Luv Doc Writings

Michael Ventura ‘If I Was a Highway’ Booksigning

The Luv Doc Recommends

April 20, 2011

Right now is a really bad time to go hunting jackrabbits with that vintage World War II flamethrower you’ve been storing in your attic. Surely no one would argue that idea is positively rank with the stench of depraved genius (after all, who doesn’t want to woast those wascawy wabbits?), but it will have to wait for a wetter month. May maybe? April has been a dry hole so far, and Mother Nature spent the last nine months cooking Texas up a big batch of extra crispy. You may have to postpone your bottle rocket war as well. After all, desperate times call for desperate measures, and there are plenty of ways to put your eye out that don’t involve incendiary devices. For that matter, there are plenty of ways to kill yourself without smoking cigarettes – prettier and less painful too. Perhaps none of them are as satisfying as taking that last long toke that burns nearly down to the filter, then tossing the smoldering butt into your pickup bed where it will … Jesus! That was quite a crosswind, wasn’t it? Who saw that coming? Is it your fault the side of the road is a golden tinderbox? You’re not one to play the blame game, but if you were going to start pointing fingers, you’d surely aim one toward the heavens – or perhaps toward KVUE Storm Team meteorologist Mark Murray. Treacherous bastard. You just know he’s back there behind the curtain working those weather levers like the Wizard of Oz … a good man yes, but a very bad wizard. He (God or Mark Murray) might as well be driving around Texas straddling a tanker truck hosing down dry brush with gasoline, whooping and cackling like Slim Pickens at the end of Dr. Strangelove. In the movie, Slim was riding a huge boner/nuclear warhead rather than a gas truck, but the results of either are pretty much the same: a blackened, smoldering hellscape. That describes more than a million acres of real estate in Texas this week and several hundred homes as well. Is this the beginning of the apocalypse? Is it time to stop using your rosary as anal beads and start knocking out some Hail Marys? Well, truly that’s a pretty decent idea regardless of whether you’re going to burn in hell – for safety reasons alone – but it’s doubtful the current conflagration is a sign of end times. Rather, it’s an ecological phenomenon that’s been going on for ages. Good lord, didn’t you read Little House on the Prairie? With the roaring prairie fire in the screaming wind? Whether you live in a wooden house, a sod house, or the Lord’s house, every now and then, things burn. Yes, Texas is experiencing a bleak springtime, but it’s springtime nonetheless, and this weekend we have Easter to remind us (whether gory Christian bloodbath or pastel pagan fertility rite) that life and hope spring eternal, even in the blackest of times. Eventually the charred landscape will get recarpeted in green, homes will be rebuilt, fences will be mended, and lessons will be learned. The first and foremost of which is: Everything changes, just maybe not on our timetable. On a geologic scale, these events and even the whole of human experience are infinitesimal snapshots. It’s a good thing we have people like Michael Ventura to develop these snapshots and give them the importance they deserve. If you’re not intimately familiar with his work, Michael Ventura is the author of the Chronicle‘s “Letters at 3am,” a brilliant column of essays about life, mostly set in the American Southwest. This Friday he appears at BookPeople to promote his latest book, If I Was a Highway, a collection of some of the best “Letters at 3am” essays combined with black-and-white photographs by singer-songwriter/artist/photographer and West Texas desert rat Butch Hancock, whose song of the same name lends the book its title. When it comes to good writing, Ventura is almost always on fire … much like Texas itself.

