The Texanist On Whether It’s a Good Idea to Take One of Those Pricey Yeti Cups Tubing
And the proper placement of horseshoes over doorways for the best good luck.
Q: Do you know if Yeti Rambler cups float? Like in a river when you’re tubing and you have one full of margarita and you go, not-quite-ready-for-it, over a set of medium-size waterfalls and momentarily lose control of your belongings while trying to stay upright? Those things are expensive, so I want to be sure ahead of time.
Janet Parks, San Antonio
A: You are a wise woman, Janet Parks. And an adventurous one, too. Who would have ever thought to enhance the fun of the average river-floating excursion by replacing the perfunctory plain canned brew with tasty margaritas? And margs drunk from a gigantic stainless-steel tumbler, no less. Do you plan on employing the handy lid and sticking a straw into the little sipping hole? Brilliant! The Texanist likes your style, he must say.
But you have come in search of an answer to a pressing consumer product query, not to be fawned over by the Texanist. So what—your plan is to bring along a batch of premixed Janet Parks Special Recipe Margaritas in a large vessel (larger than the already large Yeti cup) and then just refill your cup as needed? This is a heck of an idea. Man, the Texanist wishes he could come along with you. When do you think you’ll going, anyway? Maybe let him know offline if you have a moment. The Texanist is a pretty busy man, but he could probably avail himself for a tubing trip like this.
Anyway, back to the question at hand. What was it? Oh, yes, do Yeti cups float? Hmm, that is a very good question. The cups’ heavy stainless steel construction indicates to the Texanist that they do not, but the insulated double-wall design suggests that maybe they do. Alas, the Yeti FAQ page is of no help on the topic.
So it looks like the Texanist will be heading out into the field to do some experimentation for you. The Rambler’s price point is in direct conflict with the Texanist’s tightfistedness, but thanks to the generosity of family members at Christmastime and on birthdays he does possess both the larger and smaller model Yeti cup, as well as one of the Yeti screw-top koozies, the Colster.
There’s no time for the Texanist to hit the river this afternoon, but thankfully Austin’s Barton Springs, the historic swimming hole known for its chilly clear waters and occasional female toplessness, is just a short drive from the office. He can simulate a tubing trip there. Please excuse him while he slips into his bathing suit. Okay, let’s go.
“Geronimo!” [sound of large splash]. [Thought bubble emerges] “Holy guacamole, this water is cold! Brrrr! Hey, is that woman topless? Focus, man. We’re here for work.”
Well, it turns out that, when filled with simulated margarita and topped off with the lid securely snapped in place, a Yeti cup—drumroll, please—does not float. Though it sure seems like it wants to; mine bobbed around for a pretty good while before going down. Same with the Colster and a simulated can of beer, by the way.
Still, the Texanist likes your plan and wants you to be able to enjoy your floating margarita party without the fear of losing your pricey cup. The long-term solution would seem to be some sort of a buoyant sleeve that could fit around the cup—a cup life vest, if you will. Or maybe a leash-like device would be better, since the mean cups might make fun of a cup that has to wear a cumbersome flotation device. Yes, a retractable leash that attaches, by way of Velcro or an elastic band, to a Yeti-branded bracelet. It occurs to the Texanist now that there are a number of scenarios besides tubing where a drink leash could prove handy.
We’re onto something here, Janet. But until Yeti’s Texanist Texas Toobing Cup (and Colster) Retractable Leash and Leash Bracelet come online, the Texanist would advise placing your butt securely into one of those inner tubes with the built-in drink holder and using caution as you make your way down the river, lest your cup end up on a one-way trip to Davy Jones’ locker. Bon voyage.
Q: Can you tell me how Texans should hang their prized horseshoes? I have a very old one from our family ranch that I saved when I was a child and I have heard both heels up to catch good luck and heels down. Not sure if there is a reason for heels down. Is there an official Texas way?
Patricia Chapman, Via Email
Q: We just bought our first home (yeehaw!), but it’s not in Texas (tear in my beer). This homesick Texan’s first order of business is to hang a horseshoe above the doorway. I guess I never noticed back home, but do Texans hang horseshoes pointing up or down? Needin’ some luck.
Ali Sell, Berkeley, California
A: The Texanist is a believer in killing as many proverbial birds with as few proverbial stones as possible and will therefore see if he can’t knock out these two sitting ducks with a single response. First off, the Texanist’s inner historian (who, it should be noted, occupies a region of his brain, awkwardly enough, right next door to his inner no-account rounder) feels compelled to note (after utilizing a variety of online search engines) that the purported luckiness of horseshoes dates back to tenth-century England, where, it is said, Dunstan, the Archbishop of Canterbury, a blacksmith who was later canonized as a saint, once nailed a horseshoe to the devil’s hoof, causing him great pain. Dunstan only agreed to remove the shoe and relieve the pain if the devil promised to never enter a place with a horseshoe nailed to the doorway.
Unfortunately, Dunstan did not specify as to whether the horseshoe should be placed heels up or heels down. There are theories related to both arrangements: A horseshoe with the open heel end up is said to collect good luck, while one with heels down allows for good luck to pour out on those who pass beneath it. There is no official Texas way to hang a horseshoe, but heels up, from what the Texanist has observed, seems to be the favored placement.
Interestingly, Texas is populated with more horses than any other state, which in turn means more horseshoes than any other state, which means—you see where the Texanist is headed—that the Lone Star State has more luck receptacles, be they for luck storage or luck conveyance, than anywhere. It would seem that no matter how you hang your horeseshoes, you’re lucky just to call Texas home.
As a side note, the Texanist also likes to place his horseshoes, with a loud clank, around a pole in a pit and shout “ringer!”