oh, i wish i was in austin
mmm, mmm
in the chili parlor bar
drinking mad dog margaritas
and not caring where you are

i woke up dead today and will live the rest of my uncertain days in sideways flash fashion.

i hope i flash to austin.

been resisting writing of austin at the risk of ranting unfairly – seething with disappointment and disdain, in all likelihood – against my adopted home town of baton rouge.

i remember applying to grad schools and missing the deadline for UT and thinking, ‘oh, well. i’m sick of trendy places to live, anyway. besides, all the californians have certainly ruined austin by now. i want to live in a real regular place for a spell and really get back to basics.’

done and done.

austin is clearly showing signs of california ruination, and old timers seem to lament this fact regularly. i heard at least three people say this phrase (with longing, almost word for word in each case): ‘i remember how austin used to be.’

and, ok, the town from slacker fame is clearly all overgrown up. yuppies have arrived, with their silicon valley economy, topping the hill country with tacky decadent spanish tile monstrosities, laying concrete and painted lines where god intended free loose gravel. you can see it. you can feel it.

however …

there’s still so much to love.

like austin vintage guitar.

(schmitty bought a 1957 fender princeton amp. all recording done from here on out just got infinitely cooler. oh yes. and black, baby champ, you 1964 cutie … i loved you. with your one knob and your big red light. you went to eleven. it was nothing personal. i’m just broke as a joke. we’ll meet again …)

and the continental club with dale watson’s clean as a broke dick dog honky tonk band on a … monday …

(guy played for three hours straight. no set breaks, no breaks between songs. one, two, three, four … )

and austin’s poet laureate james mcmurtry on a wednesday …

(christopher sine, you always have it right. no exception here. i’m sorry i never visited you when you lived here. you should move back.)

and trailer food courts …

with bacon and maple glazed doughnuts …

(and pork leg with brussel sprouts and capers and pork belly sliders and goat cheese and pear salad and fried chicken tacos and bring your own bottle of wine and …)

and scotty and jen beck and subaru sleeping liv con poquito perro …

and travis lake …

and late late late.

so good …

***

so i guess baton rouge is just my island. is it purgatory? perhaps. but i don’t believe in all that shit, so … i can’t think like that.

but it is real. and what happens there does have real consequences. i know that. and there are many mysteries. most will have answers. like will they ever finish the construction on perkins? or will dave ever modify the small bar to become the main music room at chelsea’s? or will i ever learn how to make a decent gumbo? or will couscous ever find a home?

but there are other mysteries as well. mythologies, if you will. the bigger questions. and they might not ever get resolved. and maybe i hope they don’t.

cause it really is just the journey. it’s a cliche, but that’s it. you don’t ever really get anywhere. everything’s in the flashes. some sideways. some head on. some from behind. some too late. some not even yet.

so i’ll lay down here. dark enough to die. in the same place i landed. and feel for more flashes. sideways, some. and try to believe. and try to keep the faith. and try to let go. and try to be a constant. for someone flashing, too.

oh, i wish i was in austin
mmm, mmm
in the chili parlor bar
drinking mad dog margaritas
and not caring where you are