Red Mosquito

tragabigzanda wrote:

BurtReynolds wrote:

Jorge wrote:Austin is WAY better than Houston, one of the most boring and depressing cities I've ever visited

Agreed.

Austin is a monoculture. Those "keep Austin weird" bumper stickers have been futile for at least a decade. How many coffee shops and music clubs does one town need?

Jorge wrote:

tragabigzanda wrote:

BurtReynolds wrote:

Jorge wrote:Austin is WAY better than Houston, one of the most boring and depressing cities I've ever visited

Agreed.

Austin is a monoculture. Those "keep Austin weird" bumper stickers have been futile for at least a decade. How many coffee shops and music clubs does one town need?

Whatever. It felt pretty diverse, interesting and FUN the times I've been. But more importantly, it is being compared to Houston which just sucks unbelievable amounts of ass

bodysnatcher wrote:

Jorge wrote:

tragabigzanda wrote:

BurtReynolds wrote:

Jorge wrote:Austin is WAY better than Houston, one of the most boring and depressing cities I've ever visited

Agreed.

Austin is a monoculture. Those "keep Austin weird" bumper stickers have been futile for at least a decade. How many coffee shops and music clubs does one town need?

Whatever. It felt pretty diverse, interesting and FUN the times I've been. But more importantly, it is being compared to Houston which just sucks unbelievable amounts of ass

Houston is more fun if you pronounce it like the street in Manhattan and watch people lose their minds

doug rr wrote:the last time I was in Austin was probably 6 years ago or so...stayed with a good friend that used to live next door to us in California..anyway, we all went and pigged out on bbq at Salt Lick..once we got back to their place it turned into a jam session in the basement..he had every guitar you could think of and more...he let me play an old Martin D-28...his wife jammed with us while wearing one of those old washboards around her neck..good times

doug rr wrote:rank the least suck places to live..

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

Jorge wrote:

doug rr wrote:the last time I was in Austin was probably 6 years ago or so...stayed with a good friend that used to live next door to us in California..anyway, we all went and pigged out on bbq at Salt Lick..once we got back to their place it turned into a jam session in the basement..he had every guitar you could think of and more...he let me play an old Martin D-28...his wife jammed with us while wearing one of those old washboards around her neck..good times

That sounds nice Doug. I liked the Salt Lick too. I bought a bunch of their sauces and one of them burst in my luggage (thankfully I've become an expert at traveling with various sauces, so it was properly isolated from the rest of my belongings)

tragabigzanda wrote:

Jorge wrote:

tragabigzanda wrote:

BurtReynolds wrote:

Jorge wrote:Austin is WAY better than Houston, one of the most boring and depressing cities I've ever visited

Agreed.

Austin is a monoculture. Those "keep Austin weird" bumper stickers have been futile for at least a decade. How many coffee shops and music clubs does one town need?

Whatever. It felt pretty diverse, interesting and FUN the times I've been. But more importantly, it is being compared to Houston which just sucks unbelievable amounts of ass

I'm definitely in the minority on RM, no idea about the rest of the world... But I love viewing cities through economic, infrastructure, and historical lenses. Put me in some bombed out manufacturing town in Pennsylvania and I'm fascinated by what once was, what now exists, where it's headed...

Bars and coffee shops and record stores... I like all that stuff on a day-to-day basis, for sure. But if you've seen one you've seen them all, and the implications on the housing market and income disparity have become too big for me to ignore when in a vacation mindset.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

tragabigzanda wrote:

doug rr wrote:A good Austin, tx includes the grand marquee experiences AND some exploration of small neighborhoods and good hole-in-wall establishments, mostly traversed on foot:

presidential library
food stalls book store
a random bakery

Walk through outer Austin waterfront park to see the bats fly at the bridge
bbq

I did get some nice donuts in Austin

tragabigzanda wrote:They all tend to operate on an aesthetic facade of manufactured grit and bespoke creative enterprise, underwritten by AirB&B and trust fund economics