The secret spoils of Uchiko, or, the one valuable lesson my 9th grade boyfriend taught me.

My very first real boyfriend, who took me on my very first real car date, was a multi-sport playing jock named Chris who, inexplicably, ate sushi.

"Isn't that, like, raw fish?" I said, a 1990s-era San Antonian through and through.

"YES," he grunted. "IT'S DELICIOUS."

I was skeptical Chris' culinary tastes, but no matter; he had a car and was willing to date me. We decided we would go to sushi with my parents.

"TRY THE SASHIMI. YOU'LL LIKE IT," he said.

I scanned the laminated picture menu and pointed at a multi-colored circle.

"I'll have this?" I squeaked to the waiter.

Years later, after Chris dumped me, I would go to school in California, where I would eat sushi with the best of them. I would need no lessons on chopsticks. I would eat Spider Rolls, and dubiously named "Philadelphia Rolls" with cream cheese, and even more culturally bastardizing "Longhorn Rolls" with festive orange sauce, at Kyoto on Congress Avenue. I would even make sushi with Beka, and learn why rice is everything.

I would forget all about Chris the Jock, but I would never, ever forget about sushi.

So you can imagine my excitement when Frank suggested a big group of us try Uchiko for Austin Restaurant Week. I interviewed Paul Qui this summer, and the samples he prepared for me sent my taste buds a-quiver. Imagine what a proper meal would do.

The outside, and inside, of Uchiko. Fact: I got so distracted by food that I failed to take more pictures of the clever Michael Hsu-designed interior.  But of course Michael Hsu designed it.

Fact: There is a back wall in Uchiko made entirely of reclaimed trunk logs from Shady Grove. Trees that provided shade to diners keeping Austin weird; now, they're provide atmosphere to diners keeping Austin chic.  Sign of le times, no?

This is a magical cup of sake that costs only $4, called Takara Nigori.  The menu says "nutty, pineapple, cream soda," and can you really go wrong with any of those things?

It's $2 at happy hour, and served in this precious box. I guess in case you get excited and spill it.

Now, fair warning, as we move into real food here: WE DIDN'T EAT SUSHI. I know. How counter-intuitive. Especially since I got you all excited with that big sushi 9th grade boyfriend story.

But bear with me. We'll talk about Uchiko's sushi another time, especially if they invite me to their fine establishment for a complimentary tasting when I have saved up the funds for several decadent rolls. For now, let's try Paul's wild non-sushi menu.

Frank was terribly excited to use the word "amuse-bouche" for once, and with our bite of seasoned cucumber, he seized the opportunity.

"Salad." But of course not your everyday, 'merican salad. You eat this appetizer like chips and dip, where your Romaine goes in that jalapeno and edamame sauce.

Roasted golden beets with yogurt and honey, and forgive me, because this is where the photography quality slides off.

... see what I mean?

But nevermind. Focus on the plate of Usagi Tamago before you, one of Uchiko's grilled dishes. Seared rabbit confit, slow-poached egg, celery, madras curry.

Oh my God. Can we talk about Uchiko's desserts?

Uchiko's meal-enders do something that most don't, and that is: They remind you how much all other desserts rely on simple sugars and easy fats to win over your mouth. Conversely, Uchiko's bold ingredients - cigar, tomatoes, polenta - open up your palate to whole other countries of dessert flavors, lands you never knew existed. And trust me, you'll never want to leave them.

Above is the cigar one. Tobacco cream. With choco­late sorbet, maple budino, huck­le­berry, and scotch. The Mad Men of desserts.

On top, grape­fruit sorbet with avocado mousse and fennel pollen; on bottom, fried milk with choco­late milk, toasted milk, iced milk sherbet. It's straight-up ridonkulous.

Sigh ... this picture didn't turn out so well, which means you just must have to head there and order it for yourselves!  Qué horror.

My favorite dessert of the night: sweet corn sorbet, with polenta custard, caramel salt, lemon.

Was it the salt?  The Southern comfort textures?  One shall never know.  But suffice it to say, if I could bathe in this stuff, I would.

A wedding and a skinny dip.

