Hacienda – The Pleasurecraft

October 18, 2011

First of all, if you’re offended by the term “gypsy,” back off. It ain’t like that. Here in Austin we think of gypsies as freedom-loving people who can’t be tied down – sort of like the homeless people in the Kris Kristofferson song “Me and Bobby McGee.” You know, the kind of folks who aren’t ashamed to hitchhike or carry a dirty red bandana, desperate types with “nothing left to lose.” This, of course, could describe a lot of people of unsavory mien: escaped convicts … psychopaths … terrorists … axe-murderers. But for the generally bourgeois demographic of Central Austin, the gypsy aesthetic is a much more benign and romantic notion. Like communism or gerbiling, having nothing left to lose is much more attractive as a theoretical construct than in actual practice. Being encumbered with nothing is the naive fantasy of those encumbered with too much. We all like to think of ourselves as Bear Grylls from Man vs. Wild … all alone out there in the wild … surviving by our wit and instinct … never even asking the cameraman or sound engineer for a protein bar or a foot massage … really roughing it. Really, Bear Grylls is just like us … only he comes from a much better family and went to Eton College. Regardless, just because we’ve never been “busted flat in Baton Rouge” doesn’t mean we couldn’t handle it, even enjoy it. Really, who hasn’t fantasized about being flat broke and having to hitch a ride in the land of alligators, drunk Cajuns, and David Duke? What’s the worst that could happen? Sure, you might have to send an embarrassing text to your parents from your iPhone to get them to add some money to your checking account so you can get your morning Venti at Starbucks, but hey, that’s just the cost of your gypsy life of freedom, isn’t it? Even Bear Grylls gets tired of eating grubworms, showering in the snow, and shitting in the woods, Bear though he may be. The notion of freedom and self-reliance however, no matter how bankrupt and fallacious, still sounds sexy. Gypsies don’t have to worry about mortgages, car payments, utility bills, retirement accounts, taxes, or even holding down a job. The costumes are pretty fly as well. Think Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow or maybe Stevie Nicks in her goth phase: lots of dangly bling, tats, and billowy clothing, not to mention the obligatory bandana do-rag. Yes, the nomadic life has its romance and allure – well, at least the European version. Back in the day, Texas and most of the plains states were populated almost exclusively with exotically dressed nomads, until we killed most of them and herded the remainder into reservations. Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose until you actually lose your freedom. Then it might as well just be another word for wings, antlers, or a 14-inch penis: something you don’t have. So rather than being a pejorative and ethnically erroneous label for the people of Romany, the term “gypsy” really denotes a longing for a romanticized ideal of what we don’t have: Freedom. In the case of the Gypsy Picnic, it’s the ability to roll up your awning, hitch up your trailer, and move it to some more desirable location … perhaps one that isn’t so visible to public health inspectors … or maybe someplace visible to nearly everyone. This weekend that place is Auditorium Shores, where nearly 40 food trailers from all across Austin will set up shop for the Gypsy Picnic Trailer Food Festival. This is a great chance to sample a lot of different, interesting foods without the annoyance of silverware. Along with the food there will also be a craft beer bar with selections from independent breweries, live music (Boy, Alabama Shakes, Dale Watson, Hacienda, and Delta Spirit), and a trailer food cook-off judged by local celebrities including Bryan Beck, Todd Boatwright, and the Chronicle‘s Mick Vann. Admission is free, but bring some folding money because the food isn’t. Each trailer will, however, offer one signature food item for $3. To some that might seem a little steep for something bought off the back of a roach wagon, but this is Austin, so even our trailer food is bourgeois. Don’t fight it. Embrace it. Maybe real freedom is blowing all your money on beer and trailer food.

May 19, 2010

Fiesta Gardens

There is no equivalent of Ellis Island anywhere along the Mexican border, no outstretched torch of Lady Liberty lighting the way for clandestine nighttime border crossings, no bronze plaque beckoning tired, poor, huddled masses and wretched refuse through the golden door. Really, would it have killed Panama to pop for a big copper statue as payback for helping them win independence from Columbia? (Yes, we gave them the military reach-around mainly so we could dig a huge ditch through the middle of their country, but hey, a favor’s a favor, right?) Just think of the warm feeling all those illegals would get (as if riding sardined in the back of a sweltering, windowless semi trailer through the desert wouldn’t do the trick) if they were welcomed by a reasonably svelte, feminine beacon of liberty, even (especially?) if she was wearing a poncho and a huge, touristy sombrero. Well, no such luck for our southern neighbors. Their entry into the land of the free is much too hasty to allow for standing around gazing at statues and waxing philosophical about the blessings of liberty. In Mexico, making a run for the border isn’t just a lighthearted euphemism for the late-night munchies; it’s an adrenaline-fueled gauntlet reminiscent of a jailbreak scene from Cool Hand Luke, except the bloodhounds are replaced by paranoia-crazed minutemen with night-vision goggles, assault rifles, and spine crushing 4-by-4s. Down on America’s tan line, immigration isn’t for the timid. It takes some cojones grandes to cross into the home of the brave. Those few who actually make it are awarded the prize of a shit job that pays below minimum wage, a breathtaking stay in a cheap motel room that’s packed tighter than the cargo hold of La Amistad, and, if things go exceptionally well, a shot at dying in a cloud of cocaine and gunfire like Tony Montana at the end of Scarface. For most immigrants, however, freedom really is just another word for nothing left to lose – especially since they probably just spent their life savings paying off a coyote. Yet, as brave, hardworking, and committed as illegal immigrants are to the American dream, as much as they love our country, they still have to leave it. They are, after all, illegal. Of course, that doesn’t mean we have to be dicks about it like Arizona. If Americans start pulling over and checking the papers of everyone who looks like they descended from immigrants just to make sure they’re legal, they won’t have any time left to run their casinos. F that S. Persecution is hardly un-American, but it doesn’t make it right or reasonable. This country was founded on the principle that all men were created equal. It has since spent more than 230 years falling short of that mark, but that doesn’t mean we should just give up. Hopefully, the rest of America is smarter or at least more optimistic than Arizona. Hopefully America understands that its strength is in its diversity, which means we have better food, better music, better parties, and we don’t bleed to death when we nick ourselves shaving. If you want to enjoy a great example of our awesome diversity with relatively little chance of being jacked up by immigration Nazis, check out this Saturday’s Pachanga Latino Music Festival at Fiesta Gardens. From noon to 11pm, four stages will host more than 20 Latino acts including such favorites as Grupo Fantasma, David Garza, Haydn Vitera, Vallejo, Amplified Heat, Roberto Pulido y los Clasicos, Hacienda, and Bomba Estéreo. Enjoy the music … and remember how much uglier it would be in Arizona.