It only gets louder when you cut off your ear

You know that we shall meet again if your memory serves you well

It never snowed.  Of course not.  Call it the Ike Syndrome, after a recent notable example of Austin battening down prematurely and, ultimately, unnecessarily.  Seems like the best way to make a storm skip this town is to talk about it excitedly beforehand.

It is cold still, though.  Very cold, again by Austin standards, which means it was a paltry 26 early this morning.  I had to turn a space heater on for the first time this year for a few stretches but mostly have been good with the second-hand warmth filtering up from downstairs and wearing socks around the house.  Take that, December.

My Gmail chat status reads “F*ck this month, at least until my plane leaves Austin on the 20th” and yup, that about sums it up.  Let it pass fast, although it undoubtedly will whether I wish it or not.  With the possible exception of this weekend, which reveals nothing more exciting scheduled than getting a haircut; Brandy and Rick are hosting a party to celebrate finishing her last undergraduate class ever – congratulations, B. ! – although I’m not sure I’ll go as parties and me… well, you know.  Several of her family members were going to come down from Tulsa but canceled due to the anticipated weather.  Given what I know about her family, not sure if this is more incentive to go or stay home.

Could go to MFW too, for the third week in a row, but I doubt it.  Last week everything was relatively ducky until the next-to-last minute when the veggie-Christ man stood up wearing another vegetarianism-is-holy t-shirt and broke the silence to preach about – well, guess what.  As with the last time, the close dovetailing of his “ministry” with his apparel (plus his timing, which virtually guaranteed he got in the last word) offended me deeply with its complete lack of spontaneity and unconcealed manipulation.  I got up and left the worship room and while still on the premises used the Meeting’s wifi to send Worship and Ministry a “now are you going to do something about this asshole?” message.  No reply to date.

I was so angry that if I had seen Mr. Veggie in the parking lot then I would have committed the most-unQuakerly act of knocking him down, saying “That is very much what it feels like to me when you pull that shit in Meeting For Worship.  Like it much?”  In fact I’d probably still do that tomorrow should the chance present.  So I’m not going to give it one, no. 

The problem with a zealot like this guy is he’d be almost certain to think I was objecting to the message itself.  I’m not – only the method in which he delivers it.  I object strenuously to being preached at in my worship space, particularly when it’s so blatantly premeditated.  (Dude admitted it himself: “This is the time of year,” he began, “when I have the unpleasant task of telling people things they don’t want to hear,” right before letting fly with his polemics about the torture and murder of animals.  Fuck that.)  The problem with zealots is to them it’s always about content, never about form.

Come to think of it the same is often true with Quakers, zealots or not.  Most of those who practice unprogrammed worship seriously seem to think there’s no one way to do things right, and all messages are grist for the mill.  I beg to differ.  I believe that if there’s one unalterable rule in unprogrammed Quaker worship (aside from “Don’t come into Meeting drunk, stoned or otherwise under the influence,” of course) it’s “Don’t come into Meeting with an axe to grind.”  I would like it if the FMA Worship & Ministry committee saw it this way too, but I’m not holding my breath.

Arrrgh.  A little censure sometimes is a good thing.  A very good thing, for all involved.  Why is it I’m drawn to the parts of society that seem to be the last to acknowledge this?  (Rare though they may be.  I think there are something like 25,000 unprogrammed Quakers in the US and there can’t be more than 70,000 burners.  Even in this self-proclaimed Land of the Free very few people appear to want this degree of freedom.)

Anyway, I’m left with a Sunday to fill.  Not even going shopping with Rick, as following the celebration at their house they’re going out of town to further mark the occasion.  (Brandy’s been working on her B.A. for something like 10 years now.  Rick and I are taking bets on how long after her graduation it’ll be, despite her protestations to the contrary, before she’s back in school again.)  Some people are having a good December, at least.

I will too – once the plane takes off.  It’ll be a whole new level of cold to deal with when it lands – and maybe some actual snow, too! – but I can handle it.  I’m not a Texan, as you’ll recall.

But since we've got nowhere to go

In Austin we’re just sitting here waiting for the snow.  Supposed to get an inch or more today, which of course like anything cold weather-related is the signal for this town to start disproportionately freaking out.  Not that you’d know it standing at my office window – it’s the last day before finals and campus is eerily quiet and the cold probably isn’t helping. 

