(Phaysis)

Ten years ago this week, with $600 in my pocket, no sleep in 24 hours, a carload of stuff, and a headful of hope, I waved goodbye to my hometown and moved to Austin. The urge was long in the making, but the plan came suddenly. I was to move to Austin to chase the dotcom dream and push my life into new directions. I’ve recounted this story time and again, but now a decade has passed. It is at this ten year point that I officially declare myself an honorary townie, an Austinite. Sure, unlike the students who breeze through this town, I’m here to stay, so technically I’ve been a townie since I moved. But I need to say it, make it official. For good or ill, I am an Austinite.

So. A decade, all in one place. That breaks all of my prior records. Most of my life has been spent in Texarkana, yes, but it’s all split up between 2 years after birth, 8 years growing up, a year after college, 2 years after Greensboro, etc. It definitely beats my 5.5 years in Arkadelphia and 5 years in Lubbock. So yeah.

But has it been a good ten years? Has the whole Austin experience been all I’d hoped? It is with equal parts shame and reality that I have no choice but to say “No, no it hasn’t.”

After moving here, those first six months were heavily influenced by Serendipity. She had her hand in everything I did, every new relationship I started, every accidental decision I made. Those were heady times, and everything was new and sudden. Horizons stretched out beyond my vision. Every wrong turn showed me something new. Every wander around town gave me a new vista to take in the wonder and spectacle of this ever-growing land of a million souls. So much possibility was at the end of my hands.

And then Serendipity left me stranded like an unprepared fool. The dotcom boom went to bust and pulled the rug out from under us all; party over. The thrill turned into survival, but there was an immediacy in it; it was either sink or swim. I had to wonder where my next meal was coming from. For an unsteady while, it really was ramen daily. It was donated coffee. It was two smokes a day. It was burning through meager savings. It was sweating the rent. It was five dollars in gas. It was day labor. It was 7-Eleven. It was data entry. It was pizza delivery. It was shitty joe-jobs where I could find them.

But as beat dead as I felt, I was still alive. When finally the stable work appeared again, when finally I nursed my economic wounds and regained stability, even though I felt dead inside, I held onto the stability like my life depended on it. I learned that I demand stability; I can’t hustle and work it job to job, game to game. I’m not that kind of person; that’s not my personality. It’s not in my skillset to move from gamble to gamble and roll with the punches. I’m a factory floor kind of guy.

So in that respect, in seeking stability, I grew up quite a bit. It’s what adults do over time, I guess: turn in their chaos for a piece of stasis. There’s no risk in the weekly fourty, and it provides me with the opportunity to do stuff that I wouldn’t have done if I, for instance, were working three part-times and relying on selling art to make rent and a car payment. Stuff like, I dunno, buy a house, plan a vacation, raise kids, support a wife, save for retirement. Stuff the stable people do.

But I’m not doing any of that stuff. I feel like I should be, but I’m not. My state in life allows me, but I’m still longing for the random, the accidental, the non-static. Or at least I’m waiting for it. I’ve grown up enough to afford my toys, but I still haven’t matured into something dependable. I have no dependents, nor do I want them. At 38, I think it’s rather late in my life to push for kids; that clock unwound years ago. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a partner, a Significant Other, right?

Funny, that, because when I first moved here, my gregarity was in overdrive. I met people, exchanged contacts, introduced myself even if the encounter never went beyond the first conversation. But when everything fell down around me, I closed up and became the man I used to be. Solitary, a loner, alone. And moreso now than ever, I’m still alone. Sometimes blissfully, but usually painfully. So in that respect, this has been a decade of decline. I’m still surrounded by over a million souls, and all I have to do is reach out again. It should be that easy, right?

There has to be a way to balance the stability I demand with the immediacy I miss. I’m dreaming while snoozing at the controls, and it’s as if I need a pinch to wake me up to take a breath. I really, really don’t want to jinx myself and end up living on the dole and the lam, but I need something to shake me up again. I look back and all I see is the sad dream of squandered potential.

So this is my life, the big experiment that is moving to Austin. It’s funny that the grand design, among my group of friends back home, was that we would all pick a date and use that as the “Great Mass Exodus to Austin.” One by one, though, they dropped out as life threw them curveballs, and I alone made the run to first base. Fitting that this play would echo my time here, that the walk around the diamond would be mine to walk on my own. You’d think that I’d be at the home base by now, but if the Pitcher isn’t paying attention, if the shortstop doesn’t care, if the outfield isn’t watching, why should I even bother stealing bases?

Serendipity has left the ballpark.

Last week I took the opportunity to hang out for an evening with a guy named Emmanuel Goldstein (nee Eric Corley), the founder of the venerable 2600: The Hacker Quartely, a magazine written by and for hackers. He was in town for the technology portion of the local South By Southwest conference where a founder of Make Magazine, a friend of his, made a keynote address. Emmanuel was also slated to make a few presentations.

