Do you feel more centered after being sick?

I know this sounds weird, but sometimes I love being sick.

It just brings everything into sharper focus. I was sick for most of this past weekend, and had three startling revelations:

A) Maybe I've been drinking a little too much.  Which kills me to admit since I do love all things mixology, wine, and lately, whiskey on the rocks.  (Apparently I am a man.  An old man.)

But the facts speak for themselves: I drank Wednesday night, Thursday night, Friday night, and BAM -- Saturday brought the chills/fever shakes/dizziness.

Now I realize this is high flu/cold season time and that bugs of all manner are gleefully attacking the immune systems of many an Austinite.  However, I think by making alcohol more of a "special treat," less of a "fifth food group," I'll be helping mine out.  

B) ... and not eating enough.  Enough things that are good for you, I mean.  I eat plenty of things that are ok - not at all ok.   Things that are way, way processed, however!  At least they are organic!  Cheers, Newman's Own.

But check it out.  Even though we have a vegetable garden, even though I have a husband who cooks and could teach me, even though I live within a 1.5 mile radius to no less than FIVE grocery stores and one bi-weekly farmer's market (am totally serious), I still cannot seem to prepare food for myself!  What is the matter with me?   

I told Ross in some kind of fever murmur Saturday night that I can't eat bread and cheese for a while, because they've been making my stomach hurt.  I also explained to him that I needed to eat more fresh fruits and vegetables and less processed things.  So on Sunday while I had a few non-wobbly hours, I went to Wheatsville and Natural Grocer, and proceeded to then prepare lunch AND dinner for myself.  Yay health!  What websites do you guys visit for "whole food" recipes?  The only thing I know how to make is stir fry. I just ate my third stir fry for lunch.


C) WINDOWS AND ROOMS.  Ok, that isn't a "lesson," exactly.  I already know that home decor magazines / websites are basically porn for me.  But this weekend, I ogled at Tumblr after Tumblr, site after site of cozy, woodsy, colorful and light-filled homes, and collected my favorite ones below. 

(Sidenote: Ross and I are looking for a house right now, and after making this little collection ... well.  A few things have become clear.  I clearly prefer homes that are a little rough around the edges.  With abundant wood.  And vaulted ceilings.  And maybe have flowers growing up the walls, in assorted sizes and colors.  Now that's not too much to ask for, is it?)

Sources: Sun in Scorpio and The Revolution Takes Us Home

Those last two pictures were taken by me!  Thank you Instagram.

Do you ever feel more centered after being sick?  I realize how strange it is to express enthusiasm about illness.  But I find it gets my head back on straight.

(Speaking of getting things straight, are any of you guys into Tarot readings?  Lovely Austin is having a Tarot Cocktail Party next Saturday from 3 - 7pm.  I signed up for a 5:00pm reading.  Click here to reserve a spot).

Nothing to undo.

(Note: Before I begin this post, thanks are owed to Lauren at Hipstercrite for inspiring the inquiry on beauty.  Ever since I read her exploration of this same question, I've been thinking about it myself).

Every so often, usually when I have the text messages open on my iPhone, the device will suddenly tell me:

 I don't know why this happens.

But I've always found the message oddly poignant.

"Nothing to undo," huh?  It's a hard pill to swallow in this culture.  Or maybe any culture.  In general,  it's difficult to look back on your life at the most painful, embarrassing, or lonely chapters, and say: "Yes, I'd keep those too."
  
*  *  *

Interestingly, the more I think about "beauty," the more I've come to realize that the most attractive people -- to me -- are those that accept this maxim, "nothing to undo."

And by that I mean, they've accepted it knowingly or not.  It probably takes some exposure to Buddhism or Taoism or some other Eastern -ism to understand radical acceptance on a cognitive level.  But there are those who've never breathed an om in their life, and yet still manage to bring this air of, "I wouldn't change anything" wherever they go.

*  *  *

Last night at aerial class, I watched our instructor perform a routine to "Yesterday" (The Beatles' "Yesterday"), and it was one of the most heart-breakingly beautiful things I've ever seen.  The way she clutched the fabric, while curled up into a little ball, looking so vulnerable -- and then bursting out, extending all of her limbs, suspended by a tiny knot around her foot and even more precarious grip of her hand, one hand, on the silk.

I've watched aerial dance routines before, mostly on the sides of buildings, but those were epic and grand.  This ... this felt deeply intimate.

Our class, normally a crowd of giggling fools because we all look like little kids at this point on the silks, were utterly silent watching her dance.  Except at the end, when my friend Kim and I sniffled a bit, like little sentimental grandmas at a wedding.

Anyway, while watching her, it occurred to me that:

A) Performance is sexy.

B) Performance is sexy because it requires work.  And somewhere in our brains, we can intuit how long it's taken to get to that point, whether we're watching an aerial dancer, a guitarist, an actor, or whatever, and we respect all those hours alone they put into this, and then we realize: Passion.  Is what we're really talking about here.

