Til the end part II: 2 Days East

(Part I, the intro to the East Side, is below.)

4/22/09
Went over to Phil and Laura's for some chili. Chili was the reason I left the house, and it was the only plan we had. But the sweet and sour pungency of the Argentinean white wine suggested a further course of events. We came up with three choices: 6th Street (Jackalope (which is very cool), etc.), the Horseshoe Lounge (the closest bar to my place, and they have table-top shuffleboard), or the East Side. Based on recent experience, we had a good feeling - and went with - the East Side.

First to the bar that's housed in the Motel Vegas. In fact, it's the other way around: the huge bar houses and surrounds the little Motel. Phil and I had stopped for a beer and some cards in the outdoor area on the previous Saturday afternoon, and felt right at home. We were talking about renting a room some night for a little party (it would probably cost 50 bucks altogether, based on the exterior; believe me), but then we realized it's probably more of a short-term housing situation. Or a flophouse. Ordered beers in English, and that's as far as the bartender-patron interaction went for us. Cruz Azul was playing Atlante on TV, but I think this is a Guadalajara club bar, so no one gave a shit anyway. Everyone else was playing foosball. We decided to move on.

Tried to go to Rabbit's, but it was closed, at 10:30. The bartender had told me they some times close early on weeknights, but that's pretty early. So let's skip the formalities and just go up to the Long Branch. Took Comal from E. 6th up to 11th, and by god if we didn't go through a whole suburban town on our way. I know from previous experience that E. 12th is a bit sketchy (see my post on "SXSW End", from March), especially at night, but 11th is all picket fences and rose gardens. Felt like I was walking by my grandparents' old house in New Hampshire. At Long Branch, we heard a really good Alice Cooper song ("Desperado," I think), and then Laura played a few. Met the bartender from the Scoot, who I think works every single night in one of the two places. Laura has this thing where she does half shots of tequila ("One shot, two glasses please"), which is a good idea in theory, but can be otherwise in practice. We split a couple of those.

The initial reason we hadn't gone to the Scoot to practice Skee-ball (we would have the following week off, so we needed to stay in shape) was the poetry slam happening there this Wednesday evening - we would've been too much noise. But figuring it must be over now, we made our way down Navasota. We had been feeling athletic and adventurous all evening, so we tried climbing up a signpost somewhere around 9th and Navasota. That's why my arm was all scraped up. Phil actually made it up. Then I got ahead of them, on an embankement, and ambushed Laura, for some reason. Kind of an accident, but that's why I had scratches on my legs. At the Scoot, we were right: poetry was done, we were the only ones inside. So, several rounds of Skee-ball (including a couple going for "hundos" (aiming for the 100 circles)), and Queen on the jukebox.

The requisite stop at Wendy's (Phil and I have gotten into splitting chicken nuggets and cola), and back to theirs for a great, long, and philosophical conversation spurred by an essay Phil had writtten earlier in the day. One of those times I wish I'd taken notes, but forgot. I had a wonderful, long walk home. Put the Ipod on shuffle, and all these great songs triggered random memories. The cloudy sky illuminated by city lights produced a haunting, transparent effect, like a subtle swiss cheese. I can pick my side streets off South Congress, but Annie is the best one to smell the flowers. Honey blossoms in April in Austin - nothing finer. It would only be slight hyperbole to say that I was skipping up to my front door. Feeling stellar.

Epilogue, 4/23/09
Phil and I had decided the night before that if we were both up for it, we'd hit the Java Garden, a $6 Chinese buffet we'd been talking about for a month, off of Riverside, East of their place. I called him at noon, had a banana and coffee, we each went for a run, and then went for it. Four courses did the trick. I told Phil about my Dad's notion that if it takes 20 minutes for the food to reach your brain and tell you you're full, you should pack as much into those 20 minutes as possible. But we were slow, and only got one course in during the initial 20. I developed a new system for Chinese buffets: one crab rangoon with each course. Even dessert. It may not be a good one, but it's a system; order and tradition are important to the gastronome. And we hobbled, slowly, out to the car, with feet dragging and stomachs full and burning. I didn't eat again until 10pm. And that was practically force-feeding.

4/25/09
Had planned to make this a two-day entry, but it's gotten so exceedingly long, that I'll be brief: had heard about an urban/guerrilla art show on E. 3rd (I think) and Chicon, so Tania and I decided to check it out. We met downtown, and were gonna grab a drink first, but just kept walking throughout the streets below E. 6th. There's an awesome mini stage set-up (even with what seem like stripper poles) that's made of all these little mirrors, outside of a gallery on E. 5th. The show we went to ("This is Urban") was pretty cool. Pretty mellow too. I was expecting a bit more of a spectacle/party, to be honest. But beyond the gallery was a softball park, where everyone had gathered, with picnics and beer, to watch a couple of adult-league teams face off. We stayed for awhile, enjoying being spectators in a spectator sport. Then an al pastor taco at Club Primos (there is actually a club, but when you're walking up the street, it looks like the "club" is just the taco wagon out front; I always get funny visions of a disco ball and people dancing shoulder to shoulder inside this little wagon). Then some scouting for future East Side jaunts, and that's it. Back to our home, south of the river. A world away.