Austin Eavesdropper

The Couple Behind Blue Dahlia Bistro.

2012-01-30T09:01:00.000-06:00

Last night, I had dinner with my friend Kim at our favorite restaurant, Blue Dahlia Bistro. Do you all know the sweet love story behind it?

About six years ago, an Austinite named Amy Quinn was looking for a new career. She used to be a model, and her shows took her all over the world.

So she dreamt up a little restaurant with French touches, one that served ample cheese plates and fresh baguette. She wrote up a business plan, and showed it to various investors. One was a man named Sam Ramirez, who had never invested in any business before. Besides, that is, his own geotechnical drilling.

But Sam was game, ready to try something new -- just like Amy. They helped build out the space together, Bobcats and all.

Sam was cheerful and funny, and Amy quietly crushed on him from afar. She had never wanted to get married. But she had to tell him how she felt.

So she finally admitted her feelings. And what did Sam say? In two words:

"ME TOO."

They were married within one year.

I read this article once about Sam and Amy, the way they created the restaurant, and the way the restaurant created them. Sam said something in the story like, "oh yeah, Amy's the one who does the rocks in the sink and all that." I giggled, because can't you just see it?

"Babe - uh - I noticed somebody put rocks in our bathroom sink? You want me to take 'em out?"

"No, honey! Those are river stones. I placed them there this morning. It's the final touch, don't you think?"

I can see this exact scene playing out in my home someday, and it makes me want to hug Sam and Amy both.

No reason, just gorgeous.

2012-01-27T06:00:00.001-06:00

Over the holidays, my sister-in-law gave me this delightful magazine - more than that, a journal really - called Anthology.

It's impossibly pretty, all French food and gauzy photographs and yearning travelogues. It's part of a new generation of magazines, Matchbook and Rue among them, spearheaded by young women who strike a fresh-feeling balance between accessibile and aspirational living. Less Ana Wintour, more Martha; less Gucci, more Anthropologie, less New York, more ... San Francisco.

Anyway. The video makers above (Tiger in a Jar) were featured in a recent issue of Anthology, and when a client of mine sent me their website today, I thought -- that's it! They must be blogged.

Are you drooling? Don't you want to wear Christmas tree branches in your hair now (even though we've bade goodbye to the holidays)? I do!

I also want to dance. That track is a remix by The Magician, and I say we bring him to Austin.

The creatures of this house.

2012-01-25T06:00:00.003-06:00

It's quite domestic around here.

Do you remember Claudia, Reader? It's been a while since we really let her have her own post. Here is a picture of the two of us from back in the day, Claudia totally loving and appreciating my affection. She and I were at home the other day when a tiny bird flew into our house, and I could not believe it held still while I snapped its picture. Look at it winking!

Also. Ross and I are still faithfully doing Greenling each week. Now, 80% of the time we know what we have received, because Greenling always provides a helpful list -- with recipes! -- of our box's offerings. But sometimes, even after we have consulted said list, one item is still a mystery. Enter the potato ... thing, above. Are you noticing the face I carved into it? That is the expression a vegetable makes when it doesn't know what it is. I asked Ross and our buddy Jason what I should do with it, and they suggest I cut it into slices. Done.

Finally, I just wanted to share the most delightful comment from an Eavesdroppper reader: Mary Miller, one of the authors I mentioned a couple of weeks ago. She wrote me the kindest email, and inspired by Claudia, I thought I'd share part of it with you. In her note, she described the things this blog makes her want to do ...

Food is Free + 24 Diner.

2012-01-24T06:00:00.001-06:00

Sanctuary at Amala Foundation

On Saturday night, Ross and I did exactly two things. One having to do with vegetables, community gardens, virtue; the other, fritters, butter, gluttony.

Our first stop was a huge launch party / meeting of the minds at Amala Foundation's Sanctuary for the Food is Free Project, an inspiring little operation. The idea: To distribute free wicking beds from salvaged materials to anybody interested, with the goal that they plant food in them -- food available to absolutely any passers-by. Due to the way they are built, these gardens only require once-a-month watering. The science of which was explained during the meeting ... but, I'm choosing to believe they are magical.

Ross and I signed up. We live on a corner lot, and there's this section of the property that we sort of let people assume is "City of Austin." It's on the other side of the fence, un-mowed and unruly. "Wow, the city should really do a better job of maintaining that," you might say to us, to which we would respond, "I'll say!" shaking our heads disapprovingly. But now, it will have vegetables on it! Kids walk by there every day too, since we live near a middle school. Take that, property.

Next, we headed to 24 Diner. Hello there, old friend! My arteries and I have missed you.

Here's the deal: Food may be free, but Chef's Waffles are not. Do you know what the Chef's Waffle is? It is beyond food, it is an event. And worth every cent you pay.

So each morning, Chef Andrew Curren and company concoct a special using this essential breakfast item. Waffles, as you may or may not know, are 24 Diner's top-selling dish, and that's because they're not afraid to get scandalous. Chef's Waffle this evening was topped with caramelized apples, and brown butter sauce that pooled into tiny, sinful lakes. Somebody call a priest -- this girl's done died and gone to heaven! Also, did you notice how our waiter thoughtfully brought us a small pitcher of honey, to then pour on top of our waffles?

"You did not," you say.

"We DID," I say.

"Tolly, I just don't know you anymore," you inhale sharply.

That's because I'm crazy. Like a fox? Nope. But crazy like a honey-drenched-caramelized apple-topped-brown-butter-soaked waffle eater.

Lover, You Should've Come Over.

2012-01-23T06:00:00.001-06:00

One thing I definitely do not post about enough on this blog is aerial silks, a.k.a. the love of my life.

It's hard to overstate how I feel about this hobby, a relatively new one. I started one year ago, and it just changed my whole headspace. Made me focus. Hungry. (Literally and figuratively.) Made me listen to songs on the radio and think, "ooh! That would be such a good silks song!" like I did yesterday morning with Jeff Buckley.

Yesterday was a private class between me, two of my classmates, and our awe-inspiring teacher.

Isn't she just magical?

Here are some more shots of us.

Whee!

We actually started choreographing a piece to "Lover, You Should've Come Over," and I cannot wait to perform it. Reader, have you ever heard that song? Every so often, that tune creeps back into my ear, Jeff Buckley whispering softly about a love he just cannot have. It gets so passionate and sad, a gorgeous howl of a song.

How the world misses you, Jeff Buckley. Especially this girl.

Things'll be great when you're Downton!

2012-01-19T09:39:00.003-06:00

Oh, Downton Abbey. Where to begin. Where to even begin?

In the last few weeks, it seems as if the Internet has exploded with rapture over Downton Abbey. When I asked on Austin Eavesdropper's Facebook page if anyone was watching, tons of people wrote in to say yes. A THOUSAND TIMES YES! That was last Wednesday. I had never seen the show before.

Now, I'm on season two.

Reader, there is just too much to love about this show. Let's start with the fact that it is Masterpiece Theater. Can you remember a time in your life outside of high school English when you sat down to watch some Masterpiece Theater? Neither can I. Almost makes you want to pick up the phone and dial your nearest PBS telethon, doesn't it?

The setting is early 1900's England in Downton Abbey, with gloves, corsets, and gowns losing their froth, shrinking into slimmer, 20s-style silhouettes. And hats! Man do the Brits love their hats. I now believe that Dame Maggie Smith's head is magical, and defies the laws of natural physics. You could place a live waterfowl on Maggie Smith's head, and not only would she not drop it, she would wear it with dignity.

Also. A huge portion of the show takes place in the kitchen, as Downton Abbey is at its heart a domestic drama evenly divided between a titled family and its staff. And what is prepared in that kitchen? Why, crumpets and scones, of course! None of those boiled vegetable, bad English cooking stereotypes. Heavens no. The Grantham Family eats nothing but luscious tarts and aged wine.

Which brings me to the most important point of this blog post. Alamo Drafthouse: Let's schedule a Downton Abbey night. What do you say? Macaroons and port on the menu, we all dress up in period garb? Perhaps you could invite a certain Matthew Crawley to debut a screening ... ? (Or Maggie Smith. I'd be equally enthusiastic to witness a withering British backhand live, from the most honorable mouth of Maggie Smith.)

I just think it would be pretty brilliant.

But back to Matthew Crawley, and the other characters on the show. Downton Abbey is set during a period when time-honored Victorian conventions are slipping away, and things are beginning to seem more modern. Sometimes frighteningly so, depending on who you are.

In the titled Grantham family, there are three daughters and no sons, so the main conflict driving the plot is: Who will be the heir to Downton? The oldest daughter, or the oldest male cousin -- even if he's only distantly related? That's where Matthew Crawley, the male cousin, comes in. He's smart and good-looking and gentlemanly, but a little controversial to the staid Grantham family seeing as how he, among other things, pours his OWN tea! In other words, he has little use for butlers and service people. Which modern viewers appreciate ... until you see how scared those service people are that they aren't needed by this individual. That his progressive self-reliance just might put them out of a job.

I won't even go into the love stories in Downton Abbey. Suffice it to say that Matthew Crawley enters into one of them with the eldest Grantham daughter Mary, whom you hate at first because she's icy cold and bitchy, and then you realize she's just conflicted. Lady Mary is the first victim of England's changing times: A girl raised to believe in "the way things are," until things begin to evolve, and she longs to evolve with them.

There are also yearning, unrequited love plots happening among the staff, too: Stolen glances in the kitchen, whispers in the servants' quarters. You want so badly for their romances to work out! But everyone has a secret at Downton Abbey, and those secrets always get in the way of their union.

Every critic is basically saying the same thing about Downton Abbey: That it's the pitch perfect combination of soap and sophistication. On the one hand, there's dishy gossip, stolen kisses, and scandal. On the other hand, you are being educated: About England's class system, WWI, property economics. One magazine, I can't remember which, called it "pleasure without guilt."

You really must see it.

If you are already, then LET'S TALK. And petition the Drafthouse for a Downton Abbey night.

Just being.

2012-01-16T11:59:00.001-06:00

I was telling Ross this morning that I think Claudia and I can really relate to each other. Claudia, as you may or may not know, is our cat.

"We're both anxious, impatient, and only children!" I said.

He looked at me with the sudden realization that he had, in fact, married a crazy cat lady.

But the funny thing is, I told him this while Claudia was curled up on my lap, getting her tiny forehead scratched. She was utterly at peace, resting her chin on my arm, and even peeked one eye open at me for a few blissful seconds. Her little face said, "this is exactly what I want."

***

It was funny because, just a few moments earlier, Claudia was skittering around in her nervous morning way: Meowing urgently, scratching things she's not supposed to scratch, biting us with just enough pressure to indicate, "I'm kind of playing, but I also kind of want MORE WET CAT FOOD DAMMIT."

I could tell she didn't know what she wanted, because she actually had everything -- food, water, our attention -- but that frenetic cat energy kept jerking through her. It reminded me of myself.

***

On Saturday night, I went to see an energy work healer. I had heard about her through a friend, who wrote me a few days ago to ask if I would ever be interested in a session.

"YES," I wrote.

One thing I've debated about several times before is just how open I should be about my spiritual leanings on this blog. That's mostly because:

A) They're a little all over the place. Back in high school I was a very serious Christian for a couple of years, and while I'm not so much anymore, one thing that always stuck with me was "not picking and choosing parts of scripture that you like." Isn't that funny? I still have this hang-up about only getting into Buddhism for the meditation and attachment doctrines, for example. I feel "bad" that these are my two genuinely favorite parts about Buddhism, and I totally picked them out from Buddhist scripture. I'm slowly learning to realize that it is OK to study a variety of different spiritualities and faiths, to choose practices that really work for you, and just ... live your life.

B) I'm worried it will scare people off. You, for example. Maybe you're atheist. Maybe you're Christian. Either way, I imagine you thinking: "Energy work? Freak," and x-ing right out of this blog. But I think that's alright, too. There are some parts of my life I'll always keep private and sacred, others that I am moved to share.

And Saturday night was one of them.

So: back to my friend's message. I texted the energy healer soon after, and set up our session. After we sat down, I started telling her about my New Years Words.

"Well last year, it was openness," I said, feeling that was definitely an energy healer-approved kind of word, "and this year, it is evolve," thinking I had probably just blown her mind.

She just nodded then, smiling wisely.

"I should also tell you too that I'm a very easy cryer, so ... just ... FYI."

She explained to me that people express all kinds of things during energy work and that tears weren't good or bad, just a different form of energy. Which immediately put me at ease. Because tears can make things really weird, and I didn't want to muck up our work together by obliging her to feel sorry for me. With that out of the way, I relaxed, and sank down into things a bit more.

It's hard to describe what happened for the next hour, so I'll just tell you the two things that struck me the most:

One. She immediately went to my stomach. Part of this woman's energy work is identifying "blockages" in your body and then helping you release them. (If you're into yoga at all you may be familiar with the concept of chakras; this is totally similar, if not identical.)

I mention this because I have had stomach issues for a REALLY long time. They became more frequent in grad school, but the problem may have even started earlier than that. As you can imagine, energy work sessions are not so much "hmm, I see you have a gastro-intestinal disorder!" as a more mind-body-spirit thing. The latter perspective is frequently written off in the West as super hippie (I know because I used to do the writing off), but in Chinese medicine, Indian medicine, and in many other parts of the world it's not as bizarre to consider that maybe - maybe? - the reason you feel so bad could have something to do with forces not strictly corporeal.

Two. She told me my feminine energy was very depleted.

Now my mind was blown. I wanted to say, "girl, did you not see the mascara I blotted all over this Kleenex?" but held my tongue, suspecting she might be referring to a deeper feminine something. And indeed she was.

"When you told me about your word, 'openness,' it made me wonder if a lot - I mean a lot - of things had come into your life lately, and if it sometimes wasn't a little overwhelming," she said. I told her that was a zillion percent true.

