Category Archives: Kevin Deweber

The Drunken Pilgrim

sour beerby Kevin Deweber

I love Texas. I really do. It’s home. It’s turned me into the man I am today (those that know me can critique that man in the comment section). I love my barbecue, my Cowboys, and my drawl that sounds straight from a Nascar pit crew. However, if I don’t leave occasionally, I would probably wind up drunk, and pissing in the middle of the street, in the Fort Worth Stockyards, talking about the good ol’ days, when there was no such thing as “fleek”. So, occasionally, I book an impromptu trip. I pack a carry-on with way-too-few clothes, and I get to the airport as soon as possible. I will now attempt, through relaying my debauchery on one of those trips, to persuade you to drop what you are doing this weekend, and get the hell out of town.

First, let’s hammer out prerequisites that you should take into account in your spontaneous weekend trips. You cannot be a demanding traveler, period. I feel I need to beat you about the head with this tidbit. When I travel, I intend to spend my money stupidly at my final destination, not spend my money stupidly on the travel to get there. So, yeah, I’ve been crammed into an economy seat between seemingly an asthmatic sumo wrestler, and a severely ill-tempered, and gassy retiree. I’ve even watched a girl that I can only assume was Snookie’s post-op cousin get booted from a plane for cussing a crying infant. My traveling arrangements aren’t luxurious, but they are efficient. They get me there, wherever “there” is, for cheap.   Continue reading

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Martin House Shows Us a Thing or Two About Love

beerby Kevin Deweber

When I was in my early teens, I was trying to figure out my personal tastes and interests. I made it as far as: “I don’t like beans in my chili, and I REALLY like boobies.” But I was beginning to form an understanding of what I liked culturally as well. It was around that time, that late one night, as I laid in bed listening to 94.5, something…weird came through my speakers. It wasn’t the music of another Seattle Sounder, or the death rattle of an 80’s band trying desperately to remain relevant. It was angst, and passion, blues, and punk rock. It was like the love child of Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Ramones made sweet, sweet love to Reverend Horton Heat. It hit all notes, musically, and emotionally. A wild man piped out sounds I didn’t know a person could make. He mispronounced things, he twanged and howled through choruses, the bass and drum being omnipresent, hypnotic, and relentless. The guitar riffs, piercing and visceral. That was the first time I heard “Possum Kingdom” by The Toadies. I was hooked.  Continue reading

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