"Passion" is such a cliched term that I almost hate to use it, but it's true, isn't it?  You can tell when a person has a passion.  Pushing it in your face and reminding you all the time that they do this one thing -- that's not passion.  I don't know what that is.  Maybe insecurity.

But anyway, passion is gorgeous to me.  And it's so much easier to identify what your passions are when you've got nothing to undo.

*  *  *

Here are the things I have often wished I could undo:

A) The fact that I was so goody-goody in high school.  The friends (and husband) I have now had far crazier high school experiences.  I didn't know what marijuana WAS in high school.  I wore sweater sets and tasteful footwear.  I had a lot of friends in high school -- but -- living in Austin, I often feel compelled to lie and say, "oh yeah, I was a total rebel in high school!  Totally!  Always sneaking out of class!"  Friends, I would have rather died than missed class.

B) My weird religious path.  I was very Christian for a while.  And then, NOT Christian.  Meaning -- I defiantly stood in opposition to Christianity, and then I just got mean about it.  Not always to people's faces, but I felt it.

Ross has this saying that I'm about to butcher, but it goes something like: "When you throw an arrow you hurt yourself worse."  Or something?  Anyway, the idea is, when you express hostility towards someone or something else, sure, your target will feel it -- but the action began and ended with you, so you feel it double.  That's the way I was with Christianity.

Lately I have so come to respect spiritualities that aren't bound to specific religions.  It's very freeing.  But still, the moment -- the precise millisecond -- I hear the word "Jesus," something old and bitter is triggered inside me.  Which is a shame, isn't it?  I joke to Ross sometimes that just hearing "Jesus" pronounced the Spanish way ("hay-sus") is better.  Because until I can fully separate the frustrating examples I saw way back when of "Christianity" from the relatively enlightened views of Jesus, which are a lot like Buddha's, which are a lot like modern Indian gurus', I'll still feel the knee-jerk meanness each time someone utters that name.

C) Boyfriends. Not all of them. In fact, not most of them.  But a few straight-up sucked.

*  *  *

So, here's the big "lesson" with these three things.  I think we've all got stuff we'd like to undo.  But that's weight we carry around.  And it's more difficult to let passions bubble up if we refuse to let go of that weight.  It's more difficult to live out beauty.

So with A: As a result of living out my Soccer Mom years earlier than most, I pushed myself to have a more interesting experience in my 20's.  With B, I don't think I'll ever become "born again" but I DO think I'll be a spiritually curious (and hopefully respectful) person going forward. And C -- if I never had boyfriends who sucked, I never would have found Ross!  It took a lot of losers to make me appreciate the grand, knight-in-shining-armor winner, which duh, is how it always play out, right?  Who gets that kind of thing right on the first try?  On the tenth try?

One of the most romantic and thoughtful boys I ever dated turned out to be gay.

He loved Victorian Literature just like me, had amazing restaurant taste, and even better penmanship.  He (literally) looked perfect on paper, but something just wasn't quite right ... because he was gay.  What if I had forced that one through?

*  *  *

So I'm slowly beginning to resist the impulse to "undo" things.  And when I watched my instructor last night dance, I searched and searched her body and face for a time when she was clumsier, less confident.

No one is born spinning through aerial silks.  It's an incredibly awkward art, at first.

But that awkwardness eventually becomes beauty, if you're patient enough.  Which we all know.  It's true of every arena.  The only reason sometimes I feel I can do aerial is because there aren't any mirrors in the studio, so there aren't reminders of my regret refracted back to me.  I just have to feel things out.

There are too many beautiful boys and girls, men and women, in this city to count.

And yet the most attractive ones, the sexy ones, are usually also the passionate ones.

Despite their past failures and present, sometimes palpable flaws, they've got nothing to undo.

*  *  *

(It appears that Jamie Lee Curtis also wrote about the "Nothing to undo" message on iPhones this week.  Random!  Read her thoughts at Huffington Post).

I can't stop listening to The Pass.

I thought I had gotten over synthesizers.  I thought I had fully crossed over to a warm, healthy embrace of real instruments and non-edited vocals.  I thought I was finished making multiple volumes of "Tolly's Boner Jams" CD's for the car, worthy of any gay dance club with shiny lasers and a disco ball.

And then ... this band contacted me.


What can I say?  I'm in love.   I hardly ever post about dance parties anymore -- RIP, 25-year-old Tolly -- but by God, I'm posting about this one.

Here's a picture of The Pass, responsible for the delightful music video ("Treatment of the Sun") you see above.

Ooh they are so hipster! I want to squeeze them. I want to nuzzle their moustaches. I want to go to their show here in Austin on February 9, and you know what? I'm gonna.

Ghost Room

Wednesday, February 9

9:00pm

Openers: Gina Chavez and Aly Tadros

Cover: $5

I will surely post some MP3's by these guys leading up to the show, so stay tuned.

