Let's face it: Austin is ruined. With all the tech companies leeching the life out of it, no true weirdo can really afford to live there. It's as homogenized as whole milk. (The Mohawk and Lucy in Disguise are still cool, though.)

The last time I went there, I just felt blasé about the whole thing. Maybe it's because I've gotten older or more cynical, but nearly every inch of Austin feels like a subsidiary of Starbucks. I only saw one bona fide weirdo the entire time I was there: some ranting dude who was dressed like an extra in Hackers. He had some sort of problem with the new world order, but it was difficult to parse his exact grievances.

In spite of my "Keep Lubbock Lame" sticker that I'm super proud of, I think Lubbock is ripe to become the next weird Texas city. Being weird has nothing to do with a political alliance or anything petty like that. Being weird is being home to artists, outsiders, the flamboyant, the fashionable, the disenfranchised, and the patrons who pay for all the weirdos to exist.

I have some historical precedence to back my claim: Amarillo was the most authentically weird Texas city in the 1990s. Extreme weirdo Stanley Marsh funded many outsider art projects that took over the city, including those random and mostly ominous street signs and the Cadillac Ranch. He was also a creep and a terrible person, so Lubbock can do better than that.

There are many delightfully strange artists here. We just need to celebrate them more. Like giving Gizmo water after midnight, imagine what our weirdos can do with a little attention and a small platform. They can go berserk. They can get really, really weird. And that's what I want from my hometown.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment to wear a feather boa and a bull pelvis to McDonald's at 3 a.m.

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