My week, feat. venison and beer

I won't mention again how absurdly busy I am with work, because that's getting really old. But let's just say my job has been cutting way into my blogging and gym time. Stupid job. On top of that, my employer has announced a salary increase freeze. It's really supposed to be for upper-level folks -- presidents, vice presidents, deans, etc. -- but apparently when the president announces he's freezing his own salary, that means everybody else is supposed to follow his lead. This sucks somewhat because I was hired on with the expectation that my salary would be increased at the beginning of the next budget year (March). Oh well, we're not starving now, and as long as my children don't increase in size, caloric needs, or number within the next year or so, we should be okay.

Friday I went to the aforementioned surplus property Shangri-La. This picture sums up the experience well:

Pictured: server rack, bumper, boat anchor, four-wheeler (with SEATURTLE PATROL sign!), jumbotron, giant piece of a/c equipment. Also available but not pictured: EZ-Bake oven, pallets of shrinkwrapped CRT monitors, piles of oscilloscopes, card catalogs, film developing machines, innumerable chairs, bookshelves, and desks. Not available: anything I actually need. No venison or beer either.

Saturday I went to a great low-key bachelor party at a pseudo-private campsite near Wimberly. Some of the key features included a trunk full of beer, lots of whiskey, a partial drum kit, guitars, a mandolin, a banjo, a stand-up bass, and a bunch of people who know how to play old-timey music. Pretty great, really. Also, excellent venison burgers.

Ahhh, cheap beer. How do I love thee. It turns out Chet (not previously mentioned in this incarnation of my blog) really can hold his liquor pretty well. He did much better than the guy who showed up drunk, drank more, took off all his clothes, requested the Kinks and 2000 Man about 50 times, danced around, put his clothes back on, threatened the campsite administrator, then wandered into the woods and passed out on the ground. Good times.

Tuesday had me at Thunderbird drinking yet more Lone Star outside during an intense but brief thunderstorm. No venison.

Thursday (last night) was also great. Baby and the girls and I had dinner with friends. Venison was served, as well as some excellent homemade wine (not an oxymoron, it turns out) and some kind of Belgian ale. Let me tell you about this venison: it was awesome. Wrapped in bacon, injected with more bacon grease, unbelievable reduction sauce. Our friend Brad cooked it, and he is a true gourmet. We were actually not at Brad's house, so he was cooking with unfamiliar implements, and at one point I saw our host offer him a variety of gourmet salts to use. Brad proceeded to basically snort each salt to determine which ones he was using. It was intense, but whatever weird-ass rituals he chooses to use are fine by me if the results are always as good as last night's. Good times!