The Long Kiss Goodnight: Austin Conclusion Part 1

The long kiss good night . . . such a romantic euphemism for murder.  When I think of the phrase it sets the mental scene of a gun for hire in a dark hotel room.  He's sitting on the edge of the bed with a slight slouch to his spine agonizing over the kill of a close acquaintance.  Years of memories flash through his (or her, gender your imaginary hitman as you like) eyes of intimate conversations, barbecues with families (there's always a barbecue in my head), and other such cliched flashback shots for conveying a close personal relationship. The relationship becomes more tenuous in the montage and there is a clear sense of a fall from grace of the to soon to be murdered (murderee?)  Then, through much mental trepidation and a lament building in his soul, the hitman stands up resolute, dons his duster, does a quick check on his pistol, cocks a round, puts on the safety and strides out of the hotel room with his brows furrowed and his eyes straight.  He leaves the door open for effect, because he's a melodramatic son of a hired gun.  The final shot is a fixed camera angle looking into the hotel room as he walks by and the shot lingers with the empty bed in view now only lit by the open door and street light bleeding through the window.  The scene doesn't break as he walks by, but stays focused on the empty room for five long, hard, pensive seconds.

This is how I felt about leaving Austin.  Not the bang bang kill kill murder a friend part, but it was a marked end of a chapter in my life.  I hated to go, because I knew it was the last time I would see the place as my city.  We had grown apart and it was time for us to head down our diverging paths, Austin had already left me behind and it was high time I continued down my path.  I have put off writing this final two part conclusion (two part conclusions are all the rage these days)  on Austin for an exceptionally long time, because although the chapter is finished, this officially closes and shelves the book.  So, here is part one of the two part conclusion that I call The Long Kiss Goodnight.  Enjoy.

We rejoin the three travelers, myself, Dave the Aussie, and Andrew the Aussie, traveling down the Colorado River away from an anthropmorphic Johnny Cash song towards South Congress.  We are in search of a restaurant for our last meal in Austin.  We found it.  It was this place:

Place Number 12: Perla's: A South Congress seafood staple with a relaxed gulfshore feel.  It is home to the best patio view in all of SoCo and some killer seafood to satiate a sea life carnivorous craving.

Perla's on South Congress (As seen through the eyes of a voyeur)
This is Perla's at its only inconspicuous time; while it's closed.  Once the doors open there can always be people found on the patio drinking Pimm's Cups, enjoying the bounty of the sea, people watching the motley crew of foot traffic on South Congress, and talking about the best way to jibe a sailboat.

Following our surreal conversation with Folsom prisoner number 52743, the Aussie's and I swaggered into Perla's for some mighty fine fixings.  Perla's is a gulf shore transplant relocated to the north end of the SoCo scene.  Everyone not wearing a pastel striped polo or a sundress looks out of place in this little slice of the gulf. Seriously, there is teal everywhere and a mounted marlin inside just to set it over the edge.  I have never been out back of Perla's, but I expect there is a marina moored with yachts and sailboats with seasoned deep sea fisherman regaling landlubbers with tales of the deep blue below.  You can almost smell the ocean spray as you walk onto the patio.  They have those trendy mist sprinklers on the outside to enhance the effect.  How's the food though?  Terrible. Ha, just kidding, it would be monumentally disappointing if a place put this much effort into its ambiance had bad seafood, but luckily it doesn't. In fact, it has in-freaking-credible seafood.  Their bouillabaisse is one of the few foods that I crave.  It is like eating a veritable trawling net of delicious creatures boiled in saffron infused olive oil.  The sauce is so good you could drink it, which I did . . . with a straw.  We ate, we drank, we shared amusing anecdotes as we watched the sunset over South Congress.  While the conversation remained vibrant, the sun faded and was replaced with large-bulbed string lighting.  We took this as our cue to return to the hostel and wash the saline sea breeze from our skin before we embarked in our final night in Austin.

While we were freshening and getting as the kids in the 00's used to say "so fresh and so clean" Dave uttered these magical words, "Mates, I'm going to take it easy tonight, probably just grab a drink downstairs and call it an early night." Now, in the entirety of human history there has never, and I repeat never, been an uneventful night after those words were spoken aloud.  This is the fun-tastic kiss of death.  Tonight was going to be great.

We began our uneventful, dull as dishwater night at:

Place Number 13: CU29: A great craft cocktail bar located just far enough off the beaten path to never be slammed with people.  Great bartenders, great drinks, and copper on every corner.

This is an example of a hand hammered copper sink that can be found in the restroom of a bar in Queens.  The bar of  CU29 is made of this hand hammered copper and its quite incredible.  You may be asking "Cale, why don't you show a picture of the actual bar from CU29?"  First off, mind your own damn business, but to the point . . . because I forgot.  Trust me it's beautiful, or better yet check out the dang place and see for yourself .

