I've heard people suggest Austin is like California, but in Texas. Austin is not like California at all, if you ask me. In San Jose we go to the beach to escape the heat and we drive an hour north to San Francisco or south to Santa Cruz to get there. In Austin they drive ten minutes and they're waist deep in cold Lake Austin, tall can of PBR in one hand, lit cigarette in the other while peeing in the water at the same time. Dunk your head at your own risk and definitely don't open your mouth. I flew out to Austin for Memorial Day weekend, visiting with a friend from San Jose who joined the recent exodus of Californians invading Texas. T was eager to show off her new Austin lifestyle. Commons Ford Ranch is unlike anything I've ever seen in California. In San Francisco the beach is unwelcoming and the sand is full of needles and rusty nails. The nails are leftover from the pallets partiers use to fuel their bonfires at night. The needles are from the homeless who warm themselves near the dying embers when the party is over. In Santa Cruz, the sand is full of tourists and you trip over them as you try to make your way to the water.
It was a hot walk from the car and down the dirt path leading to the water. We crested the top of a hill and looked down at Lake Austin and the big field of green grass and the many people. 90 percent of the people at Commons Ford Ranch were young and beautiful. Where does Austin hide their ugly people? They get old and fat and move to Richardson, I guess. The impossibly fit twenty somethings played in the water and E and I watched them as we made our way down the hill. E, also from San Jose, moved to Dallas not long before this trip and met me in Austin.
"I feel weird about my paunchy body," I told him. "Can I be that guy that swims with his shirt on?"
"I feel weird about not having any tattoos," E replied.
We approached the shore of Lake Austin and T pointed at someone off in the distance.
"Oh good. She's here already," T said. We were meeting another one of her friends. I pushed my Ray Bans over my head and stared in the direction T pointed. There was a girl with dark skin and short, curly hair sitting on an old bed spread. She was propped up on her hands, legs outstretched in the sun, with one ankle crossed atop the other. She wore a floral print bathing suit bottom and a brown, lace fringed bra. The bathing suit top got lost somewhere, maybe?
I stood on the edge of the bed spread and offered my hand out for a shake. I had been eating Flaming Hot Cheetos in the car ride over and my fingers were stained red and I felt ashamed, but it was too late to do anything about. Sucking your fingers immediately before shaking hands is generally frowned upon.
"Hi, I'm Philip."
"Hi," she replied, offering no indication of what she called herself. I later found out from T, her name was J.
I sat on my beach towel across from J eating a chicken salad sandwich from H-E-B that cost $20, because the cashier over charged me. I hoped it would be a $20 chicken salad sandwich, but it was only a $5 sandwich at best. After a fashion, I spoke very little to J the whole afternoon at Lake Austin, instead choosing to peer at her over my large bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos. I washed down my "meal" with two tall cans of PBR and after some time I had to pee.
"Where's the restroom?" I asked T. She laughed and pointed at the water.
It's true, everyone pees in the water at Commons Ford or they have bladders like a black hole, because no one ever goes to the outhouse. Pooing in the water, however, is not acceptable. There's an outhouse built into a small hill about five minutes walk from the shore. I expected the non-air conditioned outhouse to smell like death. It was somewhere around 110 degrees inside and humid but clean. As I sat there, a hot breeze came in through the one window, which is at the floor of the elevated outhouse. For anyone walking up the hill to the outhouse they can look straight in the low window and see you taking a dump. There used to be a privacy screen over the window, but someone put his foot through it. Hi fives all around.
"I'll be done in a minute," I said as I made eye contact with a random person through the window.
In time, the sun had zapped all the energy out of our party and the girls got out of the water and compared tans. T, pulled the seat of her bathing suit bottom to the side and revealed a sharp tan line across her butt. Like everyone else at Commons Ford she had gone from white to red. J pulled at her bathing suit bottom and revealed a similarly sharp tan line--brown on one side and darker brown on the other.
Austin is not like California at all, if you ask me.
Best regards from your friend in fun,
Philip C. read more