Driskill thrill

I spent my last night in Austin at The Driskill, a very swanky, very Texas, five-star hotel. Where else could you recline in a comfy chair in a dark corner, with a croissant and a coffee, put your feet up...and then be approached by someone who asks, seriously, "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?" (Yes, plenty, but I require a price list first.) I had a bedroom and sitting room, both with large-screen television and high ceilings, plus a front-facing balcony that was private and larger than the entire indoor space. I have a weakness for expensive hotels, but I've never before had a suite with a DOORBELL. The Driskill, by the way, is famously haunted by several spirits, including a four-year-old girl (see portrait above) who died in 1840 when she was playing ball and fell down the lobby's grand stairacase. On two occasions during my stay, there was a distinct knocking at the door. When I answered, there was no one there. Maybe the spooking comes with the other amenities? I was delighted to get a bit of haunting in, of course, but I think the kid could have reached the doorbell, which would have been much more fun.

Batty for Austin

Austin's SoHo is SoCo, for "South Congress" Avenue, downwind of downtown. The retro-heavy shopping was a disappointment save for one very cool store. The owners of Uncommon Objects describe their large space as "your eccentric uncle's attic." It's essentially a junk/antique store, but every item is so carefully chosen and artfully arranged, it seems more like an art installation, and a darn provocative one at that. They let me take a picture of their boot corner only. Otherwise, SoCo shopping was a bust for this yankee. One more display of Frida Kahlo objects would have sent me flying to a good dollar store. Who needs a Frida Kahlo butter knife? Enough with the Kahlo. Are she and that masked wrestler the only Mexicans worthy of such iconic treatment?

On other front, we took in a great exhibit at The Blanton, a nifty art museum on the campus of the University of Texas. Birth of the Cool: California Art, Design and Culture at Midcentury (organized by the Orange County Museum of Art) looks at the origins and appeal of "1950's west coast style through art, music, film, furniture, and more." Who knew the Eames brothers made experimental short films and animation in addition to all those nifty chairs? We also enjoyed two artists on exhibit at the Austin Art Museum, which is tiny (a gallery by NYC standards), and caught a midnight screening of Student Nurses, a 1970's exploitation flick, at the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema. But more than anything, we went batty for the bat cruise, which took us under the Congress Avenue Bridge for a novel view of North America's largest bat colony as it took flight at sunset.

Watch the video. It's rather like a Tim Burton animation made flesh.

Coyote Ugly cute

In Austin, I drank Yaegermeister shots. I never heard of it before, but I was informed by the barkeep that it was "like licorice cough medicine with a lot of codiene." I like licorice, so I had two or three, then sauntered on over to Sixth Street, which was the closest I've come to the Mardi Gras experience outside of New Orleans, and ON A WEDNESDAY NIGHT. Stepping over the small puddles of vomit, I made my way to Coyote Ugly to meet those famous party gals. They really are a blast and very sweet, provided that you keep tipping, generously and continually. But a 10-spot got me some great photos. These gals would be great fodder for a Hollywood movie...but somebody already did that, and I heard that it sucked so severely that I never bothered seeing it. When I asked if the Austin Ugly was the real Coyote Ugly of movie fame, they told me it wasn't. The original, they informed me, is in...Manhattan. Needless to say, I'd never waste my time at Coyote Ugly...in Manhattan.

Meet Miss Amerikill

Yes, I did. I went to my first roller derby in Austin. Staying the first few nights at the Hilton Downtown, I awoke each morning to a flashing LCD sign on the Austin Convention Center just across the street. The Hellcats versus The Cherry Bombs, and only $15 a pop. Guess what? It actually is a sport. They offer a program with the rules of the game and everything. It's was a blast, though I only hung around until after the intermission, during which I mingled with the chain-smoking roller queens. My favorite: Miss Amerikill, who is my new number two butt-kicking heroine, right after Sigourney Weaver in all things Alien. I think I should join forces with this cheeky blonde to pitch a 1970's-flavored sitcom: Amerikill and Mike. Sort of like Laverne and Shirley, but with cigarettes and wheels. It couldn't possible turn out any worse than Gary Unmarried.

Portland's Nines

Rooms at The Nines are spacious, decorated in a light blue and white with faux crystal-covered lighting, and the location is ideal, an easy stroll to the Pearl and Old Town districts and, in particular, the famous Powell's Books, an ideal place to get lost for a couple of hours, just make sure to get the map before you delve into the stacks. The lobby of The Nines is like a lost floor in MoMA, complete with sheer pink and blue drapes, modern portraiture, a pair of surreal, oversized high heels encased in glass, and several naked mannequins (they have more attitude than the staff) that reminded us of the 8mm black-and-white shorts we made in freshman filmmaking. We also had a late-night dinner and drinks at Departure, the new restaurant-lounge at the top of The Nines. Aptly named, entering Departure is like boarding a luxury plane to nowhere. Friendly and sleek, with a fabulous view of the city at night, the cuisine is neo-Asian-funky fusion and the dink menu distinctive, to say the least. Our damage: The "Tasho Macho," a blend of Thai chili ginger vodka, muddled Thai basil, lemon, lime and cock 'n' bull (whatever the hell that is). I'm fairly sure I had three of those, so the walk back to the room is a blur. Even the front desk staff add the the sleek vibe with their impeccable posture. The Nines recently made the Condé Nast Traveler Annual “Hot List,” but we enjoyed it anyway.

Up a Tree: Vertical Horizons

I booked this hotel because it was the closest overnight option for Oregon Caves National Park, and spelunking requires an early start. When I read about this joint, it seemed that they had three styles of tree houses. Turns out, they only have three tree houses total, each unique in design (with toilet, sink and heat) and set out pretty much on their own on a huge piece of property. To get there, we drove to the middle of nowhere, then down a dirt road, then down a gravel path, keeping our eyes peeled for a lone figure in the hills, waving a lantern like some horseless Paul Revere. It was fabulous, sort of like a hippie B&B, complete with a lovely breakfast. Check out the video of our "view" above. In the dark, it seemed that our nearest neighbor was on Pluto.