Birthday XLIV (I’ve decided to start using roman numerals for my birthdays, sort of like for the Super Bowl, or Popes) was, all in all, a success. There was no body count, no illness, no family drama, no shots fired, and no voodoo curses (to my knowledge). At this stage in life, that counts as a good birthday. You can see the pictures on my flickr site.
Friday morning, Dad and I took our Sanford and Son routine on the road, driving to New Orleans to watch Ron perform in another play. En route we stopped at the famous Poche’s in Breaux Bridge, where I had a plate lunch of crawfish etouffee, fried catfish, and French fries. That’s what Cajuns call a “balanced meal.” We checked in at the Navy Lodge at the New Orleans naval base that afternoon. I ran at the base’s track before we left for Ron’s show. And by “ran” I mean I tried to get my heart rate high enough to get some aerobic benefit, but low enough not to completely hurl all the fat and grease still oozing its way through my bloodstream on its way to the carotid artery, where it most likely is forming a beaver dam-like clot. Ron was starring in yet another Cripple Creek Theatre Company production, Enemy of the People, written by Henrik Ibsen and as adapted by Arthur Miller. Ron played the “protect local economic interests at all costs” mayor in the play, and to my biased and uninformed taste, did an excellent job. While sadly there were no graphic fruit sex displays, as in his last show, we did get an on-stage mob of proverbial angry villagers with pitchforks—basically a recreation of a PUC transmission line hearing. After the show we took pictures on set (see above), and then enjoyed a surprisingly good meal at Trolley Stop Café. Half the café customers were police-which as you’ll recall is a sure sign of a great restaurant. It was, thereby proving the theory again.
Dad somehow kept his snoring to a minimum (knowing my father’s snoring patterns is not exactly the sort of information I pictured myself having at this age), and we were able to head back to Houston the next morning. Thanks to Baton Rouge traffic and construction after Lake Charles, we were able to make the normal five hour journey back home in a mere eight hours. That was pretty awesome. Sunday was something of a down day-I did a nine-mile run at Memorial Park without collapsing or catching fire in the heat.
Monday I worked in my firm’s Houston office, then met the family at Star Pizza for some really great deep dish pizza and present opening before heading to Minute Maid Park to watch the Astros-Giants game. We had great seats behind home plate, thanks to Michelle, and everyone had a lot of fun.
Tuesday I took the day off and used it to come back to Austin and spend the day running errands. Tuesday night was the long-awaited Buck Owens Birthday Show at the Continental Club. About seven or eight folks showed up at my behest, once again proving the cultural force that is Daily Affirmations with Chris Reeder (the club was largely crowded). Numerous musicians swapped in and out on stage, each singing one or two Buck Owens songs. All in all it was a great show and everyone seemed to have a fine time (I'm bad at spotting the comics-like thought bubble over people's heads that say "note to self, decline future Chris Reeder social invitations.").
Friday morning, Dad and I took our Sanford and Son routine on the road, driving to New Orleans to watch Ron perform in another play. En route we stopped at the famous Poche’s in Breaux Bridge, where I had a plate lunch of crawfish etouffee, fried catfish, and French fries. That’s what Cajuns call a “balanced meal.” We checked in at the Navy Lodge at the New Orleans naval base that afternoon. I ran at the base’s track before we left for Ron’s show. And by “ran” I mean I tried to get my heart rate high enough to get some aerobic benefit, but low enough not to completely hurl all the fat and grease still oozing its way through my bloodstream on its way to the carotid artery, where it most likely is forming a beaver dam-like clot. Ron was starring in yet another Cripple Creek Theatre Company production, Enemy of the People, written by Henrik Ibsen and as adapted by Arthur Miller. Ron played the “protect local economic interests at all costs” mayor in the play, and to my biased and uninformed taste, did an excellent job. While sadly there were no graphic fruit sex displays, as in his last show, we did get an on-stage mob of proverbial angry villagers with pitchforks—basically a recreation of a PUC transmission line hearing. After the show we took pictures on set (see above), and then enjoyed a surprisingly good meal at Trolley Stop Café. Half the café customers were police-which as you’ll recall is a sure sign of a great restaurant. It was, thereby proving the theory again.
Dad somehow kept his snoring to a minimum (knowing my father’s snoring patterns is not exactly the sort of information I pictured myself having at this age), and we were able to head back to Houston the next morning. Thanks to Baton Rouge traffic and construction after Lake Charles, we were able to make the normal five hour journey back home in a mere eight hours. That was pretty awesome. Sunday was something of a down day-I did a nine-mile run at Memorial Park without collapsing or catching fire in the heat.
Monday I worked in my firm’s Houston office, then met the family at Star Pizza for some really great deep dish pizza and present opening before heading to Minute Maid Park to watch the Astros-Giants game. We had great seats behind home plate, thanks to Michelle, and everyone had a lot of fun.
Tuesday I took the day off and used it to come back to Austin and spend the day running errands. Tuesday night was the long-awaited Buck Owens Birthday Show at the Continental Club. About seven or eight folks showed up at my behest, once again proving the cultural force that is Daily Affirmations with Chris Reeder (the club was largely crowded). Numerous musicians swapped in and out on stage, each singing one or two Buck Owens songs. All in all it was a great show and everyone seemed to have a fine time (I'm bad at spotting the comics-like thought bubble over people's heads that say "note to self, decline future Chris Reeder social invitations.").
Thanks to everyone who was involved in Birthday XLIV, sent cards or presents, or sent their birthday wishes. I was very happy to hear from each of you.
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1 comment:
Happy birthday Chris!
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