Texas Burlesque Festival

The Luv Doc Recommends

April 13, 2011

The thing that makes Burlesque neo-feminist is that chicks run the show. How do you know? If dudes were in charge, they would just slather naked girls with baby oil and make them ride a mechanical bull or wrestle in a baby pool filled with Astroglide. Yes, there might be music, but it would probably be something from the oeuvre of Rob Zombie, Hank Williams Jr., or Dr. Dre, and there would surely be alcohol involved, but nothing you couldn’t drink out of a funnel. No, really. That’s it. The nice thing about the male mind is that you never really have to overwork the problem. That’s why men eat Campbell’s soup out of a half-opened can, furnish their homes with cinder blocks and camping chairs, and clean toilets only when being punished by their drill sergeant. As far as sex, crafting doesn’t enter into it – unless maybe it’s some sort of hand-tooled leather spinning fuck harness or a bizarrely shaped prostate massager – both of which are fortunately the kinds of things that most men keep deep on the down low. Lingerie? Nope. Bodices, bustiers, baby dolls, camisoles, corsets, push-up bras, panties, and thongs may seem to enhance sexiness, but compared to full nudity, men see them as annoying obstructions. Yes, wearing sexy clothing might make a woman sexier (as opposed to say, a woman in a full burqa), but being naked makes a woman sexiest. Every time. OK, nearly every time. There are undoubtedly those who look sexier in a burqa. Generally speaking, men don’t need the buildup. They don’t care about foreplay either, nor do they get particularly excited about the slap and tickle. At best, they tolerate it – just like they tolerate ballroom dancing, Whoopi Goldberg movies, and talking about their feelings. Men endure such things because (whether rightly or wrongly) they expect them to pay off – like popping for steak and lobster and a nice bottle of wine at an expensive restaurant. If this concept seems particularly crass, then perhaps you should dine in the manner of the Dutch (who, by the way, boast one of the more progressive European cultures when it comes to gender equality) rather than tarting yourself up like a whore (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and ordering filet mignon and a bottle of Dom. Yes, an attractive woman dressed in stiletto pumps, fishnets, and a bustier is really sexy, but an attractive naked woman with a desire to please (regardless of how insincere) is always sexier. Always. Question is: Are you willing to do what it takes to knock your Victoria’s Secret bill down to next to nothing, or do you prefer to go the smoke-and-mirrors route? Clearly a majority of women choose the latter. In fact, it fuels an entire industry. The good news is that men are willing to tolerate the myth that clothing and accessories make women sexy. Hey, if it gets them laid, who are they to piss on it? Besides, if they didn’t spend all that money on lingerie and accessories, they would probably just spend it on fishing lures, monster trucks, the work of Jesus, or maybe a lifetime subscription to Blueboy magazine. The truth is that even though America handed England a serious ass-whipping a couple of hundred years ago, Queen Victoria still has a firm grip on our nutsack. We still get excited when we see a little skin and even more excited when we see a little more. That’s part of the reason why burlesque continues to be popular. The other part, of course, is all the fun costuming and choreography. Burlesque allows women to turn what society once saw as a crass display of overt sexuality into crafty performance art. It transfers the willingness to rut into the willingness to strut. Is that such a bad thing? Of course not … as long as it pays off. Ideally, the long-term payoff is a less Victorian attitude toward female sexuality. This weekend you can see if it pays off for you in the short term at the 2011 Texas Burlesque Festival, a three-day gathering of burlesque performers from all over America being held at the ND at 501 Studios. Thursday through Saturday you can check out the goods of more than 50 of the best performers from across the country. Ladies with fun names like Shannon Doah, Baby Le’Strange, Pearl E. White, Maye Applebottom, Mary Anne Moan, and Honey Touché. Plus, the event is hosted by none other than Ph.D.-packing porn star, performance artist, and sex educator Annie Sprinkle. Apparently the Burlesque Fest scored even if you don’t.