Also -- these guys are from Louisville, Kentucky.  What IS it about Louisville?  One of my favorite day job clients is from Louisville, and now, this band.  I've never even been to Kentucky! 

Ask Austin Eavesdropper: Writers, swappers, and single moms.

Welcome to the very first edition of "Ask Austin Eavesdropper!"  

So if you scroll down, and see the box on the lefthand margin, "Ask Me Anything," this is where you can submit a question to your gentle blog host.

For example:  "Can you recommend a a sushi place in Austin?"  "Where can I find vintage boots?"  That kind of thing.

I'll answer these questions on a regular basis.  Since the box has gone up, some folks have submitted more Tolly-centric questions, and that is ok too.  Like, "where in the US would you live outside of Texas if you had to move?"  As long as my response isn't boring (DAKOTA, DEFINITELY ONE OF THE DAKOTAS), I'll answer some of those too. 

For now we're going to do these in a regular Q&A format, but Ross gave me a little camera for Christmas with a kickass microphone, so I might film a bit too.  But I don't know!  I'm shy on camera.

If you're an Austinite and can chime in / add to my own answers, by all means!  Write stuff in the comments section!  This new feature is meant to be kind of a resource for all things Austin.  But mostly its purpose is for us to have fun.

So let's do this:

1. What is your best advice to a writer/ poet/single mother of one moving to Austin in the near future?

Hello writer/poet/single mother of one moving to Austin!  I think you're going to love it in our fair city.

When I posed this question to my Twitter friends, the most specific response I got was: "Avoid I-35."  And it's true, I-35 is probably not the best major thoroughfare for a creative spirit such as yourself, with its long river of concrete and not-so-picturesque scenery.  And with a child in tow, you may want to opt for routes that are less prone to drunk Sixth Streeters.

But I sense your question points to deeper needs than highways.  Let's start with the writing part.

Writer's League of Texas has a home in downtown Austin (specifically, on South Congress) and is an awesome organization.  They offers classes and workshops to writers/poets, as well as seminars with visiting authors.  They even host an annual agents and editors conference if you have a manuscript that is polished and ready to go.  I've spoken at WLOT about book publicity, but I'm thinking of enrolling in one of their classes myself, since I love the staff -- and could use writing instruction too, especially in the area of fiction.

For inspiration, I recommend the KOOP-FM radio show "Writing on the Air," which features local and visiting writers talking about their craft.

And for the single-mother-of-one part of your question, are you looking for schools?  Child care?  Fellow single mommies?  I'm going to take a shot in the dark here and recommend our city's Annual Pet Parade.  What kid (nay, what person) doesn't like a herd of pets marching down South Congress? In costume?  You are pretty much guaranteed to have a rad time with your kid.

Without knowing more about you I'm not sure if this addresses your question (at all), but like I said: This advice, it is worthy. You'll totally love the Pet Parade.


2. We want you to organize another swap!!

Hello, swap-lover! Here, I assume you are referring to the Rock N' Swap that Miss Sarah Jessica Dean of Magnolia Family Vintage and I put on? I'm glad you enjoyed it (enough to come back and ask for another one)!

The jury's still out on another swap.  We had a ton of fun, but it was a LOOOT of work.  Sarah and I were running around like crazy people that night.  That being said, I personally scored some way awesome stuff, so that kinda maybe motivates me to do one again ... and as a result of the Swap, someone out there is wearing one of my contributions -- my little Parisian scarf!

(Excuse the iPhone quality of this pic).  I bought that scarf with my Dad, way back when, on a father-daughter trip to Paris.  I miss you, scarf!  I hope your new owner is treating you well.

3. Who the heck nominated me for an Austin Blogger Award?

I don't know! But congratulations, and good job! What is your blog?

4. Where in the US would you live outside of Texas if you had to move?

I love this question!  Let's see.  I tried California.  I think someplace on the east coast, since I've never spent any significant amount of time there.  And it just so happens that all of my best friends here in Austin are from New Jersey, so maybe there's an inner north-easterner trapped inside me?

(My parents are probably dying laughing at that response.  I stomp around and whine when the temperature drops below 60).

If warm clothing were abundant, in all seriousness, I might try out Canada.  I have never been.  But they seem like a well-balanced, friendly people, non?

And if money / job / husband's compliance were no issue, I'd pick up and move out of the U.S. in a second.  Not for permanent, just for a little while.  To either: Brazil (husband has been and loves it), Italy (I studied abroad there in college and always daydream about going back), Japan (to experience the juxtaposition of hyper-fast urban culture against a backdrop of rural tea houses and mountaintop temples), Africa (Dajara.  Random, right?  Ever since I saw the trailer for this documentary last summer about the girl's school there, I've thought about it constantly.  Kind of a pipe dream but we'll see).

5. How can I blog on Austin Eavesdropper?

I'm so flattered you asked!   What do you want to blog about?  Shoot me an email and we'll tawk.

