Austin Day 1

Austin Day One

"I love you so much" was spray-painted on the wall as we posed for a photo. My wife said we were looking at murals today. I asked, "Does that start after this pleasant graffiti?"

Earlier, I’d been led to believe we were going straight from breakfast to drinking beers. Turns out, there was an art detour. I can tolerate many things—art is one of them. Especially when there’s a coffee stop first.

Yes, we had coffee at breakfast. But what about second coffee?

For lunch, we stumbled upon Torchy’s. They had the most amazing tacos.

Time for breweries—after a mile-long walk. Oh, hello, beer. Wait, what do you mean you can’t sell me a beer? What kind of business model is this, Blue Owl Brewing?!

Apparently, you had to buy a pint glass up front—then the beer was “free.” Now hold on, I didn’t come here to do math. How many beers? How many glasses? Four beers per $26 glass… and you only get one glass. YOU HAVE TO SHARE THE GLASS.

I took a deep breath, swallowed my rage, and said, "Let’s go for a walk."

The first sip of beer didn’t even come from a brewery. It was a coffee shop—Cuvee Coffee—with a beer tap. At this point, I wasn’t picky.

They mainly had local beers, which made choosing tricky since we’d be visiting most of these breweries later. I found one from a place we weren’t going to. Victory.

Thank goodness I got this beer in me—I needed it to cope with more questionable business models.

Zilker and Cuvee Brewing had some hits, but the grand champion was Lazarus Brewing. Their award-winning IPA, Walk on Water, instantly made the all-time list.

Then we found a place we thought was called Moonshine Brewing. Turns out, it wasn’t a brewery—it was just a bar. That’s acceptable.

In the superior back bar (not the lame front one), the bartender recommended CiderCade—a cider brewery and an arcade. There was no way my wife would let me go there. So, I deployed reverse psychology. I thanked the bartender, turned to my wife, and whispered, "Too bad that’s not on the list."

Spoiler alert: WE'RE GOING.

The only complaint about CiderCade? No beer. The name does give that away, but I’m an optimist. Still, the cider was solid, and I happily partook.

The games ranged from old-school to prehistoric. Some were even older than me—which is saying something. Plenty of side quests, but the main mission? Don’t spill my drink.

I’ve been to many an alcoholic arcade, believe it or not. I’ve lost beverages to celebration, defeat, and sheer lack of coordination in every single one. This time, I was determined. I navigated decades of arcade history with precision, even played Tekken while staying dry. (Everyone knows tilting your body adds power to the punches.)

Sidebar: While playing Tekken, a stranger stood way too close, breathing heavily. I figured he’d ask to play the winner or at least acknowledge my existence. Nope. He just… stood there as I walked away—quickly.

But eventually, my drink met its match. I stood watching a friend play Guitar Hero as he channeled his childhood dreams through star power. Mid-rockstar moment, the head of his guitar yeeted my drink right out of my hand.

I said nothing. I just turned and left.

Enough of the digital age—it was time for real athleticism. Air Hockey.

After crushing my gaming partner, we were greeted by a familiar face. Tekken Guy. He was back. This time, he started coaching my opponent.

When the final goal rang out, he fulfilled his destiny: "I got winner."

Now, I don’t like playing strangers because, well… I cheat. It’s not the best way to make friends. But I agreed anyway.

We started off trading points—2-2. Then, out of nowhere, this air hockey prodigy went on a four-point tear. Suddenly, it was 6-2. My arm was aching, I was sweating on the table (which, by the way, severely impacts puck mobility), and I was painfully aware of how much harder games were when I didn’t cheat.

To make matters worse, my opponent started mocking me. I was swinging as hard as I could—and he wasn’t even moving his slider. I’m not kidding. He just left it centered in front of his goal, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t get through.

He blocked shot after shot, chanting, "Blocked. Blocked. Blocked." like some kind of air hockey Sith Lord. Then—finally—one snuck in. 6-3.

The comeback was on. Another goal. And another. One more! 6-6.

I was finally putting up a fight. He wiped sweat from his face with his shirt, momentarily flashing me. Unexpected. I used this time to focus on my breathing—since this was the most cardio I’d done since they stopped letting me on the swingset.

Then, he dropped the puck. ACE. Game over. He won.

I ran to my wife and said, "We gotta go."

Dinner was its own adventure. The line wrapped around the building, but they had in-line beer service. Take notes, Universal Studios—and all other line-having establishments.

We grabbed a couple of Lonestars to soak in the local culture. As usual, I attempted to make friends. I turned to the very tall group of guys behind us and casually shouted, "Why are you all so tall?" As one does.

Turns out, they were from Denmark—which immediately reminded me of the Danish guys we met in Germany.

As I have long suspected: The Danish are the longest people in the world.

We needed a table if we wanted to eat the mountain of food we were about to order. A couple of us strategically slipped out of line to claim one. It’s not like there were signs everywhere saying not to do this—except there were. "Do not sit down before getting your food."

A server stopped by and said, "You can't sit without a tray." This was relayed to me. So, I did the only logical thing—I grabbed a tray off the trash can and slid it onto the table. Did it work? Unclear. But no one stopped us.

I then ordered enough brisket to feed a family of five. Then I asked what everyone else was getting. The brisket was so good we bought a dry rub to recreate it at home. Spoiler: we will fail.

Rainy Street is the kind of place where no one should drive. Too many parties. Too much fun. The only person not having a great time? The very bitter bartender in charge of 100 taps at one bar.

As we started enjoying our drinks, someone at the bar asked about Jai Alai from our beloved Cigar City.

The bartender sneered. "That’s a not very good IPA."

I turned to my wife, handed her my beer, and said, "Hold this."

Then I jumped over the bar.

We left the ladies in the room and set off for the nearest Target on a mission for water. On the way, we got directions from a very polite under-bridge community. I don’t think you can call them trolls anymore. Plus, their riddles were subpar.

While we were gone, the ladies ordered cookies. So, naturally, we hydrated, ate cookies, and watched MasterChef.

Which got me thinking… are there any reality shows about air hockey? Because I have a redemption arc to complete.