Sunday, March 7, 2004

A Journal from Austin, Texas.
A Project of LBFFP Stealth Publishing.

ten thousand things

I'll bet there are ten thousand things in this house. Or more.

We have a lot of shoes...and not all of them are on display yet.

JUST TYPING

Just one more thing.
Another gadget.
Another wire.
Another bit of media.
Another magazine.
Or book.
Adding up.
Accreting.
Into layers.

Food Diary.

breakfast
[Sweetish Hill]

a bagel-like thing and cream cheese

lunch
[Halcyon]

pannini with chicken, provolone, sun-dried tomato and pesto

snacks

3/4 ounce Laughing Cow cheese
a tiny shot of single malt Scotch

dinner
[Fonda San Miguel benefit buffet]

two glasses red wine
a plate of ceviche, vegetable salad, spinach, guacamole, napolitos and three kinds of meats with differenct sauces
a Mexican cookie
a tortilla

Today I
- ate almost nothing at home.

Time flies....

I was up about six-thirty. I straightened up the bedroom, folded clothes. I drank coffee and worked on my journal. I took more pictures of the room. SuRu called and suggested we revive the tradition of the eXtreme dog-walking team. I am all for it. I get into the outfit: jeans, T-Shirt, hiking boots, cap, belt back with water bottles (one for people, one for dogs) and other emergency stuff and my camera and cell phone. SuRu will carry pepper spray in case of a loose dog attack.

SuRu picks us up. We go to 13th Street and park. We wander west then east moving south all the while. There are two other black standard poodles in that park on 9th (SuRu's dog is a standard and black as long-time readers know). One is a one-year-old who is out of control on the leash near the playground. She later escapes and dashes out of the park. The other is one named Barbie in the off-leash area. Barbie and Zoey don't really get along. We move on. We go up that hill that is Winflo and Brownlee and down by the stores along 6th. At Sweetish Hill I see people I know but no outside tables. We walk to Seattle's Best but the Lamar construction fiasco is going on even though it's Sunday and there is a loud bulldozer and fumes right in front. Someone I know rushes out to greet us and look at the dogs. We go back to Sweetish Hill and get a table. A long-winded girl child comes to pat the dogs and explains her quest to get a dog from her father. She talks without breathing..."I want a dog. We had a cat we kept for ten years. It ran away and we think it passed aw--, er died because it never stayed gone more than two days. Since the cat was gone we got a fish. We have a gerbil. If we had gotten a fish while the cat was there, it would have had two things to harrass. But I want a dog. My dad says it has to be small and quiet and not shed." We interrupt to point out that she will have to take care of it and does she take care of the gerbil. "I feed it. It eats a lot. I have to clean the plop out of the cage. The more it eats, the more plop."

We finish our snacks and coffee. We are worn out from this child's talk.

We go back through the neighborhood in a circuitous fashion to the car. We've done some hills but the walk doesn't feel like much exercise, particularly since the day is cool. I barely got warm at the end. The dogs seem tired though.

When I get home, FFP is off doing something and a friend calls. Haven't seen her in a while. She has my Christmas present. I have hers. Her present is great. A signed copy of Calvin Trillin's Feeding a Yen. I don't have a copy and I love Calvin. I've given copies of Travels with Alice to many friends.

After some talk and showing off the room, our friend leaves and I get a shower. FFP goes off somewhere again...to the club to sun I think. I get dressed in some decent slacks and a shirt that is OK for the evening and then I go to a place where everyone is in very casual clothes...the Halcyon coffee shop. Formerly Rutamaya. On W. 4th. The local Austin journal folks are having a conflab. As you know, dear reader, I have not in the past promoted this journal although I did go to a conference of journalers. I didn't widely distribute my URL or try to get people to link to it. In fact, I avoided it and ask people not to do it. I didn't list my URL in the printed conference stuff for that journal. Well...today, just today, I decided that I would relax that a little. That I would join up with a site called Austin Stories that maintains a list of journals (and blogs or whatever) about Austin. And that I wouldn't sort of not promote the site. I also sent a note to a favorite journaler and a master of maintaining links, Michael of Bunt Sign, saying that I was no longer not promoting my site. Besides I had to send him an e-mail...he's reading the same Anne Tyler book I am. [Ed. Note: I don't expect anything really to come of the not promoting. It's just something I decided to do. There are ten thousand umpteen journals out there. Old The Visible Woman, not just a food diary, is not exactly going to attract a cult following and result in a lucrative second career that is creative and fun. I know that.]

Anyway, I attended this journaling thing. Got there early and had a sandwich and an iced coffee. Got an Iced Americana later and introduced myself again to people. Friendly enough folks but they generally move in a different orbit than I and they are probably more interesting for it. I like talking to different people.

I got home in time to get ready to go to an Actor's benefit for Zach Scott Theater over at Fonda. We had some drinks and mixed around and then had the buffet dinner. People we had seen in productions were introduced and even sitting with us. It was entertaining. I was tired when I got home but I did stay awake for the watching of a video tape FFP made of The Sopranos. He dozed off. I read some of my groaning pile of newspapers and finally went to bed and listened to the Jazz Channel of digital music on the TV while reading a copy of The New Yorker.

Reading.

Newspapers.

Several old copies of The New Yorker.

The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler. She has a way of capturing the 50's, 60's, 70's in a few quick strokes.

nothing

Exercise

It's a Tangled
Web we weave...these
days of our lives.

One year ago
"I have become an opera fan. Tonight's Austin Lyric Opera's production of La Boheme didn't send me, though. The orchestra seemed to drown the singing. My eyes drifted down. "

Two years ago
"Possums are so like giant rats. Ugh. My pal in SA notes that the rest of the world says opossum. I suppose that's true. Sounds stilted when said here. Usage note compares it to saying tater for potato and skeeter for mosquito. Those sound like the language of hicks. Isn't language fascinating?"