These bingo players are hardcore too, it’s not just for grannies any more. Some people try to pay bills and rent with this money. They bring cash, bags specially made for daubers, seat cushions and their game face. These people aren’t afraid to shoosh and give the evil eye when it’s crunch time, but they’re pretty friendly during breaks.

There’s always a raffle going on during sessions for gift certificates to the bingo hall, the cafe, even restaurants like Chili’s. The announcers do this too and they’re usually fun people, making jokes and keeping things exciting. There’s a pretty small chance of actually winning but prizes range from $300 to $700 in cash.

I can’t forget to mention the greatest thing about this place, which I only figured out a few days ago. It’s BYOB, so if you have no shame in playing bingo alone with a six-pack, and hopefully a taxi later, that’s totally cool. They like you to be discrete about your bingo boozin’ so make it some bingo coozie boozin’. 

I was in on two games this particular Friday afternoon. The first game I played alongside two of my friends and two other guys we picked up. We lacked a big man but still managed to be competitive. I was actually matched up against a guy that probably had 50 pounds and half of a foot on me. But I managed to come out not too nicked up.
The second game was a completely different story. My two friends were picked up for another game so from the beginning it really looked like I was going to have to carry the team. And believe me, you’re in trouble if I’m the best player. But the basketball gods were very giving this afternoon, and we somehow managed to win. The reaction of our opponents was priceless as they just couldn’t believe how they lost to us. They left afterwards and probably had trouble sleeping that night…

Looks sure can be deceiving and basketball at Gregory is the perfect example.

From what I remember, the people here act sort of cultish but not creepy in any sexual way.  Make sure you don’t come expecting to see only a few breasts because almost everyone dresses without clothes.  Picture the sun glazing over the water and green trees growing on limestone cliffs.  Dispersed along the rock formations, nudists bask in the sun with hats, drinks, books, and floaties for the water.

Also, expect to look like such a perve if you come clothed just to look at everyone else.

Hippie Hollow’s Web site refers to itself as a “clothing optional Nudist Park.”

http://www.hippiehollow.com

...at this point i realized i wasted my obervational journalistic skills on a useless conversation (more or less), so i knew i would have to use some skills to strtch this convo into something signifcant with a moral.
something like, valentine’s day sucks when you’re single and rocks when you aren’t
am i more or less right?

He wasn’t easy to find, though.

There’s a 24-hour Valero gas station just up the block from my Riverside apartment and, during a recent early-morning study fuel run (Mountain Dew and chips) a few days ago, I noticed a nice Harley sitting outside with a middle-aged guy in a store uniform polishing it.

Somewhat surprisingly, I was the only person at the station. He was the only cashier in the store, so when he saw me park and begin walking toward the entrance he hopped up and went behind the counter. After I got my supplies I went to pay for them with my debit card.

This is where it gets interesting. He took the plastic, threw it up in the air, spinning it counterclockwise. He then caught it with the other hand and, almost like a slight-of-hand magic trick, swiped it through the card reader in one fluent motion. This caught my attention, I smiled, and having broken the morning ice he asked me what I was doing up so late.

“Studying,” I said.

“Wish I’d stayed in school,” he replied.

Not wanting to bring up any bad memories, I didn’t ask why he dropped out. But he continued the conversation.

“Yeah, I’ve had some rough times. But now I have this job, man.”

“You like it, huh?”

“Oh yeah. I’m even making enough money to get me that bike out there. That thing’s my baby.”

At this point the transaction was complete, and I left with a smile and a “see you later,” as I’m sure I will. I feel kind of bad because I didn’t ask his name. But it was kind of cool that he actually liked doing a job at such a shitty hour that is usually reserved for teenagers. Makes me think there’s a possibility that, no matter what job I end up doing, I can enjoy it if I want to. 

I found Sagra. It is a little house turned Italian restaurant. The food was alright and the price was good, especially for the whole atmosphere that is provided.

Buttttt….(because there always is one) the place was so small that you were practically sitting on the lap of the patrons at the next table over. For a place that seems to be aiming for a romantic ambience, having diners so close to each other throws all chances of ‘amore’ out the window.

So while the food was well-priced and good enough, what really seemed to matter was the quality of the conversation…that is the conversation of the couple next you to.

Upon entry to FF, the friendly employees are unmistakable.  They understand that sex shops aren’t necessarily the most comfortable place for some people, but they’re also ready to talk about some pretty freaky stuff.  Plus the selection is great for whatever level of freaky you’re ready for.

While I was taking mental notes on my favorite V-Day specials, I couldn’t help but notice the last-minute shoppers.  One lady, a massage therapist, was shopping for her friend who had just lost everything in a fire.  She thought her friend would appreciate a “personal massager” ASAP.  Heck, the woman decided to get a new one for herself too! (I should mention that talking to employees at novelty shops in Texas is hilarious, because they are strictly bound to using the terms “educational model” and “personal massager” thanks to an absurd TX law).

Then a man, mid-30s, nervously asked an employee to explain the differences in some other battery-powered toys.  He decided to go with the one that “provided the most pleasure for her.” What a nice guy!

I didn’t sit there and eves drop the whole time, I swear.  I ended up writing an entry about my V-Day favs at FF. I know it’s a little late now, but you can check out what I had to say about this shop, and others, at The Naughty Chair.

It’s not every day a classical composers’ likeness floats by while cruising the pinnacle of Austin sin. Because of his riskiness to be in the neighborhood, I thought I might just give Austin Symphony a chance Sat. night.

The darkness of thunder and rain left me no choice: I would park in a handicap spot. Forgive me.

The hurried upper-class sounded like animals longing for shelter: the clip-clopping women in dresses and heels, men in their suits and black golf umbrellas, holding hands with their children who would soon grow up to be distinguished citizens—After all, their parents took them to see a rendition of Beethoven when they were four.

A little boy looked up at his dad, clad in plaid tucked into khaki, hair blond and resisting disturbance from the unfortunate weather, and said, “Why can’t I watch Star Wars dad? Luke Skywalker is a hero.” Even at four or five, why does this kid not have permission to watch Star Wars?

“You will like all the pretty instruments and the sounds they make,” the dad said. That wasn’t his question, I thought.

Yes, even the oxygen that filtered through the torrents of rain circling the symphony hall parking lot was even Westlake-worthy. It made me not believe that my ticket was so cheap. I only paid $19 to rub elbows with Austin’s finest. I sat behind the upright bass sections’ backs, of course.

I did wonder though what Beethoven would have thought of the main advertisement in the program, which said, “Plastic surgery is an art and we support people who support the arts.”