Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Tracy Powers: The Invisible Austinian
It’s been too damn long since I got back from Austin, not to have said a word about the trip. I was abroad in the Republic of Texas for a conference of legal aid workers and public defenders, and I must admit it was a pretty good conference. I also enjoyed what I saw of Austin, though both Tracy and Powers were notably absent. However, Gopi was right on spot to take me around for a whirlwind tour of an animatronic johnson, vertiginous capitol vistas, and tasty enchiladas; it’s always a curious thing to meet a blogger in person with whom you’ve corresponded for 18 months or so, but I’ve got to say, apart from the ninja fetish and the cornpone phobia, Gopi is one hell of a guy and I’m very glad to have had some time with him. Thanks, dude. And I’ll send you a citation for that jaywalking incident if it’ll make you feel better.
However: that was just at the very end of my three-day stay. The rest of my time can be summarized by the following transcription of notes:
* My airplane had an seatback screen with flight information that I could watch as we flew. As we were coming in for a landing at my transfer point before getting to Austin, I wanted to track the accuracy of the altimeter, but I was chagrined to see how far off it was - we were landing and the damn thing still said we were 5300 feet off the ground. Then they welcomed us to Denver and I reassessed my assessment: we weren’t 5300 feet off the ground, we were just 5300 feet up. On the ground. Mile high ground. Oh, right. Science wins again. bastards.
* The first announcement at the conference, at 8:30 on a thursday morning, began thus: “Good morning! No, that’s as good as it gets.“ If I hadn’t been in the middle of a cinnamon roll I’d have gotten the hell out of there right then. If that was as good as it got, I wasn’t too interested in finding out how badly they were expecting things to deteriorate.
* My hotel was a 20 story building built in a “U” shape, with glass elevators that scooted up and down an interior wall next to a soaring open atrium. More than once I got into that elevator in the shank of the evening and, as the doors closed behind me and I looked out the floor-to ceiling elevator window at the lobby disappearing down below me in my little levitating carpeted box, I had to hold firmly onto the handrail to keep myself from go-go dancing. It’s a good thing I wasn’t wearing the chartruse fringes and fuzzy pompons I’d thought of packing, or I’d have been frugging all the way up to my palatial suite.
* Random phrase that got stuck in my head at a time when I had no one to speak to for a long time and therefore couldn’t stop thinking of this one sentence for way too long: “This ain’t no regular sasquatch.” No, I don’t know where it came from. If I knew, I could cure it, right?
* At the surprisingly good, reasonably priced, and highly entertaining cuban restaurant where I supped, halfway through my entree the mexican beer girls showed up. These were not beer girls who were mexican; they were anglo girls in tight cutoff outfits who were flogging mexican beers by distributing glowing Tecate coasters and tiny maracas with built in bottle openers and a Dos XX logo. Even though I was just a sullen baldie sitting alone at a corner table writing unintelligibly in my notebook, one of these emissaries of Texican culture swivelled her way to me and offered me a maraca, which I gladly accepted. The thing I liked in particular about this item was that it was stamped “heche en thailand.” Dude, the mexicans are outsourcing to thailand? The global economy has never been tighter - or drunker!
* I was going to go to the session on “defining leadership,” until I realized that that was what it was called. I thought it was “defying leadership.” Now that’s training I could use.
* Staggering - no, let’s make that strolling, strolling back up 6th street to my hotel after another evening of heavy food and substantial imbibement, I was accosted by a young man who cut quite an image: shave-headed, muscular, a young adult with mocha skin in a wifebeater and faded jeans, he opened his pitch with a phrase I would not have expected to be successful: “You a cop? You look like a cop. You got your build on, right, so you prob’ly a cop. But I don’t care. I just don’t. ‘Cuz I’m a westside nigga from Chicago till the day I die. Help a nigga out?” I didn’t even realize I’d handed him a buck in quarters till I was a block away. I was still floored by being told I had my build on. So maybe I’m not a cop. At all. But at least I look enough like Vic Mackey to confuse a drunken street denizen who’s out of his element. And really, what else is there to look forward to after that?
* Finally, the last plenary we were offered featured a nice speech by Molly Ivins, as much a Texas tradition as chauvenism or sexy cheerleading. Here are Molly’s “Rules for Survival as a Liberal in Texas”:
> Things are not getting worse - they’ve always been this bad.
> Things could be worse.
> Things will get worse. These are the good old days and you’d better enjoy them while you can or you’ll feel like a fool later.
> Adversity has the capacity to improve us.
> Hard times make for great stories.
Well said, Molly. Worth the price of admission right there.
And, so they don’t get lost or lonely, here are two remaining leftover notes from Minden, Nevada:
* The motel where I stayed had some wax-paper bags set out for guest usage. I can guess what they were intended for, but if I hadn’t had an active imagination (for a guy, I mean), the legend printed on the items themselves wouldn’t have helped much: “Necessities Courtesy Bag - for your needs away from home.“ The euphemism has been elevated to an artform, would you not say?
* David’s response to the keno maid’s announcement to us at our breakfast table, where Ruth and Jules had just unsuccessfully tried their luck, that no one had won the last game, but we could try again if we liked: “I don’t need someone coming around to my table to tell me I’m a loser.”
And with that, I’ll let you loose on your wednesday. Don’t frug anything I wouldn’t frug.