I told her I couldn't believe all of the good things I have in my life, and that also, I feel totally ungrateful when I'm not experiencing them to their fullest. I told her I felt tired all the time, and asked why is that, when I've got so many zingy projects, side jobs, hobbies, relationships, etc. to fill my day?

She gave me that same wise smile from earlier.

"You can keep your words, Tolly, but I want to give you a couple of new ones. They are: 'just be.'"

"Just be?"

"'Just. Be.'"

I am a doer by nature, so you can imagine how foreign a concept this is. Just be? Won't I get bored?

Maybe. But perhaps boredom isn't so bad.

***

There's one thing I've noticed in certain types of spiritual people: They are very good at "just being," and also, they have lots of energy.

My cat Claudia and I are examples of the opposite: We are anxious doers, and we tend to drain ourselves very quickly. She scratches furniture, I pull out hairs on the back of my neck, and neither activity satisfies us.

So I'm going to take my energy healer's advice. I'm going to keep "evolve," but maybe not be so forceful about it. Do I still have goals? Yes. Lots of them. But I think now I can meet my goals in the middle, by letting them take their time, and helping them along when they need me.

(By the way. The reason I didn't go into extreme detail with the energy work itself is because as I understand it, it's very tailored to each person. I can tell you that mine involved meditation, and lots of smells ... good smells! It was exciting, and I'll just be frank here, I totally loved it. If you are into this kind of thing and if you live here in Austin, please feel free to contact me if you want more info about my gal.)

Source.

Saturday.

2012-01-13T07:00:00.002-06:00

My friends Mai, Rose and I had a food trailer lunch date on Saturday, and while we did, we read parts of Rose's old diary. A diary that she has kept - stunningly! - from age 8 to 18.

Have you ever dug up your old diaries? I highly recommend it. There's this one entry I wrote in my diary when I was like eight years old, and in it, I describe a day filled with drama. It ends with the line, "what is this, crying season??"

I always giggle about that. Both in its Jewish grandmothery rhetorical questioning, and in how applicable a phrase that really is. Sometimes, it just feels like crying season.

(But not, fortunately, on Saturday.)

Make Me Up Before You Go-Go

2012-01-12T09:39:00.001-06:00

Well Reader, it's happening. Austin Eavesdropper is getting another makeover and, brace yourselves, graduating from Blogspot.

"Wait. Do you mean to tell me --" I do.

"You're actually getting a real domain name --" I am.

"So you're redesigning your site!" Hold it right there.

I have slim-to-zero web design skills. A decent eye ... yes. The ability to translate that eye into a real-life website, no.

Fortunately, this woman does.

We are chatting on the phone this morning, and we've been emailing madly with design ideas. See all those pictures above? Those are items I've been collecting for inspiration. She, not I (thank God) is redesigning this thing. It's a new year for Austin Eavesdropper! Doesn't "2012" just sound like the future? Ross and I always refer to "the new dimension" now, telling each other what happens there. In the new dimension, Ross takes Bikram yoga three times a week. In the new dimension, they don't eat kolaches (I try to tell him). But he assures me that they do.

Anyway, in the new dimension Austin Eavesdropper is more black and white. And triangle-y.

Speaking of new beginnings: thank you for everything you've been saying about AETV! We are so thrilled that you dig it. Thank you too for your guest ideas! Our next meeting is this weekend and we're going to plan our next shoot. Here are some of my favorite guest suggestions:

lavanna martin // who paints and sketches strangers at coffee shops. Lavanna and I go way back, and whoever suggested her is a genius.

chef hoover // suggested by Belle in the comments section. Again, BRILLIANT. After decades of serving up chicken fried steak and shrimp grits (totally delicious and shamelessly bad for you), Chef Hoover is on a personal mission to live more healthfully. Can he do it?

the pc guru // right on! Cool idea, Deann Armstrong. According to her, the PC Guru "drives an awesome scooter-like thing and has a rockin' waist-length white beard." Maybe he can finally teach me what "an error has occurred on the script of this page" means.

austin bike guy // not his official name, but how I'm referring to Heather's man (in the comments). Heather suggested an episode on how to change a flat bike tire, which is definitely useful information, no?

woman at central market westgate who collects her customers' produce stickers // WHOA. Awesome. Andrea (who left this comment) explained that this woman has turned all of her stickers into this one, continually expanding, 8 pound ball of stickers. Didn't Pee Wee Herman used to do this with rubber bands?

Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Introducing: Austin Eavesdropper TV!

2012-01-09T10:11:00.000-06:00

You may recall a little conversation we were having last summer, Reader, the one where we were discussing goals. Remember? There was kombucha involved ... and kale. Come to think of it, we were being pretty healthy that night, weren't we?

Anyway, during that post, I talked about a new direction for Austin Eavesdropper. It's been my dream for a long time to have a little show about Austinites, sooo ...

HERE IT IS!

Everybody knows how obsessed I am with Jaynie Buckingham*, so we thought she'd be the perfect guest for our pilot webisode. We shot this on-location at her Cutie Pies bake shop on Burnet Road, and are just incredibly grateful she agreed to be our first interviewee! Also, special shout-out to Flight Path Coffee in Hyde Park, who let us shoot our opening sequence there. Thank you, Jason of Flight Path!

About the series:

AETV focuses on the quirky, charming, bizarre, entertaining and talented characters of Austin, Texas. In each one, we go into our guest's world and ask them to teach us how to do something or tell us a story. It was invented last summer by me and about five dudes, and we're super pumped to finally share it with you!

We'd love your help coming up with guest ideas. They don't have to be super hip or trendy, just interesting. (Though we certainly wouldn't rule out someone who is all of those qualities.) Example: This guy, James, who works at Hancock Center H-E-B. He's very old and very tall and is the most enthusiastic sample giver in the entire world. I have literally walked into H-E-B from the opposite end of the store where James is standing, and heard him shouting to the masses about two-for-one Shake N' Bake. While he does it, he tells you little stories about his life ... "aww shoot, iss a hot one today! I 'member when mama brought us kids inside for lemo-NADE, which is on sale today y'all! Free when you buy yo Shake N' Bake! Two-for-one, y'all! Two! Fo! ONE!" I love him.

who would you like to see interviewed on aetv?

Think about the most entertaining and/or intriguing person you've ever met here in Austin, then tell them about us in the comments section. We'll talk about them at our next editorial meeting!

Thank you for watching AETV!

*We didn't mention this in the show, but in addition to being a pie maker and opera singer, Jayne is also a throat cancer survivor. Slash badass.

Also: Thank you to my friends in real life who are always so supportive of me and my crazy projects. You people are so encouraging, and lawdy, sometimes I wonder how you don't get sick of me. You are constantly high-fiving me and making me feel awesome, and I think you deserve fireworks spelling out your name in the sky.

Let us go then, you and I.

2012-01-05T09:45:00.004-06:00

Comforting Mix by Tolly Moseley on Grooveshark

Photo

I've been in the mood lately to listen to some of my favorite "comfort food" songs, old and new, on repeat. Otis, meet Kat; Stevie, meet Wild Child. You guys are going to get along great.

So many of us here in Austin have been shaken by the murder of Esme Barrera. I didn't know Esme personally, but she was one of those friends-of-friends that people just adored and always talked about. If you Google her name, the search results burst with heartfelt digital shrines.

We in Austin realize that murders happen all the time, in other metropolises and ours too. But this one feels different somehow; it has an innocence lost quality. The murder happened in a neighborhood not far from where Ross and I used to live, and around the corner from my old zen center.

The man who killed her also attacked two other women in that same neighborhood, injuring them. This was on the night of New Year's Eve, when people were walking home from their parties, laughing and carrying on.

I woke up in the middle of the night last night, and couldn't stop thinking about all this. I have to admit the whole thing genuinely scares me, particularly since this person hasn't been caught, and also because the acts seem so ... senseless. Random. Like, his only goal was to hurt (or kill) a woman. A lot of people have been writing him off as "sick" (correct) but that's not good enough for me. I want to know, was he trying to rob them? Was he psychotically angry and taking it out on innocent people? What exactly were you trying to do?

Anyway. I'm sorry to freak out all over the blog post like this.

These are the songs I've been craving for the past few days, songs that are soothing.* I heard somewhere the other day that the opposite of love is fear, and I truly believe that. Fear makes me tight and constricted and fist-like. These songs are loving ones, and help me (maybe you, too) open back up again.

(*Well, mostly: Some are simply chill, some even a teensy bit sexy!)

Happiness is a book-stacked bedside table.

2012-01-03T10:43:00.000-06:00

For my day job Reader, I am a literary publicist, and one of my clients this past year was the witty, wonderful Ruth Pennebaker. During a reading at BookPeople, she told the audience: "I can go a day or so without writing. Sure. But I can't go a single day without reading. If forced, I will read labels on the backs of shampoo bottles and tubes of toothpaste."

Preach sister friend! I thought. Because I am the exact same way. I'm one of those people who feels totally rudderless without a book. To put it in more desperate terms: I have been known to read at stoplights. To the horror of my fellow motorists.

Anyway, I'm reading five right now that I'm particularly jazzed about. Two of them were gifts, one is on loan, and two of them were Merry Christmas presents to me.

Big World // I met author Mary Miller at a bar, and we got to talking. She's a student right now at the super-prestigious Michener Center, and after our initial chat, we kept up through email. Mary was incredibly kind to me, and offered to read and give me feedback on a nonfiction piece I was writing. This is her collection of short stories, which she generously sent me in the mail. Each one is startling and dark, moving through roadside motels and cramped trailers and Tennessee bars. The characters, and they're mostly girls and women, are frank about their loneliness but funny about it, too. People have been comparing her to Mary Gaitskill and I think I agree.

Just Kids // Patti Smith's memoir, which won the National Book Award last year. I haven't started it yet, but two friends of mine, Lauren and Megan (the Megan who writes music reviews here) each had quasi-life-altering experiences reading it. I remember hearing Patti being interviewed on Fresh Air shortly after the book came out, and the perfectly lovely way she described seeing Robert Mapplethorpe for the second time in her life: "There he was, walking down the street, looking just like the summer of 1967."

The Book of Vice: Very Naughty Things and How to Do Them // My friend Gretchen and I trade books sometimes, and recently, she lent me this memoir by "Wait Wait ... Don't Tell Me" host Peter Sagal, he of the Harvard degree, the starched bow-ties, and one may assume up-to-date dental records and tax returns. This is his story of visiting swinger clubs, strip joints, and other dens of sin. I can hardly wait.

Love is a Mix Tape // My sister-in-law gave Ross and I this book for Christmas, and first of all, are you listening Rob Sheffield? Because your book should be turned into a movie. Really! I am floored it hasn't been yet! This is the true story of two kids in love in the 90s, young, foolish, broke, obsessed with music, written by the widowed husband. (Which is announced on the jacket so I'm not giving anything away here.) Rob is a longtime music writer and contributing editor at Rolling Stone, and this book is basically his love letter to Renee, structured in time by mix tapes they made for each other. This is such a treat for any music fan of the 90s, and not just grunge, but also that weird, wonderful pop that I know you secretly loved: "How Bizarre!" by OMC, "Nasty Girl" by Vanity 6, etc. etc. Plus lots of Prince and early Pavement. This book is sweet and funny and sad and exactly the way I want to write.

A Homemade Life // I'm such a fan of Molly Wizenberg and her food blog, Orangette. She's another writing inspiration for me, and even though we don't know each other, I've always felt such a kindred spirit sense of connection to her: Both grad school dropouts, both close to our fathers, both having shared a profound few days in Paris with those fathers. (I also find it so endearing that she's still on Blogspot). This is her story of getting over her father's passing by getting into the kitchen, peppered with homemade recipes. I have a feeling this one will be warm and cozy.

* * *

So there you have it! My nightstand. And Reader, I don't know about you, but I just can't get behind the Kindle (or, any e-reader). I am proud in this way. Prejudiced. I like paper and cover art and bookmarks too much, and if I ever got a Kindle that would mean no more trips to Half-Price Books or BookPeople! And that would make me sad. It's the one area of life I'm a little Luddite about.

The New Year's Dive.

2012-01-02T11:52:00.001-06:00

We all had very vague notions of what was going to happen on New Year's Eve. "2012," we murmured. "This. Is. Big."

And yet, my friends and I were undecided on how to ring it in properly. We're at that in-between age, when we're too old for Sixth Street or anything resembling it, but also too broke to shell out for fancy ticketed parties. In the end, somebody suggested dinner and a dive bar down south, the kind with pool and neon beer signs and a bartender named Dixie. Yes: Dixie.

"Who witnessed my wedding proposal, I might add," said my friend David. "One year ago exactly. Also, I guarantee you won't find a better damn jukebox anywhere: It plays Johnny Cash AND Marvin Gaye."

Well shoot. Johnny? Marvin? A proven history of romance? It's no wonder we ended up at Horseshoe Lounge.

Dixie

David

"Am I reading that correctly -- roadkill jerky?" I asked David.

"Yes," he sighed, "we lost Happy Jack this year. He used to always come around and sell that jerky to the regulars. It was this big honor to play Happy Jack at shuffleboard, and he'd get up in your face if you won. Try and fight you. But this is the kind of place where you don't fight and hug; you threaten to fight and then you talk it out and THEN you hug."

I liked this. A bar where everybody not only knows your name, they also know conflict resolution. I don't know about you, but I credit Dixie.

Something to know about my friends and I: We are not pool sharks. But we are very enthusiastic, and in pool as in so many other areas of life, I prefer enthused company over skilled company. I can't remember who won the round we played, probably because we interrupted our own game when Otis Redding came on.

