Weird Words From Austin

I didn't really wake up on the 18th of February, so much as I opened my eyes from shivering, and was reminded that I was in Texas by that giant fucking star I parked in front of. I couldn't make myself sleep anymore, not even with the car turned on, and I feared that, since I occasionally could smell gas when I vigorously pump the gas pedal to help start the mother up, and with the wind as it was, that if I did sleep with it on I'd potentially suffer carbon monoxide poisoning and die, and I certainly didn't want that. Dead on the side of the road at a Texas rest stop. How inglorious, irrational, and ironic as a final resting place. Caffeine.

I sped west on I-10, still no daytime treat, just a lot less deer. There was an accident. I took the service road to avoid it. I pulled over at a gas station to have a little nap. Why do I mention this? They were the most momentous things that happened to me on I-10.

I motored around the outskirts of Houston and got a look at that city from the distance, and from the look of it, I'm not at all disappointed in having skipped it. By this time, I got a call from this Chad fellow who I've never met, but my friend Kyle in LA has hooked me up with him for a place to crash upon arrival. I let him know I'm getting on 77, and I should be there in something like two hours. I get about halfway and need to gas up, and it was kind of time to eat since I vanquished my sad, cold, completely average leftover Thai for breakfast. Well heck, I'm in Texas so I should get some good 'ol bee bee cue! I walk into this place, and it's warm out so I've taken off my track jacket, and I completely forgot that the clean shirt I put on yesterday was the one I sloppily purchased for $5 or $10 in New Orleans that read "FU*K the Colts" with the U being the Colts' logo. I walk up to order without remembering what I'm wearing, and before I get a word out of my mouth, a man in his early 60's greets me with a coppery ribbiting, "Yew doan laaahk thu Cooalts?" I realize immediately that he disapproves of my shirt, and I backpedal on my purchase saying, "Oh this? I don't really care, I was just at Mardi Gras and I bought this for $5" "Mmmmmhmmmmm," he gurgled. It made me ashamed and slightly frightened because I knew that he knew that I was not from these here parts by the way I talked. I thought I might get a talking to until he followed up the thoughtful pause with a resigned, "Whattaya have?" He also didn't like that I ordered way too much and returned to the counter for a to-go box. But I can't blame him. He probably hadn't seen the word "Fuck" intimated in text form for quite a while.

As a stranger, Austin seems to pop up out of nowhere, probably because a lot of Texas is nowhere country. Before you see Austin, it feels like you are in the middle of nowhere. If I were lost and on the phone, I'd say to whoever was on the other end, "The only landmark I have is a cow! There's not even a fence around here! I'm near a road! Help!" And when you get to Austin, there is no overwhelming impression right away, not like I got from Houston, or New Orleans, or Miami, or anywhere, really. You've just arrived. You sort of descend into the Austin cityscape and its American commercialism, but soon the business fronts become interesting. Things seem original, attractive, unfamiliar, and inviting. Care has been taken to artistically design and impress people with no prior knowledge of what goes on behind that street front. I started taking video as I saw the capital building in the distance while I drove north on South Congress. I passed my destination while filming.

First thing to do, like a traveling bum, is park and eat everything I have in all my to go boxes on the hood of my car. Then I got coffee. I dropped into this place "Snack Bar" and I sat down and talked to this girl Kate. She was friendly and welcoming and makes me a really terrible iced coffee, and I hung out for a few minutes and go over to Chad's. I wandered all over the damned complex he lives in to find his apartment and get in and drop my things. I met his roommate Brent and after a brief friendly chat, I realize I needed more food. He told me about some places in the South Congress area so I checked out the bar next door, Doc's. I looked at the menu and it all seemed too expensive and not too appetizing, so after two beers and a weird bro chat with this guy Jeremy who invited me out to a special screening of a movie done by Brother Maynard of Tool. I left for Snack Bar again. I ordered up some food and it turns out, it's all organic and really good. I was also wearing my pedicab hoodie here and a guy there, Ben, mentions to me that he went to Berklee. We talked and discovered a large community of people that we both know, most notably my former roommate Eruch. Suddenly we are buddies and I'm down with like all the kids at Snack Bar, who are all hipsters and musical and whatever, and I think to myself, "cool I found this joint by accident," not yet knowing that Austin is completely full of places like this, and people as friendly as that. I have a few beers there, and one of the girls working feeds me a new one I haven't tried in this sort of pouty flirtation that seemed to get nodded or shaken off by a dude who I think goes out with Kate. It was like that moment where you telegraph to your friend, "I know something about this guy, you do not wanna go down that road," except that guy didn't know me and I don't know why he was being all protective or whatever. I'm not there to confront anyone so I pretended like I didn't know what was going on and continued the friendly chat before going back to Ben's for a beer, then to have real sleep on Chad's couch. So on my first night in Austin, I developed a new network of friends and I hadn't even met my host.