Ross and I went to a wedding this weekend in Maryland, land of crabs and red brick buildings. He has a whole store of old college friends scattered out through the United States, and this is one of the reasons I know I was supposed to marry him: while I excel at pleasant and charming, Ross excels at friendships.

Ross has enough very close college friends to fill the whole top floor of a hotel, which we did this weekend.

“I don't think I'm going to get too crazy this trip,” he said.

As I watched him climb back onto the pier, naked, following two more of his naked college pals, I remembered his earlier, more solemn assurances. I smiled knowingly at a giddy bystander next to me, as if to say, boys will be boys.

“Should we jump in?” she asked.

I made a face that said, that's a terrible idea, while my mouth said: “you want to?”

We looked at the water, we looked at the moon, we looked at my husband, comfortable in his nakedness, casually chatting with someone while slipping on his just-stripped underwear.

“I'll do it if you will.”

I thought about the time Jason threw a surprise birthday for my best friend Kim a few years ago, on Lake Travis, with a party barge. When it got dark, the “captain” paused the boat.

Everyone got naked and jumped in the water.

The exhibitionists needed no prompting. But some had to be begged and chanted to from below. Eventually, Jason and I were the last ones, clinging to the top deck, still dry, still clothed.

“I'm not wearing a bra underneath this dress,” I explained lamely.

An enormous wet bra was passed up to me.

“Is it cold?”

A drunk shout said it felt like a bath.

I looked down at my new yellow shoes, bought specifically for this occasion. I found a dry seat to protect them, along with my dress. “Let's jump,” I said to Jason.

He pretended not to hear me.

“I'll do it if you will.”

Jason looked out over the water from the railing, and saw exactly what I saw: Our friends, no one's nakedness particularly distinct from the rest. Only shiny wet skin, like a baby pool full of toddlers.

I one-armed swam over to Ross, using my other arm to hold the huge bra in place. He tread water easily, talking to two or three partially or not-at-all-clothed party guests.

“Hello,” he said in a big, welcoming way, as if he himself was host of the naked pool party.

“Hello,” I said right back, hoping to imitate his at-homeness, though with my jerky movements that was most certainly a lost cause. I tread water like a maimed duckling, with only one good wing.

“Are you having fun?” he asked with a smile, at once teasing and conspiratorial. I nodded vigorously in response, immediately dissolving all the cool I was trying to feign. This tent of a bra was tough to hold together.

“Whose is that?” someone asked.

“I have no idea,” I said.

“Nice of them to give it to you!” another piped up.

“It was,” I agreed. We all nodded in appreciation of the Good Bra Samaritan.

It was then I realized I had to pee.

The way I saw it, I could either pee on someone's leg underwater next to me, or use my sidestroke/dog paddle hybrid to get me back to the boat and its bathroom.   The first involved the unavoidable water temperature change, alerting the victim to what I had just done to their leg; the latter meant hoisting myself up onto the boat using my one arm, the other faithfully protecting my womanhood, and in order to make the hoist successful, I would most likely have to drop the kind stranger's bra and use my now-freed arm to complete the lift. Talk about a dilemma.

The amount of time I spent mentally weighing my options revealed something else to me.

I had seriously half-assed my way into this skinny dip.

Which went against the whole enterprise of skinny dipping.

I looked over at Ross, instantly envying his calm, sure decision-making. When we first started dating, it had taken him just a few weeks to say I love you; tonight, it took him two seconds to join our bare, happy friends in the water. I wanted to be exactly like him right then, meaning, relaxed. Not constantly fretting inside my head, not enacting humiliating little one-act plays that never came to pass, not not living in the moment.

The next time I skinny dipped, I was going full monty.

* * *

“I'll do it if you will,” she said again next to me, standing on the pier, the wedding reception twinkling in the dark from far away.

I sucked in, felt my heart beat a little quicker. “Well ...”

Ross strode by in his birthday suit.

Suddenly he announced that the water was alive. I met my friend's wide eyes with mine, and we both laughed nervously, at the crustaceans waiting to crawl over our feet, the crabs waiting to pinch us.

“Nevermind,” she said with a warm giggle.