Sixth Annual Urban Music Festival

The Luv Doc Recommends

April 6, 2011

Holy shit! Close down Highland Mall! It’s Texas Relays weekend! Wait a minute … that was two years ago. Austin has totally changed since then. This year we’re welcoming Texas Relays fans with open arms – no, not the Journey song (that would be so Austin), but more of a figurative embrace of the black community in general. Yes, there are plenty of white Texas Relays fans. After all, somebody’s kids have to be nutty enough to run two-mile relays, toss the hammer, and put the shot. However, Highland Mall didn’t close down early during the 2009 relays because they were afraid that OshKosh and J.Crew would be overrun by wilding white kids. No sir, that was the olden days – back when Highland Mall actually had a J.Crew. These days there is plenty of open space at Highland Mall – both in the parking lot and the mall itself, so Texas Relays fans should find the businesses therein more welcoming than in years past. Can the same be said of Sixth Street and Downtown Austin? Hard to say. It’s a safe bet that most of Downtown Austin is still feeling dirty, cheap, and used from South by Southwest. Yes, business owners are still bathing in the bathtubs of cash they made from what was arguably the largest SXSW ever, but their overworked employees are bound to be feeling a little burned out at this point. Five solid days of handing free Miller Lite tall boys over the bar for no tips is bound to take its toll on the psyche … if not the rotator cuff. At least this weekend’s patrons are more likely to be ordering $8 shots of Patrón than they are $3 cans of Lone Star. Like SXSW, a good bit of the action will be out on the street – not because people’s wristbands won’t even get them in to see a Latvian klezmer band at the Stage, but because a healthy percentage of Texas Relays attendees are underage. Not being able to drink doesn’t mean Sixth Street isn’t exciting – far from it. Like any night club, health club, supermarket, or steam room, Sixth Street is all about seeing and being seen – especially if you’re some kid who drove all the way from Palestine, Texas, in a janky-ass hoopty to be a part of one of Texas’ biggest black social gatherings. Don’t believe it? This year there are more than 60 events and parties hosted by a diverse array of black sports stars, celebrities, and entertainers during the four days of the Texas Relays. All over Austin, from the Expo Center to Lake Travis to even, yes, Emo’s, black culture will hold sway … if only temporarily … and maybe black people from places other than Austin will discover that Austin isn’t so bad after all. In fact, this Saturday things are looking pretty good down at Auditorium Shores for the sixth annual Urban Music Festival. Not only is the weather going to be spectacular, the lineup is going to be pretty fabulous as well. Topping the bill is Charlie Wilson – no, not the guy Tom Hanks played in the movie but “Uncle Charlie” Wilson, R&B artist, Snoop Dogg buddy, and founding member of Tulsa, Okla., funk supergroup the Gap Band, creators of the classic early ’80s dance hit “You Dropped a Bomb on Me.” Joining Uncle Charlie on the bill will be a trio of chart-topping R&B artists: Tank, Ledisi, and N’dambi. If you’re unfamiliar with any of the preceding, it would certainly be worth your while to spend a sunny day at the shores getting educated. After all, if Austin is going to change, it has to come from within.

Dane Sterling, Miss Leslie & the Juke Jointers

The Luv Doc Recommends

Mach 30, 2011

The old adage “It’s not what you got but how you use it” has always been the go-to phrase of the modestly endowed, but after several thousand years of selling the sizzle instead of the steak, it just may be that the little guys have a point, no matter how tiny. According to a recent national sex study, penis size is irrelevant when it comes to giving females pleasure. Yes, that’s both length and girth. This information will surely come as a blow to the penis enlargement industry, whose stock and trade has always been the bottomless well of male insecurity. Turns out size doesn’t really matter after all. So, regardless of whether your sausage is from Vienna or Italy, you still have the same chance of giving a woman the big O. How about that? No need to spend sleepless nights wondering if the size of your wang had anything to do with the fact that your lover was checking her cell phone or reading a People magazine over your shoulder while having sex. Don’t hate the player … hate the game. What may be lacking in your game is vigor, enthusiasm, and a true desire to please – the three factors cited in the study as crucial to female sexual fulfillment. Sure, those kidney-cracking porn penises look impressive even in harshly lit adult videos, but the consensus among average women is that it’s not the size of the dinghy, it’s the motion of the ocean. Yes, you may sometimes feel like a BB rattling around in a bucket, but maybe that’s just because the bucket isn’t wet enough. Maybe you need to work faster, not harder. It doesn’t hurt to be hard, but being hard isn’t enough. You still have to do the work. If nothing else, the study underscores the uselessness of playing the blame game. No longer can your lover point and laugh at your tiny bits and pieces and say, “That’s not working for me.” Wrong! Science is now on your side, and science says it can! Of course, by the same token you can no longer complain that her vajayjay is the size of a first baseman’s mitt. In fact, equipment is immaterial, and science says that yours can handle everything from the Grand Canyon all the way down to a plastic squeeze coin purse, as long as you know how to work it. What a relief! Now the only thing you have to worry about regarding your sex organ is how to grind it properly. No problem! The Innerwebs have thousands and thousands of instructional videos and illustrations to help you do just that. All you have to do is bone up! Remember: It’s not the instrument, but how well you play it. If you’ve been in Austin for more than a couple of weeks, you’ve probably seen that in action. Some scruffy-looking dude pulls an old guitar out of a closet at a party and just blows your mind. Yes, that takes talent, but more importantly, it takes hours and hours of practice and dedication to the craft. If it were all about talent, there would only be one or two ass-kicking guitarists in Austin, but it isn’t. That’s why there are hundreds. The same is true of singer-songwriters. It’s not enough to just have talent; you have to work it. This Friday, one of Austin’s most talented singer-songwriters, Dane Sterling, will be playing at Ginny’s Little Longhorn, one of Austin’s most iconic dive bars/honky-tonks. Sterling has great pipes and songs to match. More importantly, he’s put in the work. Friday he’s sharing the bill with Miss Leslie & the Juke Jointers, classic honky-tonkers from Houston. Ginny’s may be tiny, but it’s been proven that size doesn’t matter, even on April Fools’ Day.

