Schlitterbahn and Yankee Pot Roast

Yesterday, John, Jimmy, and I traveled to the beautiful and quaint seaside Texas resort town, Galveston,  made ever-charming by the landscape of industrial plants. Given that Houston had been boiling, we decided to go to Schlitterbahn, a water park. It was an eventful day to say the least. From the get go, Jimmy and I, to say it nicely and retain some masculinity, were apprehensive about the big slides that just free-fall you. The common refrain for the day was, "let's get up there, assess the situation, and make a decision at the top." I'm proud to report Jimmy and I did all the rides, though we only the did the biggest and scariest one once. Our plan was simple: John, a water park pro, would go first, leaving Jimmy and I at the top helpless, having to fend for ourselves. With just slightly more confidence than Jimmy, I would go second, forcing Jimmy, who was by himself up there, to take the fast way down so as to not be chided and scolded by us. As for interesting stories, we were in the lazy lagoon, when a young albino boy (Jacob, as we later learned) tapped me on the back, asking for help because he was blind without his goggles, which he had lost while flipping into the wave pool. Like idiots, John and I searched where he lost them to no avail, but Jimmy went 30 feet downstream and found them. As Jews say, we had done a mitzvah.

That night, John's Mom made her famous Yankee Pot Roast, a winter-dish so heavy but absolutely delicious. The fresh made biscuits used to sop up the gravy did me in. After dinner, we played spoons, which is a violent card game. Jimmy strangled me.