* * *

Yay! Thanks for participating in Ask Austin Eavesdropper, y'all.  If you have additional thoughts/ideas of your own regarding these questions, leave a comment. And if you have a question you'd like to submit, check out the "Ask Me Anything" box.

Happy Wednesday!

Bliss.

I took this yesterday at Quacks.

So pretty I almost didn't want to sip it.

But I did.  Actually, first I sprinkled chocolate and cinnamon on top, then I sipped.  Yummy.

You're welcome, mouth: Dinner at Uchiko.

I think Ross and I may be christening a new "special occasion" restaurant: Uchiko.

Oh out-of-town readers, I wish you could experience Uchiko.  Last Saturday marked the fourth time I've dined there, a restaurant that's been open less than half a year.  The 'special occasion' this time was the fact that I had a gift certificate to it.  And, the fact that Ross and I have been hard up on Date Night lately because life got ... how do I put this?  Cray cray. 

We got a seat at the sushi bar, the very first time I've gotten to eat at the sushi bar here.  Guys, this may be how I ALWAYS enjoy Uchiko.  It's like watching TV.  The sushi chefs chop-chop-chop up fish, and talk to you at the same time.  We were tickled.

The first roll we ordered was the Yokai: Atlantic salmon, myoga, golden beet, soy paper.  What is myoga?  Who knows.  But what I DO know is that this roll also contains mint, and that the soy paper (the dried shavings you see on top of the roll) is faintly sweet.  Those two sensations do something extraordinary to that rich salmon, and it's all very refreshing, taste-wise.  This roll reminds me of summer.

The next roll we ordered was the George, and PS, doesn't this picture look like a face?  Teehee.  Anyway, the George contains: Smoked atlantic salmon, avocado, preserved lemon, Skyr yogurt.  We ate this up in about ten seconds.  

Uchiko has such a handle on their fat/astringent flavor combinations, and almost everything you order here delivers that decadent, warm mouth feel, followed by a light, tangy something dancing on the sides of your tongue.  I've heard it said that sushi is a cuisine of bites -- you're always trying to engineer the perfect bite -- and Uchiko consistently engineers their rolls in this manner.  Tiny bits of ingredient layered together to surprise and charm.

We then received this dessert (special) on the house.  We don't know why we got it on the house, but Ross and I did not argue. 

This was one of the most turn-me-on desserts I've had the pleasure of tasting, ever, and before you accuse me of getting too hyperbolic when talking about food (which is true), let me just describe to you what you are seeing, above: Saffron gelato.  Olive oil semifreddo.  Toasted pistachios.  And I think a lemon foam.  After Ross and I dove in like savage wilda beasts, our waitress demurely suggested, "it's best if you taste everything in one bite," and when we did that -- oh.  Fuggedaboutit.  We almost slid off our sushi bar stools and died right there.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, that the savory/sweet dessert thing isn't for everybody.  But it is certainly for me.  My exact words regarding Uchiko's dessert menu last September were, ahem, "if I could bathe in this stuff, I would."  Subtlety is not a gift of mine.

This is the last picture I wanted to show you: Those rad light fixtures!  Where did they come from?  Maybe I'll call up Michael Hsu and ask him.

Austinites?  Have you dined at Uchiko yet?  The restaurant GQ Magazine named one of the 10 best new restaurants in America?  If not, well.  You know what to do!

"Yes, everything is one."

Chris Apollo Lynn from Republic of Austin just sent over the most amazing video.

This is from a series of experimental LSD sessions performed in 1956.  The doctor you see in the video -- Dr. Sidney Cohen -- was dosing volunteers at the VA Hospital in Los Angeles, and the volunteer below is a California housewife.

Some of my favorite bits:

DOCTOR: What does this all mean to you?

HOUSEWIFE:  I've never seen such intimate beauty in my life.

And then, later:

HOUSEWIFE:  Can't you feel it?  Everything is so beautiful, and lovely, and alive.

The best moment of all, in my opinion, happens around moment 5:10, when she starts pointing at something, asking the doctor to look. "Do you see it?" When he admits he can't, she simply shakes her head (knowingly?) and responds, 

"If you can't see it, then you'll just never know it. I feel sorry for you."

At the end, when Dr. Cohen is interviewing philosopher Gerald Heard -- a contemporary of Aldous Huxley -- Heard says something I hear in Buddhism over and over again.

"Suddenly you notice that there aren't these separations. That we're not on a separate island shouting across to somebody else and trying to hear what they're saying and misunderstanding ... we're part of a single continent."

Click here for original post.

Click here for link to Don Lattin's book, The Harvard Psychedelic Club.  (Which suddenly became the very next selection on my reading list).

TONIGHT: Mortified Austin.

Friends, do you remember a time before text messages and Facebook?

When angsty pre-teens and teenagers wrote soul-baring poetry inside their Trapper Keepers?

