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“You may all go to Hell, and I will go to Texas.”
~Davy Crockett
I spent my birthday in Austin, Texas, this past week, and I had a blast. No amount of words in the thesaurus can explain how wonderful—how marvelous, or superb, or amazeballs—it was to be in Texas. Of course, being from Tennessee, that prior statement isn’t easy to make. Though, I can confidently say: Texas, you have my heart.
While I was in Texas, I practiced the art of livin’, L-I-V-I-N, as Austin local Matthew McConaughey put it. I surrendered my anxieties and worries for just a few days, and I relished in the sights and sounds of God’s creation.
I ventured over to Bastrop for a day, and I immersed myself in the local farm life of small town Texas. Home to around ten-thousand people, Bastrop was quiet, though full of character at the same time. My first stop was the Painted Porch, which is the bookstore of Ryan Holiday (the man behind the Daily Stoic and best-selling books like Stillness is the Key). There, I came face-to-face with Ryan, which was crazy to see him in the flesh, though I did not talk to him, for he was busy. (Come to find out, that was a good thing, for he doesn’t tend to talk to visitors anyway.) I purchased two books, and I’m excited to begin reading them.
Next door, I met Lippy, an eccentric vinyl record store owner, whose English accent was just as inviting as his character. While looking for Steve Martin records, Lippy offered his help, looking through the bins faster than a hyena looking for prey. No Steve Martin albums would be found, however, a new friend was found instead. Lippy and I talked for an hour. We talked about Jack Daniel’s, and how I lived right down the road from it, and how he was so confused on how they could sell liquor in a dry county. (Trust me, us locals are still just as confused.) We bonded over comedy, my favorite subject, and about how George Carlin was one of the ever-great wordsmiths. (Funny enough, we both thought of the same vastly inappropriate Carlin line—you can prick your finger, but you can’t finger your prick—and chuckled over its childlike silliness.)
Though best of all, after the hour I had left the store, I was sitting in a farm-to-table restaurant across the street, when suddenly Lippy walks over (giving the owner a new vinyl selection for her restaurant’s stereo) and, to the owner, says, “This is my buddy Colin. Take care of him.” I smiled at Lippy’s genuine kindness. Our chance encounter is one I’ll never forget, and I hope our paths will one day cross again.
Back in Downtown, as I walked down Brazos Street, or Congress Avenue, or even 6th Street, my eyes veered from building to building, admiring the once-charming architecture of time’s past. (I say “once” charming, because today’s architecture is bland, like a lithium battery took a growth serum and nestled itself in the midst of the city, spanning a hundred stories high.) These old buildings had character, had heart, and they likely all held a story within their creations.
That reminds me of the book I’m currently reading, The Devil in the White City, which is about the World’s Fair in Chicago, and is largely about architecture. Daniel Burnham, a Chicago-based architect and leader of the World’s Fair initiative, was a proponent of majestical buildings. He believed a building should have its own character, its own story. In fact, a Paris correspondent of the Chicago Tribune in 1889 would have agreed. According to Larson in his book, “Other nations . . . had mounted exhibits of dignity and style, while American exhibitors erected a mélange of pavilions and kiosks with no artistic guidance and no uniform plan.” How ironic. These words were from 135 years ago, and they perfectly resonate with my view of architecture.
Moving aside from architecture, let’s go back to comedy. I went to the Comedy Mothership, Joe Rogan’s esteemed comedy club, and I must admit—he’s doing a phenomenal job. The club is everything a comedian and its audience would want. You know how they say, “He’s a comedian’s comedian,” like the great Norm Macdonald, for instance? I’d say, “Comedy Mothership is a comedy club’s comedy club.” There, they sat me on the front row, where I was within an arm’s reach to the comedians. Around twelve local and budding comedians performed on the stage that night, including my personal favorite Christina Mariani (@criimarii on Instagram). My hope is that at least one of them will become the “next big thing,” and will subsequently have to compete on The Biggest Loser to shed all that weight . . .
Anyone? Bueller? Hello?
Regardless, comedy holds a special place in my heart, and so I indubitably (that’s a cute word) enjoyed my time there. Side note: Comedians will unite this world again, I believe it! They are the last of the good philosophers in today’s age, and they are the best leaders of thought. Listen to them, because behind the humor are shards of truth.
Long live comedy, and viva la Texas!
A quick message: While on the topic of comedy, please consider relishing in some of my favorite comedians and personal heroes of mine. First, Steve Martin. Anything by Steve Martin will do, especially his books, including “Pure Drivel” and “Born Standing Up.” Next, Norm Macdonald, undoubtedly the ballsiest comedian to ever live (yes, even above Pryor and Carlin). Warning—you will not like Norm if you’re easily offended. I also really enjoy Rowan Atkinson (of Mr. Bean fame). Though, I really enjoy “LIVE,” his stand-up (yes, the many of few words did stand-up). What a unique twist on the stand-up format! I’d liken his comedy to Steve Martin’s stand-up. Oh, who else? Mel Brooks, for sure. Can’t leave out the film-comedy master!
I could literally go on for days about comedy, perhaps months too. It is quite possibly the thing I’m most fascinated by, and the thing I spend the most time studying. (Yes, studying.) I don’t think I could ever be a stand-up comedian, but I’d love to give it a shot one day. Maybe even comedy writing. When I get up on stage one day, I can say, “They all doubted me, but who’s laughing now?” Literally.
And hopefully.