You've got to pay attention to any town whose motto is "Keep Austin Weird."
You see it on coffee mugs, T shirts, hats, even socks.
Of course, anywhere else in that state you might think "Keep Texas Weird" might apply.
Austin is an island of blue in a sea of Red.
Texas is not just Red, it's holy roller insane.
Lubbock, Texas is where that sixteen year old girl was nearly run out of town for advocating for sexual education in the schools.
Texas is where conspiracy theory erupts in spontaneous generation from radio stations which carry Alex Jones, who knows the moon landing was a government fake, that the Sandy Hook shootings were staged and fake news, that President Obama is a space alien sent to destroy the United States, that Robert E. Lee is alive and being held captive by ISIS and Lee Harvey Oswald was a Democratic operative sent to kill Kennedy to provoke a Civil War. (Other than that, Mr. Jones is just a regular guy.)
Austin has the Congress Street Bridge, which spans the Colorado river--yes that Colorado River--which is very placid by the time it reaches Austin, and the bridge just happens to have an under surface with concrete recesses which proved irresistible to a species of bat which likes to hang upside down underneath until dusk, when the bats all swarm out to go hunting for insects.
This attracts a huge crowd of human beings every night--tourists and townspeople--who simply love looking at swarms of bats. They line the bridge surface; they bob around in the river below the bridge in kayaks and they sprawl over the grassy knoll--Texas is big on grassy knolls--across from the bridge on the far shore.
After they watch the bats lift off, the crowds walk back to the many live music places which line Sixth Street, where there is live music and ample opportunity to drink alcohol and talk about bats.
Along the streets, you are accosted by 20 to 30 year old men, vagrants, who sprawl out on the sidewalks calling out, "Got a dollar?" These panhandler Western versions of Bowery bums are not interested in spare change. They quite specifically want a dollar. There are a lot of homeless, street grimy young men in Austin.
The best thing about Austin, from the Phantom's point of view, is the grackle bird. It looks something like a crow but it is much louder--the name is of obscure origin, but might have something to do with the word "cackle" because the bird is very noisy and might just be laughing.
It has found its niche among outdoor cafes, which are everywhere in Austin, and it will swoop down the instant patrons have vacated a table and the grackle goes to work on whatever French Fries, tortillas, bread, salad has been left behind on the table tops and they stand their ground, confronting any waiter or busboy who tries to clear the table.
They are said to have a special taste for mussels in green sauce, but that was from a waiter who expressed special antipathy for the birds and it's not clear how reliable he was.
Why the birds wait until the diners are finished their meal is anybody's guess, but they certainly are not afraid of people. It's almost as if the birds have decided this is a question of fair play: You get to eat your meal--you paid for it, after all--but I get to finish up whatever you do not eat. That is the grackle's share.
The Phantom is now the proud owner of a T shirt that shows a grackle and says, "Grackle got no boss," which, apparently, is an Austin expression meaning, the Phantom supposes, grackles ain't got no boss.
You see it on coffee mugs, T shirts, hats, even socks.
Of course, anywhere else in that state you might think "Keep Texas Weird" might apply.
Austin is an island of blue in a sea of Red.
Texas is not just Red, it's holy roller insane.
Lubbock, Texas is where that sixteen year old girl was nearly run out of town for advocating for sexual education in the schools.
Texas is where conspiracy theory erupts in spontaneous generation from radio stations which carry Alex Jones, who knows the moon landing was a government fake, that the Sandy Hook shootings were staged and fake news, that President Obama is a space alien sent to destroy the United States, that Robert E. Lee is alive and being held captive by ISIS and Lee Harvey Oswald was a Democratic operative sent to kill Kennedy to provoke a Civil War. (Other than that, Mr. Jones is just a regular guy.)
Austin has the Congress Street Bridge, which spans the Colorado river--yes that Colorado River--which is very placid by the time it reaches Austin, and the bridge just happens to have an under surface with concrete recesses which proved irresistible to a species of bat which likes to hang upside down underneath until dusk, when the bats all swarm out to go hunting for insects.
This attracts a huge crowd of human beings every night--tourists and townspeople--who simply love looking at swarms of bats. They line the bridge surface; they bob around in the river below the bridge in kayaks and they sprawl over the grassy knoll--Texas is big on grassy knolls--across from the bridge on the far shore.
After they watch the bats lift off, the crowds walk back to the many live music places which line Sixth Street, where there is live music and ample opportunity to drink alcohol and talk about bats.
Along the streets, you are accosted by 20 to 30 year old men, vagrants, who sprawl out on the sidewalks calling out, "Got a dollar?" These panhandler Western versions of Bowery bums are not interested in spare change. They quite specifically want a dollar. There are a lot of homeless, street grimy young men in Austin.
The best thing about Austin, from the Phantom's point of view, is the grackle bird. It looks something like a crow but it is much louder--the name is of obscure origin, but might have something to do with the word "cackle" because the bird is very noisy and might just be laughing.
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| Don't mess with grackle |
It has found its niche among outdoor cafes, which are everywhere in Austin, and it will swoop down the instant patrons have vacated a table and the grackle goes to work on whatever French Fries, tortillas, bread, salad has been left behind on the table tops and they stand their ground, confronting any waiter or busboy who tries to clear the table.
They are said to have a special taste for mussels in green sauce, but that was from a waiter who expressed special antipathy for the birds and it's not clear how reliable he was.
Why the birds wait until the diners are finished their meal is anybody's guess, but they certainly are not afraid of people. It's almost as if the birds have decided this is a question of fair play: You get to eat your meal--you paid for it, after all--but I get to finish up whatever you do not eat. That is the grackle's share.
The Phantom is now the proud owner of a T shirt that shows a grackle and says, "Grackle got no boss," which, apparently, is an Austin expression meaning, the Phantom supposes, grackles ain't got no boss.
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