The Care and Feeding of Mermaids

Ask me anything   About Emily   

the collection of my best intentions (often borrowed, so thank you). partisan to mermaids and other designated dreamers.

Here we have a photo snapped with my new mobile, a silver-bullet flip phone with a “smart camera” circa 2003. But the year is 2011 and in Austin last weekend, I reverted to 16-year-old drunk and lost my lackadaisical Android. That phone and I were never meant to stay together. Regardless, I was feeling pretty awful about the course of my life (phone left in cab. didn’t know the address of where i was going. walked two hours in the dark to the address i could recall. i scared myself. which never happens.) until I decided to go for a walk and then decided to eat a salami sandwich at Dolce Vita. There, I met Michael, a 21-year old local with a great love for cats, anything French, and alchemy.  
He asked if he could share my table and I complied. Within three minutes of sitting down he had polished off a burrito and confessed that he steals just about everything he owns. Or he used to. “I’m a recovering clepto.” His button-down had a large hole near the hem from where he had cut-out a security ink tag. He said he’s had 22 jobs in a year and has never been fired. He was so smart that at the end of a 10-minute explanation of the Free Masons, all I could respond with was “that sounds noble”. I felt like an idiot. But an accommodating, earnest idiot nonetheless.
Soon, we were drinking Pernod (on the house) with a collection of other locals: a lawyer, a massage therapist, an architect designing a recording studio for a building in New Orleans, a programmer who couldn’t remember any of the answers to the questions he asked. The lawyer was having girlfriend problems; she was pissed he didn’t call her when he woke up. It was 6pm and he was on wine glass #5. His dog was being patient. Michael said he wanted to grow a thin mustache and move to France to live at a monastary. He is (or um, was) working as a surveyor for a company called Green Monster, going door-to-door and asking residents questions about the environment. He loves talking to the housewives, he thinks they are the most beautiful women in the world.
We all had a good thing going. And when someone was ready to leave, they left. There were no clingy goodbyes. In the end, the locals had all left and I was left with a watery glass of Pernod and a sxsw-er from Japan.
I told all of my Austin friends of the evening that I would not encourage people to move there. They wanted me to relay that it’s an awful place; it smells terrible, the food is tragic, the weather in unbearable, and they charge $15 per minute for public access to Facebook.

Here we have a photo snapped with my new mobile, a silver-bullet flip phone with a “smart camera” circa 2003. But the year is 2011 and in Austin last weekend, I reverted to 16-year-old drunk and lost my lackadaisical Android. That phone and I were never meant to stay together. Regardless, I was feeling pretty awful about the course of my life (phone left in cab. didn’t know the address of where i was going. walked two hours in the dark to the address i could recall. i scared myself. which never happens.) until I decided to go for a walk and then decided to eat a salami sandwich at Dolce Vita. There, I met Michael, a 21-year old local with a great love for cats, anything French, and alchemy.  

He asked if he could share my table and I complied. Within three minutes of sitting down he had polished off a burrito and confessed that he steals just about everything he owns. Or he used to. “I’m a recovering clepto.” His button-down had a large hole near the hem from where he had cut-out a security ink tag. He said he’s had 22 jobs in a year and has never been fired. He was so smart that at the end of a 10-minute explanation of the Free Masons, all I could respond with was “that sounds noble”. I felt like an idiot. But an accommodating, earnest idiot nonetheless.

Soon, we were drinking Pernod (on the house) with a collection of other locals: a lawyer, a massage therapist, an architect designing a recording studio for a building in New Orleans, a programmer who couldn’t remember any of the answers to the questions he asked. The lawyer was having girlfriend problems; she was pissed he didn’t call her when he woke up. It was 6pm and he was on wine glass #5. His dog was being patient. Michael said he wanted to grow a thin mustache and move to France to live at a monastary. He is (or um, was) working as a surveyor for a company called Green Monster, going door-to-door and asking residents questions about the environment. He loves talking to the housewives, he thinks they are the most beautiful women in the world.

We all had a good thing going. And when someone was ready to leave, they left. There were no clingy goodbyes. In the end, the locals had all left and I was left with a watery glass of Pernod and a sxsw-er from Japan.

I told all of my Austin friends of the evening that I would not encourage people to move there. They wanted me to relay that it’s an awful place; it smells terrible, the food is tragic, the weather in unbearable, and they charge $15 per minute for public access to Facebook.

— 3 years ago with 10 notes
#mermaids  #pernod  #Austin  #temporary friends 
  1. thecareandfeedingofmermaids posted this