Welcome To My Neighborhood

I work and live on the Eastside of Austin which means that I'm unique and hip... by default.

Anytime a young person moves to the east side of any city, their credibility suddenly goes up fourteen notches.

Or down.

Way down.

Eastside Austin is a culturally vibrant and enthusiastic part of our fair city. It's the only place where you can sit back and watch a police helicopter chase while enjoying a nice $1.50 taco of your choice. It's a place where warehouses are turned into art spaces, vacant lots are furnished with food trailers, and old dive bars are turned into new dive bars.

I myself work in said warehouse. My office was formerly a bus depot, then furniture store, now hipster art collective/squirrel habitat. Our building boasts a graffiti-esque sign of our name which is an exclaimed adjective followed by an exclaimed adverb. In front of the sign, is another sign posted by an anonymous local telling us to get lost.

At our office we enjoy watching prostitutes having sex with their johns outside our windows, high speed police chases that cumulate in our parking lot, and squirrels that randomly fall from the ceiling and hit the hard cement floor with a thud, run spastically in circles and then fling themselves against the window pane in a desperate bid to flee.

Just yesterday I was able to snap my first prostitute solicitation on my Iphone. The deal went down right behind my desk and I quietly hid and raised my phone above the windowsill to get the shot below. I heard the woman offer her services for ten dollars, then enthusiastically dance when the man said "yes". Hence the awkward position she, er, let's call her Linda, is standing in the picture. The two temporary love birds giddily drove off and no less than ten minutes later, I see a beaming Linda walking back down the street hocking a big loogie and wiping her hands.

When not at work, you can often find me at home, gardening with BBQ prongs in my bloomers, or riding my bike back and forth down the street for no apparent reason. Naked hippie children play within ten feet of where I am and ignore me. I too ignore them but secretly I'm sad that they act like I don't exist.
I live in a 1920's Sears catalog house. Which means in 1925, it cost what I pay in a month's rent to built.

Tomorrow I will be partaking in a photo exhibit at Super!Alright! @ 6PM. Come by and say hello. The fabulous Missions will be playing. You'll be able to meet the squirrels and I just may be in my bloomers. The naked hippie children will not be there, and even if they were, they wouldn't give a shit about you. Linda might make a guest appearance though.