AustiBlog

Sweet Slow-Mo

2008-10-09T22:48:00.000-07:00

Slow Motion Punches to The Face from Eduardo Wydler on Vimeo.

Louisville

2008-10-04T17:52:00.000-07:00

I felt like a fool today for not grabbing my camera while I was searching for food this evening on 4th at Liberty as I walked with my eyes fixed on none other than Colonel Sanders himself. Sometimes, being a small unit on the road means taking whats given...and we got it that night. The general sentiment was to get the hell outta dodge, but, that night, being in Louisville, KY, I had to protest that I would not leave until I saw Colonel Sanders. So you can imagine my surprise and disappointment when I spied the fast food celebrity in his matching white hair-goatee-suit combo shaking hands with passerby. I had stumbled into a sort of Disneyland for grown-ups. In fact, I was carded on the street before I was allowed to enter and found my hands each marked with a big black 'm.' I found a cantina that I hoped would have a burrito on the menu. So a walked into this place was made completely of shiny plastic that had been molded and painted to resemble cartoonish wooden boards. I found my way to the bar and grabbed a menu.
Earlier, I had noticed the bartenders at Coyotes. Each of them was in their own personal bartending gear that exposed generous amounts of thigh and cleavage, wandering around the floor, smoking cigarettes and helping each other tie back their shirts to show off a little more skin where possible just before the doors opened. But even after witnessing that little dance I was surprised to look up from the menu to see Brandi at the cantina. She took the cake with her camo panties over the wide-diamond fishnets into the motorcycle boots. She wasn't exactly repulsive, but her choice of wardrobe wasn't helping her cause. So I tried not to laugh out loud and asked her if the restaurant was paying her extra to look that bad as I ordered my play-doh-like beans and sprinkle of rice wadded in a tortilla.
With my dinner in hand, I was happy to be leaving the 4th street promenade. It wasn't even 7:30 and there were tons of girls with unfortunate senses of fashion and dudes with unfortunate amounts of gel in their hair (if they had enough hair) all of whom had unfortunate drinking habits. I felt like I was becoming intoxicated just by being in the same airspace with these people.
Haha, and I think I'm getting sick. Tomorrow is a new day.

Slideshows

2008-09-23T21:17:00.000-07:00

Slideshow the First:

Weathermen Slideshow:

Walk From Greenroom--Dallas, TX

2008-09-21T21:13:00.000-07:00

I got tired of writing. I'll get back to it soon. Plus, I got my camera back. I'll try to think of some cool shit to do with it. In the meantime, here's what it looks like walking to the stage in the House of Blues.

On The 8th Day, God Created Montana

2008-09-15T22:56:00.000-07:00

Last night was our last acoustic show of the tour. We played at the Edmonton Events Centre in Edmonton, which is located in the largest mall in the world. I didn’t have much of a chance to explore the mall, but I doubt I would’ve seen a third of it if I’d been there all day. On top of the huge venue where we played to the best Canadian crowd of the tour, this mall had an entire floor of food courts, a bowling alley, a billiard room, an arcade, a water park AND an amusement park—on top of about a million stores. You could probably fit three or four Malls of America inside this joint. It was pretty overwhelming.
After the show we hauled ass back to Calgary where we stayed with some New Zealanders who were living in Calgary studying ballet. I loved the accents they had. I learned a couple of native En Zed phrases which I will share with you: “Kia Kaha”—which means “good luck” or “stay strong” and “Aroha Mai”—which means “I love you.”
After a blueberry pancake brunch, we hit the 2 south back to the states. Those ‘cakes put me to sleep until we hit the border. Once again, we were fucked with at customs, but not as badly as coming into Canada. The dialogue went something like this:
Carrick: “Hello. How’re you doing today?”
Officer Redneck: “Where’re you boys coming from today?”
C: “Calgary. And Edmonton and Vancouver. We’re in a band, we were playing some shows “
OR: “You bringing anything back with you?”
C: “Just this water that the club gave us.”
OR: “Just the water? You boys don’t have anything else? No food or fuel?”
C: “Fuel? I mean, just what’s in the van, but we’re almost on ‘E’—check it out”
OR: “…..So you DID bring in fuel? Alright, I’m gonna need you to step out of the vehicle and leave the doors open. Stretch if you need to, but stand in front of the van and keep your hands out of your pockets.”
Haha, so it went on like that for a bit. Not quite the rigmarole that we went through getting into Canada, but definitely the kind of BS one has to put up with when confronted with a bored authority figure. What was most notable about this particular customs experience was that ours was the only vehicle that happened to be passing through this particular port of entry. Once we stopped the car and the officer shut his yap, the silence surrounding us was amazing. I’ve spent to much time in cities, at shows, on freeways, in places with muzac playing, around other people that I so rarely get a chance to be somewhere that’s truly silent. Sometimes, silence really is golden.
Luckily, we were in and out of customs within a few minutes of that conversation and on our way to one of the best restaurants I’m sure we’ll go to on this tour. Just past the border of Canada, where the 2 becomes US89 is a little town called Babb, MO, which is near Glacier National Park. In Babb, just before you drive into St. Mary, MO, there’s a fun little diner called Two Sisters. As soon as we walked in the front door, Big John, the husband of one of the owners greeted us by shouting “Hey Everybody! The band’s here! Oh yeah, look at these California boys!” It was great. I had some amazing lentil soup while the dudes munched on veggie burgers and we all had delicious chocolate hazelnut shakes to top it off. I was really surprised by how friendly everyone was and how nice the vibe of the place was. It was like they knew we were coming back home to America after being away and were acting as our own personal welcoming committee. We got some advice on what the best trails at Glacier were to hike, what the best Babb nightlife was and even where to find the kind of special something a long-haired hippie like myself likes to unwind with every now and again. Everyone who goes to Glacier National Park should definitely check out the Two Sisters Café in Babb and tell Big John we sent ya.
Right now, I’m kickin’ it in a sweet cabin under a gorgeous Montana full moon. Soon I’ll be heading to Charlie’s Bar with the boys where there promises to be a refreshing Montana micro-brew, beautiful girls and a bar fight or two.
Man, it feels good to be back in the states.

