Month: January 2019

Pet-a-Palooza

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SAT., AUG. 30, 2003

The truth about cats and dogs is that either one makes a better pet than a ferret. Owning any animal that would just as soon lap up your blood than look at you is a bad idea, but keeping a pet that loudly crunches dried cat food at 3 in the morning and drags your socks off (singly, not in pairs) to a pile of brush behind the garage is clearly an indicator of some deeper, more disturbing neurosis. Sure, ferrets are cute – precious until they clamp down on your unsuspecting houseguest’s wrist, darling until you discover that the unholy stench coming from the back of your closet is an eviscerated rat carcass, silly until you find your $200 Mephisto pumps in the middle of the living room looking like they’ve taken a couple of spins in the garbage disposal. It’s not easy to own a pet whose behavior so strongly contradicts its suitability for domestication. There is a reason for the mink coat. It’s anger. Cats and dogs, on the other hand, are much less likely to bite the hand that feeds them, regardless of how much sweet, dark blood is coursing through it. This is not to say cats don’t have their own irritating quirks and idiosyncrasies, but merely the fact that they’ve been shedding dander and ignoring their owners since the days of the pharaohs is testament enough to their usefulness as companions. What other pet rates a statue the size of the Sphinx? Dogs, too, have been earning their keep for ages as man’s best friend, and even if they spread trash all over your living room and crap on the linoleum, you can rest assured they’re doing it out of total, unconditional love. The best thing about pets is that they are great training for relationships. Having to care for and about another living being is an essential part of being an attractive mate, and as with any good relationship, the one with your pet takes time, effort, and understanding. That’s why this Saturday you should put in some time at Pet-a-Palooza out at the Travis County Expo Center. Yes the name is an abomination, but the concept looks like a lot of fun. Of course there will be the obligatory booths hawking pet wares and services, but there will also be a Fattest Cat Competition, a Pet/Owner Look-Alike Contest, Weenie Dog Races, a Stupid Animal Tricks Contest, and a Miss/Mr. Pet-a-Palooza Fashion Show (like you needed another reason to dress up the ferret).

SAT., AUG. 30, 2003

Austin Chronicle Hot Sauce Festival

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SUN., AUG. 24, 2003

It’s three weeks into August, and with the monsoon season safely behind us, it’s time to get out and really enjoy the sunshine. Never mind that the temperature’s solidly in the triple digits, and even briefly exposed skin is likely to take on the color and texture of beef jerky if it’s not slathered with a thick layer of sunscreen. This is Austin in August. This is the page that’s torn out of our travel brochure; the hazing ritual for all of the doe-eyed, dough-bellied northerners who’ve come south for a little fun in the sun. Oh, wait … you were looking for San Diego. Austin in August is Phoenix with humidity. Of course, in the desert it at least gets cool at night. Here it just gets dark. People find ways to cope. For the more fragile flowers, air conditioning seems to do the trick. Others swear by Barton Springs which, on a mercilessly hot day, is every bit worth the shrinkage. Then there are those who break down and buy a frozen-margarita machine – an excellent idea if you have a few extra dollars to burn and aren’t a mean drunk. The rest of us just live with the sweat: nature’s natural coolant. In fact, if you’re hot and not sweating, something’s seriously wrong. It’s called heat stroke, and you may want to back off the margaritas for a while. Otherwise, if you’re schvitzing, you’re in good shape. In fact, in Austin you don’t even have to break a sweat to break a sweat. Take this Sunday’s Austin Chronicle Hot Sauce Festival at Waterloo park for instance. Thousands of Austinites will be sweating for a good cause (the Capital Area Food Bank) by doing nothing more than drinking beer, sampling chips and hot sauce, and listening to live music. Beats the hell out of running a 10K, doesn’t it? Youbetcha. Especially since admission to the Hot Sauce Festival is free with the donation of a nonperishable food item. You’ll still need some folding money for things like beer and food from some of Austin’s favorite restaurants, but all in all, it’s a cheap sweat. Think of it this way: When was the last time you got to see Patricia Vonne, Grupo Fantasma, and the Derailers for a can of beans? When will you ever get to see them again for that price – especially with complimentary appetizers?

