R.I.P Balinese Room

Looks like most of Galveston Island is pretty much beyond fooked, but for someone who spent practically every childhood summer with their grandmother down on the island, hearing that The Balinese Room was turned into driftwood has been enough to keep me sufficiently bummed out all morning. The Balinese Room was the jaded grande dame of Seawall Boulevard - full of history, mystery and all kinds of naughtiness. Daddy was born and raised in Galveston and worked in his grandmother Augustina's saloon on 51st and Broadway when he was 11 - so consequently we grew up with a shit-ton of stories about the old Sicilians who ran the numbers and bootlegging operations on the island - and in retrospect, may or may not have gotten protection money out of my great-grandmother. Probably not, though. She was a tall, stern-looking German with steely blue eyes who looked like she could slice your balls off with a flick of her pinky if you so much as looked at her the wrong way.

Also gone: Murdoch's and the 61st Street Fishing Pier. The Flagship Hotel looks pretty beat up, and the San Luis is flooded. Downtown's a mess. Wonder how The Galvez fared; I've yet to hear anything on that.

Supposedly the storm's headed this way now, so in the words of the mighty Merle Haggard, I think I'll just stay here and drink, awaiting the arrival of the wind and rain the forecasters have been promising us. Rest assured I'll be plenty pissed if this system misses us, because my uncle's yard needs the rain - and my lazy, hapless ass needs an excuse to put off finishing up the rest of my move.