Revisiting the tape box

1989 and 1990 was awesome to me music wise. My best friend and I were into The Stone Roses and Pussy Galore (Dial 'M' for Motherfucker was my fave). I was remembering all the new music I was finding at the time like Braniac and Opal (and then Mazzy Star). Claude was way into Pavement and introduced me to Morphine and Galaxie 500. Then there were the Pixies and the last of Camper Van Beethoven. This is what we listened too shopping for vintage 50's shirt dresses (found everywhere for $5 or less once upon a time in Austin) to wear with our leggings and Chinese Mary Jane's. It's what we listened to when we were at St Ed's and new to this town. Good years.

More than folks

I really want to read The Age of American Unreason. We need Susan Jacoby more than ever.

I *heart* Bill Moyers. He never fails, it's always an interesting and thought provoking talk show.

Vertical mix use-very messed up

VMU? Hmmmm I don't think it is the only answer. I don't think it works in every location in every neighborhood. I think the Austin,TX climate should be taken into account. There are other answers to the question of where to put the future Austinites. Waiting for the preservationist and their manifesto.

Egg salad sandwiches and other stuff

My friend Bonnie introduced me to the divine egg salad sandwich found at the Kosher HEB deli. It is so delish! Tell them to burn your bread (rye) and then ask for black olives, avocado, tomatoes, lettuce, cucumber and sprouts to be added to the egg salad (prepared fresh). If you have room for dessert get Green's Kosher Cinnamon Babka. I had this on Sunday and had to return Tuesday for it again. It is so addictive.

Teaching my friends how to knit has been fun and I'm way more patient than I ever thought possible. I should be so patient with myself. It took two hours to teach them how to cast on the way my Abuelita taught me-using one needle- but once they got it I was proud of them. Looking forward to the next lesson which is actually knitting and hoping they are perfecting their casting on.

The Beat exhibit at HRC struck me as tiny at first but it's actually more extensive than it appears. Seeing the handwritten and typed letters from Ginsberg to Kerouac, Orvlosky's diary and Cassady's letter to his wife...wowsers, moving. There is so much more. If you want to see everything it takes more than an hour. They don't have enough photos but what they do have a lot of is the personal correspondence. The Kerouac scroll arrives on the 7th and 20 feet of it will be displayed.

Been thinking of kite flying. One Sunday afternoon my grandfather and us kids flew kites in his front yard. It is a huge front yard (he actually made us a putt-putt golf course there once) and perfect for kite flying. The kites were homemade using paper bags from the grocery store and some thin sticks possibly from a store bought kite that had died. He made us sorts of toys, kites, toy guns that shot rubber bands, sling shots... All afternoon we were outside flying kites and I remember how very happy he seemed and how very happy we felt. It was a really windy day and I remember how the string tugged and how it was surprisingly strong to the point that he had to help me keep my arm from flying off. It was the sort of wind that whipped through your ears and made it hard to hear anything. The sun was shining in my eyes and I looked at my grandfather and he was looking up with his hair flying and he had the biggest smile. He was running around and seemed so young to me that afternoon. He was young. He was only 56, but being my grandad, that was old to me at the time. My mother took a photo of us all that day and it really captured more than the day, it captured my whole childhood with my grandad.

PS: It is amazing how much attention my previous entry got. I received emails from friends and strangers inquiring on the mysterious guy I was flirting with. Mr C. refers to my awesome husband. So yeah, you weren't the only one wondering, teehee.

Fireworks!!! Heart be still!!!!

Ever get a buzz from a real good conversation with someone really attractive? Butterflies in the stomach kind of thing. You keep talking and talking, find out cool stuff about each other, realize you have so much more in common than you thought. You both make each other laugh and just keep getting high off the flirtations. Such was the conversation the other night. It was 2am and I was up chatting on a work night with a guy who I not only find tres cute but tres intelligent. Conversation started hours before and it was way past my bedtime. I had to get up tres early but I thought, whatever, this is fun. Fireworks!!! Heart be still!!!!
Happy Valentine's Day, Mr C., you are so dreamy.

Only one guy on their knees please

Isn't there some unspoken etiquette that dictates there should be no more than one person dropping to their knees playing an instrument in a band on stage at one time? Exceptions being hardcore heavy metal acts from the 80s. I saw this band and at one time there were two guys on their knees playing guitar and bass and it just looked wrong. You can't do that,it looks silly. There's a certain momentum that needs to build within a certain genre of music before it looks natural for the musician to drop to their knees, rockin out.