Salvage Vanguard Labor Party

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SAT., AUG. 16, 2003

When it comes to keeping Austin weird, nobody steps up to the plate like local theatre. Sure this town is lousy with freaks, fops, and funsters hellbent on subverting the norm, but none go at it with the alacrity of the thespian set (one notable exception being Leslie Cochran, who is arguably Austin’s longest-running performance-art piece). No doubt a need for attention is an essential element in weirdness, but following a close second is a flair for the dramatic. The only thing weirder than a freaky-looking musician is a mime. Don’t try to explain it. It is what it is. One night at Cirque du Soleil is far more unsettling than a week on the Iron Maiden tour bus. Musicians, regardless of how strangely dressed, pretty much are who they are. Actors however, are never who they really are even when they are trying to be who they really are. How weird is that? Maybe not Leslie Cochran weird, but if you dress them up in a stewardess outfits and run them for mayor, most actors would give Leslie a serious run for his money – especially if they pretended to climb imaginary stairs or wash imaginary windows. Therefore, if you truly want to keep Austin weird, you might consider saving the cash you were going to spend on that T-shirt or bumper sticker and throwing it at a local theatre company. Feeding a starving actor is an act of mercy similar to putting out a bowl of milk for a stray kitten. You never know whether the kitten loves you back, but it always shows up for the bowl of milk. The bonus in the case of the actor is that very often it will entertain you and in some extreme cases even sleep with your roommate. This Saturday from 7:30-10:00pm the Salvage Vanguard Theater is throwing the Salvage Vanguard Labor Party, a fundraiser featuring a silent auction, cash bar, and previews of the company’s upcoming shows. There’s no cover at the door, but between the silent auction and the cash bar, you should find a way to milk the theatrical cat and meet a few interesting (weird?) people.

Camp Hacknslash

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SAT., AUG. 9, 2003

It’s been a long, hard day of Frisbee golf, and after skateboarding all the way home carrying a Slurpee, a microwave burrito, and a king-sized bag of Funyuns, all you really want to do is eat dinner and veg out with your GameCube until you’re blissfully overcome by sweet slumber. It’s tough being a grownup in Austin, but fortunately you possess the good sense to know when to relax and get some shuteye. Then, just about the time your eyelids get heavy and your fingers slide off the joystick, Tim League appears on your windowsill in a leafy green shirt and green tights and beckons you off to Neverland. Looks like another all-nighter with the Lost Boys and Girls from Alamo Drafthouse. This Saturday, Ain’t It Cool News and the Drafthouse are hosting Camp Hacknslash, an all day summer camp with an all-night summer camp horror movie marathon. For a paltry $40, campers will receive a Camp Hacknslash T-shirt, tube socks, a nutritious dinner, fruit punch, s’mores, and a nutritious breakfast along with a quadruple feature of camp-themed horror films shown on the Alamo’s huge, inflatable screen. The evening will also feature a world premiere theatrical screening of Freddy Vs. Jason with Freddy and Jason (Robert Englund and Ken Kirzinger) live in person. Grisly horror movies aren’t the only fun on the bill either. Daytime activities include a nature walk, capture the flag, a hot dog eating contest, three-legged races, an egg toss, a wet T-shirt contest, bong building, dodge ball, a snipe hunt, archery, tubing, and more, though not necessarily in that order (for instance, the intelligent choice would be to put the hot dog eating contest after the bong building). Campers who survive the day will enjoy even more excitement that night. In addition to the horror films, campers will also be treated to s’mores, campfire stories, and a Q&A session with the stars and director of Freddy Vs. Jason including Kelly Rowland from Destiny’s Child. If that doesn’t keep you up, what will? Camp starts at 3pm at an undisclosed location within 20 minutes of Austin, but campers need to show up at 2pm so they can be divided into tribes and be assigned a camp counselor. Historically, summer camp is the ultimate place to meet members of the opposite sex and bed them on rickety cots in secluded cabins, but keep in mind, the camp brochure states that “all fornicators and sleepers will be butchered.” Well, that’s one way to never grow up.

