This weekend I went to Austin to stay with my girlfriend Victoria’s family. We got a late start because Victoria’s Friday schedule had taken on several unexpected commitments. We decided to use Pony Dollars for dinner. By the time we got there, though, Subway was closed. Smoothie King, too.

Our stomachs angry and tempers short, we hit the road about 7:30 p.m. Turns out, that’s not the best time to get on I-35. If you’ve never listened to “Born to Run” in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I don’t recommend starting now; the rhythmic pulse and talk about being “sprung from cages on Highway 9” just make you anxious when the highway’s jammed with people calling each other names even I find offensive.

We got in around 11:30 p.m. After exchanging pleasantries with her mom and sister, Kamal, we headed to bed. After a long drive, there’s nothing like a living room futon to collapse upon, and I passed right out. I slept like a baby until 6:45 a.m. when Victoria’s grandmother started blasting Lebanese talk shows from the next room.

The next day we went to Half Price Books. I got some really good plays and a copy of “One Hundred Years of Solitude” for Victoria and “Strange Pilgrims” for Kamal. I think Kamal particularly appreciated the lecture on magical realism I gave over General Tso’s chicken at Kim Phung.

Victoria had to take some pictures for her photography class so we went to Barton Creek to go for the whole nature-is-artsy angle. It was an idyllic scene. Dogs swimming in the water. Canoers dodging turtles and geese. I saw some people crossing a path of rocks from one shore to the next. It looked like fun, so I gave it a shot.

The rocks were close together, and while a few were wobbly and slippery, I trotted across the path with ease.

Not content with so simple a feat, I ventured further. I stepped onto a more diverse clutter of rocks. Some were boulders, others barely more than pebbles submerged in an inch or two of water. Victoria and her friend Sami called out cautionary exhortations; I ignored their warnings. I was doing something bold no one else at the creek dared attempt.

Steps became hops. Hops became leaps. Leaps were suddenly lunges as the rocks came to be farther and farther between. My balance was honed, my footing sure. I surveyed the terrain: Three rocks, each treacherous in its own right. It would be tough, but if I bounced from one to the next without committing my weight to any one, I ought to have been able to make it.

I lurched toward the first. No problem. I stumbled toward the second. Success. I fell onto the third. Victory in sight, I planted my foot to regain my balance. Stretched between two rocks, disaster hit. With scores of onlookers cheering me on, I backflopped into the water.

When I emerged, I was covered in mud and algae. Victoria asked if I was hurt anywhere. I said no. Well, except my dignity.

One girl assured me that she’d once done something equally embarrassing in that same spot. Sami thought a jogger was checking me out; really he was just interested in my scummy backside.

I just wanted to get back and clean up. When we got to the car, though, we had another problem: Victoria had locked the keys in the car. Dry clothes would have to wait for her mom to drive half an hour and get us.

We went and smoked hookah, which made me feel a little better. Then we walked down 6th street, scoping out the clubs and bars. And let me tell you, I looked really cool in the sweat pants Victoria’s mom had brought me.

We stopped and listened to this really cool band called Suede play a Van Halen cover. We ducked into the Driskill Hotel to get a look at the posh masquerade/piano playing going on in the lobby. While the women went to the bathroom, I watched this really drunk chick brag about how awesome she was to the guy sitting next to her. She kept invading his personal space; somehow I don’t think he minded.

We concluded the evening eating Amy’s ice cream. If you ever go to Austin, I highly recommend the sweet cream mixed with snickers.

Since this is an opinion column I have to come up with a point to the story. After a lot of thought, two came to mind:

1. When rock hopping, don’t be a hero. You’ll just look like a fool. If you insist on being as foolhardy as me, bring a second pair of jeans. No one wants to walk by scantily-clad bachelorette parties wearing their exercise pants.

2. Even the worst stories can have an awesome ending. Despite the gridlock, futon, and goose excrement, I had the time of my life. I saw the night life of one of the coolest towns I’ve ever been in, got to know my girlfriend’s family and friends better, and now have a self-deprecating story to tell every time I go to Austin.

Plus, there was ice cream.

*****

Last week I wrote a column critical of the stimulus package that passed in the House of Representatives. One problem I had with the bill was its partisan nature. The Senate, aided by the efforts of moderates like Susan Collins, Ben Nelson, Joe Lieberman, and Arlen Specter, recently reached a deal on its own version of the bill. I’m happy to report they learned from the House’s mistakes and genuinely sought compromise and bipartisanship.

Nathaniel French is a sophomore theater studies and math double major. He can be reached for comment at [email protected].