Devo and the Octopus Project

The Luv Doc Recommends

March 23, 2011

If you’re over the age of 30, you’re probably still bitching about all the people, noise, and congestion of South by Southwest. If you’re under 30, you’re probably still telling your friends, “Dude, that was fucking awesome!” Like anything else in life, SXSW is mainly about what you bring to the party. You can dive headfirst into the insanity, or you can stand in the back of the room with your arms folded acting cool. If you chose the latter, you probably found that SXSW went on just fine without you, even if you were wearing a breathtaking array of hair feathers. If you were actually one of the locals flailing around in the grungy tide of humanity that flooded Downtown Austin last week, good for you. You fought the good fight and learned a valuable lesson: You’re not God. You can’t be everywhere at once – even though the people you follow on Twitter seem to be. Truth be told, they were probably lounging in the bar at the Four Seasons eating jalapeño chips and drinking Batinis, tapping out tweets about chilling at Güero’s with Kanye or about how Billy Gibbons sat in with Danny DeVito and Cee Lo at the Invincible Czars showcase at Skinny’s Ballroom. Anything can happen at SXSW … but amazingly it always seems to happen to other, less-deserving people. If you were especially lucky, you ended up in some dingy hole you didn’t even know existed sandwiched between a sweaty, writhing mosh pit and a huge bass cabinet that squashed your innards 120 times a minute. There is a special sort of euphoria that results from literally letting the music sweep you away … or pound you into humble submission like a night of hard fucking. Ideally, you brought an extra change of underwear, a toothbrush, and some heavy-duty earplugs. Yes, the music has to be loud – really loud. Why? Because no matter what show you’re at, there will invariably be someone who wants to yammer on about their sore feet, their wicked hangover, or how they just want to go home, take a bath, and crawl in bed. What better way to encourage them to take care of themselves than by mowing them over with an aural tsunami? Nothing clears a room of unbelievers like a Marshall stack cranked up to 11. Fortunately during SXSW, there are thousands of people wandering the streets willing to fill that space … and now they’re gone. Enjoy. Breath a big, relaxing, peaceful sigh of relief. Things should be quiet for at least a month or so … until the Texas Relays … then the Republic of Texas Biker Rally and Pride weekend … then Fourth of July and the Austin City Limits Music Festival and so on. Face it, Austin is a playground for the rest of the state and arguably the world, so we better get right with it and learn to play nicely with others or we’re just going to get sand kicked in our faces. Down on Willie Nelson Boulevard in the latest addition to our playground, the W Hotel and Austin City Limits‘ new Moody Theater. Rest assured, both will lure even more out-of-towners to the City of the Weird to feast on our artistic cornucopia. Where else can you see Eighties New Wavers Devo paired with Austin’s cutest and coolest electronica band, the Octopus Project? Well, maybe a bunch of other cities because they’re currently on tour, but this is the last show with the Octopus Project before the group teams up with Explosions in the Sky for another round of globe-trotting.