I walked away from my second skinny dipping opportunity. We both went inside. I sipped a glass of wine, spilled some on my dress, and laughed because I didn't care.

What is the best movie you've seen lately? And, GIVEAWAY: Tickets to Lebanon.

The film, sillies. Not the country.

(Psst, update. Frank Rivera! You are the ticket winner. Congrats, friend!)


Ok, so. This past summer, I saw a preview for this film right before watching I Am Love. Have you seen that one, by the way?  Tilda Swinton, hot, Italian-speaking, and sultry?  I know.  Tilda Swinton, embodying all of those adjectives. Believe it.

Anyway, when Lebanon flashed on the screen, I felt that awful, anticipatory pang. You know, the kind on television, when the abusive husband is softly touching his wife's face, and you know he's about to hit her.  It's going to hurt - both her, and you, too - but you can't not watch.  You want to be there with her, support her somehow, even though she's fictional, and you can't reach through the screen and still the husband's palm. All you can offer is your sustained gaze, because - while she may not be real - it's these small demonstrations of empathy that, you know, keeps you human.

I've read a few reviews of Lebanon since that preview.  It is about a war, a war that happened the same year I was born.  A 20-year-old gunner inside one of the tanks that first crossed the border into Lebanon, during Israel's invasion, cannot shoot when ordered to, and then, he can.  Actually, he discovers he can kill many people.

The gunner tells his story from the crosshairs of his tank, and that's the view we see as the audience, too.  Three decades later, that gunner grew up and made a movie about what he saw. And that movie is Lebanon.

“There is a metamorphosis, first physical, when you lose your sense of taste, you don’t need to eat, you suddenly hear and see everything sharp and clear. When you fall into such an extreme situation, when the basic rules of life are not there, you can’t continue thinking with the logic of normal life.

At the end you don’t fight for your country or your kids, you’re fighting for your life.”

Those are quotes the director, Samuel Maoz, gave The New York Times in a story this summer.  It is his very first feature film.

Sometimes I don't think I have the stomach for war films, but then I saw The Hurt Locker. And loved it of course. The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien? Only one of my favorite college reads, ever. I think "war films" or "war books" as genres are victims of being washed over in very broad strokes, the subtext being: "dude stuff."

But we both know that's just not true.  Ladies like intelligent war films, too.  Sometimes we are in the mood for The Kids Are Alright, sometimes we can take on Lebanon.

SO! Ladies, and dudes. After a slightly rambling opener, I actually have a pair of tickets to Lebanon to give away. They come courtesy of the Austin Jewish Film Festival, who graciously offered to supply an Austin Eavesdropper reader with passes. It opens at Regal Arbor Cinema on Friday, September 24, and will be showing at 12:20, 2:50, 5:20, 7:50 and 10:15 that day and every day the week following.

To enter, simply leave a comment answering this question: what is the best movie you've seen lately?

I'll pick a winner on Friday, by 11am CT.  Remember to leave your email address so I can notify you, por favor.

PS. I know this film/post has been heavy, but no judging if you loved Sex and the City 2 or something. Hell.  I cued up Despicable Me the other day.

Austin Style Week, and, two different schools of thought on jeans shopping.

Before I tell you about Austin Style Week, kicking off tonight, let me first share with you a recent conversation Ross and I had about jeans.

Me: Since coming back from Brazil, it appears that you need new jeans.

Him: I do.

Me: Shall we go shopping?

Him: Yes.

Me: Terrific! Where to?

Him: Sears is close?

HEH. Sears!

When it comes to fashion, Ross and I are what you might call a "complementary couple."  I like to get dolled up, but he could literally take or leave clothes.  Were the leaving option socially acceptable, I mean.  Fashion is not on his radar, and it never will be. Which to be frank, is kinda why I love him. 

Ross is a t-shirt and flip-flops man, you see. And, he can apply it to me, too.  Meaning, he genuinely thinks I'm prettiest in no make-up and sweat pants.

I find this fact baffling. But simultaneously, relieving?

Anyway. I was thinking about this conversation since Austin Style Week kicks off tonight with a men's fashion show. Attention, ladies! (And gays!)

