At the end of my block is a bustling street - San Pedro, presumably named for the park further down hill or the springs in the park or most likely both. Or quite possibly the first pope. But there is a much more compelling mystery just across the intersection. It comes in the shape of a billboard that up until recently depicted two googly-eyed, cartoon lions inside a heart which nestled comfortably beside the phrase, "George Loves Kym!"
I hadn't noticed this unusual declaration of affection until my friend Marc pointed it out one day from my roof terrace. Aside from the unobstructed view of the sunset to the West, the spectacular view of downtown to the South, and the other O'Neil Ford-designed tower at Trinity University to the Northeast, this billboard is my favorite landmark in plain sight from my sprawling private balcony. Unfortunately, all the attention it deserves is often trumped by the others on this glorious horizon. They distract me and thus is why I hadn't noticed when it's sappy expression of love changed on me. It now pictures two cartoon scuba divers in fond embrace, and instead of George affronting his amore for all the world to witness as they drive by, it is Kym's turn these days.
Austin, Texas's increasingly gentrified and trendy State Capitol, employs the slogan in retaliation - "Keep Austin Weird", led by the independent business bureau or something like that. I think it's too late for Austin. Everytime I go there (which actually has been a while) I can't help but notice that those who persist to be weird there do so in vain. It's a hopeless struggle - the college town hipsters have lost the wrestling match against the corporate magnates. Hip it might still be, but the so-called weirdness is ever decreasing.
Perhaps as a joke, or possibly even as a smart campaign to avoid a similar fate, Texas's largest little town - San Antonio adapted a similar motto, "Keep San Antonio Lame." And on the surface San Antonio is lame: bars close at midnight in most cases, people are rarely out and about en masse, nothing is open on Sunday, and good lord there has got to be more to do sometimes. My standard retort has been that yes, while sleepy, San Antonio retains it's authenticity. It doesn't try to be cool, which to me is in fact the definition of cool. We make our own fun. It's more rewarding that way.
Interestingly enough, when it does try to be cool, failure typically ensues. I can't even count how many trendy bars have closed downtown.
Lame or not, the longer I live here, the more it occurs to me that I've been misinformed. San Antonio is the weird one. And that billboard down the street is a perfect example. Which leads me to believe that San Antonio is weird because people can afford to be. In Austin, a modest couple couldn't afford to rent an entire billboard to use. Only Starbucks can do that in any resemblance of normalcy.
"Retaining it's authenticity" is a nice way of saying that the cost of living here is low. Which is a nice way of saying that there are a Hell of a lot of people here living in slums and totally cool with it. Some of these are even as close as across from the aforementioned park with the springs off San Pedro down the hill. And reasonably speaking, the possibility that Kym and her lover George live in such a nearby shanty town is quite high. I mean, why would they choose a billboard as a means by which to share their mutual admiration if they didn't drive by it everyday on the way home?
No, George and Kym are not wealthy folks. I don't think any respectable, high-class resident of my affluent neighborhood Monte Vista would go so far. I make that assumption not based on any judgment of taste. It's just that when you think about it, rich people (obviously these two have an abundance of love, I mean rich in the monetary sense) have the ability to express (again, materialistically speaking) their mutual affections whenever they want to whether that be with organic truffles from Whole Foods or over-priced tulips at a frequency of whenever they damn well please - if they wanted to. But I am willing to bet that expressing love, and expressing it in a big way for all the world to see, is with little doubt, a money saving tactic. Their love is evident to all and on a monthly installment plan.
But I digress, I've analyzed Kym and George's ability to afford weirdness despite their entirely speculative inability to afford more, if only to tell about last night. I attended a show of local San Antonio musicians - all of whom fit immaculately into my description of San Antonio's character - embracing lameness is all the more weird.
Patsy's Ice House - an utter hole-in-the-wall dive bar who's idea to serve food is so frightening to even it's regulars that they don't even dare order a thing even though they had a shrimp special last night - featured Jason Gerard among other cacophonous disasters that opened for him.
We subjected ourselves willingly to this offensive excuse for a concert only because someone noticed on Jason Gerard's myspace page that he describes himself in this way:
"Jason is truly one of the most innovative artists of our time, and hopes to be one of the most influential in music history."
Anyone making that kind of claim is asking to be mocked by a group of San Antonians with nothing better to do on a Saturday night. At least there was no cover and they served beer. What more could you ask for in a night out anyway?
The first group to go on was an industrial synth pop duo. All their songs sounded like a regurgitated late 70's Pink Floyd, just not even remotely exuding that kind of talent and ingenuity.
The band that preceded poor Jason was so bad it hurt. It was a family act, unleashing to the unsuspecting public their rancid rock 'n' roll fantasies. The frontman lead singer and guitarist was the beer-belly clad patriarch who's aspiring grunge aesthetic came across as far more slovenly than remotely cool. His adoring wife played the synth and held up a performance reminiscent of this. But by far the saddest of the bunch was their son who I sympathized with, only if he had been duped into participating. He contributed awkward excuses for percussive nuances on the bongos and the conga drums. They were set up in a line and played just like a drum set. Maybe it was cheaper that way. He embarrassed himself and his family, ending each song by nailing a small crash cymbal with his fist. Together they covered Judas Priest's cover of Joan Baez's Diamonds & Rust. I can't even make that up. And to give them some credit, the happiness they radiated as they performed their classic rock interpretations was penetrating. However, I dare ask - couldn't they have had the same amount of fun in their garage? Maybe the neighbors complained...
Putting myself through almost a whole hour of their music got me to thinking. This wouldn't happen in any other city. They would be rushed by a mob or pelted with rotten produce before anyone would voluntarily sit though such a jarring display. By the time poor Jason Gerard took the stage, our group mock fest couldn't take anymore and we bolted after a mere three songs. Not that he had a lot going for him in the first place. He wore geeky wire rimmed glasses and flip flops as he took the stage to share his sweet noise.
To make matters worse, San Antonio is hosting a pre-South by Southwest festival of its own called, would you believe it - South by San Antonio. This might be a good idea, reeling in other bands already traveling from afar to Austin. Why shouldn't they swing by San Antone on the way? We're craving good music here! However, Jason Gerard mentioned that he is already a part of the SXSA line-up. Could this attempt at cool, actually be that lame?
I realize I'm coming across like the pretentious Austin hipsters I as poking fun at earlier. Too good for San Antonio music am I? People can't just go to bar and have a good time with a few guitars? No, that's not it at all. Everyone's got to start somewhere and why shouldn't it be at Patsy's Ice House.
My strident affections only exist to help better illustrate my point. This city is a place where cool kids go out of their way to see lame bands perform in shrimp-serving dump venues on a Saturday night. And I love how weird we are! We refuse to be stifled by the banality of our fair metropolis. As a consolation prize, each of us finds our place in a city teeming in weird billboard touting love.
In other news, my friend Marc and I went on a fun little biking adventure this afternoon. Here are a few photos snapped out and about this town I claim for all in weird:
Marc calling Victoria at the Japanese Sunken Gardens.
The sadly defunct Sunken Garden amphitheater. Admittedly, it is awfully lame that San Antonio would allow such a cool venue to fall into disarray.
I love the stadium dedication.
The best view of downtown in the city is in the stadium parking lot.
Tower at Trinity U.
Victoria met us for ice cream later.
And now for a complete non-sequitor -
I totally have a beard.