It is damn cold outside for Austin, mid-30s and dropping with a fine little wind whipping in out of the north.  This morning when I got out of my nice warm cozy bed I felt that wind every time I got near a window or door and was reminded once again what a sieve my apartment is.  I’ve asked for weather-stripping – there’s remnants of it on the bottom of the front door, which has to have at least a half-inch of air visible between its bottom and the frame – like any good tree-hugger should, but it seems like being good tree-huggers (or even just penny-conscious homeowners) isn’t high on the priority list for Andy and Joanie.

It’s going to be in the 20s tonight.  Plus of course the rumored fucking snow.  I so did not move to this town to tromp around in any fucking snow.

If there are ever going to be optimal conditions to wear the nice new down jacket I bought last weekend around Austin, these would be them.  But so far I’m getting along quite well with my usual fleece and fuzzy gloves and so on and figure I could reasonably do the same once I get to New York and even Boston and I’ve likely given the Burlington Coat Factory an unnecessary $60. 

Unnecessary unless of course you believe in being prepared, and since I often make such a big deal of exactly that in these pages I’ll shut up now.  About the jacket, that is.

Something I have been able to get a reply from Joanie on is whether they’ll take care of the cats while I’m gone and now she says they’re going to be gone too for most of the same period.  Just my luck that I’ll have to miss a nice quiet stretch in the house in addition to finding another cat-sitter.  Lainie, who did such a nice job a year ago, lives in Missouri now with no plans that I know of to come home for the holidays and I really don’t want her younger sister (Audra’s other daughter, who filled in last August) back in the house again – something wrong about her energy.  So it’s on to cobbling together a schedule from whatever friends as are willing to come over twice a day and nurture my beasties.  I’ve really lucked out in not having to do this before now.

Audra herself will be no help at all as she’ll be in Ireland with her boyfriend again.  Or so the last time I heard – she’s one of those too-happy people I cut the Facebook feed from a month ago and I haven’t seen her IRL much at all so I really don’t know what she’s up to.  This may sound ludicrous considering we work in the same building but a) it’s a big building and b) I am very very good at hiding when I want to.  No surprise, right?

If I were to talk to Audra today she’d doubtless be very excited about the snow, the way native Texans get when it’s even an inch.  I don’t understand such enthusiasm, but I’m a Yankee and we need at least a foot to get un-blasé.  Doesn’t do to forget your roots, wherever it is you’ve landed.

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Points west, points east

Over the weekend I took out a bunch of CDs from the library – Ryan Adams, Joseph Arthur, Fela’s Zombie, DJ Krush, several others – and I was hoping the checkout person would compliment me on my eclectic tastes but I guess that position must be second only to working a supermarket register for seeing weird assortments and you learn to keep your mouth shut, which is exactly what she did.  All she offered was that the materials were due back on December 20th. 

I walked out thinking there’s some other reason I should be remembering that date, something that shouldn’t be proving so elusive, but it was only several hours later that I remembered that’s the day I get on the plane east.  Which led to two conclusions: 1) the library borrowing-span is three weeks and that means holy shit it’s only three weeks until the trip, and 2) I must not be very excited about this trip to not have recognized the date instantly. 

Which, sad to say, I’m not.  Or wasn’t then, anyway - a little more up for it now, but so far just a little.  Two weeks ago I was seriously considering just forgetting about the whole mess, making a bunch of “not coming after all” calls and dealing with nonrefundable air fare and staying home and stewing.  Maybe make a four/five-day trip west somewhere, Marathon or Marfa or anywhere I could get a reservation at such late notice.  Disappearing seemed pretty appealing there for awhile.

Things got better once Thanksgiving passed.  I decided to go ahead on the theory that if I was absolutely bound and determined to stew I could do it just as well on the drives between various destinations on the east coast as at home.  The real reason I contemplated canceling was me being afraid to let various friends and family see me in the state I was in most of last month, until I thought: Fuck it.  Chances are good I won’t still be so deeply in that state by the time I get there, and even if I am it’s not exactly anything they haven’t seen before. 

Which is one of the benefits of friends and family, I suppose.  I’m not going to try and be all noble by protecting them, I decided.  That always ends up being more of an ego trip than the would-be protector will cop to.  Nope, not this time.