If you attended Austin Fashion Week, you may be wondering how it is different from Austin Style Week.  Well I will tell you.

First, it is sponsored by Tribeza (rather than Launch787).  Second, there are five events (as opposed to five thousand).  Third, it is actually in its seventh year of operation (AFW just wrapped its second), and finally, it ends with sushi!  Which is the way more fashion events should conclude, I think.  Eating.

Now, if you are a fashion show lover - like me, the weirder, more Gaga-esque, the better - then you are in luck. While I have never attended Austin Style Week, Tribeza does have a reputation for producing flawlessly-executed runway shows. Back when I was just a blog reader, and hadn't gotten the guts to start one myself, I used to read about their shows on Austin Style Watch, and This is Life in Austin.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, tonight's show. It's strutting stallions, y'all. 

Rock & Runway Men's Show

8:00pm at The ND. 

$20.  

Food, drinks, and men looking supa fly.

Tickets here.

And for a full list of Austin Style Week events, click here.

We try new restaurant Urban, and, what makes a "foodie?"

Last week, Megan and I joined a few other bloggers in town to try out Urban, a new restaurant inside The Westin, which technically speaking, is inside of The Domain.  Did you just get a vision of a Russian doll?  Because I did.

Anywho.  We were lucky enough to sit with Becky Bullard from Texanthropology, who is also an Austinist food writer and Examiner drinks writer, as well as her friend Jessica.  Before our samples arrived, we got to pondering this matter: Just what, exactly, makes a foodie?

But like I am about to do with you, we were suddenly interrupted by gorgeous food before we could dive too deeply into that question.

Grilled Crab Cake with Avocado, Micro Cilantro, and "Dynamite" Sauce. "Dynamite?" Yes, dynamite. To indicate a flavor explosion, if you will, and after licking it off my spoon, I'd say that's an accurate description.

Texas Quail, with Green Tomato Chow Chow, Grits, Guajillo Honey.  Teehee, "chow chow." I have no idea what that means!  But let's pretend we do anyway. The chow chow was fabulous!

Seared Tuna.

Bar Steak with Chile Arbol Chimichurri, and Sweet Corn Bisque. Let me tell you something. That bisque was ridonkulous. We all decided to call it not bisque, but rather, a "little bowl of heaven."  I wish I could reach out of the computer screen and offer you a spoonful of this amazing bisque.

(PS. Are you wondering why these food photos are in a completely different, altogether better league than the photos you normally see on Austin Eavesdropper?  That is because Megan took them. Isn't she too good.)

Chef Mizael Saucedo, who put together the sample menu for the evening, came to Urban from Bess Bistro - Sandra Bullock's restaurant.  For dessert, he served us Avocado Tres Leches, far and away my favorite dish of the night.  We heard that Mizael used his mom's classic Tres Leches recipe, and when he added the avocado, his mom got mad at him.  Well.  What the dish loses in classic form, it gains in screams of ecstasy.  I am being serious.

There are no words for Avocado Tres Leches.  Only guttural sounds. We were so taken with it, we forgot to take a picture.

Alright, so back to our original question.  What makes a foodie?

Here is my opinion.  I think most people are snobby about something.  Me?  Books.  I'm sorry, I don't like Twilight.  Oh well.  But television?  Five words: The Real Housewives of New York.  See?  I'm kind of a dumbass in that department.

(My mom is the most hilarious example of this high culture/low culture thing, by the way. Namely when it comes to movies.  She loves Big Night, Happiness, these two French flicks she's been raving about ... but, also, White Chicks.  Yes.  THAT White Chicks.  As in, starring the Wayans brothers).

So "food" is one of those things, I think, where if you train your palate long enough on high quality versions of things, you get to become a "foodie." The only time this gets tricky is when people have different definitions of "quality."  Which to you, might mean "local," but to someone else, might mean: "imported from its country of origin." Gruyère cheese that actually comes from the town of Gruyères, for instance.

What do you think makes a foodie?

Oh, and! I almost forgot to thank lovely Jetté Momant, for inviting us out, and putting this lovely tasting at Urban together. Thank you dearly, Jetté!