Em & Lo’s Big Bang Sex Drive Book Tour

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TUE., AUG. 5, 2003

Since the personals became such a huge phenomenon back in the early Nineties, publishers have been devoting increasing amounts of space to love/dating/sex-themed content. The idea being, perhaps, that those using the personals need help above and beyond a phone number for a lunch date. The result has been an overwhelming glut of advice columns, many interesting and informative, some not. It would be a gross understatement to say that the advice column has been beaten like a dead horse over the past decade. Rather, it has been pounded flat like road kill. Because seemingly there is no untraversed feature of the human anatomy/psychology, the emphasis in advice columns has shifted from the mundane neuroses of Middle America to something more closely resembling a Marquis de Sade therapy session. These days, if you’re not exquisitely versed on binding hamster legs, safe scrotal shaving, colonic irrigation, and fisting you’re probably not getting much print space. It could well be that America has finally, truly uncorked its inhibitions and is revealing its inner superfreak, or perhaps advice columns have become the sensationalized, Ricki Lake style mutant magnets of the print/online world. Either way, it’s fun on a huge, turgid, throbbing stick. One of the better columns these days is the “Em & Lo Down,” written by Emma Taylor and Lorelei Sharkey for Nerve.com. Each week Em & Lo give near expert advice on everything from hickies to coochie cleanliness to anal sex with a strap-on. Occasionally they’ll even throw in some advice on dating or placing personal ads – the terminally long filler material in the porn flicks of most lives. Em & Lo definitely know the ups and downs of sex and dating, but what makes them special in the advice world is their willingness to take it from readers. The result is that everyone gets edified and hopefully, in the end, satisfied. With any luck that’s what will happen this Tuesday at BookPeople when local writer and raconteur Spike Gillespie hosts a book signing for Em & Lo to promote their new book, The Big Bang: Nerve’s Guide to the New Sexual Universe ($25, Plume). Along with Em & Lo’s standard Q&A session on sex, lucky locals will be treated to their Anal Sex Safety Lecture, for which Em & Lo will be decked out in full flight attendant garb – as well as (knock, knock, are we still in Austin?) porno-funk-smut music by the Polished Skull of Jackie Collins which, rumor has it, is made up of members of Grupo Fantasma and the Blue Noise Band, as if those names weren’t sexy enough.

Grease Sing-Along

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SAT., JULY 26, 2003

You don’t have to be gay to love Grease (the musical, not the lubricant … and not the island either … if you’re spelling-challenged), but it sure makes the explanation a whole lot easier – especially if you’re a man. If John Travolta’s tough-guy antics as Vinnie Barbarino on Welcome Back, Kotter were a tough sell to the testosterone set, his performance as Danny in Grease relegated him to the Isle of Sensitive Men until he rescued himself nearly 20 years later by debraining a kid in the back seat of Samuel L. Jackson’s car in Pulp Fiction. The debraining was a mistake, yes, but an exceptionally macho one worthy of a couple of roles involving green-and-black face paint and a bayonet clenched between the teeth. Unfortunately, Travolta wasted that juice making the abominable L. Ron Hubbard flick Battlefield Earth, which was notable only for the fact that it allowed him to wear higher platforms than he sported in Saturday Night Fever. Unquestionably, the shoes Johnny feels most comfortable in are dancing ones, and the Holy Trinity of Travolta will always be Saturday Night Fever, Urban Cowboy, and Grease. Among the three, Grease is the most timeless (in a very period way) and most beloved – not because Travolta actually sings while he dances, but because the whole movie is dripping with camp, costumes, and color – arguably the last great musical until their recent, flashy resurgence in the early years of the third millennium. Grease also has a wicked catchy soundtrack; frenetic, bubbly choreography; and a plot rehashed countless times all the way back to the ancient … well … uh … Greeks. All of this makes Grease (the musical, not the isle) the perfect centerpiece for an Austin Gay and Lesbian International Film Festival fundraiser – so perfect, in fact that this Saturday aGLIFF, along with Project Transitions, will be hosting the fourth annual Grease Sing-Along at the Paramount Theatre. Put on your poodle skirt or leather jacket, and join a full house of hand jiving, sock hopping, hopelessly devoted Grease fans as they belt out tune after tune. Who cares, it’s not like John was spot-on himself, eh? And, if you can’t even remember the words, this special screening has subtitles, and Grease is the word.