I awoke the next morning with a dark haired man towering over me, introducing himself as he got ready to leave for work. I was bleary eyed and could barely sit up for a handshake, but at least I know what the guy I was staying with looked like now. He promised me the night before that he'd take me out for drinks the whole night to make up for being unavailable the night before. I didn't think it necessary, but he followed through, man. I met him and his friend and coworker Keith up by his place after taking a slice at Mellow Mushroom, and we started by walking to a bar called Lustre Pearl that boasted a huge outdoor space, and horseshoes. They had already been to a happy hour or two so he was a train on the tracks to Tipsytown, TX. At Lustre Pearl, I tried to pay for my drink, but Chad waved me off for making that attempt.

Keith had not yet checked in to his hotel, so we had to go to a hotel called the AT&T Conference Center Hotel, which made me shudder and think of the future where all things are named in such a fashion. Keith's room was on the 7th floor of the hotel, and so when upon arrival we found that the power had gone out in the hotel and that the elevators were out of service, we were told that in the meantime, we should go have a drink at the bar, compliments of the hotel. Music to our ears.

When we got in to the bar, we mentioned what the front desk told us to mention and voila; free booze magically appeared. As we consumed these drinks, and time ticked on, Chad began to go to work on the bartenders, and cajole Keith into exploiting the situation for a great deal more value. He had since traveled up and down seven whole flights of stairs manually, and this made Chad a little upset. If it was Chad in Keith's situation, he'd probably feign severe annoyance and explicitly ask the hotel what they can do for him in compensation for the punitive damages they were incurring. This conversation, and our overall degree of charm with the bartenders led to a great deal more free drinks, some of them being very fine Scotches. They were closing at midnight, but we were the only people tipping these tenders healthily, so that when it was time to close, we stealthily stayed put, and were served up two rounds of shots that went by the name of "Cuntpuncher". No joke. The freebies tallied to seven.

The night spun out of control, I tell you! We went to three more places, and the details go off. The Dog N Duck, Little Willy's, I think (where the motto on their signage for motorists to see states "Come Early, Stay Late, Remember Nothing), and the Kung Fu Saloon with Mortal Kombat III and fatalities all happened, and I lost my dear right bike glove. This glove has been magnetic to my person for so long, it's been lost and found at least three times before this, most notably returning to dear owner after having been left on the T in Boston. It was so sad to see it go, I thrashed around the Kung Fu Saloon for 10 or 15 minutes in disbelief. I complained about it and it's been annoying because there have been several instances since the disppearnce that I've needed coverage for my right hand. I feel like I'll still find it in some asinine place and say AH and dance around like a broken robot in a little circle.

The night ended as Chad had predicted, at the taco truck down the street from him where he purchased two orders of five tacos al pastor for $6 each for Keith and me, just to watch us drunkenly devour them and enjoy that we were having an experience he so revered. They were fantastic, and I made several trips back to that truck in vain, finding its hours to be in terrible discord with my own, and forcing me to a sausage stand on 6th and into friendship with a guy named Aaron who operates the stand. So be it, and good on it. Aaron's sober personality has become a respite into reason when I traverse Austin's version of Fanieul Hall. I have since discovered the actual operating hours of the taco truck.

