Every gripe, obituary, and love letter to old Austin in one place. Filter by series if you want a recurring format, or jump into a topic if you’re chasing one specific civic wound.
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Reverse-chronological Austin complaining, exactly as God and local resentment intended.

The city's most iconic street is being erased, one boutique at a time. But who's really behind the 'revitalization' of Red River Street?

The city's parking garage racket has reached new heights, with luxury condos and parking garages sprouting up like weeds. But who's really benefiting from this gold rush?

The city's parking meters used to be a civic convenience, not a battle to be won. Remember when you could park for free, but still had to feed the meter every 20 minutes?

How the city's parking ticket empire has become a booming business, with a new revenue stream for bureaucrats and a fresh headache for Austin drivers.

The city's soul is being sold to soulless investors, one condo at a time. Remember when Red River Street was a place to get weird, not a place to get a sweet deal on a one-bedroom apartment?

The once-thriving hub of Austin's music scene has been reduced to a soulless strip of overpriced boutiques and mediocre restaurants. Where's the weird Bordeaux now?

The line for Franklin Barbecue used to be a badge of honor, not a hostage situation. Now it's a metaphor for the soul-sucking, time-wasting, and wallet-draining experience that is modern Austin.

The last remnants of the East Side's raw, unbridled energy are being suffocated by condos and 'artisanal' coffee shops. Long live the memories of $1 beers and 3 a.m. karaoke.

A nostalgic rant about the good old days of free BBQ and short lines.

The city's last bastion of late-night, no-frills, affordable greatness has fallen to the forces of overpriced, artisanal everything.

He bought 40 acres in Dripping Springs and now has opinions about cedar.

They removed 34 affordable housing units and replaced them with 34 luxury tiny homes with a communal kombucha tap.

He's never been to West, Texas. He has opinions about lamination.

His algorithm has tasted ten thousand quesos. It has learned nothing.

South Congress used to be weird. Now it's weird that anyone can still afford to be there.
We mapped every corporate activation zone in downtown Austin during SXSW. It took three days and most of our will to live.

The glass towers crossed I-35 and nobody even pretended to be surprised.

The free stuff used to be good. Then it was fine. Now it's a QR code printed on a napkin.

Meet Chadwick, who thinks the real problem with breakfast tacos is that they lack a decentralized ledger.

Riverside Drive used to be where you lived when you couldn't afford anywhere else. Now you can't afford Riverside Drive either.

Before it was a parking lot and then a high-rise, it was the room where rednecks and hippies decided to get along.

Rainey Street used to be a quiet block of house-bars where you could drink a Lone Star on a porch. Now the porches are in the shadows of 40-story towers.

We counted the porta-potties so you don't have to. The findings are damning and poorly ventilated.

They closed in 2008. Congress Avenue has never fully recovered. Neither have we.

Before it was Austin's shiniest open-air mall-suburb, The Domain was just a bunch of nothing next to an IBM campus nobody talked about.

The original Emo's wasn't a venue. It was a bruise you were proud of.

You used to dig through a bin for a $3 tee. Now someone digs through the bin for you and charges $45.

A tactical guide for Austinites who want to survive SXSW by doing the only sane thing: avoiding it completely.

It's survived everything Austin has thrown at it, which at this point is basically a siege.

Barton Springs was free, then $3, then $5, then $9. The water stayed the same. We didn't.

Parking used to be an afterthought. Now it's a second mortgage.

They tore it down in 1999 and put up an office building. The bass notes are still in the soil.

Austin's signature food used to be cheap fuel, not a lifestyle brand.

From $50 wristbands to $1,900 platinum passes — a love story between Austin and your empty wallet.

The Lone Star tallboy was a civic institution. Now it's a 'retro selection' on a craft menu.
Comedic Austin nostalgia satire. We remember when this town was weird for free.
This is satire. We love Austin — even the parts we complain about. All characters are fictional composites. No tech bros were harmed in the making of this website.
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