You know something else? For years after I moved back to Austin, I thought the Horseshoe Lounge was actually called "Lucky Lounge," because it has an actual horseshoe on the sign in the place the word 'horseshoe' should be. Whenever people talked about Lucky Lounge (a real, albeit very different, establishment in Austin), I thought: "that's clever!" It was only later that I realized that Lucky Lounge was downtown, with no horseshoe, Grey Goose bottle service, and an occasional velvet rope. I'm pretty sure Happy Jack never sold roadkill jerky there.

At midnight, Dixie walked around giving everyone plastic flutes of champagne, and laid out a mini buffet (with black-eyed peas, naturally) at the back of the bar. Do you eat black-eyed peas on New Year's, Reader? I used to think it was universal, but now I realize it's just Southern. It's also the only tradition my parents are truly adamant about: We could have a plastic Christmas tree, skip pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving, but by God you WILL eat your black-eyed peas on New Year's.

I went out walkin' then, after midnight. In the moonlight. Just like Patsy. Mine was a shorter distance (to my car), and while I didn't see a weeping willow, I saw something better: my friend Megan's plastic New Year's crown still perched jauntily on her head. I think we can all agree you've had a good night when you walk out still wearing your party favors.

We shivered in the car and waited for the heater to kick on, and I told Megan I could totally get used to this dive bar New Year's thing.

My New Year's Word 2012.

2011-12-30T07:00:00.003-06:00

Every New Year's, I do a little thing called the New Year's Word. It's a movement - my own personal movement - away from New Year's Resolutions, which never really work for me (or I suspect, anyone).

Why the New Year's Word? Because it is an anchor in decision-making. Every time I'm waffling on some kind of personal choice, I think about my New Year's Word, and blam: Decision made. For example, in 2010, my word was "balance." When deciding whether or not to hang onto my fun but time-consuming freelance writing gigs, I asked myself: "what would a balanced person do?" And just like that, I quit them all.

But in 2011, I chose quite a different word.

As a result of my 2011 New Year's Word - openness - some really rad things swept into my life. Don't I sound so The Secret? My behavior didn't change (I swear I only made one vision board) but, like the year previous, each time I had a choice to make I landed on the side of my word. What would an open person do?

Here's what an open person does:

*Buys a house. In January, Ross floated the idea of looking for a home. "Like, to buy?" I asked. "Yes," he said. It sounded so unfathomably adult. But you know what? By April, we owned one. Our first one!

*Joins Cirque du Soleil. Ok ok, so I'm not in Cirque yet, but after years of fantasizing I finally signed up for aerial silks classes. I took my first one last January, and I haven't stopped. It's bizarre how into it I am. I even BOUGHT a silk that I'm going to try and hang in my back yard somehow. You think I'm joking!

*Tries samba. Continuing the dance theme, when Ross suggested checking out Austin Samba School this year (as we are both obsessed with Brazil), I said, "I'm open to it." You guys, nothing has made me feel more hopelessly white. My pelvis is positively blushing. It cannot believe the things I'm asking it to do! But looking awkward, jerky, and totally white girl for a while is worth it, because let me tell you something, samba dancers know how to d-r-e-s-s. Our "school" is actually more of a performance troupe, with 50 drummers and 50 dancers (Ross is on the drumming side), and for our shows we don these wild costumes. Think high camp: Sequins, body paint, high heels, feathers, headdresses, the works. We make Ru Paul look like Ann Taylor: LOFT. Needless to say, I love it. (PS, we are performing at Carnaval in February if you live here in Austin.)

*Talks to artists. I started doing this series on the blog called The Eavesdropper Interviews, which is a simple Q&A with creative types. My very first one was with the famed Newspaper Blackout author, Austin Kleon, and these little Q&A sessions inspired my friends and I to try this concept out on video! (More on that really, really soon.)

Maybe it was talking to all those artists, but this year I actually got up the guts to work more seriously on my own art, too: Writing. Offline writing. Pieces prepared for outlets I respect and adore, outlets that run creative nonfiction. When deciding if I should submit or not because I was scared of rejection, I said to myself: "I guess I'm open to that possibility, too." Good thing, because I did get rejected. But I got a piece of writing accepted, also.

Now I've got a new word. And admittedly, I cheated a little bit: I've had months to think about it. Back in October my friend Camille had a mock "New Year's Brunch" party at her house for an HGTV.com shoot (fancy!) and it came to me then ...

Evolve! That's my word for 2012.

I've cut things out that didn't matter (2010, Year of Balance), I've folded in things that do (2011, Year of Openness), and now I want to focus and develop those sacred areas of my life. Which include the lofty and ambitious (evolving into a better writer, wife, and friend) to the somewhat silly (evolving the living room decor). See also: Photography, blogging, dance, knowledge of Austin's yoga studios, knowledge of Austin's bars, my computer's hard drive, my mental reference library of red wine, the state of our front yard, my relationship with my next door neighbor, my relationship with the universe, and my relationship with Twitter.

What is your word? Please feel free to share! I called the New Year's Word my "personal movement" earlier, but really, it's a movement for everyone. Resolutions are hard. Words are magical. Just ask my pelvis.

(Photos: All by me accept for the house photo, via Miwa. Also I should clarify that that is NOT our house but I wish it was.)

UPDATED 12/31/11: OH MY GOD this is so exciting. Here's that HGTV.com video I was mentioning earlier with Camille at her house. Look whose word makes a special cameo at the very end!

What we once were.

2011-12-28T11:29:00.000-06:00

Ever since I spent Christmas with my three little nephews, I've been thinking about this line from the Wordsworth poem, "Tintern Abbey:"

May I behold in thee what I was once.

In that poem, Wordsworth is looking out over the countryside with his sister, thrilled to see that this is all new to her, that she's getting an enormous kick out of the nearby mountain, the blue sky, the "deep and gloomy wood." He's been coming to this spot for years, and its magic is wearing off, but in his sister's eyes, he gets to see it new again.

I know this sounds terribly corn pone Reader, but I really do think that kids make Christmas. "HA!" I can just hear my young parent friends saying. "Wait until you have some of your own." Don't worry, I want to tell them. We're still totally figuring out how to be grown-ups over here.

But on Sunday, when our families spent Christmas together for the first time (Ross's and mine), the morning was just a little bit louder, the presents ripped open a little more vigorously, and the toy train watched with a little more intensity than it was for any of us five years ago. That's about when Ross's sister had her first baby -- the one modeling Sponge Bob paraphernalia above.

And I think we've all been a little more childlike since.

Happy Holidays 2011!

2011-12-23T12:39:00.005-06:00

Hooray!

Christmas totally snuck up on me this year, but that doesn't take away the overwhelming little-kid excitement I feel about the holiday. I always use this time of year as an excuse to play my favorite Christmas song in the entire world on repeat, and if I'm lucky, to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (the claymation version). Which I maintain as the best holiday movie ever, even over its very close second, Charlie Brown Christmas. The Island of Misfits? C'mon. If that's not a timeless and comforting metaphor for the way we all feel sometimes -- different -- then I don't know what is!

I've also been thinking about a topic that's been kicking around in my head for a while now as a post idea: Volunteer opportunities in Austin. So why not use this holiday post to talk about them, huh?

To be honest with you, I've wanted to blog about volunteering several times before here on my blog, but I never have because I feared it would be off-putting. Like ... "you know who's cool? Me. Because I volunteer. Boo-yah." This is always the way I was afraid it would come out sounding. Self-congratulatory or something.

But Reader, I have to say that one of the greatest times I've ever had in Austin was the time I spent volunteering for Faith in Action Caregivers. I'm not a member of any church, nor would I even call myself a Christian necessarily, but I do think of myself as a spiritual person and like to feel connected to a greater whole, in whatever faith tradition that can help accomplish that. Thus: Me, in 2007, just having moved back to Austin, sitting on my couch bored one day and thinking of ways I could occupy my time. So I Googled "the elderly, volunteer, Austin," and discovered Faith in Action Caregivers.

Through them, I met a woman who would come to be a very close friend. Her name was Ann Brown, and I loved her. We went grocery shopping together every Saturday for a little over a year, until she had to be put into an assisted living facility. Ann had severe Parkinson's and couldn't drive herself to H-E-B, so I picked her up and off we went to fulfill her grocery list: Coffee, eggs, pie crusts. Ann adored baking, and sometimes let herself indulge in pre-made fillings. "The best part about Parkinson's is, I burn off all the calories!" she'd say happily, dropping a can of cherries into our cart.

I miss Ann so much, and ever since she's been gone, I haven't been doing a whole lot with Caregivers. I've decided to pick volunteering back up again for the holidays and 2012 because ... well. You don't know this Reader, but I am a very, very selfish person. Or maybe you do. Either way, volunteering helps temper that. Also? I don't know what it is, but I just get a kick out of old people. My mom worked with the elderly a lot when I was growing up, and we used to have little parties at our house for senior citizens. That's a blog post for another day, but anyway, as a kid I felt like I had about 20 grandparents. Which was pretty awesome.

You might have the same special feeling about animals, or kids, or the homeless. So I've listed 15 charities + causes in Austin below that I think are neat, two of which I've personally been involved in myself (Caregivers and Ride On Center for Kids). If you know of anymore or are involved in any yourself, please feel free to list them in the comments section.

* Happy holidays to you and yours! *

** Age of Austin // Angel House Soup Kitchen // Austin Child Guidance Center // Austin Children's Shelter // Austin Clubhouse (recovery from mental illness) // Austin Pets Alive // Blue Dog Rescue // Capital Area Food Bank of Texas // Faith in Action Caregivers // Family Eldercare // Front Steps Austin (ARCH) // Kids in a New Groove (provides private music instruction to children in foster care) // Literacy Coalition of Texas // Meals on Wheels // Ride On Center for Kids (horseback riding therapy) **

Tattoo lust + one more red hair moment.

2011-12-22T11:30:00.000-06:00

At Propaganda on Tuesday, I couldn't help but notice Lindsay's amazing tattoos. Lindsay works the front desk there, and if you ever go, you must check them out. Aren't they glorious?

Also ... Reader. Because I'm very sentimental, I was paging through old photos of me with red hair last night, and I found this hilarious one taken a few years ago. Can we please laugh at this together? It was taken for Vain's website to show off Buffy's color work, and while Buffy is a genius (as is the photographer), I really do appear to have just stumbled out of a psychiatric ward:

Like ... what is going on here?? Would you not be terrified if this person walked into your house? Somebody call the Betty Ford!

The photographer at the time told us to imagine we were getting arrested for something, and while the other hair models imagined something ... sexy? Like, indecent exposure? I imagined that I had just been involved in a hit-and-run accident. Um, what? Who thinks like that? I may even have started crying during this shoot, because I felt so guilty about running over a (fictional) person. I'm pretty sure Tyra would NOT approve.

(At least the hair is poppin.')

The end of my red period.

2011-12-21T09:54:00.000-06:00

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Freshly minted brunette here, reporting for duty!

Well Reader, I said goodbye to my red tresses yesterday. How strange! Even this morning, the new 'do still feels somewhat wig-like.

My beloved Buffy, the girl who turned me red almost exactly three years ago, made the switch with me. Back then, in late 2008, I was still blond -- and the new hue changed everything.

You know what they say, about blondes having more fun? Lies. I got fifty times more attention as a redhead than I ever did as a blond. Inspired by Joan Holloway on Mad Men, and particularly by how bold she was, I waltzed into Buffy's chair at Vain and fanned out some pictures. I was 26, and I wanted some of that boldness for myself.

Have you ever gone red before, Reader? If not, I think you should. Everyone should. Just to see how it feels, because let me tell you, red is an absolute trip.

I believe that other redheads present and former can vouch for this: Red goes beyond stares on the street. My hair has probably been every shade on the red rainbow, from demure ginger, to maroon, to loud, screaming Poison Ivy. An old lady I used to go grocery shopping with thought I was Irish, my classmates at my 10-year high school reunion voted me "Most Changed" last year, and my Dad once called me "Crayola Head." So red not only imbues confidence, you see: It makes people process you differently.

But sometime recently, I saw a picture of myself on an overcast day, and the red suddenly looked ... too much. Like it didn't fit me anymore. I craved something more natural, something less look-at-me. Isn't that funny? You'd think I'd never give this great thing up, this fun color that got me so much attention. But I just had this gut feeling. A beloved chapter (my twenties?) was closing.

And now? Well, new color is always a little weird, but I like the new me. I feel confident in a different way. Mature! That's the word. I feel mature. Less Poison Ivy, more Jane Birkin. Thank you for transforming me yet again, Buffy. You always make me feel so comfortable in your chair, and totally jazzed by the time I leave.

I love you and your hair dying wizardry!

(PS: Buffy moved two weeks ago to Propaganda on West 5th. I recommend her to everyone that I know.)

Winter is nice, but Autumn is better.

2011-12-20T10:00:00.002-06:00

Adam walked into Nina's house a couple of weekends ago, as we were drinking wine and eating dinner. "Hey, I'm Nina's neighbor," he said, grinning.

Nina gestured to a new print she had picked up hours ago, and told me that this talented man had created it. I was intrigued.

We chatted, and I found out that Adam belonged to Austin art collective Common House (906 E. 49th St). There was a photographer there whom Nina thought I would like.

"Tolly. Seriously. You would go crazy over her stuff. I think her name is Autumn."

(This is Autumn.)

The photographs above are all by local photographer Autumn Spadaro, and Nina was right: Hers is the kind of art that makes me want to build more walls in my house, so I can cover whole sections with her shadowy black-and-whites. If you like them too, Autumn's work currently hangs in two spaces: Common House through the end of December, as well as End of An Ear Records.

Also. Guess what, Reader. Today I will visit a different sort of artist ... a hair color artist. It's the close of a chapter, my redhead chapter! I'm nervous. But ready. More on that tomorrow.

Somewhere over the rainbow cake.