There have to be rules. If everyone in band wanted to live that rock star fantasy of dropping to their knees with their instruments blaring, all but the drummer, you'd get a pretty short band. It's an ill look. It just isn't done, don't do it. It's genre specific and advanced level.

I could be all wrong. Let's say some band went ahead and dropped to their knees all at one time? Are you picturing this? How about one at a time? Taking turns? The drummer too? Just the guitar player drops to his knees to jam and no one else is really jamming? SEE! Just isn't right. It's a very delicate thing when you get down to it. Before the show starts a band should decide who will drop to their knees that night and no one else can. Before that the band should decide if they even play the kind of music that should have designated knee droppers to begin with.

Another thing...NEVER, ever the white man overbite during a guitar solo. Nooooooooooo nooooooooooooo nooooooooooooo

My own personal mini earthquake in slow motion

Today was the day the house actually got leveled. I thought while that was being done I'd catch up on projects and try and keep busy. I didn't expect to find my shoulders up to my ears and my stomach in knots. What happened was so nerve wrecking it took a few hours to unwind when it was over.

House leveling is like root canal for the house, I think. The longer you put it off, the worse it will be. It's rough. I pictured several men under the house all working the jacks at the same time and seeing a few cracks appear and then it would be over in a few minutes. What actually happened took 2.5 hours. It was a slow and steady process of measuring a fraction of an inch here and there and signaling the men under the house to slowly lift.

Door frames looked crooked and slowly straightened out. Blink too much and you missed the good parts. The house moaned and groaned a bit. The floors moved but barely, it was a very strange sensation. Slow and tiny increments. The walls began to crack in pretty ways. The designs reminded me of Chinese watercolor drawings on rice papers. They just appeared and kept going. Some parts that had cracked fused together again. Then there was what sounded like a bullet piercing steel and the cat's water bowl popped from the floor and made a ringing sound. A joist had popped! UGH! Actually it turned out the joist had cracked but not broken. It would be sistered since the area it was now being supported with additional piers and beams.

The walls and floors began to talk. They told the workmen that there had been water damage done to the kitchen floor and perhaps that is why plywood was put down and black and white tile over it. Nothing too bad because it could not be seen underneath or felt on top. The floor under the bathroom said it had also sustained some water damage at one point. The owner of the house at the time had that wood treated and varnished so it was stable. Still, will have it sistered.

The walls showed their strength and the house proved itself by working so well with the adjustments. I had to walk around with a pencil and mark and date the end of cracks. There will be settling over the next few months and we'll be living with cracks for awhile. Cracks are as close as you can get to getting walls to talk. Gavindo spoke of wood having memory. I thought about houses in the hood being gutted and how it always seemed sad to me even though it is a fresh start and you have this perfect, new, clean house when you are done. But those houses feel a bit weird to me, new inside and all the memory is wiped out. I like the idea of living in a place that has memory. Nothing historically significant happened there but then at the same time everything historically significant did. I just always find the passing of time and people something so interesting, (this is why Jimmy Corrigan appeals to me). People have moved in and out of the place since 1949.

*I realize that I would never want to live in a house that was made with slab foundation. Pier beam and wood frame seem the way to go. Easy to fix. Also, nothing made of brick. When it decides to crack...eesh

POLAROID?????????????????

I would NEVER* buy a Polaroid digital camera. Plenty of other companies do a much better job (Canon, Nikon). However, what I spent on one digital camera two years ago I spend yearly on Polaroid film and have for years and years. SEE THAT! There are plenty of others out there like me who are cursing the shit out of Polaroid and planning burials for their SX-70's and Land Cameras. OMG! I love my Land and the photos it takes and I peel. Glad I didn't get that Holgaroid (though I think some use Fuji) I had my eye on a few years ago. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR Polaroid turned on me. Once I am done purchasing all the 667 and 669 I can I'll NEVER* again purchase another Polaroid item.

I guess I could see if the Fuji FP-100 and 3000 or whatever fits... If the do, I won't be stockpiling the 667 and 669, ciao, Polaroid.

*Those who know me know my NEVERs stick.

