by Ashley Lane
(via)We went to Double Down on the East Side when it was still Double Down—before it was St. Roch’s, but still a Saints Bar.
He had said, in the text message:
It’s waaay East. Like. Across-the-tracks East.
I hadn’t been that far east in Austin. I hadn’t really been to a good dive bar in Austin yet, either. The grungy bars on Red River seem like dives, but they’re not. Not really.
Dirty Dancing, 1987 (dir. Emile Ardolino)
By Batchiara
by Ashley Lane
(via)We walked through a group of drunk people on Red River in downtown Austin. All the bars were closed.
“Would you like to go get some coffee somewhere?” he asked.
“Oh, darling, you’ll be up for days if you have coffee now,” I said.
“Honey, you know me so well.”
We were playing a couple that had been together forever. We pretended to be madly in love.
Let’s rewind a few hours.
I know I’ve posted this before here. but. it’s better this time. Also, yay!
I used to be unable to hold a rehearsal without coffee, Apple Macbook, a bottle of water, and a pen in a studio. Now it’s a Whiskey, my Apple notebook (like, paper), a pen, and some Mace in the courtyard.
No to spectacle.
No to virtuosity.
No to transformations and magic and make-believe.
No to the glamour and transcendency of the star image.
No to the heroic.
No to the anti-heroic.
No to trash imagery.
No to involvement of performer or spectator,
No to style.
No to camp.
No to seduction of spectator by the wiles of the performer.
No to eccentricity.
No to moving or being moved.
I met him because he was blowing bubbles at Beerland. He was blowing bubbles and a friend was trying to get a picture of him. Their timing was awful. The bubble would pop, and then the flash would go off. I watched them try to get a picture and fail for around 5 minutes while I got my Gin and Tonic. Two dudes just trying to get a picture of themselves blowing bubbles. There was something super endearing about that, so I went over.
“Have you gotten a good picture, yet?” I asked.
“No! Do you want to try?”
“Yes.”
Have you tried to blow a bubble lately? It’s terribly difficult at first—not as easy as I remember it. I took a few practice tries to get back in the blowing-bubbles-game, and then I said I was ready.
Shutter click.
“HOW did you get it on the first try!?”
It was a perfect picture. I laughed and shrugged my shoulders.
“Do you want to drink a beer with me at the Capitol? I guess that’s probably illegal?” I texted, months later.
“Let’s do it! Be there in 20.”
We met and sat next to a statue. We talked about ambition and music with Flying Dog Raging Bitch beers behind our backs. It was beautiful outside.
“We should drive out one night past the city lights and find a place where we can see some stars,” he said.
Client: Hi there, I just have a few technical questions.
Me: I can help you with those.
Client: Oh no, honey, don’t worry. I don’t ask women technical questions. Is there a guy around who could help me?”
Me: No.Client: I’ll call back when there’s a guy around.
This person and I have the same job.
Watching Kanye West perform at Coachella each alone in our separate houses, somehow ended in a, “Yes, of course, we should get to know each other better!”
We had coffee and breakfast, and he was normal, and lovely, and I enjoyed talking with him. I had oatmeal with sweet brown sugary nuts and fresh fruit and he was jealous. We talked without any pauses and it was a very comfortable, warm conversation.
“I’m sure you noticed at my party that I have mostly female friends. I’m so glad you liked them and got along with them so well.”
He put his arm on the table, which reached all the way to my side. That felt very intimate, but it was a small table and he’s very tall. It was probably just the most comfortable option.
I got out my Hello Kitty debit card and was splitting the bill before anything awkward could happen. Or was that more awkward?
We went for a walk in the nearby neighborhood. He said he had a “present of sorts” to give someone. We walked a block or so before he explained.
“I hope I can find the house again. I do this thing where I put messages in Easter eggs and then I leave them for people. I was walking through this neighborhood the other week, and I met this little old lady on a porch. She has this amazing Easter-yard. The entire thing is decorated and covered with Easter decorations. It’s so wonderful. So, I had to leave one of these for her. Here, you can open it and look at it. This one is about dancers, so I knew I had to bring you with me. We were going to this coffee shop, and you’re with me and are a dancer, and there were just too many signs saying that you needed to be there while I delivered this one.”
I was sort of speechless. I took the egg and was too nervously excited to read what the words were, and I’m really mad I didn’t slow my brain down enough to read it. There was a picture of two dancers, performing a pas de deux.
We walked and found the house. She was swinging on her porch swing. “Crap.” He said quietly, “I can’t do it while she’s here.”
We waved at her and smiled and she waved and smiled back. Her yard was an amazing Easter-land. I could barely see her grass. There were eggs and bunny statues, and her whole yard was an explosion of pastel.
We had to keep walking.
“Which way?” He asked.
“Um,” goodness, it’s so hard to make decisions based off of nothing, “Left.”
I led us sort of haphazardly around the neighborhood, not really knowing where I was going, and we looked at the houses and pointed out trees we liked.
A car went by and he said, “Wait! Either that’s her or I’m getting my little old ladies confused.”
I got us back around jaggedly through the tiny streets to her lovely little Easter-land.
“It’s weird, I was letting you decide which turns to take, and you took the same route I took alone the other day,” he said. “I’d like to just put the egg in her yard, but I’m worried she won’t find it.”
“Yeah, that is a legitimate worry,” I said as I looked at all of the Easter eggs all over the ground.
He put it in the mailbox. We walked back to our cars very happy with the feeling of success. We awkwardly hugged and he went to work and I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with the time I had left before work. He drove off, and I saw him laughing at my kayak sticking out of the back of my car in my right side mirror.
Whoa. The MLA has officially devised a standard format to cite tweets in an academic paper. Sign of the times.
Have at it, nerds.
(via conscientious)
1am ballet class, anyone? (Taken with Instagram at Apple, Inc.)
A scene from the director’s cut of tonight’s Academy Awards In Memoriam montage.
(via gretchenalice)
Ice cream waffle image via Shutterstock
Here are some other reasons to celebrate this month: 15 Bizarre February Holidays
Well, Amy’s tomorrow then!
Support your local breweries. #nola (Taken with instagram)
Candy Cigs (Taken with instagram)