I got a chance to catch up and actually chill at length with Brian Fahey, a friend from Boston. We toured the east side of 6th for a few hours and it basically turned into a barcrawl of sorts. In an act of raging generosity, he picked up a great deal of my drinks and the cheese plate we split at the East Side Show Room, including my (supposed) 300th drink of the trip. I started absorbing the scene over there and realizing that I liked it very, very much, yes I do.

As an odd job, Chad threw some work at me to paint his office. So I spent odd hours getting in there, rocking out with myself, coating the walls and trying to do the professional job I know I am capable of, as trained by the Biltmore Theatre Props Department on Broadway. Yes, I worked there at one point in my life. It was a weird and fortunate year that has propelled me to this point, playing music and edging the corners of a strange company's test preparation hub late at night, completely self-satisfied, and motivated to do a good job.

For several days, I had been looking forward to seeing Boston band and friends of mine, Pretty and Nice, roll through Austin on tour. I knew I'd have arrived here by then, and thought that I may be feeling rather friendless in a new place and this posed a solution to this problem. I planned on painting a whole lot the day of the show, and I rolled pans and pans of the chalky colors on until it was clear that my priorities weren't straight. I had to go to the show. Sure, I could just go and hang out and then come back and finish the job. It won't take too long at all. I'm nearly done, just slap the second coat on there, first coat there, there, and cover that up.

I took off for the Mohawk, the venue at which they were playing. I had been talking them up all week to the Snack Bar folks. When I walked in to the place, I liked the venue a lot, but I quickly got wind that Pretty and Nice hadn't yet gone on, and weren't going to for a while. This was fine with me because I hadn't envisioned the remaining tasks to be too difficult, so time felt supple. I was identified by Holden (of the band) by my pedicab hoodie, and it was clear that he didn't know I planned on coming/being there, though Jeremy (of the band) did. Holden's excitement warmed me. I found Jeremy and we several, the band, myself, and a few friends of the band, ascended to the upstairs green room to hang out. I met their lady friends and "bumped" iphones with one, and got the other's number the old fashioned way. Woohoo, new friends!

After watching a great, fiery-as-usual set in an unfortunately porous crowd, I assisted in some load out transfer of equipment before the revelation of going to eat at Taco Cabana. I had never been, but anything taco is up my alley. I piled into the van for a ride to my car, followed blindly without taking account of my receding surroundings, and ended up at a Taco Cabana far, far away from the office I had yet to complete. I felt so ravenous though, that I might as well have eaten with my hands. The salsa bar was so large that I wanted to scold it. Another one in the history of sad Taco Cabana goodbyes was said between Jeremy and I in the parking lot, somewhere out on Ben White Boulevard, I am fairly certain.

I am a man brought down by my own simplifactions. Just because you go get tacos, doesn't mean you go right back so quickly. Just because there isn't much work left doesn't mean you won't be torturing yourself with sleep deprivation. Just because there are only four rooms in a place and one was done and two were almost half done and one was more than half done, doesn't make it like there's only a little over one room left to complete. I worked from 3:30 am until just before 8 in the morning, fearing the arrival of other office folk seeing me there still at work, seemingly failing to complete the task on time, too tired to have imagined the excuse of waking up early. I used all the white primer/paint I had, and got two of the three white rooms completely done, but one only had the primer coat on, and some scattered double coating. Everything else was sufficiently completed. When Chad saw it, he had been in Houston and Dallas for the week, while graciously giving me the use of his resting pads, he said, "It looks great." He didn't care about the third office, and he didn't want to buy more paint. I felt weird not having completed it fully and professionally, and the hours I put in had exceeded the value to quality proportion that hourly pay scales are modeled on, but fuck it. I would receive my check over a month later.

Brian and I went out to the Independent Theatre in the East Side for a show called "The Encyclopedia Show". His friend Mike was in charge of booking and also performed in the show. I liked it on the whole, but certain contributors often went long and had gimmicks that quickly wore thin on my sensitive performance nerves. But for a few of the acts that failed to win my discerning applause, there were some that flattened me, nearly inspiring me to stand up and yell at them over silence or sufficient applause to stop doing everything else they do in life except for creating things like that, before remembering the social mores that have so slowly and painfully been sewn into the visceral underside of my skin through streams of high school, college, and "real world" faux pas. Instead, "I'm gonna get another Lonestar, you want something, Brian?"