We started the night innocuously enough by heading for a drink at CU29.  It's a quiet, dignified place with great drinks, great bartenders, and one particularly fine beard.  It was the perfect place to watch President Obama's ISIS address.  Do you remember the address?  Yeah, I hardly do either.  The President spoke for approximately a half an hour and managed to say next to nothing, which was expected I suppose, but at least the drinks were good.  If you're feeling a little nefarious and a hint spicy try El Dueño.  It's a mescal drink that's dark as sin and will make you feel like a bonafide (albeit successful and  classy given the surroundings) old west train robber.  You can feel the phantom six shooter at your hip after the first sip.  A couple of drinks later we were ready to saddle up with the James-Younger gang and take down a train . . . or head back to the Firehouse.  We decided to head back to the Firehouse.

Place Number 14: Firehouse Hostel Lounge (Wednesday Night Open Mic Night): The infamous bar behind the bookshelf.  A card holding member of the society of elite bars in Austin, great drinks, interesting international crowd, and a Wednesday open mic night that will rock your socks off.

The Firehouse Hostel hosts the most famous open mic night in all of Austin.  It is known for attracting local Austin and visiting artists of the audible variety for their rendition of industry night, music style.  Signup begins 3 hours in advance and the docket is filled roughly 2 hours and 59 minutes before the mic officially opens.  We strode into the lounge and saddled up the bar as the first act was starting and true to the billing they were incredible.  (Almost) Everyone was incredible.  Our bunkmate, Jordan was inspired by a traveling British musician to get up and try his pipes in front of a mic.  Coincidentally, a week prior I had met the traveling musician at this very bar.  We had a long discussion about the current state of marriage where I was force to take, as shocking as it may sound to my close friends, the side of a more traditional view on marriage (I argued for love man, for love in this crazy world).  She was an interesting lass indeed to make my views on marriage seem traditional.  

A Brief Bakkonian View of Marriage in the Modern Era
Please oblige me as I digress into a tangent on the relevance of marriage in the modern day.  I, Cale Bakken, believe that marriage is as relevant today as it has ever been.  Not only are the betrothed able to say to each other that I love your stupid face so much that I want to spend every day for the rest of my life looking at it, but goll dangit I want there to be a room full of people with us so they can all partake in the overflow emotion we have for each other.  The situations are few and far between that we can come together to celebrate something as powerfully positive as love and I  don't believe that it should be marginalized.  The aspiring British alternative siren's argument against marriage was that it is unfair to require someone to commit to another for a lifetime, it's selfish and unrealistic.  To which I retort, not if it's reciprocated, then it's an officially and publicly celebrated institution built on trust, understanding, joy, and of course mutual attraction (wink wink).  It is as essential today as it ever has been and should remain (although altered in its definition) an integral part of our society.  Celebrate love baby, not nihilism.

Now that I have been exposed as a helpless romantic, let's return to Jordan.  He did indeed do an  . . . interesting spoken word, that was not awkward in the least, not in the least . . . But kudos to him for trying something new (and it was painfully obvious that it was new to him).  It took more chutzpah than any of the rest the bunkmates of room 201 had.

Where are my manners, allow me to set the scene at open mic night, the place was a mixture of European hostelers, some of the trendier local Austinites, and a bevy of musicians.  The lights were turned down low, because low lights equal class and attracts starving artists like a fish fry attracts Wisconsinites.  The Aussies and I mingled with the crowd, I proselytized the gospel of the brandy old fashioned, and we met our new friend for the night Leah.

Leah was local Austinite whom frequented the Austin music and was a regular performer at the Firehouse open mic night.  She had recently returned from UC Santa Barbara where she had been a D-1 cross country runner.  I believe she was about to head off to Stanford to save the world . . . what a slouch.  Leah had decided to tag along with us for the night.  The Australian accent has real power in the United States, and I was privileged to be allowed to watch it spin its spell.

Back to me, I had bonded with the bartender, Brandon, over the finer point of the old fashioned (brandy, not whisky you brute!).  I was feeling chummy enough to ask for his expert advice on places to patronize on our last night.  He dropped a fully weaponized mind bomb straight into my brain bunker: since it was a Wednesday, we might . . . just might be able to get into Midnight Cowboy.   *explosion noises* .  I told the Aussie-Austinite gang about this incredibly fortuitous news and they stared at me blankly.  Surely you know of this fabled establishment?  No?  Well then, allow me to explain . . . .

 . . . Next Time, in Part 2 of The Long Kiss Goodnight . . .