Austin Music Awards

The Luv Doc Recommends

March 15, 2011

Chances are that by Saturday you’ll want to strangle the shit out of anyone carrying an instrument case, sporting an outrageous hairstyle, or handing out any kind of printed material. “So your steampunk barbershop quartet has a 3am unofficial showcase at the Brixton? Well do-re-mi-fa-so what motherfucker?” By Saturday you’ll be sick of free beer but too broke to buy liquor. You’ll also be craving a salad but still eating free barbecue and Wonder Bread. In fact, by Saturday the only thing keeping your digestive tract flowing will be dangerous overdoses of ibuprofen and promotional vitamin C packages. Cannonball those in the morning with a couple of quarts of water, and you’ll experience a vigorous cleanse – something similar to what you’d get after a couple of weeks ingesting nothing but lemon water and cayenne, or drinking Tijuana sewer water. It’s best to travel light anyway, and by Saturday you will have reduced your club crawling essentials to flip-flops, a banana hammock (or daisy dukes), and a lanyard attached to a plastic pocket that contains your South by Southwest badge, ID, credit card, and a pair of dirt- and wax-covered swag earplugs pungent enough to be used as trolling bait for catfish. If those earplugs are that gamey, imagine what must be going on down in those daisy dukes … the only thing that’s keeping you from being trailed by a herd of feral cats is the fact that there are several hundred thousand other roving tuna canneries throwing them off the scent. Maybe you should take a short walk across the bridge to South Congress and pick up one of those overpriced Mexican sundresses. Yes, they’re the same dresses you can buy at the mercado in front of the Fiesta Mart for $15 a pop, but these have cute shit like hummingbirds and geckos silk-screened on them. Regardless of what you pay, Mexican sundresses offer superior ventilation, and if nature is overly insistent, you can cop a squat in the middle of Sixth Street and not cause a big scene. Easy enough, right? As thousands of doe-eyed musicians prove every year, it’s not easy to cause a big scene during SXSW. You have to be truly remarkable. It’s not enough to be a really awesome band that plays really awesome music. You have to be a really awesome band that plays really awesome music, dances like OK Go, dresses like Lady Gaga, and gives away free cocker spaniel puppies at every show. Why? Because the Perez Hilton party has Madonna performing with Justin Bieber on a leash in a gimp suit, free D.O.M and Beluga, a bouncy castle lubed with Astroglide, and gift baskets that include cocaine-filled Fabergé eggs and mittens made of baby seal fur. Oh yeah … and a tribe of pygmies is going to slaughter a bull elephant with machetes. “What was the name of your band again? Oh … that’s right … who gives a fuck?” By Saturday you’ll probably have that phrase tattooed on your forehead. Like every other SXSW attendee, you started out an innocent lover of music and ended up a bitter, jaded, and exhausted hater. Perfect! You are now ready to experience the Austin Music Awards. This Saturday the Chronicle will honor the bands that made it through the meat grinder of the live music capital of the world and came out on top – no small feat. Austin audiences feel like SXSW attendees do year-round, so when they recognize talent, it’s usually legit. Come see for yourself this Saturday at the Austin Music Hall. Yes, there will be awards, but also sizzling sets by the Wagoneers, Joe Ely, Sahara Smith, Will Sexton, Bubble Puppy, Bright Light Social Hour, the Meat Puppets, Roky Erickson, and the God-stomping, 18-piece orchestra Mother Falcon. If you see Mother Falcon and still want to choke the shit out of musicians, you’ll have your work cut out for you.