After the show, I spoke with Mike and he offered me a spot in the next show in no uncertain terms. I got very excited at the chance to perform again, I knew I could rip up any topic they give me and give a focused, powerful comic performance, such as I have not often given myself a chance to do, but this trip has turned into a sort of self-gifted creative fellowship to myself, so things like this have become possible. The bungling of this offer has turned out, and it appears that I will not be on that show, but on the show in May with the topic of "Explosions". That'll do.

Everyone dispersed and I embraced a desire to hang out some more, so I tooled around the streets on the East side and saw just a massive amount of bicycles around. I felt like it was fairly friendly, if not disaffected territory, so I locked up and walked about. I saw a marching band practicing out on the street as many sat around watching in the cool air. I finally picked Shangri-La as the place I wanted to enter. Upon walking in, I bought a cheap beer as a punk rock band was finishing their set. I found a girl playing Mortal Kombat II and challenged her and kicked her pathetic ass. She was a nice girl. Immediately following that, the marching band filled the space with Balkan delight. I had found my new favorite place. I was also about to get my first healthy does of flakiness. Numbers are given freely because nobody here really wants to offend. Everyone wants to seem open to hanging out, but flaking out on returning calls or keeping your word is the last flimsy yet palpable line of defense of one's social box. I thought Danielle was cool, smart, and sincere, but it turns out she was only smart. Or not interested. But why then would she express sincere interest in getting coffee and practicing French with each other? Bah! One way or the other, she enlightened me that I had entered the after party for a social bike ride, it happens every Thursday. I suddenly had a plan for my next Thursday.

I searched for places all week through craigslist and word-of-mouth, but only a few leads came out. I needed something bikeable. One girl, Kelly, invited me out to her pad, and it was nice, and she seemed to like me far more than the creepo who came by before, but her dog was fucking wacky. As she was showing me around, this Bowser fellow was speeding around, jumping up on me, swatting at my balls with his paws, and drinking out of the toilet in preparation to come give me special kisses. I said, "He's drinking out of the toilet." She said, "Yeah, I let him. He doesn't do it when I pee in it, he knows." Good.

My other lead was a girl named Brooke that needed to fill her place. I said I only need a month, but I can buy you a month's time, if you happen to be out of options. She told me that she couldn't help, but she might know someone that could. And on this Thursday, I was to move the small amount of my things in to Brooke's former next door neighbor Nick's place. The rent? $350/mo+bills. The room? As big as what I got in Boston for 640. Nick turned out to be completely chill, and we got along right away. My airbed? Ended up having a slow leak. That morning, I woke up on the floor and thought of how Wal-Mart could solve my problems.

Trips to Wal-Mart are often noteworthy for the disastrous fashion offenses or grotesque displays of what I believe is a common occurrence of mismanaged, misdirected, and most importantly either uninformed, undereducated, or ignorant parenting and family dynamics, which are sometimes laughable in a way that later makes you sad, but can be singularly comic in their authenticity. Wal-Mart has the ability to make clear the state of socio-economic barriers, and sometimes you just meet someone that is batshit fucking crazy. As I search for tissue paper for the purpose of cleaning in between my buttocks, along with an array of other household items I require, I am confronted with a question from my blind side about where the carpet powder is. I turn around to find a stunning blonde, who apparently has a smelly carpet. I tell her, after a quick mental effort, that I would imagine, if I were Wal-Mart, I'd put it in this aisle or the next one. She goes on to the next, and I take a spin down that aisle too, because she is quite stunning, afterall, and slapped that Louisiana drawl out in front of me. Just tell me what she can say in that voice that is gonna make you turn around in the other direction? OK, OK, but even, "Mah dawg shits on mah carpet and mah playce is a disayster. Do ya wanna come owver and set qwuietly while mah dawg annoys yew and watch bayd Tey Vey with mey," sounds pretty cute. Way cuter than it would in Bostoniense. And even knowing her carpet might be in haggard shape, she was making an effort to rectify this, so I forged bravely into flirtatious conversation, and dreams of wasted time would soon come horribly true.

