I Talk Way Too Much about Hamburgers

Woah man, yesterday was excellent. The Flaming Lips rocked San Antonio at a pretty small venue, and I was there with some homebrews. If you haven't seen them (the Lips, not the homebrews), you should; they combine a lot of cool stuff with rock n roll, psychedelia, indie pop, frickin' lasers, dancing Santa Clauses and aliens, bouncing rubber balls full of confetti, and so much smoke that the stupid fire alarms wouldn't stop going off. It was a tremendous show. (I'm pretty sure they just put out a live DVD, so you should definitely take a look.)

Maybe just as good is the fact that, on the way there, we stopped for Chris Madrid's. If I ever end up in some sort of death-row/concentration-camp/tickle-party-gone-disastrously-awry scenario where I get to pick my last meal, I'm going with Chris Madrid's. Just give me 100 pounds of hamburgers along with a grease bucket, and I will become the most mellow individual in the history of that death camp.

In fact, Chris Madrid's comes up a lot in conversation because both Paddy and I say that no burger place in Austin tops it. I stand by that. Show me a place around here with a Miss Pacman machine, where the burgers are so greasy, they could stick to the walls, and where everything comes with 17 kilograms of cheese on it. Oh yeah, the whole affair should cost $4. It can't be done! NASA's tried it! I tend to rank Austin above San Antonio, but not when it comes to hamburgers and mariachi bands.