Vagabender

Texas is where the West and the South meet. At this point, the Southwest (which is where you think this would happen) is it's own animal. The desert metros are booming, and the highway signs advertising real estate tell you on the way into Las Vegas, "Welcome to the New Southwest." But the spirits of the West and the South (and throw in Mexico if you want to keep it real) have deep roots in the Lone Star state. It's rugged individualism of the frontier coupled with the kind of cultural pride and rituals that spring from generations.

We came in on the national parks tip. Three words: Big Bend Basin. That's where you go, although the Guadeloupe Mountains were also quite picturesque and led to our first good run of audio. Luke posted some other stuff on this with more photos as well.

Our first stop in civilization was Austin, where I'd gotten us set to stay with my ETW alumni friend Julia Smith. Her and her roommates Zack and Andy were fantastically gracious. We arrived late, around midnight, but we hung out with Julia and Zack for a couple hours and I slept in absent Andy's bed.

The next day we hit up the Austin Museum of Art to see the Annie Libowitz exhibition, portraits of great American musicians. Then to the Green Mesquite for some delicious BBQ, and on for a swim at Barton Spring, a natural spring that's been turned into a pool by the city of Austin. It's cool all the time and doesn't need chlorine since the water springs pure from the earth and constantly washes on down.

Then it was back home to shower, get dressed and head out to see some live music. We'd picked The Weary Boys, always a hootin' hollerin' ho-down of a good time. It was a scant $5 and there was an amazingly graceful amazon cocktail waitress who'd parade the room dancing along and holding a tray of beverages above her head and the crowd. Future ex-wife #1 for the Kone Zone? Maybe, friend. May be.

In any event, I slapped my leg so many times I had a healthy bruise the next day, and we left happy and energized to meet Zack at another spot, then off to skinny dip at the elks lodge before finally returning home.

Big D
"Drink. Drive. Go To Jail? Another Government Lie," so sayeth the billboard with the power-suited woman lawyer outside Dallas. The highways are mad, huge soaring overpasses that must reach 75 or 100 feet into the air. The city center is all mirrors -- oil money booming the town out just as architects perfected that technique -- like a cluster of diamonds.

Paul and Jo's place is in a quiet exurb town called Farmer's Branch. The surrounding towns of Dallas are fully integrated into the larger metro area, but maintain their identity via huge water towers and individualized street signs. You know you've left Farmer's Branch and crossed into Addison when the signs go from red to blue and they get a different logo tacked on to the end.

When we got there the scene was set. Paul did us up right, with a bucket of Shiner Bock and Blonde on ice and three truly Texas-sized steaks ready to throw on the fire. By and by Scott and Nikki made it on over and we filled out the spread with some loaded baked potatoes, fresh-cut tomatoes, texas toast and a delicious (yet inexpensive) merlot. It was the finest meal we've had since hitting the road. That's one of the things that's so cool to stay with your friends parents.

"You can't win a race on cheap gas," he says, so we supped and heard stories from Paul's old days. He helps run the North Texas Food Bank, but as a kid he grew up overseas in Saudi Arabia and Jordan, which is where he met Jo. At that time it was a pretty small community of Americans in that part of the world, mostly the children of a few businessmen and diplomats. I suppose it's mostly the same today, although the populations of both have probably grown.

We also got to hear some dirt on ol' Tommy boy. He was Luke's long-time roommate and fast friend at Reed, but somehow we had to go all the way to Texas to hear about his trip to Mexico. Interesting. That's what happens when you let your friends have dinner with your parents and your sister and you're not around, my man. ;)

In summation, it was a great evening. Paul had to get back to work feeding the hungry in the morning, so we all headed out to that Duke's place, which I mentioned before. Outside their house is a sort of cul-de-sac/roundabout with some grass, a couple trees and a bench in the middle, so we hung out there for a while, having a little guy time, working on a bottle of Rye, enjoying the warm night air. In truth the main thing that got us back in to bed was the thought of Paul waking up for work and seeing us degenerates still awake outside his house.

So we slept it off for a while, did our laundry, cleaned out the truck then went out for some TexMex, which is sort of the opposite end of the food spectrum from the Steak extravaganza, but unique and delicious in its own right. And then it was over to Scott and Rodger's for all the hilarity you may have heard.

In the morning it was time to blow. We collected ourselves, got some coffee and Kolatchies and then on the road through Oklahoma to Little Rock. After nearly a week we said so long to the Republic of Texas. So long, but see you again.

Here's a photo I call Rummy on the John:

We stayed at Daddy Dean's last night. It was a dry out day; just hung out and ate chineese and watched The Magnificent Seven, which is about a much different idea of what Texas was. Luke is playing some guitar. Mark wrote some postcards. I wrote a couple good things (about racy racy stuff, I assure you) that will be posted soon.

Tonight we're out with Travis Collinsworth; brother to Kevin, who was one of the many fine people I met through MFA. Should be a good time.

We had a dream. The dream was to find moonshine, in America. And here it is.