Two weeks ago in his radio show Off the Wall (broadcast in NYC) he mentioned that he was coming to Austin and that he would be interested in hanging out with any of his listeners here who would care to do so. My buddy John jumped on the chance and invited Emmanuel to join us at our usual friday night meeting. He accepted.

I was the first of our group to arrive; the big table where we usually meet was occupied by three guys I’d never seen before, so I set my stuff down at another table and made my way to the counter for coffee. As I passed the table, I overheard the three discussing when Austin 2600 meetings were held; one was under the impression that it was the 2nd friday of the month. This was the clue that told me these were the guys we were waiting for. I interjected and corrected them, saying they meet on the first friday. I turned to the older guy and asked if he was Emmanuel, he acknowledged, and I smiled and introduced myself by saying, “Ah, we’ve been expecting you.”

I got my coffee and settled in at their table; traded introductions with the other two guys. Within minutes, other people from my group were showing up and joining in. Emmanuel was asking us things, getting a feel for how life is in Austin, and he pulled out a digital audio recorder, asked us if it was ok to record us for his show, and we agreed. The final results can be found at the Off the Wall site.

He started by asking us where we were from, how long we’ve been living here in Austin; he wanted our opinion on how our hometowns and Austin represented life in Texas. Being a New Yorker, he likely has some notions of what Texans are like and he wanted some better depth to the image, hence the questions. I’m not sure how well we fleshed it out, but apparently he did leave Austin with an understanding of how laid-back it is here.

Emmanuel wrapped up his recorded segment by asking us about the local pirate radio scene. One of the things he does when he hits a new town is scan the dial and what he found was KPWR at 91.1MHz (they don’t do their own broadcasting; they’re of the new breed of pirates that essentially set up an internet-only music stream, and it’s up to volunteers to independently set up a transmitter and simulcast the stream). He dug into what we knew of them and the other “stations”, and he was blown away by how strong the scene is here. Later that weekend he got to take a tour of the KPWR studio and meet some of the volunteer staff there and was impressed.

It was nice to meet and hang out with Emmanuel. As unassuming as he is, you would never know by looking at or listening to him that this is a man who helped in the formation of an entire hacking subculture. He gave hackers one more voice, a touchstone, and a community in a dark time one decade before the public embrace of the embryonic Internet and the chat rooms, message boards, and document archives it enables. Well met.

On Monday, a friend won a free pass from KLBJ to the Wednesday night sneak preview of the Jet Li movie “Unleashed.” On the following day, another coworker won a pass from the same radio station to the same movie. They discovered that there was a surplus of passes between them, so they invited me and my roomate to join them for the viewing.

I give the movie four of five stars. It’s a good flick. Jet Li will kick your ass, my ass, and everyone else’s asses. Meanwhile, Morgan Freeman will make you feel ok about it. It’s a fun movie for a Friday night – go see it this weekend. Best when viewed with a packed house.

Also on Wednesday, I won a pass to next Wednesday’s sneak preview of “Star Wars, Episode 3″. Yes, free, yes, sneak. Won it from a lunch-hour playlist contest on KLBJ (the same station). Both my coworker and I knew the common theme between the songs, and when it was time to call we both called – he managed to get through first. Well, since he already won something from the station this week (the 30-day rule), he quickly passed the phone to me and I claimed the prize. So we’re going to see Ep. 3 on the house next week granted we can get to the theater in due time to get in; they always hand out more passes than there are seats in the screen to ensure a packed house.

Yet a few more reasons why I love this town.

So, this morning I drove my roomate to the airport. He has taken a flight back to his home state to attend a friend’s wedding and will be taking about nine days off to spend with his friends and family. I wish him fun and relaxation. It’s weird when he’s not around the apartment, but it’s kinda cool. I have this whole place to myself. So weird.

My teeth are still hurting, for what it’s worth. I’m relying on the tylenol less each day, which is good. I’m able to go for longer after waking up before I need a dosing. However, the brief spells my teeth hurt — they really hurt. Still temperature sensitive, especially to hot foods and drinks. Yarg.

Picked up the latest VNV Nation disc “Matter + Form”. On initial spinning, I dig it. I get my moods where nothing will please me more than some EBM. I can be a junkie for it, and VNV Nation is good stuff. I’m planning to see their show this Saturday night at La Zona Rosa.