Archaeologists have now uncovered a rudimentary communication tool called a "pencil," which bore marks onto "paper," an advanced form of papyrus.  It is these instruments that frustrated, horny, confused individuals of roughly the 11 - 18 age range used in antiquity to record their thoughts and feelings.

Mortified is a national, touring show that uncovers these artifacts, and features their users reading them aloud, in front of a live audience, and TONIGHT is the third anniversary of Mortified: Austin.

GARY!  introduced me to Mortified a while back, and oh my God, the Austin version is hilarious.  I performed last year, and read my diary entries about mooning dogs, as well as love letters from summer camp to -- not boys -- my CAT.

One of the producers of the show, Patrick Daniel, told me tonight's group in particular is ridiculous.  The show is at United States Art Authority, next door to Spiderhouse, which means that seating will be limited: so jump on it.

Mortified: Austin

Friday, January 21 (tonight)

8:00pm - 10:00pm

United States Art Authority

2906 Fruth Street

Ross, I, and a group of friends will be there.  Yay!  ALSO.  There is a nameless, jazz-ish, delightful trio that plays 80s covers in between performers.  I think they are called "The After-School Specials" and they only play for Mortified.  I have a crush on all of them.  They are another excellent reason to see this show tonight.

PS: Yes, that is me, in the beautiful Olan Mills portrait above.

Ch-ch-ch-changes on Austin Eavesdropper

Time and time again, it blows my mind when new bloggers just dive right into this whole blogging thing knowing exactly what to do. 

I have been blogging on Austin Eavesdropper for over three years now, and LAWD, I still feel like a newbie sometimes!  But here are three new upgrades for Austin Eavesdropper that I'm really excited about.  I know I know, has it really taken me this long to get my sh-t together and figure some of this basic stuff out?  Oh well!  Here we go:

* New design *
Did you notice that Austin Eavesdropper looks different, um, every week?   That's because I can't stop messing with with the template.  I am the prototypical girlfriend who's never satisfied.

I'm sure some old posts will look wonky while I play with this new 3-column business I've got going on here, so as the old saying goes, "pardon our dust."

And, if you have any ideas for new blog headers, bring 'em!  I've had lots of different headers in the past, including one of Leslie Cochran's butt.  I miss that one.  


* Sponsor Austin Eavesdropper *
Guys, when I opened up ad space on Austin Eavesdropper, I had no idea what the hell I was doing.  Now that I have a better handle on it, I have revamped our sponsor info section!  And created a page for Austin Eavesdropper's mentions in the press!  It took me years not to feel squeamish about listing this blog's mentions in the press, so I hope you don't find it utterly obnoxious.  But apparently some sponsors really care about this sort of thing so I'm going to do my best to maintain it.

So!  If you have a band you think I would like, a delightful restaurant or food trailer, or perhaps an Etsy store that sells vintage or handmade things, YOU ARE IN LUCK.  Because I would love to promote you.  Check here for rates or email me your sponsor ideas.


* Ask Me Anything Box *
This is currently an experiment, but I think it's kind of cool.  I stole this idea from my friend Christa, who just started a rad music blog: Sonic Snogg.  Christa not only has excellent music taste, but can truly rocks pinstripes like there is no tomorrow.  I hope you get to meet her someday.

Anyway, on the left-hand margin of my blog, at the bottom of the blog roll, I now have a little box where you can type in questions.  So far, I have received three.  These include:

1. "Body"
2. "What advice do you have for a writer/poet/single mother moving to Austin?"
3. "Cello"

I'm going to go ahead and assume that question askers #1 and #3 are still formulating their thoughts.

I've been mulling over question #2 however, and will answer this person on Monday, right here on this blog.  I've been wanting to do a "regular feature" of sorts on Austin Eavesdropper, so each week, I will collect questions from this box and answer as many as I can.  Sometimes I may ask for your help.  (Like -- what advice do you have for a writer/poet/single mother moving to Austin?  I asked someone this on Twitter, and they wrote, "Avoid I-35."   Let's, eh, start there).

Thank you as always for being an Austin Eavesdropper reader!  I am pumped about these changes, and have a few more to come down the road.  But for now, we'll just let this awesomeness digest.

Thank you Statesman!!

GAH!  Guess what friends!

A story about me and my little house is on the cover of the Life & Arts section in the Austin-American Statesman today!

Thank you dearly, Amy Gabriel, for writing such a thoughtful and eloquent piece!  Thank you Jessica, for taking beautiful pictures of our house a few months back, and inspiring interest in our quirky little abode. 

And thank you to anyone who is brand new to Austin Eavesdropper because of this article!   I hope you enjoy your stay, new readers.  We have fun here.

Things that are awkward to blog about when your parents read your blog: Lingerie.

Hi Mom and Dad!  Hello, in-laws!  Old friends from church camp that found me on Facebook!  This is the part where we talk about me buying underwear.