Mutton Bustin’ at Rodeo Austin

The Luv Doc Recommends

March 9, 2011

You didn’t spend all that money flying to Texas just to experience the same bullshit blue-state bourgeois brownnosing you were trying to get away from. Even though you knowingly signed up for the largest cultural conclave in the Western Hemisphere – a veritable clusterfuck of desperation, sycophancy, and unbridled egomania – somewhere in some naive corner of your heart you were hoping to walk out of the terminal at the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport and immediately mount a mechanical bull … ideally one with Scott Glenn at the controls, maybe wearing a black-mesh shirt. After all, your travel itinerary said Texas, not Greenwich Village. You came here to drink longnecks, gnaw barbecue off a mastodon-sized bone, and speak with a hostile disregard for the conventions of grammar – maybe even buy a faux-distressed straw cowboy hat for about 15 times what it costs to have some 7-year-old Chinese orphan weave it. Don’t worry about the orphan; think about how fly it will look with your Salvatore Ferragamo side-zipper boots! Besides, Texas is no place to get on your human-rights high horse – especially where kids are concerned. Texans will subject children to just about anything except a good education: kiddie beauty pageants, craft fairs, vacation Bible school, Chuck E. Cheese’s, greased-pig chasing, and perhaps the pinnacle of tough love, mutton bustin’. No, that’s not some obscure porn term like “flying camel” or “reverse cowgirl”; it’s an actual rodeo event in which children between the ages of 5 and 7 (weighing less than 55 pounds) ride bareback on sheep. Yes, you read that right. Hilarious, you say? Youbetcha! Like their older bull-riding counterparts, it’s rare when a brave/horrified little tyke doesn’t get flung haphazardly to the dirt. Rodeo ain’t for sissies. Plus, spectacularly awkward dismounts (rag doll windmills, somersaults with limbs akimbo, wicked face plants) are rewarded with gasps from the crowd, light beer shooting through nostrils, and, in certain instances, a ride in a real ambulance! Rest assured, nothing mans up a little cowboy (or -girl) like a white-knuckled thrill ride on the back of a terrified sheep. In L.A. or New York they might call that type of aggressive parenting abusive, but here in Texas, we call it Country Strong! Go ahead and wipe that condescending smirk off your face. We’re not complete barbarians. Thanks to the worrywarts nowadays, every kid who “chooses” to participate has to wear a helmet and a protective vest. Yes, it’s embarrassing, but it’s not as embarrassing as a rattail, face paint, or a pint-sized Cleveland Cavaliers jersey. Still, regardless of what your mind tells you about mutton bustin’, your gut is probably telling you it’s something not to be missed – like a donkey show in Tijuana, a hash house in Amsterdam, or the grotto at the Playboy Mansion. Yes, you’re going to feel a little dirty and somewhat morally compromised, but in the end you’ll have a memory that will last a lifetime. OK, ready? Time to go make some memories. Take a trip out to the Travis County Expo Center this Saturday for Rodeo Austin. Get your fill of carnival rides, funnel cake, Texas music, and the heady aroma of hay, manure, dust, and cotton candy! Mutton bustin’ starts at 7pm, so beer up early.