Things have started falling into place since I made that decision.  Got a message from The Belle in response to the letter I sent… oh, months ago I think.  She’s very happy I’m coming and as it happens has the time off.  I can’t tell you how touched I was hearing her say that, even if it was only voice mail.

Yesterday I got an email out of nowhere from Colin, still in Brooklyn.  Things between us kind of fell apart back in 03 after I made an insensitive remark following his father’s death, but now we’re going to try to get together while I’m out there.  This is also something I can’t tell you how much it touches me.

And I spent awhile last night on Facebook chat with Suzanne, locking in the particulars of my stay with her and Michael in Warwick at either end of the trip.  Things may be a bit crowded at their house around New Year’s and I’m looking into maybe taking a room at nearby motel to make it less stressful on everybody (well, OK, particularly on me) but otherwise it’s nice to get those plans made.  Reassuring.  She made sure I knew she can’t wait until I’m there, even.  I’m not going to get that kind of wording from my own family, though I don’t expect it either.  We never were that effusive a bunch.

As to when and where I’ll see my brother E., I’m going to have to get back to you on that.  Last time I talked to E. he was thinking he’d spend several post-Christmas days at my mother’s instead of his house in NH where I'd planned to visit, making himself available for her once G. was out of the house.  Now I hear from my sister that my mother has (of course) caved on G.’s move-out date, pushing it back to maybe May.  And as you may recall, E.’s said he won’t be darken my mother’s doorway anytime G.'s there.  So… am I going to New Hampshire or not?  Time will tell.

Fucking family.  Especially around the fucking holidays.  Turns out they don’t need to live nearby to make you crazy.  Why does this seem like any kind of revelation to me?  Anyway, I’m committed to the trip now so there’s really no point in doing anything but cursing where they won’t read it. 

Something else I can count on not getting from my family – and the various friends I’ll be seeing too, for that matter – are compliments on my eclectic tastes.  I doubt Fela Kuti has ever registered on their individual/collective radar, and I’m not sure I know myself who DJ Krush is.  Then again, none of them work at the library so it’s probably not a big deal.

This world is big, and so awake

Yesterday’s hating on my adopted state aside, it’s been a pretty good long weekend.  Having a car was good.  So was finding a decent winter coat (heavy enough that I’ll likely never need it in said adopted state) at a decent price.  So was all kinds of other shopping yesterday, even if the crowds did affect my bowels for the worse eventually.  And so was the twice-yearly heavy-bedclothes laundering this morning, a Thanksgiving-time ritual by now.  Going to Meeting for Worship without working up a sweat (and the usual state of aggro) in a little while is going to be good too.  It’ll be my second week in a row there, even.  I’m rolling now!

Don’t know what treats the rest of the day holds in store.  A nice big ham-and-fried-egg sandwich like I made after finishing the laundry is hard to improve as a start, though.

I’ll be eating that ham all this week and well into next, it looks like.  I didn’t foresee that when I bought the fucker a week ago, but it’s all good unless you try to remind me of that once-upon-a-time resolve to stop eating so much meat.  Next year – really.  2009 has been The Year of Excess Meat, and it looks like it’ll be going out every bit on that note.  (Except for the days I spend at W. and Dee’s around Christmas.  Strictest of the strict vegetarians they are, which is why every day I’m there I go out for breakfast to the nearby greasy spoon on Mass Ave with its corned beef hash.)

Ummm – did I say those herbal pills were making me think less about food?  That’s still true.  Except when it ‘s not, like this morning, but oh well.

It’d be nice if thinking less about food gave me room to think more about other things, like writing stories or designing websites or improving my environmental practices or anything that makes me not feel that I’m wasting my life less than usual.  I imagine cutting my toxic fat intake via consuming less meat will help with all of those too; don’t see how it can hurt, certainly.  Once this ham is out of the way, that is.

Last week I had lunch with Sarah and we talked about our respective plans to lose weight.  Ironically we were at the Clay Pit at the time and that is not somewhere you go when you’re calorie-counting, but again oh well.  She’s trying Weight-Watchers – mainly, she says, because “it’s got such a neat app for my iPhone.”  I’m thinking my next step once I get settled in with the pills (and the little prongs Marty leaves in after each treatment, if you can ever truly get settled in with something sticking into your earlobe for a week and more at a time) is to try out Overeaters Anonymous.  Ten years ago I laughed at the idea of going – actually I’m sorry to say that I laughed at at least one friend who swore by it - and I may again once I’ve given it a spin myself.  But peer support worked for me with smoking pot so why dismiss it out of hand? 