So.  Here's something to know about me: I view the purchase of lingerie in similar terms as the purchase of better-functioning auto parts.  As in, probably really good to have, but kind of the last thing I want to spend my money on.  (Poor Ross.)

Whenever I buy a piece of "lingerie," it is invariably for a costume.  Slips that become 1920s dresses.  Feather skirt things that become a Carnival creation.  A white teddy-sort-of-situation that became part of a White Queen get-up.  I hate Victoria's Secret.

And yet ... there are all these new little businesses in Austin that are maybe making me change my mind?

My friend Julia Vie has an awesome boudoir photography outfit that opened last year: Vivian's Muse.  My other pal Beth started high-end lingerie site Kuhmillion (which got a hilarious / rad write-up today on Thrillist).  I found out about Megan Summerville through a friend of a friend last Spring, just before she opened up her own shop on 3rd Street and launched a new website.

Photo credit: SavannahRed.

This (the "January Set") is part of a few Megan Summerville Signature Sets that girlfriend is designing and selling during January and February, for a variety of sizes.  The press release I got in my inbox indicates "28B - 38F," ladies.

Anyway, while musing over Megan and this post, it hit me that underwear really is all about intention.  I mean -- obviously.  But here, I am referring to the maker.

When an artist makes you something unique, hand-sews on beads, searches for vintage 1920s cotton, and hand-dyes her own fabrics (like Megan did for this very set above), she imbues it with love.  At least, I like to think so.  Also?  Megan designs underwear for men too.  Awesome.

So what I'm saying is, I think it's somewhat thrilling to have a local lingerie constructor here in Austin, even though I have historically been very neutral on lingerie.  This isn't only because Megan is an artist, but because her brand, her site, and her models all possess an assertive female sexuality.  The women are different sizes, and in shows, they look like they are having a blast.  I like that!  In fact, let's make a rule:  The new rule is, one should ONLY wear lingerie when having a blast.  Right?  Who wants to be sad while wearing their sexy pants.  Nobody, that's who.

Photo Friday.

You guys are kind of amazing.  Thank you for what you wrote me in the comments section of yesterday's post.

Ross is in the kitchen making breakfast right now, because -- guess what -- we have a bunch of friends in town!  I woke up this morning to find a cardboard cut-out of John Wayne in our living room, which apparently Texas Land and Cattle "gifted" (i.e. allowed to be stolen by) our rowdy friends last night while I was at aerial dance class.  Not gonna lie, it's pretty awesome: It's John Wayne in military garb, and he's currently standing at attention about four feet away from me.

Anyway, instead of writing today, I dug up some of my favorite pictures from the last few months.  I hope you enjoy!

 I took this picture with the phone: Not Hipstamatic, but ... something else. Oh I love you, fake lomo photo apps!

That's me with my beautiful friend Beka, whom I miss very much.  She visited not too long ago, and I took her out to El Chile.  It may or may not have been part of a ploy to get her to move back to Austin.

At ACL: The handiwork of Magda Sayeg, i.e. Knitta Please.

A lamp at La Sombra that I crave.  I have a thing for furniture and decor made out of unfinished branches.

BABIES!!  My two adorable nephews. Does this picture not make you grin so hard?

I can't remember where I took this leaf / tree picture (or the one above it).  But I like the way it turned out.

A metal "couch" in a yard in my neighborhood.  Played with this in editing software to get that spotlight effect.  Looks kinda cool, non?

My baby holding a gourd at Central Market.  Insert your own phallus joke here.

Me holding my friend Megan's dog. (Well, kind of her dog -- it's her friends' dog).  I was like Lennie with the rabbits with this tiny creature.  Can you see the look of fear in its eyes?

Work from an artist Ross and I saw on the East Austin Studio Tour, at Blue Genie.  I don't know the artist's name, but maybe you do.  Really dig the pop art style going on here.

happy friday!

Everyone has things that are hard to say. This is mine.

You guys -- I am so tired.

At the end of this day, Wednesday, January 12, exhaustion has descended.  I am in bed.  I am wearing jammies.  My head hurts a tinge, but only because I am too lazy to get up and walk ten steps to the bathroom for some Excedrin.

This tired is the kind of tired that follows a very full day, a day when you have a million things on your plate, and all of them are good.  I think, "is it just Wednesday?" and I remember the full agendas coming up tomorrow and Friday, with lots of tasks and to-do's, and those things are good, too.

Sometimes I'm so grateful for my life, I want to fucking cry.

*  *  *

At this very moment, my husband is at an intervention for a friend.  It's the first time I've ever known someone, in real life, who has received an intervention.

We all have a lot of theories.  About how his alcoholism started.  We have all been frustrated, all have ropes that we have sworn we've reached the end of, and then, look at that.  More rope.

It's happened again, and again, and again with this friend.  Some of us have taken him to rehab.  Some of us have taken him in.  When he didn't have anywhere to live last summer, I woke up one morning and looked out my window, and saw him sleeping in our hammock.