At first we weren't sure what the score was with Nashville. On our way into the city center we saw approxomately one million police officers. Seems like a fightin' town. Downtown the music is always free though, and the BBQ is good, and the daughters of the south are present. And we met up with Travis and his friends Mark and Ben and Erica the half-sleeve tatted bartender on her way to North Carolina sent several rounds our way and the good times got to rolling.

I hung back with a couple glasses of water (because in spite of the website name one thing we don't do is drive drunk) and we made our way over the Cumberland river into East Nashville, which except for the 90% humidity feels a lot like Portland. Nashville Mark broke out this jar of rasberry shine, and in spite of the fact that it was his birthday he shared it with us.

They have a giant white German Shepard named Tulsa. Took the Toe a little getting used to, but Tulsa is the major buddy. He don' give a shit and loves everyone -- except people who come to the door in uniforms, of course. So we got all fired up, saw a little of the hood on foot, got giant glasses of whiskey and t-shirts from Niko, the major man at the Red Door East Saloon, came back, broke out the Texas Thunder Cannon, had a good ol' time.

Now we're feeling the second-day effects of the rasberry shine, copying music switching between great concert DVDs and the Supreme Court hullabaloo, waiting on a pizza.

We made it to New Orleans. Wednesday night we camped at David Crockett State Park south of Nashville, a place with lots of fireflies and no one else bold (or dumb) enough trying to sleep without an air conditioner. The humidity was intense, but we made the most of it with a little fire and a few sips of Port Wine. We all went to bed early, but no one slept well.

Thursday it was on the road. We made it down to Bama, to the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute -- a must see -- and got some help getting around a traffic jam from a friendly local gentleman. After that we drove hard on the 59 west. This is our only scheduled backtrack and we didn't take the scenic route, blowing down through the earthy lush corridors of Mississippi and into French-friendly Louisianna at top speeds. Four states in one day; just find a trucker who's balling it and get behind the mule.

Aunty Sheena comes through on the phone (I'd just left her a message before) and we've got a place to stay, so we visit for a moment, shower and head out to the quarter. It's around midnight and I'm in a crappy mood because I was in the zone and did a lot of driving and didn't take a nap, but we make it there and a beer and a slice of pizza bring me back around.

Bourbon street is kind of slow. There's action in the clubs, but at midnight on a thursday, there's not a lot happening in the streets. Just drunken northerners wandering aimlessly around packs of 6'6" rail-thin black transvestites and a few gruff barkers trying to hustle pudgy jocks with mardi-gras beads and giant fruit drinks into the strip clubs. It feels like the mother of all tourist traps, though that may have also been the $4 slice of pizza.

But we walk it because we have to walk it, and we cruise around to Molly's on Decateur, which seems to have some real people, and where $4 will get you an awfully large glass of Turkey. We park it there for a little while, shoot the shit, move into the back bar, which is actually in a courtyard, so no AC but much better music.

The way home was confusing. I wandered off to get a hot dog and we got separated, and then when we got back together there was some altercation arising from my inability to tell when Mark is joking and when he isn't. C'est la vie. Luke and I stay up until dawn talking about trade policy and whether or not to abolish or reform the corporation as a legal form. Another prime night.

Tonight will be cuisine and music, out on the town with Sheena.

I met a girl on beale street. It was fantastically coincidental and fun. Here's the scene: los vagabenderosos are nearly exhausted. It's been an amazing run, but truth be known after days and days of prime vagabendation, we need a little time to dry out. Nevertheless, we dragged Jesse Dean along with us from Little Rock (which was a whole spree in and of itself which I will write about in the travelogue when I can) and rode on to Memphis, caravan style. It was a welcome change from the routine; more leg room; goofing off at the Gas station; the feeling of getting out and about. JD has a Scion, which I was skeptical about when I heard of it from Nick, but which I now wholeheartedly endorse. Talk about real utility!

Anyway, the girl. See, the thing you do on beale street is you walk around and listen to the music and cruise the scene and drink. Reminiscent of Las Vegas in some ways, though much more positive and cool, I thought. It's really something to see. Like the Strip in Vegas, it's not really a place where you'd see a lot of locals, but the action on beale is very different in character than that of the strip. They block off traffic for starters. The crowd is much more regional, about a 50/50 white/black mix circulating freely (though interracial couples are rare) and instead of gambling, you have (relatively) expensive booze and (relatively) good live music (compared to say, new york city).

I noticed her red hair first.

(there's more)

Hey y'all. Sorry for the dearth of postings. Hopefully you'll enjoy my little harlequin romance (below) and these photos right now.

Our last night in New Orleans was a massacre. Started with a meal at Coops, then a little wandering along the banks of the Mississippi. We watched an IMAX movie (3D Sharks!) just to get out of the heat for an hour, then over to Molly's, our home away from home. We made friends with one of the bartenders here, Laura, and she gave us a couple bucks to play the Jukebox and we eased into the evening.

At around 11pm we figured it was prime tourist time, so we ran the strip and Mark got some beads. We smoked a cigar. We walked down Frenchman st and shared a pint of bourbon. Then back to Molly's for a few more rounds. Mark goes home. Laura gets off work and takes Luke and I to another more local spot. Four hours go by and I remember about 15 minutes of it, trying to chat up a girl with my knowledge of Polish culture from Greenpoint. Needless to say it didn't work out. Next thing I know it's 6:30am and Luke and I have come to blows because we can't find an ATM to get money to get a cab. It all worked out in the end though.

