If anyone had told me five years ago that I'd be living in Texas, I'd have kicked them. Or, more likely, verbally berated Texas, its inhabitants and the thought that I'd ever be capable of showing my face there.
Yet here I am.
When I met Brian at the Library Bar, a filthy, fabulous, punk rock dive on Avenue A (home to what I consider to be the best jukebox in the city), I didn't really notice his mohawk or commentary, but his Oregon Trail shirt. He continued to impress me with his wit, snarkiness and progressive views. Then he had to go and discuss obscure grunge bands of the early 90s and LucasArts adventure games, two topics I've never had much success garnering an audience with. What's this? A kind, interesting, intelligent person from Texas? Am I to believe that you're not all racist, inbred bigots? Quel surprise! And thus, my obligatory Northern stereotype of the Texan began to crumble.
After several years in Brooklyn, Brian asked me to join him in his move to Telluride, CO, and I did. As much as I love it, I've always said that one of the best things about living in New York is leaving it.
One year and one torn MCL later, we decided to nix our plans to spend another season there and move to Austin instead. His family is here, and it's without doubt one of the best places in the country to be if you care about music. We care about music a lot.
Granted, Austin is the little blue oasis of big, red Texas, but still; they eat a lot of barbecue and have weird, white gravy which they put on everything. And it was my idea. I suggested we move to Texas. The girl from New York with a "not my president" Bush sticker on her car who hates the heat. It reminds me of what David Sedaris wrote in Me Talk Pretty One Day on his move to Normandy from New York City: "you meet a guy, relinquish a tiny bit of control, and the next thing you know, you're eating a different part of the pig".
So,here I am (not rocking you like a hurricane in the least, sadly), in Austin. It's late December and 72°. Mugginess abounds. New York's terribly humid and Summers there are dreadful and disgusting, but there's reprieve and snow. I feel like I'm in an alternate universe half the time, but not in a bad way, per se. Something akin to traveling around with Doctor Who, exploring new worlds and races, except not nearly as amazing; let's not kid ourselves, nothing is going to top a phone box traveling through space and time.
We've been here for two months now, and I'm most curious to see what the next year brings. I shall document these things, along with my various ramblings and observations here, where the world shall sit enthralled by my drivel. Or not. Most likely the latter.