2011-12-19T07:00:00.103-06:00

For most of my life, I have had two big dreams of inexplicable origin:

1. To see someone holding a sign with my name on it in the airport, and

2. To witness a live wedding proposal.

And, actually? Scratch the inexplicable origin part. Don't both of these things happen in Sleepless in Seattle? They seem like the kind of things that should happen in Sleepless in Seattle.

I saw that movie when I was 11, and it was about that time when I decided that both Dreams #1 and #2 were dreams worth having. They were just terribly romantic. Well, at least #2 was. Why did I think that someone (a chauffeur) holding up a sign (made of cardboard) with your name on it was so special? (Fact: I still scan the cardboard signs at baggage claim after every flight, secretly hoping one of them says "Moseley.")

Anyway, I told my parents about Dream #1, and they made it come true a few years ago at the Houston airport. But Dream #2? Well, aside from my own engagement, that one would have to wait.

Until Friday, that is. Friday! The one that just happened. And you guys: It happened at my house.

See this delightful girl above? You know her well from my previous posts. Amy is one of my best friends, and we had a birthday party for her at our place on Friday.

(My sweet baby kitty! She looks so sleepy in this picture.)

Because Amy is generous and clever, she decided to turn her birthday party into a little more than that. "But how?" you ask. "How can you possibly top a 26th birthday, especially one that comes with an exciting rainbow birthday cake?" Well, one way is to plan a surprise wedding proposal.

Amy secretly plotted with the gentleman below, to have everybody gather around her birthday cake as she was blowing out candles. Cake that the lovely lady below - Nicki - had made for her. And after Amy blew out the candles, Nicki was spun around ... to face Tom, with a ring.

Internet, meet the newly and very beautiful engaged couple, Nicki and Tom!

Oh, Reader. I wish you could have seen it. You would have just died. The whole thing happened in front of a crowd of Nicki and Tom's closest friends, and right before he got down on one knee, Tom said (in a slightly shaky voice): "Six years ago Nicki, I called you back, and I'm really, really glad that I did."

We were all packed into Ross's studio in the backyard, and when Nicki said yes, everybody clapped and cheered wildly. "You're ENGAGED!" Amy screamed, and hugged her, her best friend since middle school.

I stood there with the cake, thinking about the fact that I got to witness my first wedding proposal right there in my own backyard. The whole thing cast this gauzy glow over my weekend that, even on a Monday morning, still hasn't gone away.

Language lessons.

2011-12-14T08:04:00.000-06:00

The summer before last, my father went on a trip to Costa Rica all by himself. It was a study abroad program for adults, of sorts, and he did it so he could practice his Spanish. (And also to have an adventure.)

Right before he left, I remember him telling me his daily itinerary. "First," he said, "I attend a Spanish language intensive class in the morning, and it lasts until early afternoon. And then," pausing for emphasis, "I have the option to sign up for extra afternoon practice. Which I DID." I was impressed.

"And then," dramatic flourish, "I go home to my host family, where we talk about our day using more Spanish!" He was truly thrilled.

One of the most wonderful things about my father is that his job puts him into contact with many ESL individuals. He is an attorney in San Antonio who works largely with the Hispanic community, and while he's long spoken just a bit of Spanish with them, this trip would imbue him with more. Much more.

My dad can now hold his own with native Spanish speakers, and while you wouldn't necessarily want him to direct your next heart surgery, you could certainly rely on him to get your Mexican food order right. To tell you where the nearest bathroom is. It all comes out in his twangy Dallas accent of course, but it's Spanish alright. The real deal.

So when my friend Margaret told me recently that she and her language teacher friends were starting up a Spanish and French school here in town, my ears immediately perked up. "Maybe I'll finally learn Spanish once and for all," I thought. I, like many Texans, possess only the faintest traces of Spanish fluency. But I think I would be more motivated in a setting like this school.

Freestyle Language Center is pretty darling. Every Saturday morning, they host "Coffee and Croissants," which is a little table for breakfast from La Boite, and French conversation. I peeked in last Saturday.

Elizabeth and Lilia - the French teacher and Spanish teacher at Freestyle - showed me around their sweet space. Every Friday night they host Foreign Film Night (which I have already deemed a future Date Night for husband and I), Lilia teaches cooking classes (in Spanish!) and next year, they are going to start offering ESL, too.

Elizabeth told me, "all of us wanted to teach language and culture in a different way than we had been from the university setting. We wanted to do it in a relevant, fun, and social way." Which is why, on top of their basic core classes, the ladies host multiple drop-ins (like Coffee and Croissants) each week, as well as specialized language courses, like French business and literature, and Spanish medical and legal.

Me, calmly plotting to steal this couch.

Can I tell you a secret? The property where this is the same property where Ross and I got married. It's in a little school next to a big mansion (the Perry Mansion) in the middle of Hyde Park - my Hyde Park - and we exchanged vows on the mansion's back patio.

Here is a picture of a wild, Grey Gardens-esque bridge on that property.

During Coffee and Croissants on Saturday morning, the snatches of French I heard in the air made me so nostalgic. I've only been to France twice, but the last time, it was to Paris. And my traveling partner? My dad.

In praise of Beavis & Butthead.

2011-12-12T10:25:00.001-06:00

Some people are surprised when I tell them I love Beavis and Butthead.

"Really?" they say. They had mistaken me for smart.

Despite my long devotion to the show, which began in the seventh grade and never really left, I stayed quiet this Fall. Sometime in September, the not-so-underground network of Beavis and Butthead fans started tittering with anticipation that the show was coming back in October, and I ignored it. Even when the critics started weighing in (positively). Even after I considered all I knew of Mike Judge and his comedic tastes (enduring). I tried not to get excited. I was just so worried that it would suck.

"It'll probably be Beavis and Butthead: 2.0," I told myself. I thought it would be lame, and that I would be sad. That the thing that MTV has become would infect Beavis and Butthead's original genius, and that instead of the new show being nostalgic and awesome, it would painfully highlight one of the many relics of my generation and our teenagehood, lost in in the annals of 90s history forever: Slap bracelets, Hole, Jordan Catalano.

But on Friday night, Ross and I took a chance.

You don't need to watch the whole thing. Mostly I post this video to demonstrate how delightfully unchanged the show is -- the theme song! The wavy show title font! -- and this is just one half of the episode format: the actual storyline. Which is basically like a little comic strip, with one central joke. ("Uuhhhh ... can I have your daughter's hand?")

My favorite parts of Beavis and Butthead though were always their music video commentary. Which in today's world, has evolved to include reality show and Ultimate Fighting commentary.

I DIE at, "ok now your body's telling you something's wrong."

In my opinion, Beavis and Butthead have come back at the most perfect juncture, when things like mixed martial arts and especially reality television have been marinating for a good decade, and it's all gotten so ridiculous (16 and Pregnant, anyone?) that we desperately need a meta-lens with which to view it all. This USA Today story -- which, oopsie! Misspelled the word "beginning" in the fourth paragraph after announcing the return of stupid in their headline -- makes that point about Beavis and Butthead too. There's this scene in one of the very first episodes of the new season, when the boys are watching "Champagne Showers" by LMFAO, and Beavis makes a remark about the bad economy, and how the guys in the video have so much money they can just spray expensive champagne around.

“It’s too bad we weren’t born as them,” says Butthead.

“Yeah, why is that, how come we were born as us?” says Beavis.

“Uhh, I don’t know," says Butthead.

“It’s not fair!” Beavis mutters.

I'm not the first one to point out the poignancy and philosophical overtones of that scene. But I'm ready to present it as evidence of Beavis and Butthead's greatness, the next time someone looks at me like I'm fourteen for loving this show.

I'm probably just projecting here since Mike Judge lives in my city, but I always think I see little hints of Austin when the boys are walking around town. I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be generic suburbia, and technically they live in "Highland, Texas," but their hippie teacher? C'mon.

Mike Judge moved out to Austin in 1994, and when Ross used to wait tables at Opal's, he waited on him once. I immediately asked him, "what's he like??" And Ross just kinda shrugged and said: "Quiet."

Which seems to fit every Mike Judge interview I've ever watched, including this one from last summer's Comic Con, when he had just played clips from the new Beavis and Butthead and had more reason than ever to be swaggery and boastful. In that clip someone asks him, "what's it like knowing you've made a mark on pop culture? Most people don't get to do those things." And he responds:

"It feels really good ... but I try not to dwell on that too much. If I think about that too long it'll weird me out."

Mike Judge is not an ego-driven man, which is probably one of the reasons everything he does (Beavis and Butthead, King of the Hill, Office Space) develops a cult following. He's not a "promoter" of his work, but people eventually find it, cherish it, and pass it on to their friends. I'm happy to live in a world where his humor and very specific cultural critique -- one that makes fun of champagne-spraying music videos and office bureaucrats, but champions the more humble characters inside those worlds -- has a place.

I'm also very happy to live in a world where people make fun of Twilight.

Pillow Talking with Wild Child.

2011-12-09T08:00:00.008-06:00

Happy Friday, everyone!

We're preparing to transition to a new, fancier platform for Austin Eavesdropper next year, and with that comes, new, fancier posts! Aww yeah.

Below is an album review from Austin Eavesdropper music contributor + my dear friend, Megan, with a few words from me beforehand. We hope you enjoy today's musical offering, Wild Child.

********************************************************************

Wild Child has a show this Saturday, and though we're certainly not the first ones to drool over their debut album "Pillow Talk," we also know we are far from the last. Sexy voices. Sexy banjos. That's right, banjos.

(Sexy people, too.)

Here's Megan with more.

***

Take note: the press page for Austin's own Wild Child is chock full of accolades from the Those Who Proclaim Musical Greatness. KUT's Austin Music Minute says Wild Child's debut, Pillow Talk, is one of the best to be released this year. Indie Shuffle finds them irresistible: " This 15-track album is one of anthemic proportions."

Well, shoot.

Indie folk, folks. Come get your indie folk. A baritone ukulele. A violin. A cello. A banjo. BELLS.

Lead singer Kelsey Wilson has that sultry, all-knowing nostalgic tone to her voice that is all the rage these days but certainly isn't unwelcome. It winds through all songs like a soft, bright ribbon. Co-vocalist (is that a term?) Alexander Beggins is a warm anchor, making me think of the hand at the end of the string that gently guides the kite soaring and darting overhead.

Some of my highlights:

"I'll Figure You Out" (sounds like a threat, no?) It's got a hypnotic, waltzy-sway to it.

I'll Figure You Out

"Real Estate" hurts. That exquisite kind of torture a sad song brings. The fragile strings make me think of Andrew Bird--each note plucked is a plea.

Real Estate

"The Escape" follows one of my favorite formulas: a sparse beginning but catchy hook with one instrument, voices chiming in, another instrument jumps on board, and soon we're having a party and then the ukulele shows up with a lampshade on his head, and who invited that guy? But no one cares because we're all having such a good time.

The Escape

Toward the end of the album, the songs take a gradual transformation from tongue-in-cheek to more reflective material. If you asked me to describe the arc of the Pillow Talk in a visual manner, I'd tell you it makes me think of a rainbow. The snappy, peppery red and orange songs sink into deeper hues.

Another bonus: Wild Child's catchy, uplifting, jangly tunes mask sharp, insightful lyrics that slowly reveal themselves with each additional listen. These are clever people we're dealing with.

Wild Child's Kelsey Wilson and Alexander Biggins, courtesy Wild Child Sounds.

You get to see them this Saturday at Stubb's, you know. Here are the details.

They're offering samples of their songs, too, on their website, if you want a taste before ordering the full entree. Get yer free download!

***

Thank you for a delightful guest post, Megan!

Guest Post on Eclectic Heap.

2011-12-07T10:57:00.000-06:00

Hello Internet! I'm guest posting this week at An Eclectic Heap, a crafty / stylish lifestyle blog by my buddy Rae Hatfield (who is completely darling). It's a DIY post about how to upgrade your framed photographs, with the help of the picture border artists at Imaginarium. This may be the easiest DIY activity you ever encounter in your entire life, and is a great way to use old photographs or postcards lying around your house that don't have a home yet.

Check it out here!

Why hello there.

2011-12-06T09:04:00.000-06:00

Heyo! Look what I did over Thanksgiving. Spent it with dinosaurs, y'all.

I know what you're thinking. "Wow, that's pretty awesome that you enjoyed Thanksgiving at Jurassic Park apparently." And I'm going to have to agree with you there, because it was awesome.

At Jurassic Park (i.e. Dinosaur World in Glen Rose, Texas), my tiny twin nephews were utterly fascinated. "Nice? Nice??" they kept asking us while pointing to each creature, looking for some reassurance that they weren't going to get eaten. Because hey, dinosaurs are dangerous.

Tomorrow Night: Le Lomography Austin Grand Opening.

2011-12-05T11:36:00.001-06:00

Anyone who hangs out with me in real life has probably been assaulted, at some point, by my little Sardina. It's a tiny plastic camera that came from Lomography, and ever since I got one as a gift last summer, I've become just a tad obsessed with it.

So I am terribly excited about tomorrow night, with the official grand opening of the Lomography store here in Austin! Are you seeing that gorgeous photo above? How about this one?

Courtesy Lomography Austin

No words!

This is the magic of plastic cameras, friends. I'm so happy Lomography picked Austin to open up a brick-and-mortar store -- we really do have a film-loving cult going on here. I get so pumped now whenever I drop off my film at Precision (a process my friend Cameron describes as "Christmas"), and have even mounted some of my shots in the living room. The best part about Lomo photography is you don't have to be a good photographer to produce cool-looking stuff -- here are some of my recent shots, for example.

My pictures: Franks (top two), "Plenty" (third, memory fails), Ross (fourth), rose (fifth, Buenos Aires Cafe), Radio City Music Hall (sixth, NYC).