Ewok 1987-2008

Happy to have met you, honored you trusted us and loved you so very much.

7am:"From dust you are and unto dust you shall return."

and with that I'm awake. Sobering thought. I had to hear it over and over as everyone walked up to receive their ashes. Sets the day up for contemplation on mortality. Wine at 7am smarts the tummy.

There's a Plath and Sexton poetry reading at noon ...hmmmmm.

Waiting Rooms

It bugs when waiting rooms have only People, US and those other celebrity rags. What happened to the good stuff?
Vanity Fair
The New Yorker
Harper's

Aprons

I love that aprons are the thing du jour but who is wearing them? I wear them, I own several and always have room for more! I'd love to give some cute aprons I find away to friends but I don't seem to know anyone who is really wanting an apron, uses an apron or into aprons. I'd like to make some from vintage patterns to give away but once again...girlfriend wear an apron? Let me know!

Lent

Ash Wednesday is already here on the 6th. What to give up for Lent. "It's gotta hurt or it doesn't count.", that’s what I'd hear as a kid. I never did give up television or my favorite TV shows. It was always candy but I never had much around me anyway, it was easy. Sister Mary Edwards introduced the idea of sacrifices for Lent instead of giving up anything, offer up a sacrifice. We were only eight year olds. Sacrifices were, as I understood it as eight, not doing what you'd normally do in a situation but withstanding some degree of discomfort and offering it up.

My first sacrifice came after recess. A few of us had been having a water drinking contest at the water fountains outside. It was what you did when there was just nothing left to do. All the four squares were taken, tether ball poles in use, older kids playing basketball or doing cheers on the courts, the little kids got the swings and the monkey bars were just too crammed. There were two water fountains and you'd line up and drink all the water you could. A kid would time it and see who could go the longest. They'd also make sure you were drinking and not just faking it. Proof came in watching bellies get more distended. We'd all laugh at the sound of water in the belly. There was a lot of laughing, jumping up and down and spit takes. Between the laughing and full bellies, there came the fun.

This was not the thing to do if you had a huge lunch. A kid got sick once and the chain reaction sent several kids home for the afternoon. I was younger when this happened and just remember hearing about it, "Ewwwwwww everyone is throwing up at the water fountains, it's gross come see!", I knew better. Last thing I ever wanted was to throw up. It took me awhile to even use the outdoor water fountains. The summer put enough distance. I remember being pretty proud of myself because this wasn't the sort of game for delicate constitutions and I was feeling fearless.

We all piled into the classroom and sat down to resume learning. Sister was pretty cool in that she wouldn't turn the lights on in the class for a good five minutes letting things settle down. I remember sitting down actually was very uncomfortable. I asked my friend if that was the same for her and it was. My friend raised her hand to be excused. Another school mate in the drinking game did too. I raised my hand along with my best friend Heather but Sister was starting to think this was some sort of plan for a small party in the girl’s room and sternly said we had to wait. She then announced that we should use our recess time for personal errands as well as play.

UGH! It felt bad. I looked at Heather and we both cracked up at the faces the other was making. Giggling made it worse. I then said, "Sacrifice it". This made her laugh even more and she ran out of the room. I was left red faced and holding in laughs and more. The damn schoolmates were not returning and Sister Mary Edwards had gone after Heather. I finally had to get up and when I arrived at the bathroom it was a mess. One girl had thrown up, and the three other stalls were in use and Sister Mary Edwards was castigating the girl while the receptionist/nurse/janitor consoled her. Sister was telling everyone to hurry up and was quite angry at this point. I felt sick, so very sick from holding in several cupfuls of water and being around the mess that wasn't getting picked up fast enough. I began to feel lightheaded, even.

At Sacred Heart Academy they'd cover messes with sawdust looking powdery stuff then pick it up, later. I guess stuff had be absorbed, yuk. That smell of sawdust to this day still makes me gag. I seriously kept thinking sacrifice. Finally I had my turn in the stall. I had managed to hold it all in and didn't get ill. I had been pondering 40 Days Jesus spent in the desert and even prayed. I felt quite worthy and ready for Easter because I had suffered in agonizing ways that made me think of Jesus. He had too little water, I had to much. I understood the feeling of elation when a sacfrifice was offered up. That was that. Sacrifice, I did it. The rest of Lent that year I spent feeling quite smug.