Calgary

2008-09-12T16:16:00.000-07:00

Canada is like nothing I’ve ever seen! I wish I had my camera so I could take some pictures to post, but I won’t be able to snap photos until I get to Salt Lake City. Right now, I’m in the van on the TransCanadian highway listening to Scott McClellan’s “What Happened”. The audiobook hasn’t really gotten juicy yet, but, Cheney’s not in the picture yet. My bandmates and I are all happily snacking on ice wafers and lovingly hand-crafted peanut butter and honey sandwiches made for us by one of our new friends in Chilliwack, a place I hope we can return to someday.
* * * * * *
Okay, I’m returning to this blog after a good nights sleep. That Scott McClellan book was putting me to sleep in the van. Last night, I could barely stay up past midnight for some reason. I woke up early today, all geared up for a chilly Canadian run in the quaint little town of Golden, AB and not 1 1/2 miles into it, the rain starts pouring down. I don’t mind running in the rain as long as it’s a warm summer rain. This was an annoying cold rain, but Chris Brown, M.I.A and the Sugababes got me back to the hotel feeling good. After a quick stop at the local grocery store, where a local asked us if we were in an “emo” band, we hit the road for Calgary. The boys and I had the good fortune of driving through the Yoho and Banff national parks in broad daylight. Canada is so beautiful. Right when we left Golden, we saw a huge pack of mountain goats literally on the other side of the highway shoulder divider. They were enormous! Must’ve been twenty goats just kickin’ it next to the high way.
All the water we saw—streams, rivers and a lakes—was a cool blue. I’m so used to the average American brown-hued bodies of water, so seeing this color everywhere was truly breathtaking. I wanted to jump right in! The highway that took us through the national parks was laid over and between huge mountains. Some black and craggy, other’s tall and covered in snow and all of them enormous and covered in trees--absolutely beautiful beyond description.
So now I’m just hanging out back stage at the MacEwan Ballroom, looking forward to a great show. I’m sure it will be!
oh, haha, and here are a couple pics I took with my iSight camera in the van...

Seattle and Vancouver, BC

2008-09-10T18:33:00.000-07:00

Hey Hey Kids! I'm chillin' out in the Commodore ballroom typing to the sounds of Hanson's sound check. And without any further ado, here's my Seattle Tour Update:

After taking of from my Grandma and Great Grandma's place in Olympia, WA, we rolled up to the Moore just in time to take The Walk with Hanson. It was my second so far and I look forward to many more. I had the opportunity to chit-chat with some folks and enjoy the wonderful late-summer air. After the walk, Carrick and I grabbed some burritos and headed back to the venue to prepare for the show. The crowd was bunches of fun, even if they did give poor Mikey a hard time for not changing his shirt. Haha, what do you expect from us dirty rockers on the road?

After the show I was very lucky to receive an impromtu massage from a professional masseuse and her apprentice as I mingled in front of the venue. It felt SO good--apparently i'm a little tense. After we said our goodbye's and scarfed down a Veggie Dog at Shorty's, it was time to get some shut eye.

