Give a Girl on a Bike a Break

Thanks to the lovely weather yesterday (lovely: not 90+ degrees), I went on a bike ride with my roommate and a friend around the East Side. As we were making our way back home, some asshole threw an unopened can of beer at my roommate, hitting her ankle and bike frame and spraying open. He managed to throw that sucker over a fence, but I still can't figure out what his motive was. He yelled something at her, but I didn't catch it because I was desperately peddling to pass a bus before it moved into the bike lane for a stop.

So was he just being an obnoxious drunk or is this another example of drivers' embittered resentment against cyclists?

Corner Store Characters

Anslee and I went to a birthday party Saturday night, and not to be ones to show up to a house party empty-handed, we decided to stop somewhere for a six pack of beer. HEB was closed, and most of the East Side convenience stores just seemed, well, sketchy.

Finally, we stopped at the Corner Store (that's seriously it's name) on Airport, just west of 35. While this is not quite the East Side, it's still not the nicest part of Austin, despite it's proximity to Hyde Park. But we decided to brave it anyway.

The parking spots were not clearly marked, so I drove past the gas pumps and this old man with a beer belly was walking very slowly to his car. I wasn't really sure how to maneuver around him, and then out of nowhere, a Hispanic guy on a bike rides right through the open parking spots, going about as fast as the old man on foot.

So I managed to wait for both of them and park (although the guy on a bike waved to me to acknowledge the fact that I did not run him over). We made our way inside, grabbed some Shiner, and went to the open register. A surfer/stoner-looking white guy with long, stringy hair greeted us as we came in, but he was busy talking to the bike guy in Spanish, so we went to the other register.

Anslee and I have been trying to figure out exactly where the other cashier is from. He was black and had an accent that could be: 1) West African (or maybe some other region of Africa, but my guess is West African) 2) Carribean (although probably not Jamaican) 3) Cajun/Creole from Louisiana. We could not understand a word he said. He was very friendly and talkative, and we asked him about lottery tickets because we thought it would be funny to get the birthday girl a scratch ticket. But apparently, they had run out on Friday. At least, I think this is what our cashier friend said. He also gave Anslee instructions about the debit card machine, but, once again, she couldn't understand him. I guess he has to deal with dumb Americans who can't understand him on a regular basis, poor guy, but he knew the drill well enough to direct her.

So we waved good-bye to both the stoner cashier and the African/Carribean/Creole cashier and made our way back to the car. On our way, the old guy with the beer belly was walking back into the store to buy something else (he had already purchased a case of Natty Light). The guy on the bike was peddling off, and as he passed us walking to the car, he hacked up the biggest lugy we've ever seen come out of a human being. Damn those Austin allergies.

Here's to Austin's Idiots

Here's an interesting NPR story answering listeners' questions about voting rules. The final question comes from a beer-loving Austinite. You should listen to the story (because it's quite informative).

But if you can't or won't, I'll give you a synopsis of his question. He asked if could take his local brew Independence Pale Ale to the polls while he votes, especially since it's named Independence Pale Ale. Makes the hometown proud, I guess...

The Consequences of a Midnight Nap

Laziness, or unemployment, or an unstructured life of freedom, or whatever you chose to call my current lifestyle, has perks and, admittedly, consequences.

Last night, I went to an indie show at one of the city's shabby-chic clubs for the hipster, Urban Outfitters crowd. I went to see Bishop Allen, a Brooklyn-based band that plays lovely, light-hearted fare. It's the kind of music everyone will like if they will ever hear it. It's pure indie pop, if such a genre exists.

Bishop Allen was headlining the show, and I should have known better. I should have. Not to be out-manuevered by this town's multitudes of indie kids, I decided to show up at the club at 9:30, knowing music would start at 10:00. However, I did not take into account that two local bands would perform first, and let's face it, Bishop Allen is not that famous. While crowded, it was not a sold-out show. I could have easily shown up at 10, 10:30, even 11 and been fine. I could have done many other things with my time.

I will say, I enjoyed the earlier portion of the evening, thanks in part to my roommate's impulsive need for chocolate. I goofed off with her as she packed for her trip, knowing in the back of my mind that I would be taking her to the airport at 5 a.m. the next morning.

Still, I went to the show, had a beer, sat around for a good three hours, met some random people, and waited for my band of choice. The first opener: great, a band I would see again for a cover price under $10. The second opener: oh God save us, horrible. A waste of my time. I had only one beer because I was driving and didn't want to spend too much money (alcohol can tear holes through my pockets). But more beer would have helped me suffer through that second band. (The name of which I can't remember. It is just as well, although I would advertise them as bad so my friends will know to avoid them. It's no loss, I suppose.)

Finally, finally, finally, Bishop Allen took the stage and were just as sweet and witty live as recorded, but it was past midnight. I did not get home until 2 a.m.

I woke up at 5 to take my roommate to the airport.

I went back to sleep and woke up at 9:30. I felt like I had the worst hangover of my life, and I had one beer. So I have learned that lack of sleep will produce a worse physical reaction than too much alcohol. But the band was worth it, I swear. They were.