Austin is Already Weird

Oh dear God, how do I even begin to whirl together a narrative that will do tonight justice? It was Weird in the best style Austin has to deliver, strange yet strangely perfect. Let me begin with a bit of background...

Every time my friend Erin and I go out, there is this peculiar chemical reaction that takes place and we just attract random, fabulous situations out of nowhere. The night always starts out straightforward enough - "Let's go grab a cocktail," or "We'll just have some dinner and call it an early night." Our intentions are there, but somehow things *never* end up that way. In our evenings together we have crashed parties at strangers' houses, spoken a dozen foregin languages, danced bluegrass, and met members of what I swear is the Moroccan mafia.

We've been on a run lately, though, with each night out somehow surpassing the last in terms of randomness and fabulousness. But tonight...ha! Tonight crowned them all and then ran off, leaving us agape in the parking lot wondering what the hell had happened.

We decided to check out Toni Price's regular Tuesday night gig at the Continental Club, one of Austin's stubbornly authentic haunts on South Congress. Toni's voice filled up the room with blues and Texas twang so soulful it defied her petite frame, pretty face, and long gray hair. She held a drink in her hand, and Erin and I both agreed that the show got increasingly entertaining the more Toni sipped and let her voice go.

After a few minutes, three guys approached us and offered to buy a round of drinks. Now I'm pretty good at the "guess my nationality" game, but these guys had me stumped. From their accents, I would have guessed Scottish, maybe Welsh, like the actors in Trainspotting where you know they're speaking English yet can't understand a damn thing. But the image was all wrong. Although their jeans were tight, a sure sign of a Brit, they were tight in a Belen High School 4-H Club kind of a way, not a metrosexual Europop kind of a way. And they all looked Mexican, especially one guy that resembled my ex-boyfriend Oscar only 40 pounds heavier and much more abrasive. To top it off, these boys knew how to rock the mullet. We're talking bald in front with a nappy, shoulder-length party going on in back. I finally broke down and asked where they were from.

I think it is only appropriate to dedicate this moment to the town of Wallace, Louisiana.

Dear Wallace,

My sincere congratulations. You have perfected the formula for producing top quality, country-fed, mixed ethnicity REDNECKS. May you continue to shape the denizens of St. John the Baptist county with the culture and refined social graces necessary to work at Golden Chick'n and travel the south in an El Camino.

Yours truly,
Ali

Honest to God, I have never met people like the Wallace Three in my entire life. My friend Erin had a leg up, being from the Florida panhandle and all, but even she was shocked at the back-ass-wards-ness of it all. The guys were all half Black and half Dutch, self-described gypsies that wandered the South in the winter and went to Pennsylvania for the summer. "We just laaiiiike to have a real good taaaiiiime, you know, dancin' and draaiiiinkin' and such. We even got a couple uh reeeaaaal good joints, we do laaaiiiike to smoke and all."

Erin and I stepped out to the back alley for some fresh air, and the Wallace boys followed us so they could, um, smoke their good Louisiana joint in the middle of Congress Ave!! They sparked up and slowly attracted a crowd. First this huge hippie man with tie dye, a headband, John Lennon glasses, and a beard down to his chest walked up and joined in the fun. Then, not two minutes later, who should saunter up but Leslie, Austin's most illustrious homeless cross-dressing political advocate. How weird is this city, you ask? Just last year Leslie ran for mayor, decked out in his fuschia thong and devilish goatee, pushing for less corruption in the police department.

And there we were, watching Leslie, the large hippie, and the Louisiana rednecks smoke pot in the middle of a busy street on a Tuesday night. Doesn't seem like the "Keep Austin Weird" campaign has much to worry about. And I don't, either. Life is good.

Erin and I walked back into the Continental Club and danced the night away to a Western Swing band with an upright bass and an accordion, laughing at the characters we'd met. Truly, we agreed, the night had been the epitome of Austin.

Oh, I will miss this strange, delightful place.