This is another instance of the "bump" application being a way to smoothly grab digits without potentially stumbling over a whole number exchange mess. "You got bump?" Or "Do you bump?" are way easier questions and take the chunky stuff out of, "How do you spell that," and "did I get this right, (XXX) XXX-XXXX?" Or maybe there are just a lot of cats out there that are just far smoother than me. They probably wear Ed Hardy t-shirts. I left 'Merica-Mart for Chad's, new air bed, shit tickets, and bachelor bibs (paper towels) all stocked into Longshot, and in the middle of my story about it to Chad, this chick is calling me, not even an hour after having met her, trying to invite me to her place. It felt like one of those "I'm a woman and you're a man, and we know what to do" situations, something out of the 50's where I could say something really chauvinistic and get away with it by winking and it's sexy, not horrifically derisive. Instead I declined because plans have been put in order. I'm supposed to go meet my new friends from the P&N show at Red 7 to see Dessa and P.O.S. of Doomtree, or in laymens terms, a hip-hop show.

I made my air bed so I could pass gas on it later, and I biked out to meet Chad at Annie's on Congress. I apparently missed happy hour but he and his friend Eric sure hadn't, and the genius goes ahead and asks a drinking man to give him a ride to the airport tomorrow. Of course he'll agree, he's both drunk and your friend...but will he remember? No matter now, I got an answer. Since happy hour at Annie's was over, we decided we had to leave...for REVERSE HAPPY HOUR at McCormick and Schmick's. Reverse happy hour should be manic hour, or anger hour, or something, in my opinion, but I'm not the marketing genius behind McCormick and Schmick's, so I just got a dollar burger and more beers, and Eric just kept insisting I that I should get whatever I want. The drunkenness factor was starting to make things weird in relation to the service and how sober I was, and how deep Eric was. Regardless, I felt bad having to jet, but they knew I had a plan.

I got over to Red 7 and fucked around by myself until the girls got there and we found each other. The show was good. The flirting was bad. The ride home was uneventful. The gas passing was lofted by 10-12 inches from the ground.

The next day, I start acting like a total idiot who thinks catching a flight is magic that just happens. I can't get a hold of Chad, but I'm not panicking yet. I wanted coffee so I drove my car downtown and went to Halcyon for great but expensive coffee. Having satisfied this need, I figure I ought to go back home. I start feeling the time crunch for my 3:25 flight, it was almost 2:30. I called a cab, and it seemed like it would never get there since the dispatcher estimated fifteen minutes. Finally, after a voicemail to Chad about giving me a ride, I get a text message from him about drinking caffeinated malt liquor on his balcony. I was incredulous at the arrival of it. I called and reminded him about my situation, and he says he'll race the cab over. He got lost and still managed to beat it. He picked me up at 2:48. We arrived at Austin-Bergstrom at 3:02. Chad said he'd loop around in case I missed my flight. I couldn't figure out which card I've used to purchase the damned ticket, so I went up to the check in counter, and the woman tells me the flight is closed. I explained my situation, and suddenly, she hopped out from behind the counter to take a peek at security. She assessed in the glance she got that I can make it to the gate, and calls the gate to see if they'll still let me in. Meanhwile, my ventricles are waiting patiently for her answer. . . Oh HELL yes, I'm good to go. She walked me up to security, and of course, whatever I've got with me, the TSA has a problem with it at this crucial moment. I finally make it through when I'm alerted that my Sigg canteen has liquid in it and I'll have to go back through security to pour it out. I can't believe I made that mistake, such a rookie boner, but there's just no time anymore! Throw it out. Forget it. It's gone now. A casualty of the journey. So after an utterly grueling six minutes of security that felt like twenty and an hour of questioning, I take off running for the gate. They're paging me as I arrive. I'm shouting, it's me! I'm Daniel Kerrigan! I was the last person to get on the plane. Relief set in but was rapidly followed by annoyance at leaving. "I should be drinking 4Loco with Chad," I thought.