Texas Rollergirls Roller Derby

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SUN., JULY 20, 2003

Where classlessness and camp abound

If this Sunday is like last Sunday, it’s pretty evident that God wants you to spend it indoors – possibly in a nicely air-conditioned church. His house. Hizzouse if you want to say it like Snoop. The other alternative is to stay outside and watch your skin blister, pop, and sizzle like bacon in a skillet, which might be fascinating if, like Snoop, you’re smoking really good weed, but if you’re anything less than half-baked, you’re going to want to park it where the sun doesn’t shine. Churches are good for that, but ultimately they don’t hold a candle (votive or otherwise) to a good roller derby match for sheer entertainment value. This Sunday at Playland Skate Center the Texas Rollergirls will rock the hizzouse with an exciting, action-packed doubleheader. In the first bout, the Hotrod Honeys, sporting black shorts and sassy pink tops, will throw down against the Hell Marys, a naughty Catholic schoolgirl-themed squad. The second bout features the Honky Tonk Heartbreakers who do their business in daisy dukes, fringed western shirts, and cowgirl hats, squaring off against the Hustlers, a streetwalker-styled set of strumpets pimped out in purple with names like Cheap Trixie, Sedonya Face, and Pussy Velour. If all this sounds a little trashy, it is. It’s roller derby. Classlessness and camp abound but with a uniquely Austin spin. Nowhere else in this state and certainly not this decade can you find a Sunday sporting match so wacky and happily depraved. Yes, there’s sport involved. There is competition. There is also booze, burlesque, and bands. (What? You didn’t think rollergirls have roommates?) This Sunday’s music will be provided by the Pink Swords, a fun-loving bunch of punkers with a phallic motif, and the Applicators, a girl group with a more gynecological groove. The $10 admission is a pittance to pay to see hot chicks scrap in skimpy costumes. The bands alone are worth that price, but if you’re feeling guilty because it’s the Lord’s Day, you can relax and enjoy the spectacle knowing that a portion of the proceeds go to the Children’s Advocacy Center of Texas.

Ray Benson In-Store at Waterloo Records

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July 11, 2003

Things haven’t completely gone Aspen

If you hear an exasperated sigh from the tie-dyed, Birkenshod, Ewok-looking gent in front of you at the checkout at Whole Foods, it’s probably because he is remembering a time when a sixer of Shiner didn’t completely empty his embroidered Guatemalan change purse. More than likely, he’s just an innocent out-of-towner who stumbled into town with fond memories of a time when Austin was still cheap and easy. Nowadays things are a little more fast and furious. The nut seemed to turn shortly after Richard Linklater’s cinematic ode to creative loafing blew up and became the travel brochure that turned Austin from Slackerville to Hand-to-Mouthville. Invariably, hip people with no money are followed closely by hip people with stacks of it. From there, things can get out of hand and you end up with things like dress codes, doormen, and valet parking. By the turn of the millennium, the tech boom pretty much put the kibosh on cheap living, but there are still a few vestiges of the days when Texas Pride was $1.25 at the HEB, and if you were feeling particularly well heeled you could upgrade to the Falstaff over on the generic aisle for $1.49. There’s the Tamale House for instance, and Sandy’s Frozen Custard down on Barton Springs, the Dart Bowl bar, Deep Eddy Cabaret, and of course, relative newcomers like Beerland and Maria’s Taco X-Press, and you can still live cheaply and central if you’re willing to swap the ’04 on your zip code with the ’02 – so things haven’t completely gone Aspen. There’s also the cheap music. You may be hemorrhaging cash for everything else, but if you’re paying much more than a 10-spot to hear live music, you need to broaden your horizons. Every week, hundreds of musicians of staggering talent play for little more than tips and beer, and if you’re not getting in on that action, you’re paying too much to live here. For example: This Friday at Waterloo Records, Ray Benson will be doing an in-store for free. Where else in America can you see a nine-time Grammy winner for free and get free beer? What other state/city/town/mental institution even has a nine-time Grammy winner? Sure, there are probably a few, but none of them clock in at over six feet six inches (which by the way is an excellent height for a crowded in-store viewing). If you’ve been in Austin more than a couple of weeks and you haven’t seen Ray, you need to look up – or at least go to Waterloo this Friday. Ray is a larger-than-life entertainer and if you’re not so much into Western swing, just relax, enjoy the show, and sample some of the best-tasting beer in the world: free.