Hopefully, this new cat food will calm down my cat ... if not her owner.

A couple of nights ago, Nulo was kind enough to invite me to come join them for a "Yappy Hour," i.e., a happy hour for dogs and cats. 

I opted not to bring Claudia, for fear she would kill an unsuspecting Rottweiler. 

I brought home sample cat food for Claudia, who ate it right away. I mean, it WAS salmon, which is even pretty good in people food form.

My Ross couldn't come, but fortunately, Danny could!

Clearly, we had WAY too much fun with these masks/hats. Isn't Annie Ray the best?

have a great weekend!

Love in the time of networking.

This was that last picture I took at #BATTH, i.e., the Big Ass Twitter Happy Hour held once a month here in Austin.

Do you recognize this handsome man? It is Chris Apollo Lynn, of the award-winning Republic of Austin blog!  Damn Chris. You so fly.

(And I am, very clearly, white.)

Anyway, tonight I am going to #BATTH.  I tend to treat these things like a National Geographic photographer, watching excellent networkers in their natural environment. Oh, I'm an OK conversationalist. But networking?  Eh.

Some people are networking naturals, like my boss Marika, or my friend Kelly. A popular Twitter personality and blogger, Kelly is years younger than me, but the kind of networker I only hope I can be someday. She asks intelligent questions, she is ridiculously informed about social media, she can talk about her interests and involvements without domineering the conversation. It is a gift, and an especially valuable one in a city that treats its social media users so respectfully. I really love that about Austin. That people take bloggers / Twitter users seriously, and treat us as for-real information sources.

Where was I?  Oh yeah. I am a shy networker. Are you guys?

I tend to corner Peter Tsai at #BATTH events and be like, "HELLO. TALKING GOOD. YOUR DAY, HOW WAS IT."  We go on like that for a few minutes, Peter graciously humors me and laughs at my weird cavewoman remarks, and then I feel socially lubricated enough to go forth and talk to more people.

But tonight, I won't abuse Peter's attention span. Tonight, I'm bringing real business cards. Tonight, I am looking forward to meeting more Austin Twitter users, because frankly, it's a neat group of people that I want to get to know. Everyone is so jazzed and excited by social media, and that, in turn, energizes me.

One more thing. Are you wondering about the "Crushworthy" sign Chris and I are holding? That was an idea we had for a "show," where we both interview (like, together, two-on-one) someone in Austin that we have a "crush" on.  For me, that would definitely be James at Hancock Center H-E-B, who is only the loudest, proudest, most cheerful sample giver EVER.  I am going to post about James someday so you can all know about this man.  In fact, you already do, if you've ever been there on a Saturday and heard,

"MY GOO'NESS!  ISS A HOT ONE TODAY!  GOOD THANG WE GOT WATAHMELON HALF OFF!  WITH RANCH FO YO SALAD!  AND, AW NAW, WAD ELSE?  SHAKE N' BAKE, Y'ALL!  SHAKE!  N'!  BAKE!  BUY ONE GIT ONE FREE Y'ALL!"

I love James. I am, in love, with James.

Chris may have had other folks in mind to interview for Crushworthy, but sorry, James is my first choice. I can't wait.

Who would you like to see interviewed for Crushworthy, if we ever seriously made that a little show? (By which I mean, YouTube vids embeddeded on our respective blogs).

In other words, who in Austin do you have a crush on?

Sometimes, life gets cray cray.

At least, mine does.

I am having one of those weeks where I start a million blog posts, and peter out before I get halfway through. Does this ever happen to you?  Blogger God Seth Godin insists there's no such thing as "writer's block," because as his snarky, probably accurate reasoning goes: "People don't get talker's block, so why do we get writer's block?"

Well, touché, Seth.

However. The fact remains that if I soldiered through any of my current post stubs, you would be left thinking, "wha? What da huh?" because as it stands, they each make absolutely no sense.  It's like a rational adult started them, then a monkey kicked him out of the way and took over the keyboard.

So instead, I'm going to put these random ass post topics into list form.

