Today we ventured out to Lake Travis, where I stupidly believed we could spontaneously rent jet skis rather than reserve them in advance. Spoiler alert: We did not find available jet skis in the middle of the afternoon on a 90-degree Texas Saturday. WHOEVER WOULD HAVE THUNK.
But, we scoped out the area and grabbed a couple of beers at a few different locations on the water, walked around a park, took a dunk and got the lay of the land. It was lovely, and I’m very excited to go back after having gone through the appropriate reservation channels so I can jet ski around that lake like I’m Kenny Powers.
On the way in to one of the places we stopped, there was a huge piece of art that perfectly illustrated what I talked about in my previous post regarding Texas pride. I mean… it really IS a thing, you guys.
I found this brand of smug, willful ignorance and “us vs. them”-ness on the tacky end of this particular spectrum, and certainly one of the most on the nose. I’m sure there are a lot of pieces of memorabilia similar to this, and I need to just get over it. (Again, mostly I just feel validated.)
But I guess at the end of the day, I can’t be too aggrieved. Because no matter the size of your Texan pride, wherever you are in the state, you’ll never be able to get over being home to the worst high school ever.