See? Total amateur here! I have no idea what I'm doing, but film = very forgiving.

lomography austin grand opening

912 congress avenue

6pm

nibbles from franks and sugar mama's bakeshop

open bar

music by white ghost shivers

attire: 20s/30s vaudeville

memories: diana mini mugshot photo booth

If you're in Austin, see you tomorrow night!

Sunday Kisses.

2011-12-04T15:11:00.000-06:00

So I usually don't post on weekends, but this video tickled me so much!

Anat Segal from Israel sent this to me today, and no, it doesn't have an Austin connection. Besides the fact that I am in Austin right now, loving it.

Do you not squeal at moment 1:21, with the little girls across the street blowing a kiss?

This video was shot in Tel Aviv, and Anat Segal is the first / last person who appears in the video (the one singing).

How are you all doing on this cold, rainy day? At least it's cold and rainy where I am. Today I blew my husband's mind by taking out the measuring tape and using the power of geometry to hang pictures on the wall, unlike my normal approach, of hammering nails over and over into a general vicinity of wall until I find the right spot. I think he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

This time, with feeling.

2011-12-01T10:00:00.000-06:00

When I was a kid, we used to receive about 10,000 catalogues at home in the mail.

Roughly 97% of these catalogues came from Victoria's Secret, while the other 3% came from L.L. Bean, Newport News, and some company whose sole purpose seemed to be selling things like miniature Slinkies and heart-shaped erasers in bulk.

But mostly, our catalogues were fashion catalogues.

As a result, I spent a lot of time perfecting my Look.

Allow me to explain. These were ye olden pre-Internet days, and I was an only child. We didn't get cable until I was a little more grown up, so once I had played with the cat and finished drawing pictures, my entertainment options were pretty much exhausted.

That's when Stephanie Seymour and I headed to the bathroom vanity mirror, and worked on our Looks together.

Now, Stephanie has a pretty diverse set of Looks, because she is a supermodel. As an 11 year-old, I could pull off exactly one Look -- grinning wide with shiny metal braces -- and I also knew that this Look was an insufficient route to getting a boyfriend.

I had to up my game.

Thus began my intense study of catalogue models and their wanton facial expressions, and I blame this period of my life for preventing me from looking like a normal person in photos. Oh, you THINK I know how to make regular-person faces. That's because I only post the best pictures. But these ... well. These are outtakes from a recent photo shoot with the Daily Texan (more on that later), and while the above one is OK, I think we all know what's going on here with the rest.

This clearly came from Newport News.

Deep in thought.

Product endorsement!

Pissed.

Ok now I included those two not because they are examples of Catalogue Look, but because Cheer Up Charlies (where we shot these) draws faces on everything, and I love it.

Here's one where I finally managed to look like me.

(Special thanks to The Daily Texan for their really nice story about Austin Eavesdropper recently, and to the talented Marisa Vasquez, who -- all kidding aside -- managed to make this goofy subject look kinda nice.)

More East Austin Studio Tour.

2011-11-30T10:33:00.001-06:00

So when we were talking about East Austin Studio Tour last week, you probably finished the post saying to yourself, "wow that was a lot of pictures Tolly." But what you didn't know was that I posted only HALF (more like, 1/4) of the pictures I actually took! I was a little out of control that day.

Let's pick up where we left off then, shall we?

After our stop at Big Red Sun, my pal Amy and I continued gallivanting all over the east side. The photo you see above was taken at Big Medium, and do you want to know an interesting fact? The portrait of the disheveled-hair guy on the upper-right -- right next to the one of Keira Knightley -- looks exactly like my friend Rob. Are you moonlighting on the side as a portrait model, Rob? I think you are.

We continued over to Pump Project's Satellite complex, where I ran into Callie Thompson. Have you heard of Callie? She's an Etsy success story. Her printed fabrics (above) caught the attention of West Elm after they saw her stuff on Etsy, and now, they are featuring her prints in their catalog and home decor! So go forth and produce, my Etsy friends. You never know who's watching.

We wandered into this adjacent screen print shop, and were soon greeted by the gentlemen of Twin Villain. They offered to make us t-shirts right there on the spot:

Iguana t-shirts go with everything.

Next, we visited my buddy Kiah Denson at Bay 6, where we spied those lovely femme fatal portraits of hers in-process:

(Kiah also generously let me pick out one of her sketches too, which caused me to practically jump and click my heels I was so excited. I chose this one!)

While there we met Kiah's friend Jackie, whose jewelry line is just ridiculous. Do you remember making seed bead jewelry as a kid? Jackie incorporates those tiny beads in an almost Native American-looking way.

On our way home, we ran into Miss Anslee Connell of Savannah Red, standing prettily on the porch of her studio. She gave us a little sneak peek of the line she's currently working on.

And finally ... we encountered this huge meadow, the type of meadow that forces you to drop everything and run through it. And maybe also practice some cool dance moves.

If memory serves, I am performing either an Irish jig, a samba, or the Thriller dance here for Amy. It's hard to say which one; all I know is, it was pret-ty impressive.

The Great Pie Giveaway!

2011-11-28T11:09:00.002-06:00

Welcome back, Reader! How was your Thanksgiving? Did you eat some pie? I bet you did.

About a week and a half ago, I visited Jaynie at Cutie Pies, where she was hosting a little pie party. I predict (and I'm not alone here) that pie is about to overtake cupcakes in the fetishized dessert category, especially when they are adorable and "personal" sized, like Jaynie's.

And lo, in the generous and giving holiday spirit, Cutie Pies is now giving away 2,000 pies to Austinites!

Not 200. Two zero zero zero. Imagine 2,000 of these!:

You may be wondering what variety of pies these are. The one directly above you (and flashing here) is called Heath Bar Pie, and it was my hands-down favorite at Jaynie's pie party.

I'm sorry, but can we just appreciate for a moment the wonder that is Heath Bar Pie? I used to order Heath Bar Blizzards back in the day from Dairy Queen, and there is this salty, crunchy quality to the chocolate that is just ridiculous. In Jaynie's pie version, the texture is also chewy, gooey -- almost Pecan Pie-like.

Right above that is a Chocolate Mousse Pie, and Jaynie almost gave me a CONCERNED look when I reached for it. "That pie is not for the faint of heart," she warned. "It's only for serious chocolate people."

Well ... fortunately she didn't have to worry about that with me. It's true, though -- Jaynie's Chocolate Mousse is like putting spoonfuls of thick chocolate ganache into your mouth. It's seductive. Dangerous. The Bond Girl of pie.

I didn't get a picture of it, but I would be remiss if I didn't also tell you about Jaynie's Buttermilk Pie, which has won awards: Specifically, "Best Pie in the South" (3rd Place) by Southern Living Magazine. It's so soft in your mouth that it almost has a custard quality to it, and my husband recently ate an entire mini pie of it for breakfast. Which is to say this he took a bite out of curiosity, while making his regular breakfast, and in the time it took him to finish making his regular breakfast that Buttermilk Pie somehow mysteriously disappeared! (Into his belly.)

Now here is my question to you. Would you like this wonderful woman to make you a pie?:

(Jaynie.)

If so, ClickedIn (a daily deals site, a la Groupon or Living Social) is offering a free Cutie Pie from Jaynie to the first 2,000 people who sign up. So ...

claim your pie here!

Et voilà! One of those luscious pies above shall be yours.

Here's one more sweet picture from the pie party:

I love this little kid's expression. Doesn't he look so thrilled? Probably because he just had some pie.

good luck!

All photography by Melanie Grizzel, via She N' He Photography and Design.

***

(Also -- unrelated, but, may I just say how touched I am that so many people responded to last Wednesday's post about generations? I think it's a fascinating topic too. I have some more thoughts to share on that, specifically around which points of cultural connection we choose to hang our hat on -- I totally missed out on Harry Potter for example and regret that, so now I'm climbing aboard the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo books / film franchise ... but, to what end? I'm still teasing it out. Anyway. I've really been enjoying hearing what you all have to say about the generations matter.)

My tiny, transitional generation.

2011-11-23T09:42:00.002-06:00

There's been a flurry of articles lately about generations, and I've been reading them all with fascination.

Writers are hoisting up their generational flags, claiming space in our collective conscious: The Millenials. Gen X. The newly-dubbed "Generation Catalano." The Digital Natives haven't written anything yet, but I bet an aspiring 11 year-old media mogul is working up a draft somewhere as we speak.

Have you ever wondered where you fit in? I think about this all the time.

Perhaps you were born squarely in the year 1955, and then you can say: "I'm a boomer!" But me? I've always felt a bit adrift.

I was born in 1982, the year of Sophie's Choice and the Tylenol Killer. I would play with Care Bears and Rainbow Brite, and I would watch 3-2-1 Contact and Reading Rainbow. Maybe some of you can relate to these things.

Doree Shafrir, clever author of "Generation Catalano" piece writes: "where the Millennials tend to define themselves in terms of the way they live now, people in my cohort find fellowship more in what happened in the past, clinging to cultural totems as though our shared experiences will somehow lead us to better figure out who we are."

Well, that's certainly true. Those of us in Doree's cohort -- that small group born during the late '70s and early '80s -- love to reminisce, so much that it makes me laugh. My friend Candace and I threw ourselves a David Bowie-themed birthday party a while back. I can't stop reading Hipstercrite and her odes to Prince, Rick Moranis, and Pee-Wee Herman.

Photo via Portroids.

We hold onto the pieces of our past with something like fondess, but also something like desperation, because we sense that "the past" will soon be this very nebulous Internet soup from which it becomes increasingly difficult to retrieve collective memories.

***

And actually? When I think of "my generation," the one that straddles Gen X and the Millenials, I think our collective nostalgia points to something deeper.

I've always had this theory about us, that we were the last kids to grow up without the Internet, and that fact alone was pretty defining. We got it in college or high school, and I remember watching the little yellow AOL man in a perpetual, frozen run on my computer screen, waiting for the dial-up to kick in. Do you remember your first email? I think mine was to my Dad, and it was something like: "Hi Dad. You are cooking dinner in the kitchen right now. Love, Tolly."

Anyway, even though I love my blog, Facebook, Twitter, and all the conveniences of life imbued by speedy social media, I've always felt really, really, grateful that I didn't grow up with this stuff. I've never been sure how to express exactly why, either, except for the fact that I'm so ADHD now, I can't imagine what a lifetime of Internet would have done.

But there's something else too, something that social scientists have been talking about for years: Fragmentation.

I always find it strange whenever I'm talking about someone who is, to me, totally famous -- say, a big blogger or whatever -- and my conversation partner has no idea who I'm talking about. Ditto for bands, or TV shows. There are so many freakin' cultural options now. But my generation, in our Internet-less tweens and teens, still defined ourselves around a set of basic organizing principles: You listened to Nirvana or you didn't. You shopped at The Gap or you didn't. That isn't to say we were conformist, it's just that the world hadn't gotten all Internety yet.

And I miss that sometimes, the days when we had the same stuff to point to. Maybe that's why my generation fumbled when we got social media. We didn't exactly launch Friendster or MySpace into orbit, probably because we didn't entirely get it. But the Millenials? Well, I'd say their little Facebook experiment turned out alright.

***

So who is my generation? We are the ones quoting old Troop Beverly Hills lines, but we're doing it over Twitter. We're creating Tumblrs devoted to Saved By the Bell. My point being: We use the Internet to patch together shared, past experience, and I've just now realized how much this affects the way I blog.

I've come to define my own blog in halves: Half shared Austin culture, half personal experience. I want to be there with you right now Reader, bopping along to a band, eating pie, whatever. But I also have that Millenial-esque tendency to share, to divulge, all with the subtext of: "You think I'm special, right?"

And it makes so much sense. I used to think this was an Austin thing, this feeling of duality. The town that invented Slacker, but the town that also invented SXSW. We're relaxed but entrepreneurial, buzzed yes, but also business-savvy. It's an interesting place.

But now I believe these feelings may be generational.

On the one hand, my tiny group wants to feel Part of Something. To join. To be in the club. To laugh together about our first Madonna album.

And on the other hand, we want to distinguish ourselves, want to be recognized as the "special snowflakes" Fleet Foxes' Robin Pecknold famously described in "Helplessness Blues."

We're still figuring out what we want. We don't know who our spokesperson is.

Probably because that future spokesperson is still trying to figure out what he or she wants, too.

Eastbound & down.

2011-11-22T10:02:00.002-06:00

It happens like this every year.

I go to East Austin Studio Tour, hang out in a few print shops / ramshackle galleries / wooden lean-to's with pottery inside of them, and decide: I REALLY NEED TO LIVE HERE. (The neighborhood lust is out of control these days.)

I have very confusing feelings toward the east side. Sort of like the way you probably aren't 100% sure how you feel about Justin Bieber. Oh, you think you know how you feel. But have you actually watched him in an interview? Just try it. Not so sure now, are you? Kinda appreciating his charming little personality, huh?

I used to pine for our future east side home, and laugh off the suggestion that parts of the neighborhood could be dangerous. "God, you're so white" I'd say, every time someone worried aloud about getting their car broken into. Then my friend's car did. Then my other friends got their house broken into. Then a bad man yelled at me. And I sheepishly had to say to those white friends, "ok ok. So there's a little crime."

Still. Each time I'm there, knowing that I shouldn't be naive, I just ... want ... to stay. Forever. It's the gentrification cocktail that I am sipping, of pretty, sparkly coffee shops and boutiques and salons mixed in with the east side's wild, warehousy environs. I'm guilty. But into it. I don't want people's rent to go up. But damn, that's a really cute bar. So many feelings, all at the same time!

Anyway. Where were we? Ah yes: EAST.

So the reason lots of artists live / have lived on the east side is the rent, which historically, has been cheap. That may change eventually, but for now, there are well over 100 studios over there. My friend Amy and I visited like, six, and even so I took a billion pictures. I'm pretty sure this is going to be Part One of a two-part post.