1. I am going to a happy hour tonight that is literally for cats and dogs. Hosted by this company, a pet food company. While there, I hope to find something that makes Claudia less psycho. Last night, she dragged A MOUSE from outside, into our bedroom. I thought cats were supposed to catch the mice already in your house and, I don't know, eat them? Apparently my knowledge of the domestic food chain has been formed by Tom and Jerry.

2. Austin Eavesdropper now has AN INTERN.  This is for real. His name is Jeronimo, and he is awesome. Publicists, you know how you write me, and more often than not, I rudely fail to write back?  I am sorry about that. Now, Jeronimo will be fielding your emails! The new email address for stuff you'd like this blog to know about is austineavesdropper@gmail.com. See ya Hotmail, we're movin' on up.

3. Fun Fun Fun Fest is coming up. As is ACL. Are you going? Are you excited?

4. My mom had karaoke at her birthday party last weekend. My husband and I attempted a duet.

This is why I am a terrible duet partner for my musically talented husband.

When I don't know the karaoke song, I just kind of dance around and think about other things. And Ross pretty much carried this one, y'all.

I guess I don't know all of the words to "(I Had) The Time of My Life" from Dirty Dancing, which is odd, because what self-respecting child of the 80s girl doesn't? 

5. What do you do about spammy commenters?  Because they love this blog for some reason. I don't want to moderate comments - too much responsibility! - but it's a little bit disconcerting to read on each post, "This blogger is very incredible with many important things shared, would you like business proposition to learn about for purpose of wealth-making?"

Or the more direct, more shameless "Buy Cialis!" duplicated fifty times in this old blog post.

Um. Fellow bloggers. How do you put the brakes on that.

6. Whenever I'm feeling uninspired, I watch this video over and over again. Warning, you might think it is disturbing, but I think it is hilarious. Especially at moment 0:16-0:18, when he calms down again.  But NOT for long.


We're done here.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

You know what I was thinking about today, Mom?

I was thinking about the first time you ever told me that story. My favorite story.

You were a waitress from the midwest, and your friend - well, sort of friend - was going to California.

You wanted to come.

So for weeks, you saved up all your tips from customers. When the big day came, you got in the passenger seat with your friend, and together, you drove across the country. From cold Wisconsin, to sunny California.

Had this been a romantic story, things should have ended there.

But, you broke down on the way.

So instead of romance, you had to be pragmatic. You had to spend all of your money fixing that jerk's car. By the time you rolled into California, neither of you were speaking to each other. And he dropped you off. Somewhere.

But what did you do then, Mom?

Well. You used the very last quarter in your pocket to buy a newspaper.  And, you opened up that newspaper to the Classifieds section.  And in the Classifieds, you found a family looking for a live-in babysitter, and you called that family to come pick you up.

And then, you lived in California for a whole year!

I know I know, I tell that story all the time. Does it get old?  It probably gets old by now. I brag on you constantly with that story, my brazen, free spirit mom.

When you met Daddy, down in Texas, you were dating crazy Skip. Whom incidentally, you met in California.

Skip was moody and controlling. But Daddy was funny.

He made you laugh. He liked your legs. You two would go to a Halloween party together, you dressed as a pretty man, and him dressed as an extremely ugly woman, with a dress and fake breasts and a wig. How could you not fall in love with a man like that?

So you ended up dumping Skip. And when you did, he threw all your things out onto the lawn. Then, he chased you. You ran to a gas station and called Daddy, and he came and picked you up.

A few months ago, we were talking on the phone, and I asked where you think you'll be working in five years. And you said, "well in five years, I'll be 64 ..."

To which I responded, "WHAT? 64?"

And you said, "I know. Isn't it bullshit?"

I laughed so hard.

You are 60 years old today, Mom. To me, you are the epitome of that cliché, "you're as young as you feel." But with you, it is decidedly not a cliché.

You are the woman who took that ill-fated car trip, and dated a whacko, and called Daddy from the gas station, and all of those beautiful risks tumbled you forward into a family. With a man who is still hopelessly crazy about you, and a daughter who wishes to God she had one ounce of your moxie.  (For the record, she also wouldn't mind your cheek bones.)

