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#1
02-02-2017, 12:24 PM
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Texans move 2017 training camp to the Greenbrier Resort (West Virginia)
Texans to move portion of training camp to West Virginia
If the name of the facility rings a bell, it was also converted in the Cold War 60's to a underground bunker that could house Congress if necessary. Quote:
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Last edited by Arky; 06-15-2017 at 06:58 PM. 
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#2
06-14-2017, 01:20 AM
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Texans announce training camp dates and times
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#4
06-17-2017, 03:26 AM
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Although to be honest, he's a reliably good traveler. For one thing, he loves airplanes like I do, and he's happy in them, like I am. For another thing, some goddamn genius invented the iPad. You might be surprised to learn that I've spent an inordinate amount of time in West Virginia and I am very fond of the place, despite the fact that overwhelming numbers of its citizens decided to unleash their inner bigot and succumb to certain puerile fears with the direct (and, apparently, to many of them, surprising) result of now finding themselves in serious danger of losing the healthcare they and their neighbors depend upon to survive black lung, emphysema, diabetes and severe arterial blockage past the age of 45 or so. But it's a lovely state, and it would be even lovelier if they'd tap the brakes on the mountaintop removal mining. I mean, call me crazy, but I sort of like mountains the way they are. I have a friend whose father was the long time mayor of Martinsburg. I guess I should say he was a friend. I haven't spoken with him in years. He was always a little nutty, but finally he got too crazy for me, if you can believe it. I honestly decided that he would get me killed one day. I was living in New York at the time and he'd come visit me and approach people on the street randomly and say weird shit to them. I was like, Dude, you can't do that sort of thing here, man. It's funny, one night I was driving with him and we were on the route you take from the Holland Tunnel to the Williamsburg Bridge. I have no idea what we were doing in Jersey or even if we had been in Jersey. But you get out of the tunnel and you have to juke around a little and you end up on Kenmare Street, which turns into Delancey which leads you directly to the bridge. You have to drive up Centre Street to get to Kenmare. Centre Street is a weird street for me. Back then I played music professionally and there was a studio on Centre Street where I used to record and mix occasionally. Somehow the guys who owned that place managed to purchase the Rolling Stones' mobile studio, a sort of step van that had a control room inside that was used to record countless classic records. I have absolutely no idea how these knuckleheads managed to buy it, but they did, and they parked it out in front of their studio on this very street. It had the Stones logo on the sides of the van and everything. How no one ever just stole it I cannot imagine. I also have no idea how I ever came to work in that studio, what the reason was if there in fact was a reason, what I was doing, but all I know is I did a session where we mixed in the van. I had a sort of paramour who lived on Centre Street, too. I'd visit when her boyfriend was out of town, which, happily, was frequently. She later, MUCH later, married Al Jourgensen, which was sort of bewildering to me when I found out. Anyway, George and I were driving down Kenmare one night and a garbage truck was stopped, blocking both usable lanes. Quickly, all non-municipal garbage collection there is totally mobbed up. These are not people you want to cross. But. I pull up behind this garbage truck that's blocking the thoroughfare and I immediately roll down my window and start honking and yelling at intervals. George, you remember him? The guy that I'm convinced is going to get me killed by being a lunatic? George starts pounding me nervously on the shoulder, Hey, man, hey, man, don't do that! I'm leaning out the window yelling the vilest profanities I can think of. Eventually a doe-eyed, jump-suited simpleton comes wandering into view from the front of the truck. He looks at me and shrugs, Whaddaya want? he seems to indicate. HEY! I yell out the window. Commeere! George is pounding me ever more insistently. Look, man, I understand you have a job to do, and I respect that. But we got two lanes here, and you guys are puukin blocking da bot' of em! He looks around, realizes I'm right and that I have a point and lets loose a piercing whistle. HEY! he shouts, Unintelligible move that unintelligible over there! The driver pulls the truck over and I putt past. George looks shaken, relieved and admiring. Oh, I should mention that he is convinced I am affiliated with the CIA. (I'm not.) So, yeah, West Virginia.
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#5
06-18-2017, 01:10 AM
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If you haven't heard, going to be a solar eclipse Monday, Aug 21. Goes from Oregon to S Carolina - sweeps the entire US. For Houstonians, closest place to get in the path of total darkness is somewhere north of Memphis.
http://www.eclipse2017.org/eclipse2017_main.htm And, just to stay on topic, looks like the Texans will be completing there first day of practice at the Methodist Training Center on Monday Aug 21. Last edited by Arky; 06-18-2017 at 01:17 AM.
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#7
06-19-2017, 01:25 PM
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#8
06-19-2017, 02:35 PM
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The reason George thinks I'm in the CIA is that I have a particularly good sense of direction. I am a man of modest abilities, very few outstanding ones, to be sure. But my sense of direction is for whatever reason superior. I can't really think of any time in my life I have been truly lost. I have wandered the tangled streets of second-tier European cities, immersed myself in the medinas of Araby, trekked the interminable shopping malls of American suburbia. I always know where I am. And I always know where north is. I had some bandmates that loved this. We'd be in a megamart somewhere or a record store (remember those?) or who knows where and one of them would slip to up me and ask, Which way's north? And I'd just casually point over my shoulder or whatever it was and go back to what I was doing. Just for the hell of it I did this with my mom last year. Her sense of direction is truly terrible. We were in a mall in the US that I'd never been in before. We were passing a Hot Topic when I asked her, Hey, which way's north? She just laughed. Which way is it, then? she wanted to know. I pointed. Then I took out my phone and opened the compass. I'd been off by about five degrees.
I had a girlfriend once upon a time with a weird ability. You could tell her any word, any word at all, and immediately she'd alphabetize its individual letters. You'd say Alphabet! And she'd pause for a microsecond and then spit out a-a-b-e-h-l-p-t!, rapid-fire. I sure as hell can't do that? Can you? George was obsessed with the band Toad the Wet Sprocket. I mean, obsessed. It strikes me as a very, very odd thing to get obsessed with, but I suppose it takes all kinds. He and I were living fairly close to one another in Arlington, Virginia, at one point. One day he phoned, saying that he knew someone who had offered him tickets and passes and who knows what all to a TTWS show at the Tower Theater outside Philadelphia. Would I like to go (and of course to drive because as far as I know George doesn't drive)? Sure, why not? So I tool over to his house and pick him up and head up to Philadelphia. I'd been to Philadelphia many times, of course, but I'd never been to Upper Darby which is the suburban town where the venue is. Before I left I pulled out and consulted a paper map (remember those?) and confirmed my route. It's really not that big a deal. But when I drove us straight there and pulled up at the venue, well, as far as George was concerned I had either divined our route by some sort of bizarre witchery or, much more plausibly in his mind, I'm simply CIA. How an average intelligence operative would just naturally know how to access each of the nation's art deco styled theatrical installations I really can't explain. I'm not seeing a connection, but at the same time I don't really watch too many spy movies. George published a book of poetry back when that is basically exactly what you're imagining it might be. Literally each and every time he mentioned the book to me he assured me that "it has an ISBN number and everything!" I just checked and it turns out George's father is in fact still mayor. He was re-elected to his, what, fifth term last year? And George, alarmingly, is working at a well known, private college preparatory academy outside Orlando. I would be fascinated to know how the hell he ended up there and what the hell he does but of course I daren't contact him.
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#9
06-20-2017, 01:16 PM
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And for anyone thinking about it it's only 19 hrs nonstop to The Greenbrier by car. Of course you will have to stop some. Also, I believe you still need to get tickets to the practices, but I could be mistaken.
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#10
06-20-2017, 01:36 PM
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Ticket info:
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