Austin is hot. Both in temperature, and in cultural wealth of BBQ, music, beer and dead animal wall adornments. But enough about my hotel room.
We landed, we settled in, and then registered. Or rather, waited in line to wait in another line to wait in a third line to register. But now we have a canvas tote (sexy) filled with promotional reading material, and a rakish lanyard with our photo on it.
Brad even busted out his summer dogs for the occasion, despite them clearly advertising that we were not locals, but from somewhere closer to the Arctic circle.
From there we met up with Wooster and had ourselves a Flintstones-size beef rib and a couple of cold Shiner Bocks, a local brew with all the charm and character of Budweiser, but with even more sugar to ensure a grande-sized hangover.
At the end of the evening, Wooster managed to capture me limbering up before wrestling the massive fish clearly trying to start something.
