Absinthe Party At The Fly Honey Warehouse

Supposedly, I'm leaving for Panama City in a few. I'm going to meet people and drink drinks. Hopefully, I won't have to fend off too many plates of meat. Who am I kidding? Once again, I offer a list of things I think about when someone asks, "Why are you a vegetarian?" I should probably print a few copies.
( Read more... )

I have a guilty pleasure, a little something I've indulged in for the past few months. When I can, I watch a low-rent sword-and-sorcery TV show called "Legend of the Seeker". The show is based on the Terry Goodkind Sword of Truth series. (And starred Craig Parker, a.k.a. Haldir.) Frankly, I never got much from reading Goodkind. His work is based on Ayn Rand babblings, which lend themselves to fairytales and silliness. But I caught the show on Hulu and got hooked. I know, writers should spend their time debating grammar, sipping pernod, and making devastating quips. I watch bad TV and work on an old motorcycle, sue me.

I checked Hulu's website to see if any new episodes were out. None are, but I did find a hilarious discussion called "Imperial Order = Democrats, Richard and friends = Republicans."

Another guilty pleasure of mine is baiting people on the internet. must.....resist....

I live at the edge of a decent sized urban forest. This land has never been developed, and cannot ever be developed in any way. The rain patters in an ancient code that the trees understand and I do not. And my solenoid is out.

questions from panjianlien ...

1.  Marriage. One of the finer institutions I've never been committed to. Not that I haven't tried. A few years ago, I was positively bent on getting married. I always feared being the unmarried 50ish guy at a family reunion or my own daughter's wedding, getting fixed up. However, as I started to approach the mystical age of 40 (not yet!) I wondered how much I needed to get married. I settled into myself - for better or worse, for richer or poorer. I don't know that I was entirely happy, but I came to terms with my singlehood - even learned to celebrate it.

But, "Sometimes, at the height of our revelries, when our joy is at it's zenith, when all is most right with the world, the most unthinkable disasters descend upon us." Jean Shepherd) Is something afoot? Why yes. Did the butler do it? You know that he did.

2. Writing. I'm writing all the time now. Writing on paper napkins, in my head, while driving, in text messages. I won't Twitter, I just can't. The novel is coming along slowly - more slowly than I'd like. It's not that I've imposed some sort of artificial deadline on the book, I just have two other novels and a collection of short stories in my head. I need to get these out.

3. Fatherhood. This is a tough subject for me. I used to write so effusively about parenting. Now I feel dispossessed, lost, yet I'm settled into it, like a refugee camp resident celebrating his first year in the tents. Remember the day we got the second water bottle! Plastic sheeting! Little triumphs, that's what got me through last year. Little tiny things no one else would notice.

4. Motorcycle. The bike is bold and brash. She (and she is definitely a she, in fact a lady of a certain age who must be treated in the manner she has become accustomed to) takes me wherever I want to go. Except today. Battery problems. Plus a chronic issue with the petcock (get your minds out of the gutter), resulting in vacuum lock. The previous owner tried to solve this using Kawasaki's recommended method - drilling holes in the gas tank. This solved the vacuum lock, but also allows condensation into the gas tank.  And there's no windshield or luggage, so long trips are almost out of the question.

Alas for my old girl, I have been eyeing a young, curvy thing. She's built for comfort and speed.

5. Cabin. The little place has become my favorite place in Alabama. It's quiet and isolated, surrounded by woods and open space. It's seductive in its way. It wants me to stay here. But I'm not.

Jackson 5 cartoons followed by The Harlem Globetrotters.Waiting for Farrah to come out from the silhouette. Heeeere's Johnny. Rock With You during the All-Skate. Girl close your eyes. Relax your mind. The Thriller party. Memorizing the zombie dance until I could do it step-for-step in front of the TV. You Know I'm Fat. Heeeere's Johnny. The Charlie's Angel rule (Thank you Margaret Cho!) 

Of course, I eventually outgrew Michael Jackson's music and became morbidly fascinated with the allegations (which were too often true) and his bizarre appearance. I moved onto Arsenio Hall and Jon Stewart. I rarely watched anything with Farrah in it, perhaps part of The Burning Bed for a class. But they were my childhood in a very real way, and I'll miss them.

I got out to the Strode Cabin about two weeks ago. The previous resident didn't clean up before he left. He didn't even sweep the floors or empty his ashtrays. I spent the first week just cleaning. The studio was easier - just clean the built-in shelving, fireplace, bathroom, and windows, then remove the bug infested desk, couch and rug. I wound up removing all of the furniture he had in there - it was cluttered and dirty. I also removed my late benefactor's many plaques and awards - I really can't write with commendations on his 3-volume Jefferson Davis bio lining the walls. I'm surprised anyone else could. UA fixed the busted windows, got the door to lock, and will (hopefully) remove the dead tree before it falls and crushes me.