The next day, we decided to get a head start on Vancouver. On the way out, we all ate a super-good vegan restaurant in Tacoma called Quickie TOO. Best tofu sandwich i've ever had. I spent most of the trip reading a book that a friend recommended to me called "Snow Crash." So far it's pretty cool; just the kind of nerdy Sci-Fi pleasure-read that i'm into.

When we pulled up to the border, we were looked as suspiciously (nice boys like us--suspicious?) and asked if we could please pull our van to the side. we got out of the can and headed into the customs office. Once we were inside, we were jerked around a little, told to start doing some paperwork and prepared ourselves for a long stay in commercial customs. While we were entering our information into an ancient computer, we asked customs officer 10165 (they're all numbered, not named), a middle aged gentleman with a quiet, confident demeanor, whether our t-shirt's "country of origin" meant where they were made or where they were bought. He took out his glasses and looked at us sympathetically then asked us a few questions about how much merch we had with us and how much of it he thought we'd sell, punched some numbers, pulled out a stamp and -BAM- gave us passage and told us to forget about the paperwork. it was amazing. we had been in that soulless government office for nearly two hours before we found this saintly and merciful gentleman.
If any of you ever cross the Canadian border and run into officer 10165 in customs, please thank him on our behalf.

Mmmm, i just ate a yummy dinner of Thai curry veggies, corn and rice and I'm ready to rock the Commodore! There's a HUGE dance floor here--i hope everyone dances! I love it when the audience dances...

PDX

2008-09-08T12:43:00.000-07:00

Portland 9/7
Well, the fist day of the tour went off without a hitch! We all woke up on time, I got a little exercise and then we hit the road. We’re big on books on tape—or audiobooks, I guess is the updated term—and listened to George Orwell’s “Animal Farm” on today’s drive to Portland. We got to the club at about 4 and there was already a line around the block. We loaded our gear into the Aladdin, a venue famous for screening “Deep Throat” for two decades, then jumped into the van again and headed to Wal Mart for some random supplies.
I haven’t been nervous to perform on stage since my first open mic about 4 years ago. I remember it pretty clearly. I had one song to play. It was fairly new, but well practiced, so I wasn’t really afraid of screwing up so much as I was afraid everyone would think I sucked. Twenty minutes before my name was called, I began to feel very jittery—all butterflies and visions of everything that could possibly go wrong going wrong. My body seemed to be bracing itself for an extreme threat, a terrible, inevitable danger. Dread filled me. But I got up, played, and about a half hour after that I was able to calm down. Now, years later, the essence of that uneasiness was poking around inside of me. It was a little puzzling to me as I was pacing around backstage.
Luckily, once I stepped out on stage and heard the enthusiastic screams of the audience, those butterflies in my stomach vanished. It was such a fun show! The crowd was so much fun. Everyone was smiling, dancing and clapping along. To be honest, I thought it would take years of corralling loyal fans before we’d hear an audience clap along through a whole song, but tonight, tons of folks were clapping along all night. It’s so much fun when the audience let’s you know they’re involved.
I’ve always loved going to Portland, and this trip was fantastic! I really look forward to my next visit. Thanks to everyone for all the memories!

Captive Audience Pt. 3

2007-10-01T23:30:00.000-07:00

Without batting an eye, the man continued on with what seemed like an endless abrigement of his life. I couldn't concentrate on the story anymore. I was in a strange mood. I couldn't help thinking I was much better off not having loved and lost. This person before me fell apart at the seams when he was forced to confront life without his love.
* * * * * * *

Well, here it is over a year later and I'm finally getting around to the completion of this trilogy. If I can remember right, what compelled me to write about this story was to convey how the man's story made me feel about my life and my desires for living it. The gentleman's tragic loss and the impact on his life helped me realize the importance of being your own person--something I get a lesson in often. I remember when I was a teenager, and how during that time love and relationships were desperately important to me. I stopped to wonder how I may've felt if any of my girlfriends, or if the future love of my life had died suddenly. How easy would it be for me to go on? Could it possibly make me any more cynical than I am now?

I was raised to understand that there's so much that can be accomplished with a little hard work, belief in yourself and autonomy. My mother showed me every day that adversity could be overcome and odds could be challenged. My father, in his own ways, showed me that one should live for him- or herself and not give up on one's dreams. This man's story and the path he chose went against my grain. He gave up. He gave up on himself and in a way, he gave up on his wife. It was a heartbreaking thing to hear about. Anyway, before I get all rambly and preachy, I hope everyone who reads this finds a reason to believe in themselves and finds a reason to continue striving for more. It's important to find out who you are and live your life to the fullest.
So DO it!