Also, on a whim, I picked up a disc from a band called Hooters. Back in, oh,’91 or ’92, I remember hearing a song played on Magic105 out of Little Rock. They’d play it on rare occasion, and it truly tripped me out how cool it was, just deeply haunting with its overtones of biblical doom. The song is called “All You Zombies”. At the time I had no clue who did the song nor what the song was called, but through some targeted searches online I narrowed down and pinpointed the band and song, and it’s these guys. Come to find out, Hooters also released the 1985 anthem song “And We Danced”, and two of the core members wrote and coproduced Cyndi Lauper’s 1983 debut album “She’s So Unusual” – that’s how they got the label pressure to release an album of their own.

It’s playing now, and if my situation would’ve been different in ’85 I would’ve definitely owned this album by now. 1985 just had a certain sound and I missed the whole thing because I had yet to come into my own as far as musical preferences. Ah well.

I still have to sell my spare Nine Inch Nails tickets. I have four of them of which I’m planning to sell no less than two. I haven’t found a date, so I may be selling three of them. Not sure yet. If you’re interested and you can make a decent offer (the show is sold out, mind you), let me know as soon as possible.

By the way, the new album, in my opinion, is simply beautiful. The key to listening is that if you’re expecting another “Pretty Hate Machine”, “Downward Spiral”, or “The Fragile”, you’re screwing yourself hard out of enjoying this album. Open your mind for chrissakes.

That is (mostly) all.

Today has been a Dine-In Bonus Day for Shawn here.

This afternoon I followed my gut instinct (read: hunger) all the way to the nearby IHOP which offered the kind of hot, toasted club sandwich I was craving. Going to IHOP on saturday has become a habit of mine as of late, a way to reward myself, in a sense, for finishing a week, or as just one of those weekly things I do. Anyway, I got there, grabbed my journal (the real one), walked inside and was seated right away to await my waitress.

“We should be friends!” she said as she approached my table.
I looked up at her and replied, “Yeah? Why?”
“I’m always your waitress.”
“Heh, Ok…I’m Shawn.”
Pointing to her name tag, “Um, you know my name. I’m Vanessa. Hello!”
I shook hands with an IHOP waitress.

The meal was good, I had some good journal-writing time to think about Things, and occasionally Vanessa would stop by to chat or see how I was doing or ask something about me, y’know, stuff that resembles flirting. I saw something that resembled a men’s class ring on her left ring finger, so I played it down, chatted back, and gave her a good tip. Whether it was flirting, cordial chatting, doing her job, or that she remembers my face, it was pleasant to have someone outside my sphere knock on my door to say hello. A bonus.

Some hours later, I went to my recent haunt Austin Java Company to have a caffeinated beverage, possibly something to eat, and to get into some quality laptop time. The crowd there was typical for a saturday afternoon: heavy. I was hungry for something light, so I ordered a cup of their roasted chicken soup (it’s incredible), got a soda, took my table number sign and found a nice seat in the corner. Twenty distracted minutes later (thanks to laptop crashes, etcetera), I realize that it’d been 20 minutes since I placed my order for the soup and that they hadn’t brought it to me. I did the standard glaring-at-the-counter gag, but that didn’t work. Finally, with full realization that they had forgotten about me, I took my receipt and flag up to the counter to prod them again.

“Um, excuse me, but I ordered a cup of soup 30 minutes ago, and I haven’t gotten it yet.”
“What? Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. I apologize. We probably forgot about you. I’ll bring that soup right out, sir, and refund your money.”
“Please do.”

The barrista I talked to wasn’t the one who took my order, but he was crawling over himself all the same to rectify the situation. So, instead of getting a cup of soup, I got the bowl (bigger) and a chunk of focaccia bread, my entire receipt refunded ($5.32), my soda for free, and the manager’s business card with a stamp on the back good for 50% off my next entrée purchase. Talk about bonus.

Snoozy from the soup, the weather, and the caffeine wearing off, I went home to nap for a few hours. Woke up tonight around 11 and lazed around, did stuff online. Then I put on my shoes. Had no idea where I was going or what I was doing, but I put them on because my gut instincts told me I was going out at 2:30am. Then it hit me: I want to walk — because I’ve been itching to do so; the breezy, humid, cool weather tonight is most excellent for walking; and there’s nothing better to do this late at night than walk under cover of dark. But where to walk?

Ah, yes. Whataburger. Can grab a light snack and have a walkabout endpoint at the same time. So I walk. I walk across, along, and through the construction work on Koenig Lane where it’s being widened and improved, checking out the subroad, the equipment, standing on the bridge over Waller Creek to look over just in time to see a raccoon crossing a waterfall to check out the hole in the end of a pipe. I walk along the Texas DPS wrecker yard where they’ve conveniently placed plastic strips in the chain link fence around the perimeter to hide the hulking, twisted, wrecked DPS patrol cars and their workshops. I felt the breeze and smelled the earth, the trees, the creek, and that odd feeling of connection with my immediate environment, that feeling I felt in college as I had my walkabouts, came back for a while. It was nice. I round the corner and make my way up the hill to Whataburger where a long drive-thru line testified to the glacial pace inside the kitchen.