The cabin was/is another matter. I'm not exactly sure why the previous resident didn't simply ask the University of fix this stuff - pothole, water damage, holes in walls, broken windows, broken screens, doorknobs, moldy caulk, dead exhaust fan - it just goes on and on. None of it is unfixable by any means, but there's just so much to do. I've had six guys fixing things at once in that cabin, plus my own repairs. I painted the place white - a good color for starting over. That was after the cleaning - with the help of some friends, I mucked out the fridge (don't ask), the oven, the kitchen cabinets, and the shower enclosure. I'm still working on the floors. Everytime I mop, I have to call the Alabama Museum of Natural History and to see what I should do with the dinosaur bones. UA will (hopefuly) remove the other dead tree before it falls and crushes me. While cutting wallpaper into shelf paper, I dropped a knife onto my foot.

On the other hand.

I spent a few hours one exquisitely dark night sitting on my porch. Fireflies lit the wet-water creek that runs in front of my cabin, now covered in generations of English ivy and pine saplings. Squirrels ran amok in the trees. The land is intensely alive and wild. Perhaps the previous resident just never went inside.

Happy Mother's Day.

Nothing's blooming here. I have four crepe myrtles in my yard. None of them have bloomed yet, although it's still a bit early. By this time last year, they were all in bloom, not just mine, but all the trees that line my street. The magnolias are only in partial bloom - perhaps 10% of any tree blooms, the rest - nothing. There's an azalea bush next to the cabin. No flowers, not even buds. Maybe the plants are in recession too.

I held a yard sale yesterday and sold off most of my old furniture. I still have a few items left, most notably the washer and dryer. Yard sales are fun, occasionally lucrative, and utterly exhausting. Now the house is a wreck and I'm too tired to clean. Maybe I'll treat myself to Star Trek today, and post grades, and sweep and mop, and pack up another room. Or maybe I'll take a nap.

By the end of the month, I'll be in the cabin. It needs a severe cleaning, inside and out. If I can find a Mr. Clean bomb, I'l throw it.

[from Lee Leffingwell, Austin City Council.]

Thank you for your concern about the trees at Barton Springs. I do not believe that ANY trees should be removed from the Park until every interested party has had a chance to understand the details of the analysis that's been done and the proposal that's been made, and to give their input.

Nobody wants to remove a single tree from Barton Springs Pool unless it is abundantly clear that there is no other viable option to ensure the public’s safety. Right now we need to make sure that everyone has the facts, that everyone has a chance to give input, and that we ultimately make a decision that has the broadest possible community support.

More information about the upcoming meetings, the tree analysis, and the Barton Springs Master Plan is here

. A map of the proposed tree removals is here.

http://www.ci.austin.tx.us/parks/bartonspringsmp.htm

Thanks,
Lee


Public input opportunities for the Barton Springs Tree Assessment:

Parks and Recreation Board
Tuesday, April 28, 2009, at 6:00 p.m.
City Hall - 301 West Second St.
Boards and Commissions 

Urban Forestry Board
Tuesday, May 19, 2009, at 6:30 p.m.
Mexican American Cultural Center
600 River St.

Environmental Board
Wednesday, May 20, 2009, at 6:00 p.m.
City Hall - 301 West Second St.
Council Chambers

 

[sent this morning to the Austin City Coucil]

Your Name: [ulitave]
Your e-mail address: [redacted]
Subject: Tree Cutting at Barton Springs

Comments: I will be blunt - I am an Obama fundraiser. I will raise funds to remove any elected official who votes in favor of cutting down 28 trees at Barton Springs. If the trees endanger car traffic, move the cars.

When: Monday, April 27, 2009

Where: Little Willie’s

Time: 7:00 p.m. doors open, reading starts at 7:30

FREE

I've been working on a novel for the past two semesters. Monday, my classmates and I have a reading. We'll each do short (8 min or less!) excerpts from our work. If you're in town, please come - most of us had never written a novel before. We need your support.

( What are they reading? )

My students don't get it. At all. Sigh.

My comp class voted to see a movie. They had to pick a topic - some topic we've dealt with this semester in their papers. They narrowed the choices down to stem cell research, Iraq, abortion, and the economy. After some spirited debate, the war won.

That became a bit of a poser. Most movies about the war have flopped, badly. In fact, the most successful war film to this day is Farenheit 9/11. That seemed too...I don't know. Easy. An obvious pick from the northern liberal. (Yes, I'm from Texas, but all liberals in Alabama are northerners, even the ones from south of Alabama.)  I decided to get a little more abstract. 28 Weeks Later? No. The Happening? Pul-eese. What take can I put on such a sprawling event, a conflict that started before these freshmen were born? I felt a bit lost. And then I experienced one of those epiphanic Moments, when the protagonist realizes everything he needs is already at home.
( Read more... )

I've been away (from LJ)  for the last week or so. I'll never possibly catch up to all these posts. How is everyone?

