Austin, TEXAS, December 8, 2005 — Often, people ask me what I do. I say I'm retired. They ask "from what?" I tell them. "I was a computer programmer." Sometimes they then move on to that chestnut about how busy retired people are...which is true in my case. Busy doing nothing, but busy all the same. Sometimes they ask me how I actually spend my time. That's a tough question. Do I say, "I exercise and socialize and try unsuccessfully to read three daily newspapers?" I never do. Sometimes I mention exercise and tennis. Sometimes I mention travel. Even charity work although I do very little. Occasionally I say "I read and write." Or even, boldly, "I write." Even though all I ever write is this journal, it seems. I occasionally do an essay or even publish as a guest in FFP's column space,

of course. But it's a stretch to say "I write."

My dad gets the West Austin News now because FFP bought him a subscription. He has mentioned several times recently that he cut out something I wrote as a guest there. Dad would consider me a writer, I think. But what does he know? He is one of the few who notice when I write that column in the obscure neighborhood newspaper. FFP appears almost every week under the rubric Westside Stories and has started to get frequent comments about his columns when we are out and about. I put the article that was published most recently under my byline up here as an essay and even posted it on Holidailies as part of my contribution there. Why? To prove I could write a coherent piece that didn't recount all my food and drink?

I had lunch today with a friend who retired a year before I did. He's written two plays. He knew nothing about writing plays before. One is a one act he recently did in a workshop and he's getting some good feedback on it and a scene will be presented in one showcase and the whole thing in another. And I thought it was good, too. Which makes me feel bad that I never write anything. No fiction anyway. I have started a set of notes for the characters for a novel I really am going to write. It was going to be a screenplay but I was too lazy to learn how to write one. Formatting and all that, I mean. Even though I've read a bunch of screenplays and have books around here (and sample software) showing how to format them.

We went out tonight to a benefit given by a Ballet Austin outreach group that reaches the young professional set. It was a fashion show at this smart new dress shop on Second Street. All these beautiful young people. I only knew a few of them. No one asked me what I was doing really. The people I knew there knew my story. The smart young people didn't care if I wrote. Maybe they don't even read!

Yeah it wasn't a very eventful day. Dad called this morning. He'd been to the pharmacy. Schools were closing and streets were allegedly icy but he'd forgotten to pick up a prescription. He said it was fine, though. Even his driveway was dry. (Which is good. It's really steep.)

Exercise? No, they closed the club. Are they insane? Did they see one icicle because they left the sprinklers on? I get so tired of the presumed weather emergencies around here. Sure, I got rear-ended on a solid sheet of ice on 183 back in December 2000. It can be really dangerous. But FFP had already driven to the club today (the bridges were icy but the main Mopac one sanded) and worked out, the help was already there. What is the deal? Well, it turns out that a lot of stuff shut down (I noticed this entry in Holidailies). Maybe the help had to go home and look after kids who weren't in school.

So instead of working out I wrapped presents and continuted cleaning out closets and identifying things that I could get rid of. It's a miserable thing to do, really. Seeing things you can't bring yourself to discard but no longer want or need. Things you probably paid too much to acquire.

Lunch was good. NuAge Cafe. I had a drink that had strawberry, cranberry and aloe vera in it. I had a sweet corn soup and "Malaysian Roti Prata ~ Soy morsels simmered in coconut curry sauce, served with roti." I swear it tasted like chicken. Roti is apparently this wonderful bread thing I got. The curry was delicious. Nice. It is funny, though, that this cafe occupies the location of the former Holiday House. Home of the Smoke Burger as I used to call it. Now it's Vegan. The landlord is a rabid animal savior. It's weird.

After lunch, I continued with the cleaning up. I have put some small things up for Freecycle and I have offered a framed limit edition via e-mail to my cousin and I threw a few things away. I have given the neighbor some stuff I'd been saving for her kid's art class.

FFP suggested a trip to BookStop. We went there and I almost bought several things. Some bargain-priced books for my great nephews. A calendar for my mother-in-law. A book on Phi (you know the irrational number on which the Golden Mean is based). I either immediately decided against the items or put them back later. We left the store with The Austin Chronicle and The Daily Texan, a couple of free papers.

At that point I had a little trouble getting back into the tasks at hand. But at least I hadn't acquired anything more to clutter up my life.

We got dressed as smartly as we could and went to this Ballet Barre party. It was cold out but not too windy. We drank, ate, talked to people, looked at fashion and bought a raffle ticket for a Vespa-like scooter. We finally scooted out and shivered down the street, only stopping to get some menus at the new Taverna eatery.

Good night to get home and get warm. A little wind kicked up as we got to the car.

Last night I watched more movies after I published my journal. I watched almost all of Napoleon Dynamite. FFP and I were some of the few people who didn't like it. We sent the Netflix disk back without watching until the end. But I admit that it was more amusing last night. Of course, I dozed and read the paper. I also watched almost all of Mighty Aphrodite and Bad Education. I didn't watch any crime shows. That's something. I had a third drink (Kahlua and Amaretto in coffee). I stayed up too late. We finally got to bed well after midnight.

Tonight I cleverly avoided recording any crime shows except for a CSI. Any more and I just hate myself for watching. (This one was about a woman who killed her kid so he wouldn't grow up to be a soldier and then pretended he was around for years right down to photoshopping her picture with another kid and scattering toys and cheerios. She would have gotten away with it, too, except she reported him missing one day when his real parents took him away from the park. Huh?) I didn't record ER either. But after going out I didn't get my papers read. (And they didn't even deliver the Wall Street Journal!) I did get rid of some older papers, however. My entire progress toward decorating the house was to locate some boxes with decorations and bring some into the house from storage.