*  *  *
I went to his wedding a few years ago, back when I first started dating Ross.  I didn't really know anyone there.  It was at Barr Mansion, and there was a seated stringed trio, and salad with pink dressing, and smiled anecdotes in the air about the couple and their courtship.

At one point I was standing by myself on the perimeter of a big, wide dance circle. Ross was I don't know where.  It was one of those moments when, surrounded by people, you just feel kind of lonely.  You can sense the personal histories and the long friendships in the room, and since you are not woven into those histories yet, you stand, quietly, respectfully, at the edge of circles.

That's when he, the groom, grabbed me by the hand.

"C'mon, Tolly!  Dance with me!"

I was startled.  And thrilled.  We danced one song. 

And you know?  I've danced to hundreds of songs since then.  But that dance sticks out in my memory, because it was such a kind and thoughtful gesture.  At my own wedding, several years later, it never once crossed my mind to look for that one lone soul, shyly shuffling their feet, desperately wishing someone would ask them to dance, or talk, or share a drink or do anything together.

But it crossed his.

*  *  *

Last night I was telling Ross, "sometimes it just seems so selfish.  This life that he is wasting."

And then I remembered my own life.

I remembered how criminally effortless it is for me, for most people, to make myself breakfast in the morning, to grudgingly pay my bills, to call my Mom.  It's not like that for him.

There are plenty of alcoholics in my family, but I've experienced them at a distance.  They aren't my mom or dad, they are jovial uncles, and one now-recovered aunt.  As a result, I've just heard snatches about alcoholism.  "It's a disease just like any other."  "You can be high-functioning."  "You can't just go cold turkey, you have to ease off or your body will go into shock."

Now that I am watching it up close, though, it surprises me that I've never heard anything about homelessness.  I mean, I've heard the two concepts linked in an abstract, TV news statistic way -- "over 1/3 of America's homeless struggle with chemical dependency" -- but I've never heard anyone say, "sometimes, certain alcoholics just slowly, steadily lose everything, including available places to live."

And it is so bizarre to watch.  Especially through my point of view, standing in the middle of my incredibly cute little life, with the husband and the cat and the job and the fulfilling hobbies and the parents who love me.  I look at him, and I see someone who hasn't lost the will to live, exactly.  More like he's lost the recipe to life.  He keeps adding salt when he should be adding sugar, and he repeats this same mistake over and over again until the cookies taste like absolute shit and that's when I finally realize, "this is a disease."

*  *  *

Here's what I've learned, in my very brief and still continuing exposure to alcoholism: It's really hard to be sympathetic.

It's hard because, unlike someone with cancer or diabetes, they look, act, and behave just like you and me.  Except when they are opening up a beer.

He came over to our house this summer while Ross was away, and we were sitting in the living room. He asked, "could I sleep here tonight?"

I started crying, because all of our friends had collectively agreed together: "Showers and coming inside for a glass of water -- those are ok.  Giving him a place to crash is not."  It was shortly before we started using the word "enabling" in every other conversation regarding this friend.

"No."

He immediately waved his hand graciously, like I had just said, "no, I'm out of printer toner, but I can get it for you on Tuesday." He smiled a little smile and replied, "that's ok. I understand."

"What are you going to do, baby?  What are you ... doing?"

I asked him this while crying a little, and I don't remember what he said.  I think he got up and said, "well I'll let you get back to it," which was nothing, I wasn't doing anything.  Except for sitting there, looking at him, refusing to let him sleep on our couch, which just felt so cruel and horrible in the moment.

*  *  *
 
The good news for this friend of ours is that, though pretty much all of his institutions have crumbled, his marriage, his job(s), his welcome at his parents' house, and his driver's license, he does have sympathetic friends.

I asked Ross what he missed about him the other night.  I told him about the wedding, and I also told him about this one time the friend cheered for me during a bowling game, and I said, "that's what I'm holding out for, the stuff that I hope comes back if he gets healed."

Ross said, "I miss his creativity.  He's a hard worker.  He's funny and incredibly smart and he likes to make people laugh.  I think this thing is not him.  I really don't think it's him."

He said it with such conviction I believed it, the distinct and firm separation between our friend and it, the foreign agent.  Like he caught a really bad strand of the flu, and just like the stuffy head wouldn't be "him," the red face and the random crying and the tone in his voice that wavers from venomously biting to pitifully childlike isn't "him."

*  *  *

It's been a couple of hours now and Ross is still at the intervention.  Sometimes I think forcing our friend to get help, like, physically dragging him into a treatment center and all but strapping him down (Ross actually did that with him once) is the answer.  He's staying with another friend right now, in an arrangement that's about to end.  And then?  We don't know.  We remind ourselves not to be fatalistic, but we also say: "He could be homeless, he could die; these are his choices if he opts not to get help."