You have never gotten old. And I think it has something to do with all that fearlessness.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

*Photo: Me, Mom, Jill.

Major, major thank you to The Horn!

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UT news website, The Horn, wrote a RADASS feature on me and little Austin Eavesdropper! 

The story was penned by none other than Horn editor-in-chief Tiffany Tso, who also happens to run one of my favorite local blogs: Austin Is Burning. She asked me some incredibly thoughtful questions, such as "What is the story behind the blog name 'Austin Eavesdropper'?"  "Do you actually eavesdrop on people?" and "Has blogging become a means of income for you?"

(The answers to those are: My husband; yes, particularly my stripper neighbor; and not really, although the ads you see in the right hand margin directly fund date night with my husband on Fridays, which makes them MUCH more than ads. They are also marriage strengtheners).

Tiffany also asked me if I have ever gotten extremely negative/positive feedback on this blog. I told her the most positive feedback comes from my parents, which is why I don't ever blog about sex, because I don't want to lose their readership.

But let's visit the comments section of this story, shall we?

Apparently, I stand corrected!

Trash Dance: The best money you ever spent.

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Can we please discuss how smile-inducing this is?


This is a scene from Trash Dance, an upcoming documentary from Andrew Garrison. If you live in Austin, that name may sound familiar to you: Andrew is the man behind the on-going film project, East Austin Stories.

Anyway, I heard about Trash Dance on Twitter last week from my buddy Anna.  This is a film about a huge dance performed last year by the city of Austin's trash collectors. The Austin American-Statesman named it the #1 Arts Event of 2009.  Over 2,000 people came out to watch it.

Here's another fact. Andrew and company are raising money to finish the film, and have even started a Kickstarter page.  Some observations:

A) Alison Orr.  Don't you just want to squeeze her?  She's the choreographer. Maybe she'd agree to do an interview on this blog sometime. I like talking to inspiring people.

B) Speaking of hugs, check out moment 8:40, when the harmonica player sassily breaks it down, and the collectors dance with their trash cans.  GRIN.

C) The premiere of the film will be Spring 2011, and will involve garbage trucks riding down Congress Avenue to deliver the stars to the red carpet!  Ok, that wasn't an observation. It says that on the Kickstarter page.  Which brings me to my next point.

D) The film has 19 days to raise the rest of their goal, roughly $2500.  Let's do it.  Because in addition to the heartwarming dance performance itself, the film follows the trash collectors/dancers, their hopes and their dreams:

"Anthony wants to make it big as a jam skater and open his own studio. Virginia works out at a boxing gym, prepares for her son’s baby shower and works in a daycare on Sundays. Orange plays harmonica in a blues band. Lee, a single father, says everything he does, he does for his seven-year-old daughter."

A single daddy, are you kidding me?  Finger, make like a George Foreman.* By which I mean, press the pledge button.

*Totally awesome expression I just made up.

ESSENTIAL: Today is Austin Free Day of Yoga.

Do you guys do yoga? 

I am convinced that yoga makes you a better person. It's true. It makes you forgive your body for its limitations, and in turn, makes you more forgiving in general. Take my hamstrings for example. They are so tight that I can't touch my toes. Which would normally make me embarrassed, but in yoga, you hold poses for so long that eventually I have to give up my silent vendetta against the tightness and just say, "it's ok, I forgive you hamstrings." And then I can stretch a little deeper.

Yoga also makes you more vulnerable, which is good for all of us, but especially those of us who walk around feeling mostly competent, most of the time.  A while back I took a naked yoga class, and afterward a guy in the class revealed that that that, this particular session, was his very first yoga class EVER.  Can you imagine?   

That is some serious vulnerability.

Anyway, I have tried lots of yoga in my day, and even taught it at one point. Don't be too impressed, because like the hamstrings, I am still a stiff grandma in certain poses. But here in town, out of bikram yoga, all-women's yoga, naked yoga (I really need to tell that story sometime), hatha yoga, 24 Hour Fitness yoga, hot yoga, outdoor yoga, and many other yogas I've probably forgotten, there is one studio that is consistently amazing, and you get to try it for free today.