(Also, how adorable is Amy?

Answer: Very.)

Our first stop was Busy Being, a tiny art shop housed in the back of Domy Books. It's run by Amber Abramson, who just moved to Austin from LA with her son, and told me a lot of the art comes from her friends. I recommend checking out her totally fun Tumblr with all of Busy Being's art.

We strolled into Domy Books ... where the gallery has gone temporarily monster-themed.

Then we headed to Big Red Sun, this magical plant + decor + nursery space. The old location was already dreamy; this new spot is more modern, open, and full of curiosities.

Like this, for example. What is it? I have no idea. But I want it.

This tiny dog had an identical twin and I ran around trying to snap pictures of them both. He is attempting to capture a leaf here.

love you, east side.

So about the Bleet-Up ...

2011-11-18T10:23:00.002-06:00

Cory Ryan photos of Bleet-Up #4, Whole Foods Downtown, December 2010

Last night, I was perusing old, delightful photos of 2010's Winter Bleet-Up. (These five in particular are making my life.) And, I thought it might be time to talk about why there haven't been any Bleet-Ups this year.

"Hey, Tolly! When's the next Bleet-Up?" my friend Benn asked me yesterday. To which I responded by looking down at my feet, and shuffling awkwardly.

He isn't the first to ask. This past July, which would normally be the time when we held the "Summer Bleet-Up," our smaller, happy hour version, a couple of folks emailed and asked the same thing. More came as we approached winter. And to everybody, I've just been annoyingly vague and evasive.

(PS, if you have zero idea what I'm talking about right now and don't know what a "bleet-up" is, it's an annual blogger party. A meet-up ... for bloggers. Looking back, we could have picked a sexier name. Anyway, here are pictures of me wearing huge sleeves in a variety of 80s and 90s Olan Mills portraits if you are bored.)

So here's the deal with all that.

After the last one in December, I started feeling like the Bleet-Ups had served their purpose. Everybody does blogger meet-ups now, and while we (Richard and I) were hardly the first, I do feel like we played a role -- however small -- in solidifying the social media community here in Austin. We threw our first one in summer 2009, and in just over two years, restaurants, boutiques, bars, local businesses, etc. have figured out the whole blogger get-together thing and do it so well now that I thought, you know what? Bloggers get bombarded with enough stuff. The Bleet-Up would just be superfluous at this point.

(Lately, I've come to the realization that bloggers may have attended and loved the Bleet-Up for a different reason ... but, more on that in a second.)

Also, this may come as a surprise, but I'm a terrible event planner.

It's true. Everything always works out, but I get super-neurotic leading up to events, and went through this whole "no one cares! No one'll come!" thing leading up to the last one. That is why I always have to join forces with Richard, who is like a calm, steady rock. He built a freaking stage for the last one, got lights and lasers for the bands, and all this other crazy stuff. With a smile on his face. Meanwhile, I finished all my little duties, but required a slight wine buzz at all times, and behaved like this nervous chicken in the days leading up to it, clucking around the house saying weird things to Ross, like, "goody bags. We're supposed to have 20. I count 19. THE BLEET-UP IS RUINED." I laid in bed the night before, and vibrated with anxiety.

So when the last one was done, I just ... sort of ... stopped.

Coupled with my first reason, that Bleet-up-esque things happen all the time in Austin now, I realized that I made myself too anxious planning them. The big ones, at least, the ones with bands / food / drinks / pop-up shops / etc. And I honestly thought that people would just forget about it.

Which is why I was so surprised, and touched, when all these people started asking about the Bleet-Up this year.

"You miss it??" I wanted to ask. "Because I kinda miss it, too!"

(It's so funny to write about this, because in reality the Bleet-Up is only a big deal to a very specific group of people. We're not talking Fun Fun Fun Fest here. But to those people, it offered something kind of special.)

I think that people enjoy the Bleet-Up because:

A) It's an interesting group of people (bloggers are fascinating),

B) It's half-networking, half hanging out and drinking,

C) We did a book exchange once and that is just pure, clean, nerdy fun, and maybe most importantly:

D) It's other bloggers that are throwing it (rather than a restaurant or boutique. Which, PS, I love those type of get-togethers too and attend frequently. But it's different and nice when your peers host it.)

I'm so in awe of the #bashh folks, who have their shit capital-T together. They throw one practically every month! It's amazing. Being at the November #bashh last night, it got me all excited to revive ye olde Bleet-Up now that we've basically taken a year off. So, I've been toying with the idea of having one again, a SUPER casual one, in January.

My question to you is: Would you be into it?

Seriously.

The Austin blogging community is always a changing cast, so a part of me suspects that I may have been right about people forgetting it. But even if that were the case, I'd be excited to meet a brand new crop of bloggers. Also, there are Bleet-Up alums that are now kind of a big deal. Take Diya in Her Stilettos, for example, who just hosted this huge, Marie Claire-sponsored fashion show last night! Damn!

So it'd be neat to catch up with everyone again, hear about their new blogging ventures, and meet new folks.

Well, I think I've basically cheer-leaded myself back into the Bleet-Up now. But I would really love to know/hear what you think. Yes it'd be great or no, not necessary?

Life of Pie.

2011-11-17T09:14:00.002-06:00

I'm going to review this place more formally in a few weeks, but last night, I was so charmed by Cutie Pies that I can't help telling you a little bit right now.

"I saved 500 pie recipes from Mama," explained Jaynie Buckingham, donned in pink and tinsel. If the city of Austin and the city of Birmingham, Alabama had a baby, it would be Jaynie. She's a mascot for keep-Austin-weird, finding any excuse to wear tiaras and feather boas, as well as a pedigreed Southern storyteller, chatting you up in a musical country drawl. Her mama? Betty Lou.

"Mama made pie all the time, but so did my aunts and everybody else," said Jaynie, flipping through a bound stack of typed, yellowed recipe pages. I imagine "everybody else" as Betty Lou's friends and admirers, who bustled in and out of Jaynie's house growing up. There are names next to each recipe in Jaynie's book, so that the titles read: "COCONUT CREAM - ZULA JOHNSON" and "CHOCOLATE PECAN - MAMA JUNE."

Jaynie is a military brat, originally from the South, then moving to Germany. She has a picture of her father and his fighter plane hanging on the wall, and told me last night about him getting shot down over Iwo Jima. Which he survived.

"Daddy's best friend came and got him," she clarified, and while I believe this meant that he radioed for help and his friend happened to be dispatched, I couldn't help but grin at this image, like getting rescued from a near-fatal WWII mission was just one of those things. You called your buddy.

"I moved back to Austin in sixth grade when Daddy got stationed at Bergstrom, and have pretty much been an Austin girl ever since," said Jaynie, who is also a classically-trained opera singer. I begged her to sing for us, but her daughter gave me wide eyes over the counter, indicating that this would actually happen if we let it.

I'm going back to Cutie Pie's next week, not only because their pies are incredible (more on that next post), but also because it's literally three blocks away from my house. Cutie Pies is on Burnet Road, and if you remember my whining last week about missing Hyde Park, I'm happy to report that I've discovered my first character here in Allandale. Her name is Jaynie, and when I go back, I am seriously bringing my video camera and encouraging her to sing for us. Wouldn't that be grand?

PS, if you're not into pie, Jaynie makes cookies too:

(If it looks like those cookies are roughly half the size of the plate, that's because they are.)

More pie review to come, but if you're drooling already, three words Reader: Heath Bar Pie. Here are three more words: Praise the Lord. That's what you will be saying when you eat it. It's the one pictured at the very top.

You're The One That I Want, by The Lennings.

2011-11-15T07:00:00.002-06:00

Tonight, this song will be featured on the NBC show "Parenthood." It's an acoustic cover of "You're The One That I Want" -- that jazz handy song at the end of Grease -- and it is absolutely gorgeous. The kind that every human being wants their beloved to sing to them. If you've been reading this blog for a while, you may remember when I posted this song a few years ago.

Now, why is this news significant? Oh, only because this song is by the band of MY BEST FRIEND AND MY HUSBAND!

The Lennings are a 5-piece group from Austin, Texas, and Jason, whose voice you hear on this song, recorded it in our old house. How surreal is it that tonight, more than five million people will hear it!

(I couldn't find the EXACT clip online, but this scene foreshadows the one that the song plays in. These two characters may or may not kiss while it does, and it may or may not be totally romantic and swoony. You can watch the full episode here; key scene starts at about the 20 minute mark.)

The guys are also working on a new album, releasing early 2012. One of my favorite tracks from it is "Hologram" (listen here), and Jason wrote it about Austin's east side -- the way it's changing, and the way he remembers it. For some reason, the name of this song is permanently lodged in my mind as "Kaleidoscope," and this is the problem with having childhood obsessions, see. They pop up randomly. Jason could write a song called "Telescope" and I would start asking him to play "View Finder" at shows.

We're trying to get a bunch of our friends to blog / Tweet / Facebook share this news, so please share away! There's terribly good karma in it for you.

Photo courtesy Irm Fyuk.

The Wig Party.

2011-11-14T08:00:00.003-06:00

I've been meaning to blog about Coco Coquette for a while now. If you live here in Austin, it's entirely possible / probable that you've heard of this delightful business already.

I heard about Coco Coquette a while back, when I was writing a little story for CityGuide on Austin beauty hot spots. It was the only business on my list that included wigs, and Reader, let me ask you a question. When was the last time you wore a wig? No matter your answer, I'm going to say: too long! Unless you currently have one on your head right now, I'm inclined to say that we, you and me, don't wear wigs often enough. That goes for the rest of American society too. Across the pond, our British friends are downright fearless with their headwear. Why is this? How are we so timid in comparison? I say we start a wig uprising.

Coco Coquette shares a property space in this adorable old house with Charm School Vintage, replete with creaky wooden floors and crystal chandeliers. If my husband were gay, it is exactly how I would decorate our home. In fact, I was looking through my old pictures yesterday of Charm School and Coco Coquette, so I could get inspiration for our living room! (Don't tell him.)

I visited Coco Coquette a few weeks ago, to get all wigged up for a party my friends and I threw. I went with a blue bob, but before that, Allyson Garro -- Coco Coquette Headmistress -- had me try on this pink cotton candy affair.

That's a pretty flattering face, huh?

In all seriousness, I think you should stop by Coco Coquette if you haven't already. If you're enjoying EAST next weekend like me, pop in! It's on E. Cesar Chavez.

Also. This is really important. If you're reading this post right now, can you pinky-swear that you'll come back tomorrow morning? The reason is because I have super exciting, national-scale news to share! Not about me. But about a close friend. And I promise you'll like it. Ooh, the anticipation! I'll narrow it down for you just a bit: It has nothing to do with the lottery, pregnancy/babies, or Mr. T. Sorry to disappoint on that last one.

Vegging Out.

2011-11-10T09:59:00.001-06:00

If you are what you eat, then lately, Ross and I are:

* kolaches,
* pancakes,
* frozen veggie burgers,
* leftover Halloween candy,
* Torchy's Tacos, and
* Fage yogurt. You're welcome, Greek economy!

Point being: Vegetables. We need more of them in our lives. I don't think veggie burgers count.

Which reminds me of something -- did I ever tell you about the meanest thing I ever did in my whole life? It has to do with vegetables.

So I was in the first grade, my one and only year to be in Brownies. There were 10 or so girls in my troop, and we got sash badges for everything: Archery, swimming, etc. Do you want to know what the prettiest badge was for? Cooking. Do you want to know who wanted one? Me. I didn't really care about cooking; all I wanted was a kickass sash.

One day at a Brownie "meeting," we were all sitting in a circle, when I noticed that the girl next to me -- let's call her Michelle -- had laid all her brand new badges out in front of her. Probably to show off. Michelle had badges for freaking everything, even the hard stuff, like camping, pottery, COOKING. I wanted a cooking badge so bad.

That's when Michelle made a mistake, and decided to go to the bathroom. I say "mistake" because that's when I stole her badge.

When my mom picked me up, I asked her if she could sew on my new cooking badge, please! And it looked great. Just like I knew it would.

At the next meeting, I saw Michelle on the playground. She eyed my badge.

"Aw, I wish I had my cooking badge still," she sighed. "I can't find mine."

"Welp, guess you should cook more!" I said, and skipped happily away. Badge-smug, and still very cooking-oblivious.

Poor Michelle!

These days, I wish I could invite Michelle over. Give her cooking badge back. Then I would cook for real for her. I would actually earn the badge that I stole more than 20 years ago, and I would use these vegetables to do it.

Ross and I just signed up for Greenling, and these are our first spoils. We got our delivery yesterday morning! I got so excited, that I busted out a stir fry right then and there.

I mean really. Who says you can't eat lunch at 10:45am? As I like to say, it's always lunch somewhere.

I Can't Quit You, Hyde Park.

2011-11-09T10:04:00.000-06:00

It's time to face facts and be really honest about something: I miss my old neighborhood.

Do you remember your first really bad breakup, the kind that turned you a bit stalkery? You'd casually swing through their neighborhood, just ... to see. If he was home. If she had anyone else over. Whatever, no big deal, you always take this route! you tell yourself. Except really, you never do.

That is how I feel about Hyde Park. I keep cruising through the streets, finding little excuses to stop by. I scheduled an interview there last night, just because.

In their 2011 Best of Austin issue, The Austin Chronicle described Hyde Park as the "mama grizzly of neighborhood politics." I laughed because it's so true -- there's no one sassier than the Hancock Neighborhood Association, and trust me, I've attended meetings -- but to me, Hyde Park feels less like a maternal figure, more like an ex-lover that I just can't shake.

I was talking to this girl the other day in my samba class, and she told me she was renting a house in Hyde Park. She described the location.