Hours later and four screaming babies of limbo on the connected flight to Newark, I'm back on the East Coast, and I feel constrained and cold, and I've yet to go outside. I'm always happy to see my mother, who came to pick me up, God Bless her, it was midnight in Newark, New Jersey, but the feelings were separate. It wasn't the place for me anymore, and I knew it. But mom can make anything right with what she knows about me. I was a happy little fat boy back at home with Chinese food and television, and I would get to visit my Oma the next day. That's what was real there for me. Family and how they can take any place you don't want to be and make it not just acceptable, but welcoming. My annoyance was subdued into patience. Plus one look at the stars erased my antipathy, they're just fantastic in Greenwood Lake, even though I've seen them better in some other places. I always love the view up there, encircled by the fringes of treetops and overhanging branches. Good air, up there.

Statistics:

14 minutes from my apartment to Austin Bergstrom Airport
7 nights at Chad's, 4 on a couch
5 trips to the Snack Bar
$26 for a new Sigg (tax incl)
2:45 layover in Orlando
30 degrees upon arrival in NJ
35+ states better than NJ
$200 to paint Chad's office.
1 oil change
511 miles from New Orleans to Austin.
17.5 hours spent on the road from New Orleans to Austin (sleep incl)

Drinks from...

Day 45

268 Shiner Bock @Doc's
269 Lonestar
270 Orval Trappist Ale @Snack Bar
271 Real Ale Full Moon Pale Rye ale (Tx, Chantal, Kate, Ben)
272 Stella @Ben's

Day 46

273 Independence Stash IPA @Mellow Mushroom
274 New Belgium Ranger IPA @Lustre Pearl
275 Fireman #4 @Gabriel's in AT&T Conference Center Hotel (Thanks, AT&T Conference Center Hotel!)
276 Oban 14 (tx, attcch!)
277 Paloma (tx, Tara, bartender at attcch)
278 Austin Amber Beer (tx Tara)
279 Fireman 4 (tx, Tara)
280 Cuntpuncher shot (tx Tara, Chad)
281 cuntpuncher shot (tx Tara, Chad)
282 60 min ipa @dog and duck
283 512 IPA
284 something @Kung Fu Saloon
285 Yeah, somthing else, I think...

Day 47

286 Sierra Nevada @Chad's
287 Real Ale Full Moon Rye Pale Ale @Snack Bar
288 St. Arnold's Fancy Lawnmower Ale
289 Pinkus Jubilate Dark Lager
290 PBR @Ego's
291 Shot of Jameson (thanks, Seattle guy!)
292 PBR (tx, Seattle guy!)
293 Lonestar (tx, Seattle!)
294 Sierra Nevada @Chad's
295 Dos Equis

Day 48

296 New Belgium Ranger IPA @Chad's
297 Real Ale Full Moon Pale Rye Ale @Rio Rita (tx Brian!)
298 Firemans #4 (tx Brian)
299 Hoppus Ale @East Side Show Room (tx Brian!)
300 Sazerac (tx, Brian!)
301 Gordon Biersch Blonde (tx, Bri!)
302 Shot of Fernet
303 PBR @iron gate
304 Shiner Bock

Day 49

Nothing

Day 50

Nothing

Day 51

305 PBR @Mohawk
306 PBR
307 Fireman's 4
308 Rio Blanco Pale Ale
309 Lone Star

Day 52

310 Ranger IPA @Chad's
311 Red Bull vodka@ Independent Theatre
312 Lone Star
313 PBR @Shangri-La
314 PBR
315 PBR

Day 53

316 Fireman's 4 @Annie's
317 Fireman's 4
318 Ziegenbock @McCormick and Schmick's
319 Ziegenbock
320 Lonestar @Red 7
321 High Life 40 oz
322 Miller Lite
323 Lonestar

Day 54

Nothing


Trying to catch up my days to my current place, so several postings due in the next two weeks.