The Santaland Diaries

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JAN. 3, 2003

You’re probably still shaking confetti out of your hair from Tuesday and it’s already the weekend. Maybe ought three really is going to be your year. The calendar ahead is 362 days of beckoning white space, an empty canvas on which to paint the bold strokes of your ambition, insight and whimsy. Go ahead, fill it up. It’s the new year and your glass is only half full. Get a haircut. Lose some weight. Take Russian. Volunteer. Find a new job. Move. Learn an instrument. Skydive. Read Ulysses. Run a marathon. Meditate. Study theatre. Dance. Join the circus. Climb Everest. Cure cancer. Bite off way more than you can chew. Drag out your faded, wrinkled, shrunken soul and hang it on the clothesline of irrepressible optimism. It’s a new year.

O.K., now that you’re solidly screwed into 2003 and the ugly specter of the holidays no longer looms, wouldn’t it be a scream to relive them again through the twisted mind of a Macy’s Department Store elf? You bet it would. This weekend is your last chance to catch David’s Sedaris’ wicked funny “The Santaland Diaries” at the Zachary Scott Theatre. “The Santaland Diaries” is based on Sedaris’s best-selling book, Holidays on Ice which details the real-life experiences of Sedaris’ stint in the department store elf game. Or is it a racket? Whatever the case, anyone who has ever worked retail during the holidays knows that you don’t have to don an Elf suit to experience humiliation, bitterness and resentment, but it certainly helps. This year’s return engagement is directed by Dave Steakley and stars Martin Burke, who won “Best Actor in a Comedy” for his portrayal of Krumpet the Fun Time Elf. You could be a fun time elf too, especially if your glass is half empty.

Chris Duarte Group

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FRI. DEC. 27, 2002

It can drive you to drink… all of this lumbering around aimlessly in the bloated, dull, dog days that occupy the “taint space” between Christmas and New Year’s. After Boxing Day, the thrill is gone, baby. Sure, there’s that smidgen of anticipatory excitement about the inevitable letdown of New Year’s Eve, but that doesn’t really kick in until a few days prior. Plus, even the slightest quickening of the pulse is sure to be stifled by a tedious afternoon of simmer down in the exchange lines at the mall. Here in the meat of the holiday sandwich things are thick and bland. Predictably, the sauce is on the edges. It’s commonly held that life slows down at the end, not only for the tennis-ball-walker-clutching blue hairs but also for the chuteless twentysomething skydiver who packs a lifetime of memories into the last few seconds before impact. No matter how long the trip, there is always that mental slo-mo photo finish. For most folks this is probably a good thing, the end should be a time for rest and reflection – especially when you know that in a few days you’re going to have to dust yourself off and go at it again. Here’s a suggestion to help you clean out the cobwebs: sashay over to the Saxon and check out Austin’s most criminally underpraised guitar god, Chris Duarte. In a town full of jaw-dropping musical talent, Chris Duarte has always left awestruck audiences in his wake. Stevie, Eric, Monte and others may soak up a lot of ink, and rightfully so, but Chris is every bit as deserving. Perhaps he’s been overlooked because he’s often out of town more than in, but Austin’s reputation as a musical Mecca surely benefits from his ambassadorship. Go to Friday night’s show and you’ll see why. Maybe now, in the slowest part of the season you will be able to actually see Duarte’s fingers as they blaze across the fretboard. Maybe.