Week Three of Three Begins

Location: 20120625-171719.jpgSeabrook Texas, a ‘burb of Houston.

Classroom: Hotel meeting room as arranged by “the customer”. I’m staying there.

Head count: 12 today with one more expected to join us tomorrow (customer paid for 16).

Lab equipment: Working. (One instructor SNAFU with a new configuration thereof but, oh well, it provides exercise for the heart muscle and flexes the major arteries.)

Customers are warming up and beginning to ask questions.

Pace at end of Day #1: Slightly ahead of where we should be but, as they warm up, the pace will slow.

Found a good place for subs for lunch, Neptune Subs, on 146 as recommended by one of the customers. Got take-out of an Italian with roasted red peppers. Vinny, the owner, runs the cash register and is very likable. Gave me half a dozen paper towels with the sandwich. I needed them. (Yum!)

Got multiple recommendations for Seabrook Classic Cafe for breakfast that I’ll try tomorrow after rejecting the free one at the hotel this morning.

Dinner last night was Vietnamese take-out with a spring roll and Pho Ga (chicken soup) but both were below par. I won’t be going back to the Kemah Cafe (no website) on 146 again.

Dinner tonight?

Well, the first day of class is always stressful so I’m thinkin’ some sort of take-out so I can eat with shoes off, feet up and belt loosened while flipping channels on the hotel TV. I need protein to replenish what the customer (and my SNAFU) burned so I’m thinkin’ a small steak with grilled onions, etc. And T-Bone Toms is just over the bridge in Kemah. I’ve been there before and while not fancy, it’s just plain good food.

Oh yeah, Frank called and the checkering on the front strap of my wadder is done. It’s waiting for me back in Phoenix.

I never have connected up with the Bullseye folks here in Houston. They shoot west of town and, from where I’m at, that’s a long haul in heavy traffic. Some other time, thank you.

(I can hear a steak calling my name from over the bridge.)

See ya’!

Addendum: Energized with good intentions of a New York strip steak, I crossed the bridge into Kemah. But, before I could reach TBone Toms, the siren’s song from Crazy Alan’s Swamp Shack lured me toward the rocks of my demise. One dismemberment of mudbugs, whether spelled with one “g” or two, has sealed my fate. Alas, I am now irretrievably lost to the fracturing of tails and the sucking of heads. Pray for my soul.

Addended Addendum: The two Shiners, while complicit in the act, made no overt contribution to this evening’s debauchery.

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