"Oh my God," I said. "Can you hear the roosters in the morning?" She heard the roosters.

"Do those people in recumbent bikes still ride by, and shoot you dirty looks for driving a car?" She saw the bikers.

"Have you ever walked by that one house, I think it's around Avenue E, and peeked through the backyard trees, and all of a sudden there's this huge, beautiful peacock strutting around? And sometimes it comes right up to you and fans its feathers?"

She was not familiar with the peacock. Thank God. A) Because I don't think anyone is unless they willfully trespass private property, and B) because I might have collapsed in her arms and wept.

***

The thing is, Hyde Park isn't even the grandest neighborhood in Austin. There's Tarrytown, prom queen of Austin neighborhoods, and the zealous cult (that I'd like to join) of 78704. If you don't live in Austin, you could swing through Hyde Park once and say to yourself, "ok, cute! This is very cute. Now, where is that Sixth Street everyone's always telling me about?"

It's not a neighborhood of mansions, or famous attractions, or even hills. Hyde Park is flat. Grid-like. Victorians and bungalows dot the streets, a few tricycles sit in the driveways. It was Austin's first planned community, and it still has that sleepy, vaguely Mayberry feel to it.

But to me, Hyde Park was wild, exciting, and scandalous.

There is a spiritualist church in the neighborhood that performs seances. There are transients, and one of them accidentally burnt down Mother's -- a cafe down the street from my old house -- in 2007. There are these two gentlemen who shall only be referred to as "the loud guys," because nobody knows their names, all we know is that they have profound hearing loss and conduct conversations by shouting at each other (and additionally, at unsuspecting, innocent bystanders).

I was once in Fresh Plus buying goat cheese when I got accosted by one of them, and his greeting -- "HEY! ARE YOU BUYIN' GOAT CHEESE! I LIKE GOAT MILK!" scared me so badly, I whirled around and nearly socked him in the stomach with said goat cheese. I heard the two were "banned" from the neighborhood H-E-B because they terrified customers, and while this seems a little rash, I'm inclined to believe it.

What I'm getting at here is: Hyde Park is full of stories. There are places in the U.S. that attract a greater concentration of "characters," if you will, places like Savannah, Georgia. Places that have fraught histories. Hyde Park was designed to be a white-only community in the 1890's by Monroe Martin Shipe, marketed to rich elites, and later to working class, regular folk. That's why there are houses both huge and teensy, and maybe why Hyde Park feels half rich, half bohemian and messy.

***

This might seem random, but I met Wayne Coyne last weekend at Fun Fun Fun Fest. (As you may or may not know, Wayne Coyne is my personal idol). And for all the enormous, global success Flaming Lips has enjoyed over the years, Wayne & Co. could have easily picked up and moved to New York or L.A. or Tokyo, but instead, they stayed in Oklahoma City. Wayne lives in a house close to the scrappy neighborhood where he grew up as a kid, with five brothers and sisters, and also not far from the Long John Silvers where he used to work.

Now, this is the kind of thing I totally relate to. That sentimentality for your "roots" (who, me? Sentimental?). Childhood home roots aside, I think of Hyde Park as my Austin roots, and my new neighborhood doesn't quite feel like "mine" yet.

To solve that problem, I've thought about doing a series of posts on my new neighborhood, before I realized that would be the most boring thing ever. So instead, I'm just going to keep going on walks around my new neighborhood, Allandale, keeping my ears open for stories, trying to get a sense of its history. Ross and I bought a house here in April, our first, and we picked this area because it had a big backyard where he could build a studio, it still felt central, and most importantly, we could afford it.

But what's the deal, Allandale? What's your story?

Here's what I do know: Burnet Road used to be a freeway, connecting Austin to Burnet County. That's why it has that long, straight character, why there are car dealerships and old diners. Burnet Road is probably the most utilitarian stretch of street in all of Austin, the one place in town where you can buy a new couch, get acupuncture, get acupuncture for your pet, shop at a store devoted entirely to light bulbs, taste award-winning pie, hospitalize your shoes, visit an old shooting site for Dazed and Confused, go to church, go to rehab, get your car inspected, and do some yoga, all in one afternoon. If you come to my house, I can walk you down to Custom Sounds (located, funnily enough, across the street from a library) and we can trick out your car with a sick stereo system.

I now possess an encyclopedic knowledge of subwoofers.

So there are definite perks to living in Allandale. 78757. My new 'hood.

But that doesn't change the fact that I still feel like this each time I drive through Hyde Park.

Sigh. You were my first neighborhood love, Hyde Park! What we had was special.

I'm still trying very hard to get over you.

(All above photos taken by me, of Hyde Park on Instagram.)

Fun Fun Fun Fest Spotlight: Austra.

2011-11-04T11:44:00.002-05:00

Morning!

Today's post comes from my very dear friend Amy, who is like my personal little Pandora.com. We'll be on a walk, or drinking, or eating, and suddenly she'll cry: "WAIT. TOLLY. Have you heard the new [name of hip band?]"

"Yes?" I'll lie.

"Oh HELL no," says Amy, who can tell when I am lying.

"We are going to listen to [hip band] RIGHT NOW."

Amy has an astonishing mental library of up-and-coming groups, and I end up adoring everyone she recommends. Do you have a music-obsessed friend in your life like that? It's really helpful. Also, this may or may not be relevant, but Amy owns my second favorite cat in the world, and her name is Babette! Isn't she darling? (This is Amy on the right).

Anyway, today I asked Amy to write me a post about Austra, who is playing this weekend at Fun Fun Fun Fest.

Photo via AustraMusic.com.

She discovered them on a recent trip to Toronto, gave me some of their music, and now I am obsessed too! So I hope you enjoy them.

here's amy:

Readers, friends, peers and confidants. Have you ever loved some band, album or silly piece of music to the point of physical exhaustion? Listened to it with such frequency and intensity that it impedes your sleep?

Recently, this happened to me. And it happened with Torontonian wunderkinds, Austra.

Frontgirl Katie Stelmanis has trained with the Canadian Children’s Opera Chorus since age 10 (yes, 10). She has the power-house quality of Florence and the Machine or Bat for Lashes, and coupled with the group's bewitching lyrics, the result is pretty magical. Austra's sound is generally categorized as new wave, but that doesn't mean you'll suffer synth exhaustion listening to them: In the liner notes of their debut album, you'll notice quite the orchestral contribution, from violins, cellos, trombones.

Photo via Austra Tumblr.

The core trio however includes Katie, lady drummer Maya Potepski, and bassist Dorian Wolf, and it'd be totally cool if I got to be BFF's (i.e. date) all three.

The three-talent, two girl, one boy, lineup reminds me of Austin band Follow that Bird!, and speaking of which: Friends, have you heard about “three” being a symbolically, universally perfect number? For example (from someone far smarter than I):

* The three divisions of time - past, present and future.

* The three persons in grammar - me, myself and I.

* The three kingdoms of matter - animal, vegetable or mineral

And I just made three points, so boo-ya.

Anyway, I think you should really listen to Follow that Bird! And Austra. Even if you don't like the number three.

Where were we? Oh yeah: Music. Let's listen to some! Here are three (!) of my favorite tracks from Feel it Break, Austra's debut album.

That's "Lose It," their main album single. Here's "Beat and The Pulse" and "Spellwork:"

Beat and The Pulse

Spellwork

what did I tell you?

I hope this immensely talented trio dominates your iTunes, and makes you as infinitely happy as it has me!

Photo via DapperLifestyle.

May Austra stir your passions, and rouse your love for music.

Austra graces our fair city on the blue stage at 4:20pm, this Sunday at Fun Fun Fun Fest.

How to get dressed for a music fest.

2011-11-03T09:44:00.001-05:00

When attending a music festival, are you ever outfit baffled? I am.

Rarely do I find the perfect ensemble marriage between "form" and "function." Either I dress cute and suffer (mostly due to inappropriate footwear), or succumb to the siren songs of arch support and thermal underwear. It is, as the sage Run DMC once said, tricky.

So since Fun Fun Fun Fest is this weekend, and I'm attending with a (very fashionable) friend, I've decided to put together an inspiration board of sorts to help me out. Are you going to Fun Fun too, Reader? What the blazes are you wearing? Let's figure this out together.

It's no secret that I'm a big fan of Alexandra Valenti's photography. She shot the Free People catalogue when it was set in Austin last summer, and has a way of making her subjects look sun-drenched, bohemian, and oh-so-1970's. Aren't they lovely?

style ideas:

* fringe

* layered jewelry

* long + flowy

*fine embroidery

Ignoring for the moment the fact that this girl appears to be strolling on the roof in some of these pics and THAT is not safe, I love the potential this kind of outfit holds for a music fest. Especially if you are not the boho princess type, but rather, prefer more a slightly more structured, clean look.

Also, don't you adore Allister Ann's photography? I sure do. She is the source of all those photos, above.

style ideas:

* monochromatic

* knits

* form-fitting

*ankle boots

I have had a girl crush on Liz Franco of Srsly Liz for a long, long time now. (These photos are snapped by her, and -- I believe -- her boyfriend, Glenn).

To me, what makes Liz's outfits delightfully music fest-appropriate is that they are equal parts hippie, tidy, and as Liz likes to call herself, "nerd chic." Plus, they are accessible! Sometimes dressing for music fests can be intimidating, especially here in Austin, because you aren't quite sure how hipster to get. Bust out your ironic Barry Manilow t-shirt AND your non-prescription ironic glasses AND your ironic mom jeans AND your ironic Hello Kitty socks AND your ironic platform Keds and, let's face it folks -- you've gone overboard.

But Liz shows us how to dress in nicely, even girly, with subtle winks here and there. I love it!

style ideas:

* flowy (either on top or on bottom)

* pops of color

* opaque sheers

*unique cuts

So yay! Outfit ideas for Fun Fun Fun Fest are marinating ...

And speaking of outfits. I will be snapping pics of stylish ladies and gents for Free People's blog at Fun Fun, so please come find me if you're lookin' supa fly! I look like this. Just kidding. THIS.

Eeek! Halloween 2011 in Austin.

2011-11-01T10:27:00.001-05:00

Am I right?

On Saturday night, my girlfriends and I gussied ourselves up for Vintage Vivant's monthly 20s/30s affair at the Swan Dive. It being Halloween, the outfits in attendance had a different sort of flair.

Now it probably comes as no surprise that I love me a good dress-up party -- especially when paired with a photo shoot -- but I have to admit, I am terrible, just terrible at orchestrating clever Halloween costumes in advance. I'm always rushing around at the last minute, slapping odds and ends together. One of my best Halloween costumes was circa 2004, when I was Rodney Dangerfield, but I haven't lived up to that caliber in a long time.

So I was absolutely tickled pink when the multi-talented Rachael Marie Stockenberger reached out to me, and offered to let me wear one of her gorgeous, hand-dyed slips. Rachael owns Ooh-la-la Lingerie, you see, a collection of tasteful, vintage negligees that she dyes herself. She started the business in 2000 to save money for a trip to France!

That's Rachael and me above at Vintage Vivant. I'm wearing the slip she gave me!

And as if that weren't enough, Rachael is a jazz singer in Vintage 15 along with her husband Hans, ALSO a jazz singer. Vintage 15 is a throwback big band group, and they performed that night at the party.

I really cannot emphasize enough how cute this couple is. They met in Houston, while both singing for the Houston Opera, and now they are all ours in Austin!

Here are some more pics from the night:

The girls.

Two vestal virgins.

More Dia de Los Muertos people. The girl second from the left really got into it, painting her clavicle!

Pretty in blue.

Birds of a Feather: That's my friend Zach on the right, who also plays with Vintage 15, and his lady friend. Don't you love her huge peacock tail? I want this costume!

I actually wasn't sure what this girl was (also a bird?) but I really liked her outfit and sassy little stance.

My friends Jeremiah and Ashley, rocking a pirate skeleton prince / fair maiden situation here.

Sweeney Todd! I wanted to hug this man. Then I decided that would probably make him uncomfortable.

Angeliska (one of Vintage Vivant's co-founders and organizers) as a fetching witch.

hope your halloween was splendid!

which is your favorite costume, above?

Walking Dead: Dia de Los Muertos.

2011-10-31T09:45:00.000-05:00

So I'm in this samba group here in Austin, and on Saturday, we performed a Dia de Los Muertos show at Central Market. That's Skeletor me, above.

Right before we went on, everyone was running around putting on their finishing makeup touches. I couldn't stop taking pictures of everyone's faces!:

This is Rendi (left) and me, being serious skeletons.

Happy skeletons!

When I was a kid growing up in San Antonio, I used to see touches of Dia de Los Muertos here and there: Pictures of dancing bride and groom skeletons, carved skeletons in people's houses. I even had an art teacher once who gave us plastic white skulls to decorate, and having gone through a brief Jem and the Holograms phase, I painted pink eyeshadow on mine and gave her awesome pink earrings with a pipe cleaner. She still didn't look as pretty as real Jem, but that was only because she lacked ... skin. A serious handicap.

But even as Dia de Los Muertos surrounded me, I didn't understand the holiday for a really long time. As a child, I found it freaky and morbid.

When I learned later what Dia de Los Muertos was all about though, I thought it heartbreakingly beautiful. And it's funny, you know? All that exquisite San Antonio culture I took for granted while I was living there. I'm just now able to appreciate it. We performed in San Antonio on Sunday too, and I was reminded of the whole "more is more!" ethos of San Antonians. They LOVE parades and they LOVE bright colors and they LOVED us dressed up as skeletons. I was telling Ross that I may have to do my makeup like this every day, because you get treated so incredibly well: Smiles, nods, doors held open for you! People really do respect the dead.

(This is what a skeleton looks like when she's getting ready.)

Return to the living!

here's to your beloved dead, and speaking of spirits ...

happy halloween today, reader!