5X5Y: 25 Years of SXSW Music

The Luv Doc Recommends

March 2, 2011

If this year’s Academy Awards taught us anything, it’s that no matter how many successful flights you’ve had, you can’t just put the plane on autopilot and go take a nap in the back. Sure, it might work out … but there’s also a really good chance you’ll leave a charred crater in some wheat field in South Dakota. Last Sunday’s Oscars ceremony was a spectacularly ugly crash – at least metaphorically speaking. A few minutes after the now obligatory introductory montage, you could hear the air hissing out of the tires. It’s not that the hosts weren’t fascinating and charming. James Franco brought his trademark Cheshire-cat-holding-in-a-bong-hit smile, and Anne Hathaway brought her Disney princess looks, eight spectacular dresses, and more bubbly enthusiasm than any host in recent memory, but it still wasn’t enough to drag the dead horse of the Oscars across the finish line. No, that was left to a bunch of public school kids in T-shirts. T-shirts? WTFingF? It’s the Academy Awards, not Tosh.0. Surely the Academy has enough petty cash lying around to pimp each and every one of those kids out like Liberace … or at the very least Jay-Z. Instead, they were dressed like they were hired to pick up trash on the side of the interstate. Stay classy Oscar. Worse yet, the T-shirts had each kid’s respective chorus section printed on the front. Wow. Apparently the Academy thinks that kids who go to public schools in Staten Island must be too retarded to know where to stand without looking at the front of their T-shirts. Saving money by hiring a couple of noobs to host the awards is almost understandable (hey, with the type of sharp, pithy writing the Oscars are known for, a trained monkey could host, right?). In these tough economic times you have to think outside the box, but going cheap on the big closing number is just unforgivable. Those poor kids sang their hearts out, and all they got was a lousy T-shirt? Somewhere over the rainbow the dreams that you dare to dream really don’t come true … well, unless maybe you’re Charlie Sheen, who somehow managed to overcome the hardship of being born the son of a Hollywood celebrity by transforming himself into a tiger-blooded, bitchin’ rock star from Mars with the ability to turn tin cans into pure gold. Talk about pulling yourself up by your bootstraps … even if it is just to snort a line of coke off a porn star’s bare ass. If the Academy truly wanted an entertaining Oscars ceremony, it would have hired Charlie “Chuckles” Sheen. It would have cost the Academy a few million dollars and a briefcase full of blow, but it would have been a psychotic laugh riot of Alex Jones Show magnitude. Instead, the Academy got cocky (not unlike Sheen himself) and slaughtered its cash cow. The same could never be said of South by Southwest, the little local music festival that blossomed into the world’s largest – seemingly overnight. Well, not exactly. This year marks a full quarter-century of SXSW’s existence, and through all that time, the oversight of SXSW’s directors has been vigilant, perhaps even psychotically obsessive. It could easily be argued that this obsession fueled not only SXSW’s prolific growth, but Austin’s emergence as the cultural mecca of the Southwest. This Saturday at the Austin History Center you can hear two of SXSW’s directors, Roland Swenson and Louis Black talk about the last 25 years of the Festival in a panel discussion moderated by Texas writer Joe Nick Patoski. There will also be musical performances by locals Why Not Satellite, whose members actually played in the first SXSW, and Austin Music Award winners Schmillion, whose members weren’t even born yet. Later in the evening in Wooldridge Square Park will be a preview of the upcoming SXSW documentary Outside Industry: The Story of SXSW, as well as a screening of 1943 documentary Austin: The Friendly City.

That Takes the Cake! Sugar Art Show & Cake Competition: Caked Crusaders

The Luv Doc Recommends

February 23, 2011

Sure, you’re probably looking to hook up with someone who has an insatiable appetite for crazy monkey sex, but that kind of thing only lasts for a couple of decades or so … at most a half-century. After retirement age, the monkey won’t be able to hang upside down with a banana in its hand without throwing out its back. Worse yet, it probably won’t want to even if it can. Been there, done that, and really, even the biggest and best bananas get mushy after a while. Here’s something else to consider. Humans aren’t monkeys. Yes, they may share the same branch of the evolutionary tree, but humans are much weaker, fatter, and clumsier than monkeys. On the plus side, they have a lot less back hair. Intelligence? Questionable. Monkeys can’t tap out a text message while doing 40 mph in the passing lane on I-35. Then again, maybe they’re just fucking smart enough not to. Monkeys at the zoo sometimes fling their shit at people – which sounds dumb, but if you had to endure an endless parade of slack-jawed suburban manatees and their snot-nosed, cotton-candy-sticky-fingered rug rats every day, you’d start flinging poo too. Monkeys probably feel the same way about humans as basketball players feel about a 7-footer who can’t dunk: disgusted. All that wasted potential. Still, as lithe and athletic as monkeys are, you shouldn’t consider them the go-to source for monkey sex, even though – in Texas at least – what you and your monkey, donkey, or manatee do behind closed doors is your own damn business. We’re progressive like that. You might want to consider casting the net a bit wider than that when looking for a significant other however. You don’t have to set the bar too high, but perhaps consider a mate that doesn’t require a leash and a pooper-scooper. Don’t paint yourself into a corner just because you can’t think outside the crotch. How about someone with a more diverse skill set? A sense of humor is nice – especially for those awkward post-coital moments when your face is smashed into a drool-soaked pillow or you’re still dangling precariously in your fuck harness. Patience is a virtue. So is honesty … as in: “I honestly don’t know how to get this thing unbuckled. We may have to call the Fire Department.” How about cleaning skills? There is only so much you can cover with plastic and latex. Intelligence is always handy. It can sometimes get you out of sticky situations when physical dexterity can’t. It also greatly enhances conversational skills, which become more important as time goes on. Lastly, don’t underestimate the value of a good cook. Having someone who can fix you a decent sammich or a scintillating coq au vin may not seem that important now, but remember that many, many years from now, when your sensory bouquet mainly involves aches, pains, blurred vision, and muffled, indistinct sounds, the mouthwatering flavor of an exquisitely baked cherry pie may be the only thing that drags you out of bed in the morning. Monkey sex is a great way to fire out of the blocks, but cooking skills will get you across the finish line. If you can find someone who likes to bake, sweet! Just remember to not overindulge, or your monkey sex will start to look like hippopotamus wallowing. If you’d like to find someone who can bake but don’t know where to start, drive up to the North Austin Event Center this weekend for the Capital Confectioners’ Sugar Art Show & Cake Competition. From 10:30am to 6pm, cake-makers and sugar artists from the capital area will showcase their best work. Cakes from a variety of categories and divisions will be on display as well as superhero-themed cakes made by contestants from TLC’s Next Great Baker series. There will also be classes, demonstrations, raffle prizes, and a people’s choice award, as well as a special dinner-theatre screening of Kings of Pastry, a documentary about chef Jacquy Pfeiffer, who will also be in attendance. If you’re looking for someone who really knows what to do with a banana, check it out.

