindsey audibly referred to him as "Kevin F***ing Fowler." Her blond friend and her brother seemed a little more conservative, but they were clearly here to party. Little did I know it, but I was about to experience another healthy side effect with this wayward group of country fans. POUR ME ANOTHER ONE, I'M FINISHED WITH THE OTHER ONE... ...I'm drinking my baby goodbye? No, quite the opposite, in fact. Once Kevin Fowler's show was in full swing, Rylander and his crew had to bail. That left me alone with my new friends, Jana, Lindsey, and her brother. As the show progressed, I found my attention focusing on Jana. And her attention was equally focused on me. I decided to test the waters a bit, and sure enough, there were strong indicators of interest. I don't know if it was the love song Kevin happened to be playing at the time, or if it was the reddish-hued lighting, or just the right time of night. All I know is that all the romantic ingredients were there, and a kiss or two may have occurred. WHOA!!! OHHH!!! Now that's the stuff of country songs, my friends. After the show, Jana (who, turns out, knows Kevin Fowler from way back) invited me to meet him and the rest of the band. I chatted it up with Mr. Fowler (score again), and then Jana and her crew invited me to join them at Whataburger before heading back. I politely declined; I really needed to get back to Irving, since I was exhausted from standing for five hours straight. After exchanging numbers with Jana, I made the voyage home, filled with a profound sense of accomplishment. Another solid weekend for the Snakeman.

<dramatic> <clap>

[hanginwithsnakes-blog]

Kidd Kraddick & Kung Fu

Earlier this week, I was on the air with Kidd Kraddick. They were doing a call-in segment where listeners would talk about crazy clothing they wore in normal settings. Specifically, it involved wearing a certain attire in a completely different setting. Like, say, for instance, a Hawaiian shirt to a wedding or a tuxedo to a bowling alley. That kind of thing. Given my penchant for wearing the Vader mask at weddings AND the beach, I saw this as a prime opportunity. Anyway, I call in, and they snap me up right away. Odd, considering that most people have to wait an ungodly amount of time before getting on a live syndicated program. So the producer gives me some instruction: turn your radio down, don't swear, ignore Kelly's flirtatious comments, etc. The usual B.S. After a minute or two, Kidd comes on, announces me by name, and asks, "So what's the strangest thing you've worn in a place where it didn't particularly fit in." Came my enthusiastic reply, "I once wore a Darth Vader mask by the beach in Port Aransas." Then, as an afterthought: "With a SURFBOARD."  The reaction was, shall we say, childish? With overdone smugness in his voice, Kidd tells me, "Heh, so, how was COMICON!" and hangs up. WHAT THE FRENCH TOAST?!! For one, he didn't even listen to half of what I said; I specifically told him Port Aransas. And everyone KNOWS that I go to Quakcon every year. Not Comicon. The guy clearly doesn't know me. Sheesh. I MUST BREAK YOU... Changing the station (pun intentional) , I went to kung fu Wednesday evening. I love Wednesdays, because we have regular class and then sparring, with a little social dinner hour in between. Some really insane, retarded funny stuff happens during that hour, but that's a story for later. Running on only five hours of sleep, I didn't know how I'd fare in sparring, but was pleasantly surprised. There's a tall Chinese dude who happens to be a spectacular fighter--we all call him Asia since he has a tendency to respond to commands with a "Heyo!" Or maybe it's "hau". I need to brush up on my Mandarin--or is this dialect Cantonese? Never mind... So I get to fight Asia and this guy doesn't pull his punches. We fought hands only, since my shin's still banged up from the tournament in Round Rock last weekend. Now, imagine fighting a Chinese version of Ivan Drago, and pretty much sums this guy up. I took a right hook to the head, dodge what looked like a flying superman, and wheeled around him, throwing about three or four jabs to his left temple. I thought I had him, but then he spins around and delivers what I thought would be a ridge hand to the side. No such luck; he fakes me out with the ridge hand so he can punch me square in the jaw.  Once the cloudiness in my head passed, I was back on my game. Asia had dropped his hands, thinking I was done for. But no, the Snakeman goes the distance. I go after him again, trying to weave around his long jab like Stallone in Rocky 4. It worked...for the most part. I maneuvered a lot better this time. I just have to learn to get inside his range, and deliver at the right moment. After Kung Fu, cranked up some Killers music and sang 3 songs on the way home flawlessly. It won't be long till these songs have an audience--I've seriously gotta post the covers on this site soon. Arriving home, saw a little froggy out by my door. Must be a sign of good fortune. Another end to another interesting day.

