The Luv Doc: Dirty Piggies Everywhere

Dear Luv Doc,

I have been crushing on this hippie chick that I work with for months, and yesterday she casually dropped that she is going to Eeyore’s this weekend with some of her friends and that I should check it out. I can’t tell ... do you think she is hitting on me? Should I go? She didn’t really ask me to come with her, just that I should check it out. What are the chances that I would even run into her? I have been in Austin four years and I have never been, but people always say it’s great and that I have to go. Full disclosure: I kind of hate drum circles, tie-dye, and big crowds of sweaty people. Should I sit this out, or face my fears and try to find her?  – Guy in the Plain White Tee

Duuuude ... I have some really bad news. The Chronicle is a newsweekly, so by the time you see this in print or online, Eeyore’s will be a not-so-distant memory ... augmented, of course, by several thousand awkwardly contrived Instagram posts featuring “influencers” who are “having such a great time!” #keepaustinweird ... as well as several hundred hours of HD YouTube video footage that painstakingly documents the costuming of Eeyore’s attendees, or lack of costuming, as the case may be. Now, before you scream “cringe!” – don’t deny yourself the delightful panorama of grumpy old tie-dyed hippies giving modern technology the stink eye. It’s almost as good as being there ... maybe better in your case.

Let’s get back to the issue at hand, though: You’ve been in Austin four years and you haven’t figured out the Chronicle’s publication cycle? Goddamn it, how can I help you if you won’t help yourself? I know you’re probably thinking, “But aren’t we living in a miraculous information age where all media is instantaneous?” Yes, we are. However, metaphorically speaking, the Chronicle is a Crock-Pot, not a microwave. We need some time to let the juices coalesce, so to speak.

That said, I hope your day at the park was every bit the magical fever dream it was meant to be. Had you caught me a little earlier, I might have suggested blue blockers for the tie-dye, and maybe some foam earplugs for the drum circle – not because the drumming isn’t totally adequate – far from it; drums without cymbals are a huge fetish for me – but because foam earplugs allow you to thrash around arythmically with all the other hippie dancers without having to entertain an actual conversation. Otherwise, your only choice is to look down at all the dirty toes and try to hold in your lunch, which ideally would have been migas and mushroom tea.

If you went totally sober, that was an undeniably courageous act. Once you’ve tooled around the park a few times, the unaltered mind will inevitably seek consistencies to give it ballast. It finds archetypes: Muscle guy with no shirt and convenience store sunglasses. Unmuscled guy with no shirt leading rescue dog with a bandanna. Girl with fairy wings. Girl with fairy wings and pasties. Fratty looking guy in Hawaiian shirt. Old guy in oversized T-shirt with clever saying. Couple in pajamas. Couple in bondage wear. And, of course, the obligatory tie-dye and open-toed sandals. Dirty piggies everywhere. Eeyore’s is pretty much a foot fetishist’s dream come true, as long as hygiene isn’t an issue. Saturday was exquisitely soupy, so I can only imagine it was a real sweatfest, which is Eeyore’s in its truest form. Hopefully you didn’t miss it – and your dream girl – just because of a few neurotic hangups. Otherwise, why did you even move to Austin? For the overpriced condos?