Captive Audience Pt. 1

2007-08-27T22:22:00.000-07:00

I've been making it a habit of going outside to play guitar and work on new songs a few nights a week in order to get re-acquainted with my strumming and writing muscles. There has been a severe lack in my output of work I can be proud of lately, and as much as I like simply bitching about it, I know it's just going to keep wasting my time. By now I've been at it long enough to re-establish my calluses. So, encouraged by the evidence of discipline, I went out tonight to be true to my routine. Usually I am uninterrupted during my rehabilitation, meaning the few people who walk by don't even break stride to glance over at me. Tonight, however, I was the ear of choice for a terribly depressing monologue.

I had seen the man walk by earlier in the evening, dragging a black garbage bag the size of a small parachute beside him. I glanced up after he was far enough away and saw him looking back in my direction between every few strides. After a while, he came back and approached me timidly, finally stopping about six feet away. He proceeded to lean forward, as if he were peering in through some invisible doorway. At this point, I stopped playing my guitar to acknowledge his gesture. The man was terribly thin and stood a modest five foot six at most. He had tanned, dry skin, grew a magnificent silver mane and had more fingers than teeth.

He asked me if I was in a band. I said I was. He proceeded to stumble through a few sentences in an attept to tell a story about a time in his life when he, too, was in a band. The sound of his voice started to change. It sounded youthful and jaunty as he was storytelling. Apparently, his drummer had crippling stagefright at the big show and the band fell apart. It all went downhill from there. He told me he had lived in LA for over 20 years, and had been homeless for 14 of them. He had a cousin in town who was still unaware of his situation. According to his monologue, the man had been building a good life for himself: cars, a house, steady job and a good woman. He elaborated on his wife, Lisa, quite a bit. She operated the phones at 1-800-DENTIST. He would call her and disguise his voice to describe some imaginary oral ailment, only to cheerfully reveal himself as her beau and profess his love to her. According to him, she absolutely ate it up.

The man himself was a truck driver, which I found hard to believe based on his appearance. I've seen my fair share of truck drivers while shuttling all over America in the Green Machine with the boys, and this guy just didn't have the gut, ass, and caffeinated eyes for the job. I took his word for it as he regaled himself with an abridged version of one of his big hauls. Mostly he talked about how hard it was to be away from his wife. I wasn't sure where exaclty all of this was going, but the man was clearly not finished. I figured he would've asked me for a quarter or a cigarette by now, but he continued on. I was beginning to get bored until the man changed his tune slightly. He went on a quick tangent about thai food, then came back to his wife.

Up to this point, I had probably muttered 'uh-huh' or 'right' or 'sure' where it seemed appropriate in an attempt to hurry this man to his point, but he was far from done. With all the joy and nostalgia coming out of this man, I never saw the next ramble coming.

Next time: The Death of Lisa

Captive Audience Pt. 2

2007-08-13T16:10:00.000-07:00

I was audience to a rambling bum recently. This is part two of my recollection of the experience.

I neither asked this man to give me his name, nor shared mine. He showed me the same courtesy. In fact, I never asked him anything at all and in turn, my silence was rewarded with his life-story. In the last installment, we learned that our man wasn't always down in the dumps as he is now. He once had a job travelling the country, "bringing it" as truckers do, which allowed him to pay rent, which gave him a place to park his Class C automobiles and, among other things, his bed, which he shared with his loving wife. They were a working couple who didn't always see as much of each other as they might have liked. He couldn't tell me enough how much she meant to him. I was half expecting her to sneak out from around the corner and give him a kiss on the cheek for praising her the way he did. She didn't. I was about to find out why she never would again.

What surprised me about his story was how well it was told. Up until this point, the man had been friendly, but very timid. His actions were constrained, his speech was gentle, and his sentences were poorly constructed at times. Before I knew it, I was savoring every word the man said.

His sad tale began as he was driving home from his local thai food joint. Thai was Lisa's favorite food. Our man was joyfully about to deliver a surprise meal to his missus. He was supposed to have been driving his rig, but he'd ducked out early. He walked in the front door and set things up by the book: nice tablecloth, low lights and candles, sexy music. Then he sat down, waited for his belle, and let himself dream up a slideshow of dances shared, cherished kisses, and they joy they would share over their meal that night.

After nearly forty minutes had passed, he snuffed the candles. Worried, he paced around a bit. She should have been home by now. She wouldn't be at the office this late. Traffic was never this bad. He stepped outside to have a cigarette. What errands might she run so late? Where could she be? His neighbor approached and could see how worried he was. He bravely declined his neighbors offer for a consolatory hit of crack. Time continued to pass. He went inside and sat down for a few minutes before he heard an appropriately authoritative knock at his door. The police had arrived, and after verifying he was Lisa's husband they asked him to take a seat. They said they were sorry to have to break the news to him.

