I Don't Like Spam!

You might want to sit down. I'm about to wax less than rhapsodic about a longstanding and venerable Austin tradition.

I know it's April 1st, but really, I'm serious.

We headed out to Spamarama today. See? That's Sam Hurt's artwork at the top of the page! (And on the posters and flyers and on the T-shirts and caps and mugs they were selling at the festival.) I'll have to give it a big thumbs-down anyway, though. It cost us $15 to get in (three adults and a free kid), then $2 for Anna to jump around in a bouncy castle for five minutes, then another $2 for her to slide down a big inflatable slide, which was kind of cool but still only took her about 30 seconds, tops.

Plus we spent $18 for two strawberry margaritas and two cherry limeades for the girls. The margaritas were really big but seemed largely alcohol-free, and after just one of them, my stomach is sulking and making pointed remarks about why we don't drink wine coolers anymore. Gluh.

And of course it's a million degrees out and the lines are long, which would be okay if this were a cheesecake festival or something, but I'm not waiting 45 minutes in line for Spam. It's against my religion.

(Actually, on the subject of religion, I'll confess a little secret: I do rather like Spam, though I haven't had it in years. My dad used to make it once a week, fried in a skillet with half a cheese single melted on top of each slice - he was a bachelor, you know - served with a side of frozen peas or frozen corn. Heated up, I mean. And my grandmother used to make a lovely brown sugary Spammy casserole-type dish, with beans, I think.

No really, it was quite tasty!

I suppose if I wanted you to believe anything I say, I shouldn't post on April 1st.)