Little Boxes (Part 4)

Four years ago I was living in Flagstaff.  I had just moved from Los Angeles and was loving the lifestyle the small mountain brought.  My best friend Brit and I lived at 505 E Cherry and had the entire upstairs space to kick back and share good times with.  Summer had long been gone and the first snow had already arrived.  I missed the sunny fall days of southern California, hanging out with Phil, and most of all, spending time at my aunt’s house, kicking back in the Adirondack chairs and playing with my girls, Ava and Liza.
A lot was going on in life, searching for whom I wanted to be and trying to shape myself.  I met great people in Flagstaff and still enjoy conversations with many of these friends.  Brit and Hunter started dating, our roommate Nicole was pregnant, I worked at a BBQ joint and a river outfitter, and I came to believe in love at first sight when I first laid my eyes on a girl named Talise.
The one thing I missed about the big city was the music scene.  Flagstaff had a lot of music come through town, but nothing that was on my aural palette.  I had recently visited Austin for the first time in September (See Pop Songs Blog), enjoyed ACL, and had to go back for more.  Interpol was playing at Stubbs’s BBQ, so  I decided to take a mid-week trip to save on flight and hotel costs, and enjoy Austin while it was resting for the weekend.
I took an early morning flight out of Phoenix and jumped into another cab upon arrival.  I asked the driver to take me to South Congress, but this time I would not stay with the lovely Miss Wyatt.  I went all out and decided to stay at the Austin Motel, so close, yet so far out.  This hotel has a different theme in every room, along with an incredible phallic encouraged sign.  I had lost my debit card days before my journey so a necessary cab ride was needed.
I called upon a cab to help me run some errands.  I needed to get to the bank.  Withdrawal a few hundred bucks.  Get to liquor store.  Have fun.  The cabbie understood my situation and did not charge me as much as he could have for running around south Austin.  We spoke of the election and had a few laughs so he knew he was in for a well-deserved $20 tip.
I arrived back at the motel and took a dip in the pool before showering and getting ready for the evening.  I had the election coverage on mute while my laptop had music playing on a small set of travel speakers.  The ice bucket was full, and the plastic wrapped hotel cups came in great use for happy hour.  Robin was on her way and I was ready to party.  I had my dancing shoes on and my Interpol-esque attire on.  Slacks, black pressed shirt, and of course, a tie.  Robin had arrived and we were kicking back the Absolut mandarin and tonics, quickly heading to a much needed cab ride.
We arrived to Stubbs’s just in time to catch the end of the Secret Machines set.  These guys are amazing, so if you haven not had a chance to listen to them, please do (amazing drummer).  We continued drinking but had switched over to Whiskey.  Whiskey was our drink of choice.  Robin and I had enjoyed a few drinks together in the past.
Interpol came on and played a perfect set on a mild and cool fall evening in Austin.  An outdoor show in November is not your typical choice around the country.  In Austin that night, it was perfect.  Robin and I exchanged music nerd knowledge and thoughts and anticipated each song.  Interpol played everything we had come to hear…almost.
We proceeded out of Stubbs and stumbled down Red River Road to 6th street in search of some Pizza to soak up our liquor.  We had a slice and made our way to the Interpol after party at the Parish where bass player Carlos D was spinning some 80s dance hit and Goth rock.  Let’s just say I cut a rug and dance my ass off.  I don’t dance that often, but I can definitely tell you the times I know I was the man on the floor, tearing it up.  I think we stumbled out of there many drinks and many songs later at about 3:30 a.m.  Poor Robin had class the next morning.
Returning to the motel we thought it’d be a great idea to poor another drink.  Next thing I know the sun is peaking through the blinds and there is a cold blue Gatorade on the nightstand.  Robin, the sweetheart that she is, woke up, walked to the local convenience store, came back and left me the hangover cure that is Gatorade, and snuck off to class.  I woke up smiling and chugged the best Gatorade that has ever hit my lips.
Apparently Robin did not have as great a morning as me.  She was driving in class and had the sudden urge to vomit a nights worth of drinking and pizza.  She drove a piece of shit berretta with windows that would not roll down and was forced to make a decision.  This decision was to just keep going and vomit on herself in the fast lane.  Apparently this happened about halfway between Austin and her campus 20 miles away.  Needless to say she had to walk home with throw up all over chest, shower, and get to class knowing I was probably lounging and reading the paper over a cup of motel coffee.
Robin came back into Austin later that evening and took me to dinner.  Not only did she treat me to a nice Italian meal and wine, but also she took me to Romeo’s on Barton Springs Rd.  AWESOME!
We were both recovering, even at dinner, but decided to wander town for music and beer until we ended up at one of my favorites, the Continental Club.  Here we threw back some Shiner Bocks and enjoyed each other’s company.
It was a short trip, but one I think about often.  I look back four years and look at today, and I wish I could turn back time and head to Austin and do it all over again.  Do something fun on Election Day, it helps if things do not go your way and you will never forget it.  I miss Austin.

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