Her untimely death was caused by a drunk driver running a stop sign. It's a tragic and helpless way to go, and the news hit our poor boy hard. Though they had made funeral arrangements together, he spent extra money and sold a few possesions in order to give Lisa the best funeral he could manage. She was buried in a magnificent mahogany coffin after being honored by her friends and family.

Next: What happened next...

Ask Austin Vol. III

2007-08-02T22:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Dr. Austitron V.M.D.,

why is it acceptible to build houses for our dogs but not for our cats?
--Time Bomb Baby

Ms. Baby,

It is FULLY acceptable to build a house for your cat. Most breeds of cat have a noted fondness for kickin' it in high places. My animal behaviourist friends tell me height gives the cat a better observation point, allowing it to survey its "territory" and become aware of activities of people and other pets in the area. In the wild, a higher place may serve as a concealed site from which to hunt and scope out prospective mates; domestic cats are known to strike prey by pouncing from such a perch as a craggy cliff face, as does a Himalyan snow leopard. Height, therefore, can also give cats a sense of security and prestige. It's a shame that so few people understand how explosively the treehouse demand is booming in the feline community. Unfortunately, birds have the monopoly on the treehouse world and have set up zoning ordinances that make it unspeakably difficult for a cat to even lease, much less settle into a nice place up high.

Dear Dr.Austitron,

I always end up getting set-up by my friends because I can never find my own dates, or if I do spot a guy I find attractive, I can't approach them or I put myself in some twisted awkward position. So my question is, how can I approach a guy without making a damn fool of myself?
--Emily

Emily,

I don't understand why putting yourself in twisted awkward positions doesn't work! i've always loved gymnasts, ballerinas and contortionists...

First thing's first: Be yourself.

I would say to appeal to his masculinity. Ask for some kind of assistance, even if you don't need it. This will give you the opportunity to find out a little bit about how he interacts with people and allows you to further open up the conversation. Be brief, but let it flow as it comes naturally--remember you're just trying to get some contact information and you don't want to accidentally force someone into a first date upon meeting them.
Be as flirty as you need to be based on what you want from the guy. And say no to being set-up!

Ask Austin Vol. II

2007-07-12T15:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Austin,

Are Unicorns real?
--Elise

Elise:

Unlike the sasquatch, narwhal and tree octopus, the unicorn is a mythical creature. Oh man, but what if?!

And we're off!

2007-07-10T01:39:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I had to do something, right?! But what? Well, you gotta write what you know--I like telling people what to do and speaking frankly. I know stuff...about things...and need somewhere to express opinions without giving speeches.

Thank you for your questions, rants, comments, arguments, praise, sexy pictures, restaurant recommendations, et cetera...

Dear Austin:

What was the basis of this bulletin? Why would your audience have questions?
--Bridgette

Bridgette:
I wanted to start a blog, but I wanted to have something that was interactive. I wanted people to be personally interested not just because they might like what i have to say, but because they were able to contribute. It's a little experimental, but I'll try to keep it exciting--or at the least, worth bookmarking.

Everyone's got questions. Why did you have questions? My audience are those who want an answer. I'll post and reply to or comment on anything I find entertaining, as well as share what floats my boat.

Dear Austin:

How many miles up b4 you reach outer space?
--Chandy

Chandy:

At 4.6km, the FAA mandates everyone in the air have access to supplimental oxygen
At 26,250 feet you reach the "Death Zone"--where there isn't enough oxygen to support human life.
At 62.1 miles above you reach the Kármán Line, which defines the limit of outer space according to the Fédération Aéronautique Internationale.

Dear Austin,

It's been months since I've been on a date. Any folks you have to donate, sir?
--Class Act

Mr. Act

Folk's to donate? Absolutely not.

However, if you walk up to a shortie that strikes your fancy with confidence and a calm demeanor, you can at least get her email or IM, which can be helpful if finding out whether or not she's crazy. Most girls are. In the long run, comedy is the best "game" to focus on (even if money can buy you a date) and honesty (or a reasonable representation of what appears to be honesty) is the best policy--oh, and nice guys do finish last, even though they do finish in the end.

Personally, I can't imagine why not dating would trouble you. You're young, you should be getting your groove on, and that means kicking it with your crew and talking to every cutie you see while you're doing your thing. If a girlie's cool, she'll be where you're at.

Generally speaking:

I got a few questions about the band--the one I'm in called Everybody Else--which were, for the most part, very difficult to answer. As per questions about what we're doing or where we're going, don't ask me...I'm just the bass player.