keepin' it crunk, from my hood to the trunk.
thursday, march 14th
ryan d. pants
houston is falling apart. houston is crumbling. houston's sidewalk squares list to and fro. I lumbered steadily along Richmond, Montrose, past washeterias and filling stations, boarded houses and vacant lots of wildflowers.
montrose falls apart as if the melting pot of creativity and capitalism and culture never let it be properly assembled in the first place. houston is humid, too humid for Coca Cola, my jeans hanging limp on my long lanky legs like a soldier on barbed wire.
not with a bang, but with a whimper. i awoke yesterday to the sound of dueling leaf blowers slowly circling the building, moving in and out of phase in an aural dance of morning utility. sometimes i am so happy that i have nothing to hear. +
Wednesday, March 13th
typed by me
drove home last night with shaun and alison. me falling asleep in the front seat and sitting in the back seat singing along to cure songs. like everyone else from the weekend, i miss austin already. the physical place, the social emotional academic space.
because almost anywhere, at dinners en masse and bar outings and parties and pre-panel smoke breaks on the American Spirit sponsored balcony or during late evening blogger drinking at the Omni you could wander into any group of people, people you've barely read, and they'd happily incorporate you into the conversation.
And so much drinking. There may be a lack of fluid chronology on theis weblog for a few days, as various people post about the past and present. Everywhere you go, there you puke. +
February 28th (backlogged)
Kariann Muratore, two weeks later
Ryan and I met down on East Houston Thursday Night. I took him to MAX'S, which is the place to go for great Italian food in the Lower East Side. Avenue B between 3rd and 4th. Thanks Again man, for treating my poor ass to such a delicious meal... and a tasty glass of Merlot. I couldn't remember when the last time I ate anything other than canned soup or drank anything other than water or beer. You see, as I explained to Ryan, since my paycheck barely covers rent and utilities, and since I can't seem to give up my $5.00 a day pack of cigs, not to mention pot expenses, I live a rather poor and pathetic life on the LES, NYC. There is so much to do, but I can't really afford to do anything.
My neighborhood is dope, no doubt, and I tried to represent, but all I could do was take him to the 2 neighborhood bars I most often go to when I actually do get to go out. The first is Johnsons on Rivington St., which is diggity dope due to the fact that they have a sit-down, two player, table top, MS. PAC MAN. Word. The second was the Park Side, which is on E.Houston and Attorney. I go there a lot to see PIC play some Hip-Hop-Punk-Funk-Mombo-Ska. (A little plug for my friends). On the way home, Ryan snatched some flowers from a bodega as we were passing by. I laughed the whole way home. When we got back to my apartment on Suffolk St. we read all about Donald Diesel and I passed out on the couch. Ryan, I hope you had a nice night. It was really great seeing you. +
Austin SXSW Interative
Last night, at midnight, I found myself sitting in the middle of the Omni Hotel lobby bar, exhasuted from walking and drinking and a days worth of social-adrenalined conversation. I looked up at the high ceiling in a slight daze, holding my Kaluah Coffee, then relaxed my eyes and slowly scanned the room. All around me interesting people were talking passionately about interesting things. Friends new to me and friends old. I'm so over stimulated by the weekends continuing events that I have too much and too little to type.
Comfortable, among peers. +
Driving since Feb 24th
Read all about it.
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Copyright 2002 by Ryan D. Pants and friends.