Back from another grueling ScottishRockabillyBloodthirstyColonialRevolutinary play rehearsal. Or practice, as the string players I know might say. What a day, what a life. Sock monkey's looking at me like I got something to say. And I do, but not to something that sits jauntily atop my new
Bigamy Sisters record. It's all swirling in there, like an Arcade Fire song in French, with the guy from The Decemberists writing his hyper literate lyrics, translated via the internet, then rapped by Chingy. Chingy? I digress.
It's been a long weekend full of mystery and adventure, all-star country bands and lots of beer. A SITI Company infused show, full of ha-ha and Romper Room metaphysicality, chased by victory margaritas took up most of Saturday, not to mention Maw-Maw's awesome BBQ chicken and baked beans, and an always healthy dollop of Daddy Vic's random witticisms. My alma mater, the mighty Longhorns, thoroughly trounced our sworn enemy, the Oklahoma Redneck Chicken Humpers, I mean, Sooners. I always hate when sports fans refer to a favorite team as "we", as in "We really showed them Yankees last night, didn't we General Lee?" I could either be talking to Robert E. or the Duke boy's car, I'm not sure, but you get the drift, right? "WE" didn't have anything to do with it. Large men in tight pants with hieroglyphic tattoos and body fat percentages that put Kate Moss to shame showed the opponent up, not us, the doughy, pasty, vaguely pansy ass arty pricks who get all excited. But I just can't help myself, so allow me this one indiscretion.
WE DID IT!
HOOK 'EM HORNS!
Being back in Austin while this long dreamed of victory occurred makes it even more savory sweet. Ah Austin, what a fickle mistress you are.
Which leads me to what I'm thinking about anyway. Why the hell did I ever leave you Austin? You of The Continental Club, Magnolia Mud, Ozarka bottled water and cheap American Spirits. I just love your Club DeVille, girl, and the way you shake that Beerland, TX on any given Tuesday.
Was it I-35 that did me in? The lack of parking? The fucking tow headed frat boys with conch shells and DMB t-shirts?
Surely not the lack of Mexican Food. What, then, what was it?
Oh right.
I was going crazy here.
Felt heartbroken and abandoned.
Like I had given you the best years of my young life, and you had told me you needed a break.
Like you took all the poems and mix tapes I made you and set them on fire.
Like you made out with my most hated
rival at my sister's quincenera and then took my mom's purse. Slut.
You bitch, Austin! I loved you. How could you turn on me like this? I thought we were gonna make it forever! Why, oh, why???
I LOVE YOU AUSTIN!!! TAKE ME BAACK!! TAKE. ME. BAAACCCKKKKKK!!!!!!!!(breaks down into indecipherable moaning and sobbing.)
What's that? Uhh-uhh, no way. For real?
Austin's getting married? To who?
Yeah, I mean I guess I sorta knew that's what she wanted, but wow.
No, I'll be okay.
Phew!!!
I'm getting the fuck out of here!
This is awesome.
Calebs? MoMo? Dup? WILLIS?
I'll see you at
the bar.We're going out, that's why. To cel-o-brate.
'Cuz Austin's getting married and I'm a free man.
Alright, boys, first rounds on me. Four Makers and four Lone Stars. Fine. A Pinot Grigio for you, Sherman. Drink up!
Oh shit, 'Lebs. Is that Austin? Don't look! I said don't look.
There, right there! See her? Does she look a little heavy to you?
Dup, make sure that's her. No, don't go say hello. Just get up close and take a gander.
MoMo, what're you doing, son? Don't wave her over!
Willis, no, don't give her a hug! Dude, you're fucking it up!!
Ahh, shit.
Hey Austin, what's up?
No, I'm good.
Yeah, yeah that's cool.
Congratulations on the wedding! You look great, really. Really, really- What's that? You are?
Reallllly......
Yeah, sure, we could go for a drink sometime.
Yeah, it's still the same. Just gimme a call.
What? A play? Sure, I'm interested.
Austin, you look really good. You really do. Okay, then, you too. Bye.
Nothing, 'Lebs. It was no big deal. A friendly, very adult conversation for old times sake, you know how it is.
I am not shaking. Stop it.
Let's get out of here. This party's dead anyway.