After fleeing New Orleans we ran into trouble our first night in the Florida Panhandle, decided to cut out the trip down head directly to Georgia. Apologies to our anonymous guide to America's Wang, but we chopped it right out of the itinerary.

So we went to Brunswick, Georgia to visit Mark's brother Scott at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center -- good times there. We got pulled over because our tail lights were out, but escaped punishment through our bare wit and maybe Scott's special agent status. He's going to work in Alaska making sure commercial fisherman follow the rules, hence the stint at FLETC. We did a little quick tail-bulb/fuse repair at the El Cheapo gas station -- yes, there's a gas station chain called "El Cheapo" -- and dropped Scott off before we did anything more to jeopardize his career. Dodged a bullet there.

It's late so we hit up a Day's Inn (across from the Knight's Inn, oh the irony!) and relax with some AC and tube like civilized Americans. What did we learn? Rick Santorum is on the Daily Show and he's disturbingly good; comes off just wanting to be your dad. Troy is a really poorly made movie, if you didn't already know that.

Then into the Carolinas. We camp along the South Carolina coast just outside Charelston and are eaten alive by mosquitos. Right now we're at a Starbucks in Charlotte, getting ready to run for the hills where it should be at least slightly cooler. We'll camp in the Shannandoah for a few days, then make for DC. Stay tuned!

Real Quick; we made it to DC after staying in the Shenandoah for a couple nights. It was misty. It was rainy. It was cold enough to justify pants and hot coffee. In short, after weathering a heat wave in the coastal South, it was heavenly.

Looks like we're staying in the home of an 80 year old former man of the cloth who Bill and Patti know through friends. He's out of town, but likes to let strangers stay at his place. Nice, that. There seem to be neighbors with wireless, so we should be posting up a bunch of things in the next couple days in and around some Washington sight-seeing.

Hey everyone; Julia Smith is a friend from ETW who gave us most gracious hospitality in Austin. She's working on a cool-ass looking/sounding show called The Philomel Project which is going to NYC for the Fringe Festival later in August. Benefit shows are soon in Austin, and it sound like the kind of project that's worth shelling out the cost of three beers to go see at Fringe.

Check out their website for more info.

I think one of the big lasting values of this trip will be the connections. New ones made, old ones renewed, etc. I felt it. Good free food, reconnecting with kin, feeling those deep-down stirrings of patriotic pride; it was a nice stay in DC.

Bill helped raise me. Since the age of three he assumed a parental role in my life and I'm glad for it. But I hadn't seen him in nigh on four years, since he took off from Oregon back to his family farm in Iowa. I had been too busy, first with my post-college life in the City and then with my political crusading, to ever visit him there and though we stayed in touch via these here internets, the connection had grown thin. But it was just like old times. Well, not just like -- everyone's older; I weigh more, Bill less, etc -- but the connection was still there, still good.

Patty's an artist and old DC denizen and long-time friend, and her an Bill are stuck together like 60-year old teenagers. It's quite sweet -- see their livejournal for definative proof. She recently busted her leg (for which she has a cast and an illegal magnetic pulse machine she had to pretend she was buying for a horse; take that FDA!) so they're pretty low key, but that was allright with us.

The first night we went and had dinner with their friends the Smuckers, who are a laugh and a half themselves. The stuffed us with garlicky pasta and pork and beans made with with fresh West Virginia hog, and pushed more Yeunglings on us than we could responsibly quaff in the time we had. They also had a friend, an 80-year-old peace activist and former minister named Van, who was out of town and would let us stay at his house. Perfect!

So we ate too much and laughed just enough and rambled back to our adopted home and made for the passing out. The next day we got up to do some sightseeing, hit the mall, did the museum of Natural History which we found to be informational but exhausting. After that is was vegeetarian tacos at Patti'n'Bill's and a quick jaunt out to a bar that's also a bookstore where the bartender baught us a round but I drew the short straw and drank water instead of whiskey while we browsed the "Introducing" series and made up jokes about Fucault.

And that's how it went. The licence plates say "Taxation Without Representation" because DC doesn't have any congresspeople, and we dig that. It was dinners with kin, nights out expoloring; good times.

Our last night we stayed with a Reedie friend of Lukes, Tia, who took us around to the monuments at night and eventually back to her neighborhood for a slice of local life. Night-time monument-viewing is a good idea; there are fewer crowds and more majesty in the dark, and the neighborhood of Mount Pleasent has a great bar called "the Raven" where we were able to squeeze in a round before closing. It was good; an international/old-man clientele, decent music, a few cute girls, and the the raucous old-lady bartender jokingly busting down on the regulars to drink up and get out. Fantastic scene. Highly recommend it.

And so in the morning we woke in Tia's cooperative, had a little coffee with the housemates and talked hippie communes in Oregon and such, and then we were on the road; hard charging northbound for a five-night stand in NYC.

We (heart) NY. Photos and stories pretty soon. Next move is north to Mass and Maine and then we start chasing the sun back west.