The trick, of course, is to learn how to want what I already have.  This is as true of eating as any other form or consuming and what is addiction but a form of consuming?  I learned that eventually about pot-smoking; I know it already about eating but have not yet put disciplines in place to address it the way I have with drug use or shopping.  One thing at a time, I’ve said, and I think overeating’s time has come.

Finally.  It might just be the best present I could give myself for my 50^th birthday.

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I will take my drugs where I can find them

Saw a sizable portion of south central Texas yesterday, exactly as planned.  Driving from one place to another, just driving, driving, driving and barely stopping, doesn’t strike many people as their idea of a good time but I enjoy it.  A lot.  Covering ground aimlessly in the countryside for hours is my kind of relaxation and as such is one of the things I miss most in my car-less life.

I passed through a number of B-towns – Blanco, Boerne, Bandera – that I imagine I will never have need to visit again unless out on another aimless cruise.  All of them were overrun with crafts fairs and tourists and Black Friday shoppers and everywhere was a tangle of cars.  Fredericksburg was a madhouse that I would have bypassed if I’d given it any forethought; Kerrville wasn’t much better.  Too many people with nothing to do the day after a major holiday.

Just like me, it appears.

My semi-official destination of the day was Lost Maples in the far reaches of the Hill Country but when I got there around 1:30 it was – surprise! – overrun too and I wasn’t too interested in paying $6 to hike with children shrieking in the woods so I piled back in the car and headed home.  The first part of the drive, 373 between Vanderpool and Medina, yielded the first good pictures of the day and if I’d traveled it later I would have missed the only glimmers of sunlight I saw the whole trip.  So it all works out, more or less.

Got back into Austin just after 5, totally worn out after almost eight solid hours on the road, and promptly crashed.  I still had the bad jones for Burger King and a real chocolate shake I’d been fighting all afternoon, but the thought of getting behind the wheel again – even just down to the BK on the Drag – made me mildly nauseous so I took a couple of Marty’s herbal-formula pills and ignored the jones and eventually it went away.  Those little pills work all right, you betcha.



And today I get to tell Marty about it since it’s an acupuncture Saturday.  I have the rental until tomorrow night so for once no jelly-state bus ride home, and thanks be for that.  A bunch of other errand-stuff lined up for later in the day – clothes-shopping, laundry, library-looting – after I recover some from the treatment.  I hope to get in a walk down by the riverbank, too.  Freedom!  It’s so, soooo nice to be mobile on a long weekend.

And care-free.  The handy thing about driving without purpose for eight hours is it wipes your mind blank.  Makes you stupid in a way, true, as driving will after any significant length of time, but that’s welcome enough too.  I can rarely turn my mind off on demand and it’s a problem.  Meditation doesn’t help.  Drugs did for awhile and then didn’t and I’m sure still wouldn’t.  (Well, there was that Vicodin… let’s not think about that any more, OK?)  Other people’s company rarely does.  Reading, TV, movies: all stopgap at best.  I am, it seems, a person in constant search of a narcotic replacement or maybe just The Great Distraction.  Driving in the country works, though maybe only because I get to do it so infrequently.



Ironically, I spent Buy Nothing Day consuming, even if it was only a modest amount of fuel.  (The rental is a Cobalt, gets c. 30mpg highway.)  Not exactly the strictest observation of BND I’ve ever performed, not in theory anyway, but at least I didn’t stop in Bandera and buy some Genuine Indian Souvenirs.   I saw way too many people on the street there who looked like that was exactly what they were on the way to do.  Good Americans, or so I expect they thought.  Or maybe just good Texans.  Still plenty who maintain you can’t simultaneously be both.

My lord, I loathe this state.  Yesterday I saw some of the prettiest it had to offer and it was nice enough I suppose but all it did was make me miss California.  And Pennsylvania, and Massachusetts, and New York, and everywhere else I’ve ever spent a long Thanksgiving weekend.  Here’s hoping that someday in the not-too-distant future I’ll be in one of those places instead of here.  So far the only thing Texas has solidly in its favor is that it’s big, and thus very good for aimless driving.