That soft voice to talk to me at night

After finishing yesterday’s entry I got on the net and poked around and ended up booking a room somewhere far out of town to the west for a night a few weeks hence.  Somewhere not too far from Alpine, in fact.  And a rental car with which to get there, too.  Just a little bit of travel to whet the appetite.  Which just goes to show, far as I’m concerned, the power of the written word.  At least over the writer.

This morning’s absolutely beautiful – warm enough to make wearing shorts at 8AM a reasonable proposition, and sunny and just ever so slightly breezy.  It’s perfect spring, finally and – it feels – to stay.  At Quacks people are talking quietly at the tables outside, sipping coffee and smiling, every last one of them.  The PA is playing the Supremes, “Can’t Hurry Love.”  The aging hippie couple I sometimes see walking their dogs while I’m hiking home from work is sitting in the corner talking with a friend about SXSW, shows they’ve seen years past or might see tonight.  For the moment, all’s right in Austin.

With a day like the morning promises, I’m pretty much obligated to get to the pool at some point but the rest is a big question mark.  Once my business at the bank is done – renting a safety deposit box, which I never got to last weekend after all – and I’ve finished setting up the composter I might just sit and watch the tree over my gate blossom.  Hang out on the porch and finish both the Johnson book and Fahrenheit 451, which we’re discussing at the book group Monday night. 

Or maybe be smart and use the time to catch up on schoolwork for Wednesday, which I’ve put narely a thought into for the last week and that was all part of the plan.  I already see a number of ways in which the presentation can be improved, as well as rehearsing and timing it.  And we’ve got a Flash project due in a couple of weeks that I haven’t started yet, or even know what I’m supposed to do for it.  It’s been a nice week of mindlessness, though.  Yes!  Spring break.

Noon today is the 3rd annual Million Musician March and I might go just to see what the turnout’s like.  Last year it was around a thousand and only a small percentage of that were playing any sort of instrument, which on both counts is pretty lame for an event timed specifically to appeal to those thousands and thousands of out-of-town SXSW rock dudes and dudettes.  But publicity never was the left’s strong point, which is why most protests in this town end being tea-parties for the progressive in-crowd.  The big marches leading up to the Iraq invasion were notable exceptions, and to a degree the post-9/11/early Afghanistan marches too, but those were five years ago and more.

Five years.  This Wednesday we’ll have been in Iraq five whole years.  Holy fuck.  That’s just not right.

I might also go see Diary of the Dead, which I want to catch while it’s still in the theatre.  I got the original Dawn of the Dead on DVD a few months back and was delighted to discover that at 29 years old it’s better than ever so I want to check out whether Romero’s still got it.  Even if it does mean tying up part of an otherwise increasingly-pluperfect day slouching in a dark room at the Dobie.  Or rubbing elbows one more time with SXSW film geeks in the food court outside, because that’s always such a pleasure.

A day ahead like this makes for a rare occasion.  Specifically, one during which I’ll barely wish I had A Life.  That’s something I spend many weekends fretting over, or rather a combination of that and scrambling about to fill the hours with some variety of non-tedium-causing solo activities until it’s time at last to gulp a Lunesta, shut off the light, and slide down between the flannel again.  On too many days that’s the best part, sometimes the only good part.  Or so it feels at the moment.

Not today.  I just outlined my proposed activities to a friend online and she wrote: “wow you really know how to make a saturday seem like a WEEKEND.”  Mission accomplished!  Though I do look forward to hitting the road too next chance I get.

Comments

[Jette]

Um, what's wrong with film geeks in the Dobie food court? We don't bite (except to eat the food). And at least the SXSW film people are there at the time when the students aren't.