R.A.W. Fridays: DJ Kelly’s Vinylogical Warfare

The Luv Doc Recommends

February 16, 2011

Yes, there are bears in Austin. You might see one wading through the waters of Bull Creek or maybe hiking through the greenbelt, but if you really want to see bears in their natural habitat, your best bet is the Chain Drive on Willow Street. So maybe they’re not the type of bears you were hoping to see, but they’re much less dangerous. Plus, the bears at Chain Drive can dance, drink, and hold intelligible conversations. They also sport plenty of fur, if that’s what you’re into. Of course, Chain Drive isn’t just about bears … or cubs or grizzlies or otters or ewoks or wolves or gorillas; it’s about being comfortable with who you are, even if you’re a jock, a twink, or a queen. There’s some leather too. In fact, Chain Drive might be the closest thing Austin has to a leather bar, but on any given night you can probably find more leather at the Broken Spoke. (Hint to PETA activists: Google that shit, but make sure you roll strong.) That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t rock those assless chaps if you’re so inclined, just know that you’ll probably be rocking them solo if you do. You could probably do the same at the Spoke, but it’s doubtful you’ll make it past the door unless your butt fur has the density and color variation of a palomino pony – and really, if you’re paying your stylist that kind of money, you’re probably not hanging out at the Chain Drive. Why? There’s nothing high-dollar about it. It’s dingy, poorly lit, and has a Goodwill design aesthetic. There’s no dress code, valet parking, or stalls in the bathroom. And it’s perpetually rumored to be closing. In short, it’s exactly what every Austin bar used to be back before the trust-funders and condopolitans started taking over. Yes, they would love the Chain Drive … just enough to suggest maybe cleaning it up a bit, giving it a new paint job, and having a really good interior designer come in and adjust the feng shui. Pretty soon you have a valet stand, a douche in a headset with a list, and a roomful of people trying desperately to impress one another. More importantly, you’re paying $4 for a beer and $8 for a cocktail. Ew. It’s enough to make you want to start growing chest hair and wearing leather. Fortunately, at Chain Drive you don’t necessarily have to … and well drinks and beer are no more than $2 … some nights even less. That’s crazy affordable. Just remember: They don’t take credit cards, and parking is a bit of a bitch. Then again, if you want to party Downtown, parking is always going to be a bitch. Don’t be a hater; be a celebrater. Celebrate the fact that Austin still has a few remaining unpretentious establishments that, instead of hiring a designer to create a weathered look, actually have a weathered look. Woot! This Friday night you can enjoy some unpretentious fun at the Chain Drive with D.J. Kelly’s Vinylogical Warfare, a dance party that features classic rock, Eighties pop, and trash disco spun from original vinyl by a real, live bear! Cheapo drinks and old-skool dance music? Grrrrr!