I went in anyway. Ordered a breakfast burger combo. Took my orange juice and order number to my table to await my order. It took them over 10 minutes before they realised they skipped me. So the cashier quickly pulled a bag together and threw in a free apple pie as an apology. And what are we calling that? That’s right: BONUS.

It’s just refreshing to me that by following my gut feelings as I have today I’ve met with Serendipity several times, just like that [snaps fingers]. There’s a school of thought that believes that life should always be lived like that: go where it appears brightest, follow your instincts, listen to intuition, etcetera. It’s not the best way to live life, but it’s good for brief bits of randomness among the drudgery of responsibilities. It’s those tangents that give one dimensional life some depth. A definite bonus.

Ok. That was damned cool.

Tuesday, I got a tip from a friend of mine that a very special show was going to happen in town tonight. As I heard the details and as I researched more details online, I became more intrigued and I had to go. No choice in the matter.

On the heals of last night’s stellar performance (as I’ve heard) at the Back Yard amphitheater, members of David Bowie’s backup band, formally known as a band called Spooky Ghost, were to play at the Continental Club on South Congress. It was rumored and speculated that Bowie himself would be there and make a stage appearance. Now you see why I had to go. I knew it was possible that he’d be there, considering the next Reality Tour date is for tomorrow night in Houston, but I didn’t know if he’d be performing or if he’d be on the side watching his bandmates have their own spotlights. Whatever was in the plans for the evening, I knew it was going to be super cool and high in quality.

I left the apartment at 7:45 and headed downtown. Got there around 8pm, got stamped, stood inside the club for a few minutes to hear the first warmup “soundcheck” band, which was pretty good for a local two-piece band. I stepped outside to grab some snacks from somewhere. Came back to go ahead and stand in line, since they were going to kick everyone out at 8:30 to reset the place and charge cover. I got in line in a good, good spot, like 10 people back from the front. Nice. Before they let us in around 9:15, I managed to get drawn into a small discussion of the show last night with some people who were standing behind me. Cool how that stuff happens. The line got to moving, I paid my $10 cover, got my stamp, bought a drink, and zoom I found a spot right at the stage, 2 feet back from front. Again, niiiice.

I looked around as I stood there just to get a lay of the scene. I had heard, from some guys who were in line ahead of me, that Bowie definitely was there in attendance, so I had to see. Sure enough, I saw. He was kicked back on a tall chair, one leg bent up in front of him, as he was chatting to the girl to his left and watching the first act get ready to play. So, yes, ladies and gentlemen, I, Shawn, have seen David Bowie in a crowded, smoky, low-lit bar in the middle of Austin, Texas, at a distance of 20 feet. Take THAT!

The first act was a solo performance by Bowie’s bassist and backup vocalist Gail Ann Dorsey. She was there belting out some smoky vocals over her acoustic set and doing a pretty bang-up job at it. Not bad at all. Did about 5 songs, mostly jazzy in style. For her fourth song, she enlisted the help of keyboardist Mike Garson, a totally incredible jazz-piano badass, to play for her as she sung. That was very cool, especially during his solo. A great duet, those two.

So, after her performance, she made way for Spooky Ghost, well, more like a one-man show by an Irish fellow named Gerry Leonard. He played solo electric guitar, a tough feat made tougher by the semicircle of pedals, effects boxes, and cables at his feet. This man was good. Damn good. His skill and style is loud, blustery, but layered thick by live digital delays and loops. Amazing, laying all those loops and tracks live, his feet going from pedal to pedal while he’s still playing, laying down part after part for his vocal interludes. He brought Garson back onstage for another number, inspired by the monotonic dirge music of India – mindblowing. During the song, they shared solos and sort of challenged each other, Garson just going crazy all over the piano and the audience shouting. That was so fun.

And, if that wasn’t enough, they introduced and brought to the stage rock legend Earl Slick for a few numbers as a trio, mostly blues and loud rock. It was so fun watching these three masters just stand around and have a good jam session, playing off of each other like consumate musicians, throwing stuff into the mix just to see how the others would react. That was the fun part. They finished off the show after 2 more songs and thanked us as they left the stage to our shouts of “one more!” Leonard and Slick came back to play another song, a balls-out blues number, just two guys and their guitars getting raw. That’s where it’s at, man.

Overall, it was a good, good thing. The show was fantastic, even if Bowie stayed out of the limelight. It’s good, and impressive, to know that big-named musicians and artists support each other in that fashion. The music was great, the band was loose, the audience was supportive, and the vibe was pretty fun. I had a damned good time. It was totally serendipitous that I was brought to this point, and I am happy. Here’s to more serendipity.