I'm not saying it's Satan, all I wonder is: What if Ross is right. What if the person opting not to get help isn't "him."

"If he wants help, he has to be the one to choose it."  That's another thing I've heard about alcoholics.

But, where is this choice-making power supposed to come from?  How does power get distributed, how do some of us pour ourselves a bowl of cereal like it's nothing, and how do others (like my friend) forget to eat for days?


I don't know how to end this post.

I guess now would be a good time to say something like, "I just hope he remembers that dance we had, and how great that made me feel."  But he's too smart for tinny platitudes.

I don't think he even reads this blog.  If he did, though, I guess I would want him to get to the end of this post knowing -- "ok. I am worth thinking about."

We aren't that close, it's true.  But I seriously think about you all the time.

Laced With Romance.

We'll discuss the Beowful / Hannibal Lecter styling here in a moment.

But first, let's talk about a singular group of ladies I have a blushy crush on here in Austin: The gorgeous, messy-haired, vintage store entrepreneur gang.  

You know the ones I'm talking about.  They own Prototype, they own Feathers.  My girl Sarah Dean, who owns Magnolia Family Vintage, is a cross between Stevie Nicks and Lorette Lynn, and will tell you that it is her life's goal to merge the two icons into one via her personal style.  

How cute is she?

Anyway.  Some of these ladies put on my favorite fashion show every year, Fashion Freakout.  And that is how I met Stephanie Villalobos, the brain behind Laced With Romance, which launched a new site yesterday.

When I blogged about Fashion Freakout in 2009, I mentioned the radass tie-dyed tights on some of the models.  Stephanie saw the post, and MAILED me a couple of pairs.  Did I love her instantly?   Yes.  Yes I did.

So I invited Stephanie to a party.  That January (almost a year ago, exactly), Sarah and I were prepping a recycled clothing party at Beauty Bar -- the "Rock N' Swap" -- and we asked Stephanie if she could haul out some Laced With Romance merch for the affair.

She built a pop-up shop right there in Beauty Bar, with lots of delightfully macabre details strewn about: A cow skull here, a few bones there.  I was squealing.

Now, Laced With Romance is a full-on, buy online shop.  In photographs, the pieces are incorporated into whole outfits -- which I like, because I need help sometimes picturing how it will come together!

That last model is so making me want to haul off already and get the two tattoos I've been dreaming about for a while:  A flock of colorful birds that begin on the top of my foot, wrap around the ankle, and continue on my shoulder and fly off my arm.  (That probably made no sense).

congratulations on your new site, stephanie!

Soon, this will be ME.

Ok, probably not quite that.  But remember when we were all talking about the New Year's Word, and I off-handedly mentioned aerial dance?  I TOTALLY SIGNED UP FOR CLASSES.

They start tomorrow.  I'm going with my friend Kim.  Who is a legitimate dancer.  I am nothing of the sort ... but oh well.

To get excited, I was looking at videos and pictures of aerial dancers all weekend, and it reminded me of this "imagination game" my roommate and I used to play in college. Every time we'd meet someone, we'd cast them in an ongoing, imaginary circus, invented by the two of us. This didn't include just friends; it also included our professors and family.  Every time we'd be in a class together, and the professor would make a certain gesture, all I had to do was mouth "tightrope walker" to Kathryn, and she'd giggle in agreement.

Anyway, of course we both had to cast ourselves, too.  Kathryn was one of the girls with the huge feather headdresses that rode the elephants; I was trapeze!

 (PS. The name of this file, when I found it on the internet, was "Tito on trapeze again.GIF."  How funny is that?  Who named that file?  There goes Tito, again.  Always on that damn trapeze.)

Anyway, it's all coming together now.  I'm taking this trapeze business and making it a reality. 

Kim and I just signed up for beginner classes, and I actually found a video of beginner dancers at Blue Lapis Light -- where we're enrolled -- below.  It's pretty inspiring!  They do drops, and twist themselves up in the scarves, high in the air.  I really can't wait.

(It gets going about a minute in).

Here are some more videos of Blue Lapis Light dancers.

Anyway, I will keep everyone up to speed on my progress. I am not the most graceful person.

Yesterday, for example. I was carrying a basket of laundry outside, and because I have a tendency to shuffle I didn't pick my foot up quite high enough, and stumbled on a tiny, pointy twig sticking up out of the ground. I sprawled out in the side yard by our house, and my clothes went flying! (But fortunately it was the dirty pile.)

I think it might be a sign that my true grace isn't found on land, but in the air.

UPDATED:  Ok.  I just got home from my first class, and it WAS. AWESOME.

I cannot wait to go back.  I thought we'd just learn, like, "this is the mat.  And this, this is the floor" but we actually learned tricks and stuff!  I'm not a floating butterfly yet, but I'm not hopeless either!

UPDATE #2 (1/26/10):  Check it out.  This is class #5.  You can't really see my face, but what it's saying is, "please don't die."