--Mr. Snakes --

[hanginwithsnakes-blog]

Snakes: The Rundown

Snakes came onto the scene during the fall of 1997, by way of a fraternity joke and a movie impression. It was an interesting time to be a young adult in those days. We suffered through the Clinton era. We experienced Lilith Fair. We rocked out to experimental bands like Chumbawumba and Smash Mouth. We watched with baited breath as TCU students charged the goal posts and tore those suckers down, after a horrible 1-9 football season. We bid farewell to Coach Pat Sullivan without shedding so much as a tear. And through it all, Snakes was making a name for himself. 

ORIGINS 

So Snakes chanced upon striking up a strange and wonderful friendship with a guy known as The Imig during his TCU days. These two would shout G-rated obscenities, imitate the now-unemployed Pets.com puppet dog, and quote movies such as Face/Off, Titanic, and Home Alone. By sheer accident, The Imig's roommate overheard Snakes imitating the scene in Home Alone, where Macaulay Culkin was cueing up that gangster movie to scare off the pizza guy: "I tell you what I'm gonna give you, Snakes. I'm gonna give you till the count of ten to get your ugly, yellow, no-good kiester off my property..." The following day, The Imig's roommate (we shall call him 'Colin') shouted "What's up, Snakes!" while chasing him down the hall. Unwittingly, "Colin" had just coined nickname that would eventually become the legend you all know and love.  WHAT IS SNAKES LIKE?  Snakes is an amalgamation of several different cultures and popular celebrity references. Like Obama, he grew up in the Pacific Islands and has several family members of different races. Unlike Obama, he supports Ron Paul. Snakes has the face and mannerisms of Steve Carell, the body of Wolverine (rawr), and the Caribbean soul of Jimmy Buffett. Most often, you will find Snakes practicing Northern Shaolin Kung Fu, singing hits by The Killers, and associating himself more and more with the Austinites. The Rylander family has even agreed to officially adopt him--all he has to do is sign on the dotted line. It's also been rumored that Snakes is a close, personal friend of Andrew McElwee.  SHOULD I GET TO KNOW SNAKES?  Abso-friggin-lutely. Everyone who has crossed paths with this man has come away with a new perspective on life. Snakes has the rare ability to stride into a room and light up the party through a process even he doesn't really understand. It just happens. For instance, if you're hosting a Rock Band party on Xbox, and your current lineup happens to suck, he will confidently take the mic and revitalize the atmosphere. Wailing on tunes like Mr. Brightside or Eye of the Tiger, you can be sure Snakes will give you an unbelievably great time. It's just what he does best.  WHERE CAN I MEET SNAKES?  Snakes currently resides in Dallas, so that's your best bet. You can catch him at his kung fu school, and competing in tournaments all over North Texas. However, Snakes has been known to frequent Austin quite a bit. You've undoubtedly seen him at the Alamo Drafthouse, down 6th Street (carrying a Frank Zappa poster), or tubing down the Comal River. He's also been spotted on a ranch in Georgetown, and almost bit it one time in the San Marcos River. However, being the seafarer that he is, you'll almost always catch him on the Texas Coast, sipping on Coronas with lime, surfing, and being chased by hot blonds named Amy. Recently, Snakes developed this unusual fascination with Goliad, so it's very possible you could run into him at the Fannin Memorial.  IN CLOSING...  Tell us what you know about Snakes. Share your stories, photos, videos, or any other content you'd like. Most of all, share your love. Snakes will be sure to do the same.