It is Dharma Yoga, and it is on Guadalupe. It is one of the few places in town (besides Yoga Yoga) that offers teacher training, and it is very Buddhist in its approach. You know how I'm cuckoo for Buddhism these days.

Yesterday, during vinyasa, our teacher handed out a piece of paper with these words on it:

"In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few."

What does that phrase mean to you?

When I read it, I immediately thought: "Oh, that's because the beginner gets so excitable about all these possibilities which are probably WRONG, while the expert can hone in on the CORRECT possibilities."

Very un-Buddhist of me.

As it turns out, that's not what the phrase means. Our instructor explained that the beginner's mind is open, ready to try new things without preconceived notions of how it all "should" go. The expert's mind, on the other hand, is much more narrow, because they approach everything in life assuming there's a right way and a wrong way to carry out operations.

Guess who walked into class yesterday with expert's mind!

Anyway, every single class I have been to at Dharma Yoga teaches me these little pearls of wisdom, because the founder, Keith Kachtick, and all of the instructors there teach class on a Buddhist foundation. That doesn't mean you have to BE Buddhist or know anything about Buddhism - it pretty much stays at the level of the quote above. 

Also, everyone plays excellent music at Dharma Yoga, which is a HUGE deal.  I can be wrecking house on the yoga mat, having the best time, and then the instructor pops in grocery store smooth jazz and it's all over.  "No - NO," I think, and then instead of holding half moon pose or forgiving my hamstrings, my mind gets all judge-y and pissed. Which I'm pretty sure are emotions opposite of yoga.

This kind of thing never happens at Dharma Yoga. It's a CD collection you can trust.

Austin Free Day of Yoga is happening today at tons of times and locations around town, and Dharma Yoga is participating. I really recommend checking it out. Keith said yesterday that Free Day is typically kind of raucous and crazy, since there are so many new people, but even so I think you will be enchanted. It's right on the Drag, so you get this feeling of being ensconced in a special, sacred cocoon, while the city rages outside.

Photo credits here and here.

Grab your best Never-Nudes and hop on a Segway immediately.

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Do you want to know what one of the best YouTube videos of all time is?

Ross and I could seriously watch this for HOURS.

Afterwards, we always walk around the house going, "What the F!"

So when I got an email in my inbox this week that the Society of American Magicians was throwing the First Annual Austin Street Magic Festival this weekend, I knew I had to share!

Ok, so, the art of ILLUSION is not a hobby I necessarily practice myself.  But if I had a kid, I would totally take he / she to the Street Magic Festival. Heck, I might even borrow a random child from somebody and hit this up.

Also? In addition to the street festival, The Texas Association of Magicians is having a convention this weekend. I didn't even know there was such an association!

from today through monday:

* Texas Association of Magicians 2010 Convention, Sheraton Hotel, 701 11th.

* Single ticket shows and close-up magic performances. Tickets here.

(My very favorite, favorite show listing of all is: "MAX MAVEN, Thinking in Person: An Evening of Knowing and Not Knowing.")

If you go, maybe you’ll learn how to saw yourself in half—under the clause of silence, of course.  

*Special thanks to Megan for contributing facts and wit to this post!

TONIGHT: The Authors rock The Mohawk.

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You going tonight, dolls?  This little lady thinks she is.

And a DJ set by The Happen-Ins!  Be still my beating heart.  What do you bet it's continuous '70s, greasy goodness?

rsvp here.

Angel in the night.

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I discovered this little gem of a video the day after Austin Fashion Week. I think you can see why I freaked out over it.

This was shot at G'raj Mahal here in Austin, across the street from Lustre Pearl, embedded in that dark strip off of east Cesar Chavez that, at some point, became the stretch of road in Austin where jocks and hipsters could co-exist peacefully. Well done, developers!

Agent Red, i.e. Sarah Johnston, is the lithe aerial dancer in this video. I hoped upon hope that she taught classes, and lo and behold, she does.

saturday evenings.

7:00 - 8:30pm.

art department. 

503 neches.

I want to learn how to dance in the sky like she does.

Many thanks to Stephen Scott for shooting and providing the video.