Wherein Your Blogatrix is a) bored at work, b) busy but gives zero shits or c) 12 years old.

 

 

 

All signs point to c) 12 years old.

RIP, George Jones.

 

Once, when I had been drunk for several days, [then-wife] Shirley decided she would make it physically impossible for me to buy liquor. I lived about 8 miles from Beaumont and the nearest liquor store. She knew I wouldn’t walk that far to get booze, so she hid the keys to every car we owned and left. But she forgot about the lawn mower.

I can vaguely remember my anger at not being able to find keys to anything that moved and looking longingly out a window at a light that shone over our property. There, gleaming in the glow, was that 10-horsepower rotary engine under a seat. A key glistening in the ignition.

I imagine the top speed for that old mower was five miles per hour. It might have taken an hour and a half or more for me to get to the liquor store, but get there I did.

 

Best story ever.  You can almost smell the whiskey breath.  RIP, George.

Note to Self, Part 2: Be Like This Chick.

Oh, wait.  I kind of AM like this chick.

Note to Self: Be Like This Chick.

Word.

SXSW 2013, This Time With Children.

So the hubby played 3 shows at SXSW this year and one of them was at a restaurant/bar, so we decided to take the kids because WHY NOT.  Why not indeed?  SXSW has become quite a hot mess these last few years, I must say.  I mean, wasn’t the original idea a music showcase to help indie bands get record deals?  This year, the headliners were Prince, Green Day and Justin Timberlake.  Yeah, I think they have the record deal COVERED.

 

But there is a lot more than that going on.  Of course the thing that is NOT going on, and is NEVER going on in Austin is traffic that actually moves.  It took us almost two hours to get from our rented cottage on Lake Austin (more on that later) to 6th Street.  Austin also has the WORST freaking drivers on Planet Earth.  Each time we ventured onto Mopac, the entire family had to bring a change of pants.  True story.

 

Anyway, the Mullens played three shows, and although they were vastly different, each venue was pure Austin.  Let’s just rate them in terms of “Expect To See These Guys There.”

 

Venue #1:  The Counter Culture Vegan Restaurant/Bar

 

 

 

 
This place was a little gem!  I’m not much into the hippie scene, but who doesn’t enjoy being served raw veggies by white girls with tattoos?  And a word of advice, tiny waitress: a bandana is NOT a shirt.  I think that’s in the Bible.  But the sun was shining, booze was flowing and all was right in Slacker City, USA.  So bands played all afternoon on the patio where kids, dogs and weirdos of all stripes were welcome.  I asked hubby to get a pineapple juice for Tiny C and this is what showed up:

 

She and I had exactly the same reaction.

 

 

Needless to say, it was not consumed.  There was nothing wrong with the beer, though.  Not a damn thing.

 

 

Anyway, the Mullens of course rocked the patio, although there were some patrons who were a little confused by the lack of sitars and paisley.  Tiny C and I joined some of the revelers (who looked as though they had been stoned since the Reagan administration) and danced the afternoon away!

 

WHAT?  Do I look like some sad, surgically enhanced mom who is more interested in capturing the hearts and pants of every guy in the place than dancing with my kid?  No I do not.  It was much more like this:

 

Rating:  Expect To See These Guys There!

 

Venue #2:  The Legendary White Swan

 

Saturday afternoon, and the streets are packed.  Now this is more up my alley!  I love dive bars with vintage vinyl booths, no-nonsense bartenders and patrons who are ready to rock and roll.  Hubby says this was by far the Mullens’ best set, because the energy from the crowd was unreal.  These kids may live at the corner of Misunderstood and I Hate Myself, but they come to play.

Rating:  Expect To See These Guys There!

 

Venue #3:  The Parish Underground

 

The Get Hip Record Label showcase!  Saturday night and the gig sold out in no time.  Finally, we are playing to Our People.  Well, maybe not.  The Parish Underground is a great venue despite the criminally small stage, but it’s pretty upscale for our cheap selves.  I mean, when you ask for a beer and the first thing the bartender says is “Imported?”  That’s just a) pretentious and b) kind of a shitty way to pull rank.  Maybe I like American beer!  Ok, maybe not but I’m on a budget here!  It was still a great show and a fantastic send off to SXSW 2013 to have a full crowd (and a line out the door, no less) begging for some real rock and roll.

 

Rating:  Expect To See These Guys There!

 

So, the cottage.  Yes, we threw down some bank this year and rented a cottage on Lake Austin.  It was well worth it.  We even entertained the notion of having a few friends and bandmates over for some chili and beer, but we decided to wait until a time when our kids are not completely batshit.  Which of course will be approximately never.

 

 

Back at ya, kid.

Anyway, it was wonderful to get away from the madness that is SXSW (and Austin in general, really) and see some sky, water and enjoy the quiet.  We also ate at a couple of great places.

 

 

 

One, the take out BBQ at Smokey J’s on the lake is out of the world.  Even if the staff is contractually obligated to insult you for ordering two minutes after closing.  Which we did because they kept us waiting while they insulted the people in front of us.  But I digress.  It was awesome.  We got some tortillas and made soft beef tacos and the masses rejoiced.

 

 

 

We also went to the Iguana Grill on Lake Travis.  The food was amazing, the patio was hopping and hubby even reconnected with an old friend from Dallas.  It was a lovely lunch and a wonderful afternoon.

And then we took our broke asses home.  Later, Austin!  Much, much later!

 

Things That Exist.

Have you ever looked at something on the Internet and thought, “Why?  Who would think that was…”  and fill in the blank with “cool,” “funny,” or “even remotely necessary?”  I sure have, mostly for stupid shit like lolcats, but THIS just completely confuses me.

 

 

This guy is Justin Vernon.  He kind of looks like a child toucher but apparently he is not.  He is in a band called Bon Iver.  They sound like this:

 

 

They are one of those overly earnest, folky, neck beard wearing bands that aging hipsters just freaking love.  Personally, I hate overly earnest.  I’m on the fence with folky, but NECK BEARDS?  Oh hell no.   But here’s where the mystery comes in.  There is apparently a new tumblr called “BonIverotica” and it’s just completely full of erotic stories about, you guessed it, Justin Vernon.  Here is a sample:

 

Bon Iver warms the house with baking today. He visits me in my workroom with a heart-shaped sour cherry hand pie made from our preserves. We eat it standing up. It tastes like sunny summer. Our mouths are stained red and the floor is carpeted with flakes of his good buttery crust. 

‘This pie is like our love,’ he muses. 

I laugh and pluck a bit of pie out of his beard. ‘Tell me more,’ I say, kissing him.

He sighs happily and rubs his belly. ‘It’s warm, and we both like it.’

And as usual, I marvel at the power and simplicity of his words.

 

You plucked a bit of pie out of his beard???  OK, gross.  I just can’t, you guys.  He looks like he sleeps on park benches and maybe, just maybe, smells of lunch meat.  The homeless thing is marginal, but salami smell is a definite nookie deal breaker.

 

That’s just science.