This has been the strangest day, and it's only 1 pm.

We had a small tornado touch down here yesterday. There wasn't much damage, none to my place. We've also had frequent flyovers by the Blue Angels, who have a show here tomorrow. Apparently, this is a large show with dozens of small planes, helicopters, and at least one military cargo jet. Did you know that a fighter jet can set off every car alarm for miles, drive dogs insane, and stop novel writing in its tracks? Or a biplane doing loop-de-loops over your house sounds just as annoying as you think it would? Did you know that the silence of a stalled airplane engine (over your house) is just as exciting as you think it is? Not in a good way.

This morning at around 5 am, I woke up feeling something wasn't right. I heard a rustling noise from another room. At first, I thought it was Django going in and out of the cat door, but it kept up. We're having a spate of bad weather this week, so I left the door open incase a storm came up at night and he needed shelter.

The noise was soft, subtle, and rapid - tuttuttut tuttuttut, I got up to look and found Django on the kitchen counter, trying to eat the new bag of cat food from the outside. SO annoying - he just likes to eat. He'd been fed and still had food in his bowl, but since this food WASN'T in his bowl, it must be extra better, right? Of course. I shooed him outside and shut the cat door.

Seconds later, Django's calico girlfriend darted out of the spare bedroom. She made a break for the door, which was now closed. She panicked and ran for my bedroom, found the door closed, ran for the bathroom, found that door closed, and squared off with me. Grrrreat - a panicked, unvaccinated, feral cat vs. a sleepy, uncaffinated, not-dealing-with-this-shit today me. I slowly opened the kitchen door and backed away. Seh ran into a different part of the house. Then I re-opened the cat door. Django immediately jumped in. I decided he might calm her down and/or lead her out. I went back to bed and dreamed quietly.

tuttuttut tuttuttut. Again. Neither Django nor his gf were eating the cat food. The noise was coming from the living room. I went inside and saw movement, flapping - a bird. Some sort of swallow had gotten into my house, perhaps through the chimney. I opened the front door, stood on the porch, and a minute later watched the bird fly away. Then I realized that I was still in my underwear. So if you drove by and got a show this morning, you owe me a dollar.

Sleep-deprived, dream-interrupted, surrounded by daredevil pilots and frantic animals in the path a twister. When I'm old, I will tell my grandkids that every day was like this.

A tornado touched down in my little corner of Alabama today. As far as I know, no one was injured.

I like The Onion every once in awhile, for a good chuckle. Today, they hit a grand-slam.


( Random morning thoughts... )

( memememememe... )

“What has happened to us? What has happened to the American dream?” a character asks. The answer might be: “You, Zack Snyder. Man-boy directors, blessed with skill but no soul, content to peddle enervatingly reverential treatments of soft porn for kidults.”

I saw Watchmen last night. I'm not impressed.

Yesterday, I came home and started to unlock the side door. Like any good southern house, the main entrance to my home is on the side, in the carport. The front door is reserved for forlorn GOP politicians looking for handouts and the Jehovah's Witnesses. Not at the same time. But yesterday, I came home and, out of habit, looked through the side door window as I unlocked it. Now my side door leads directly into the bedroom. I know that's sort of odd, but this house has no hallways. I suppose they had to put it somewhere since a southern home without a side door can NOT happen. I'm sure there's a law.

I looked through the small window and spotted the cat on my bed. I got pissed. Django was once a hulking Rotweiler. He fell under the thrall of some wicked magician who transmuted him into a large black cat, just to see if he'd still lick himself in public. It worked. One of these days I'll have to install a larger doggie door so his ego won't have to wait in the cold. I don't allow dogs in my bed, nor cats, nor cats who think they are dogs. Nothing against them, I'm simply allergic. Not just a little allergic - very allergic after four years of allergy shots. Some animals affect me worse than others, but this dog inside the cat thing (add a hamster and get some sort of pet store Turducken) works. To a degree. He can't get in my bed or I'll wake up with my eyes and nose glued shut from the inside. I was pissed at him, for being in my bed, and pissed at myself, for leaving the bedroom door open. Except Django wasn't in my bed. This was another cat.

She looked young - probably less than a year. Black with white markings. And...familiar. I'd spotted her around before, around the back of my house or on the front porch, meowing. For her boyfriend. Django. It's Spring. She's in....THEY DID IT IN MY BED!!! AAAAAAAAAH! I burst in, irate  incandesent. The girl cat ran for the cat door, and Django...wasn't even in the room. He was laid out on the couch in the next room, enjoying his version of a post-coital smoke, i.e. licking himself.

This is ridiculous - I pay the rent and he gets all the...all the...I can't even say it.