Taking technology breaks.

2011-10-28T10:37:00.001-05:00

Photo courtesy of Nicola Poluzzi.

Have any of your friends started abandoning Facebook?

(And I don't mean abandoning Facebook FOR Google+.)

A few of mine have. One dear friend never got on Facebook at all, despite the pleas of her peers. But I think she might be onto something.

***

About seven years ago, I taught after-school art classes at Oak Hill Elementary. One of the co-teachers and I got to talking about this guy, and this girl, and the fact that the guy liked other guys, and no one found out about it (including the girl) until he posted it on MySpace.

"What's MySpace?" I asked her.

"It's like, this site where you can build your own profile, and talk to friends and stuff," she said.

"Oh ..." I said, still confused. "Like a dating site?"

"Sort of," she said. "But it's not really for dating. It's to connect with people you know, or get to know online."

Huh. That sounds weird!! I thought. Only losers with no friends must be on this "MySpace."

In thinking about my life around that time -- 22, teaching kids' art and yoga, living in a tiny studio apartment on 45th and Speedway -- it's amazing to remember how much a computer was not a part of my day. In college, it had been purely a means to an end: A device with which I wrote papers, performed research for those papers. I wrote email of course, and occasionally Instant Messaged people. Sometimes I checked out a few culture sites who had gotten their act together early in the Age of the Internet: Salon.com, Slate.com.

But when I got home to my apartment after that conversation about MySpace, I didn't curl up with my computer. (Which I do a lot now.) Instead, I probably performed my typical 22 year-old routine: Went to Vulcan Video, rented some movies, came back home and watched them on the falling-apart TV/VCR (!) that I had inherited from the last person who lived there, made myself dinner, read a book, and went to sleep.

Sometimes I met up with friends.

And you know what? I miss those days.

***

A year later, I had a MySpace profile, three years later, I had a Facebook profile, four years later I started this blog, and five years later I was on Twitter. Somewhere in there, I got a significant phone upgrade, one that is basically a tiny, super-advanced computer.

It is shocking to me how much my life has tipped toward the computer screen just over the past seven years. I love having this little corner of the Internet where I can write, practice my photography, talk to the world about the city that I adore. But I think it's a hallmark of my generation that we were basically the last ones to grow up without the Internet, and as a member of that generation, I constantly find myself straddling this psychological space where on the one side, social media and the computer and texting is totally AWESOME (and novel), and on the other side, I just want to go outside and lay on a blanket for hours and hours, far, far, away from the polite-but-persistent ding of new email, and pet my cat.

***

So I guess this is the point of this blog post: I'm thinking about instituting a weekly Technology Free Day.

Many of my friends who got off Facebook did so for privacy purposes. Privacy isn't my fear here (though I guess I should be more worried about that kind of thing); technology overload is.

I posted about this idea on Facebook (oh, the irony!) and one of my friends commented back, telling me about a Digital Sabbatical that Gwen Bell does. I'm not sure who Gwen Bell is, but she seems like a nice lady, and sorta famous.

Gwen takes a whole month off from technology: No computer, no checking email, no texting. I guess that to successfully pull this off, you either have to be self-employed, work in a job that doesn't require gadgets, or have the kind of job where your boss would be cool with you, um, not working for a month.

Which to me, sounds difficult. But intriguing!

As a blogger who people read, I often feel like I'm not online ENOUGH. I mean, I only post a handful of times a week. And frequently, I think to myself:

You should really post on the weekends. Less blog competition on the weekends! Capture all those readers hanging out on the Internet!

Or,

When was the last time you Tweeted? Yesterday?? Oh dear God, it's almost noon. Get on there and say something witty, STAT.

Or,

What if -- just hear me out -- you posted 10x/week instead of 3-4x/week, self? You could totally do it! Just a few more hours each day in front of the computer! Think of the TRAFFIC!

And then I think: Ah, welcome back, ego! It's been a while.

***

Now, truth be told, I think my technological neuroses might largely be an Austin thing. Do you live here, Reader? If so, you'll know what I mean when I say that social media is just in the air here. Twitter was launched here in Austin, at SXSW, in 2007. I've got buddies who work at Gowalla, Facebook, and Google, all a few miles from my house. In Austin you can tweet to national companies that were founded here, like Whole Foods, and they tweet you back.

It's a startlingly plugged-in city.

It may be different where you live. But no matter how social media savvy or not your home is, we all know what it's like to be having a conversation with someone, and suddenly, they get a text. And then they read it. And then they text back. And then they turn back to you and say, "uhhh, what were we talking about?"

(I have certainly been on the other side of that scenario before, too. The annoying one texting.)

So in this Technology Free Day experiment, I'd like to ponder this thought, too:

The single greatest and most valuable commodity in the 21st century is undivided attention.

I'm not sure who said that, but I think it's brilliant.

So I'm going to try this out on Saturdays. Tomorrow will be the first one. As my friend Adam sarcastically suggested, "don't forget to post about it on Facebook when you're done."

And you know what? I may.

have you ever taken a digital sabbatical? did you enjoy it? would you ever start doing a regular technology-free day?

UPDATE, 10/28/2011 at 11:36 AM:

Nicole left a link to this video in a comment below, and I LOVE IT. Exactly the thing to do on Technology Free Day!

And it WAS The Good Life.

2011-10-26T11:38:00.002-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, Ross and I went to our absolute favorite local food event of the year: La Dolce Vita.

It's a fundraiser for the Austin Museum of Art, and has been going strong for 22 years. It usually sells out too. Why? Oh ... perhaps it has something to do with the fact that 50 Austin restaurants and wineries come out, and sample their absolute yummiest, most tempting delights.

Samples top to bottom: La Sombra, The Driskill, The Alamo Drafthouse, The Carillon, Sao Paulo's.

Ross and I basically starve ourselves for the day before this event, so we can feast in full gluttonous fashion. Last year I was so entertained by the people running around in full-body colored latex suits that I could hardly CONCENTRATE on the food ... but this year, I resolved to take my eating more seriously. So I brought Danger Kate along with me for the task! (Danger Kate is my camera.)

Our favorite savory dish was this roasted pepper, olive oil, grilled fish, and bacon (of course) sampler from Sao Paulo's -- one of our regular Date Night haunts.

We definitely sipped lots of wine while we were there, but judging by the photos below, we were even more enthusiastic about the dessert options ...

Samples top to bottom: Word of Mouth Catering, The Melting Pot, Chez Zee, WOM Catering, Sugar Pop Sweet Shop, SPSS, WOM Catering, Urban: An American Grill.

... I mean, can you blame us?

Here we are below, savoring La Dolce Vita, sipping wine, pretending we are Italian.

As we strolled out, stomachs full and mouths very very happy, we encountered this delightful warning:

Pretty much the greatest traffic sign ever.

Lesson learned (I hope).

2011-10-24T07:00:00.002-05:00

My cat Claudia has this low, guttural meow that she reserves for very emotional occasions. A typically quiet feline, this meow can signal one of two things:

"Get me out of this God-forsaken prison." (She did this a lot after we moved and had to lock her inside for a while)

Or,

"I have captured prey."

It's like the act of killing small creatures, always accompanied by a formal presentation to Ross and me, awakens her wild nature. And if this meow weren't frequently accompanied by a mouse struggling to survive inside her clenched jaws, I would find it so cute, because it's her tiny house cat version of a proud lion roar.

This is what Claudia looks like when she's about to murder something:

Can you believe this fish is still alive? That's Jeremy, looking pessimistic about his chances for longevity.

Anyway, I was feeling a little bit like Claudia yesterday.

Do you ever have one of those days when you know that the universe is trying to teach you something? And it's as if the same scenario, or the same type of scenario, keeps repeating itself in the span of 24 hours so you will learn the lesson?

For me, Sunday's lesson was about patience.

Here's how it started:

My husband, whom I had just shared an absolutely lovely anniversary dinner with the very night before, calmly told me that he thought we should consider some alternatives to my awesome Curtains in the Living Room Plan. You don't need to know the details of Curtains in the Living Room Plan (boring); suffice it to say that I really, really wanted to try it out, and really, REALLY needed him to drill some holes in the wall for me so we could see how awesome it was!

ME:

Let's put up the curtains right now!

ROSS:

I just want to weigh all of our options here before we drill holes in the wall --

ME:

Right. Now.

ROSS:

Because it could end up that we actually don't like it? And maybe it's best to just kind of talk about other ways to utilize the curt--

ME:

RIGHT NOW!

ROSS:

Wait why are you getting all worked up about it?

ME:

[Stomping around outside]

Needless to say, I don't recommend this particular conversation tactic.

Now, I adore my husband. He is a thoughtful planner, always quick to help me with my projects. And he simply wanted to have a chat, like grown-ups do, about ... curtains. That's all it was. Curtains.

But instead, I acted like a possessed demon. Who needed things done this instant. Why was that?

Shortly after that exchange, I decided I needed to go on a run. Realizing that perhaps some zen would be helpful, I cued up some Zencast in my headphones and everything was going great. That is, until, the podcast ended and I tried to cue up a new one ... but my iPhone's 3G service wasn't having it.

"Please ... show me ... the list of available Zencasts," I seethed to the phone. Nothing.

"I WANT -- to SEE -- which ZENCASTS there are," I whispered menacingly, while my phone struggled to retrieve the list, the computer Internet equivalent of a slow-loading screen.

"I JUST WANT TO FUCKING LISTEN TO THAT ONE ZENCAST ABOUT ANGER! GOD!!" I screamed inside my mind, the irony of the moment not lost on me.

Finally, sometime after my run, the list appeared.

Still feeling like I had energy to burn, I decided to go to silks post-run. And on the way, grab a little lunch. Tacos. Healthy tacos! I would totally eat healthy tacos like a healthy person.

But in the car eating them ... I discovered a problem.

The egg whites / ground turkey filling inside my healthy tacos were too much for the flimsy corn (not flour!) tortilla to bear. Instead of going back inside to ask for a fork, I angrily shoved bites into my mouth, thinking, I'm in a hurry! I don't have time for forks!

This, as salsa-coated crumbles fell down my shirt and stained it.

***

I felt like yowling, à la Claudia.

Not because I was proud of myself for killing a small creature, but because I was experiencing something. Something emotional, that needed to be addressed: Patience.

Or rather, my lack of it.

This is a picture of Ross and me on our honeymoon, circa 2007. His parents arranged for us to go to Puerto Vallarta, and it was one of the most fantastic trips we have ever been on.

In this book I'm reading right now, The Happiness Project, Gretchen Rubin talks about the stages of happiness (kind of like how we have stages of grief): These include anticipation of a happy experience, savoring it as it unfolds, expressing happiness, and recalling a happy memory. By the end of the day Sunday, I so desperately wanted to get out of my gross impatience cycle, that I decided to call up a happy memory. And you know what? It worked.

This memory is pretty recent ...

When I came home from New York on Thursday this week, it was the exact day of our four-year wedding anniversary. These goodies were waiting for me on the kitchen counter when I got home, from my sweet Ross.

Above is a card, with an ink rendering of the school where we met, and the exact location on the school grounds where we got married. Where in the world did he find this gem?

Next to it is a bag that came from Terra Toys, a toy shop around the corner from our house. Every purchase from Terra Toys is placed inside a delightfully kid-colored bag, courtesy of Austin children. I like the face that flower is making.

And inside the bag were two CD's, with music that is very dear to me.

The first is Tabu Ley Rocherau, a contemporary of Dr. Nico -- this African jazz guitarist from the 1960s whom Ross and I are obsessed with. We discovered him shortly before living in India for a summer back in 2005, and listened to him incessantly. Dr. Nico's music is island-y, laying-in-a-hammock stuff, but more importantly, its an instant portal for Ross and I back to India. It reminds us of our time there, the soft daily rains, the eating with our hands, the elephant that lived down the street from our house. And to be honest with you, most of the time, that whole experience feels like a dream. But playing Dr. Nico somehow reminds us that it wasn't, that we actually did in fact do that, so strong is the tether between his songs and that one summer.

The second CD is a compilation from "our" band, Yo La Tengo. Instead of being a prisoner of impatience ... I think I'd like to be the kind of prisoner Yo La Tengo has in mind.

(love you to pieces, husband.)

Reading while traveling is a necessity.

2011-10-21T10:50:00.002-05:00

I've been in New York this past week, and when I got home yesterday, I realized something very important: I need a book while I travel.

For some people it is music and headphones, others a movie they can watch on the plane; for me it's a paperback. I feel rudderless without one.

This particular trip was work-related, and because of that, I sort of forgot to pack some pleasure reading along with me. In the hotel room by myself at night, during the time I would normally have been curled up in bed with a book, I:

Watched The Biggest Loser
With a Diet Coke
Read my horoscope on my iPhone
Took an hour-long bath (that one I don't feel guilty about)
While listening to Lifetime Television in the background (that one I do)

In short, I was a little bored.

Books organize my nighttime activity and give my pre-bed ritual structure; they also give my behavior structure in general. Joan Didion says that she doesn't know what she's thinking until she writes it down, and I can relate to this. When my thoughts are scattered then everything else is too, and as a result I was a SLOB in my hotel room. Outfit options spilled out of my bag and flew across the room, shirts resting on lampshades. A slice of pizza I picked up outside got itself eaten at a proper table, then -- getting munched while I simultaneously took a bath -- the side of the tub. The tub, people.

Something needed to be done.

On my way home, I picked up a book in the La Guardia airport bookstore, and as soon as I did, I felt that ahhhhh feeling. With the same level of relief and anxiety dissipation, I imagine, that smokers feel.

If you are a travel-reader like I am, or just looking for a new nightstand addition, I've got three good book options for you. And if you live in Austin, you can pick all three of them up at BookPeople (or call Half-Price Books).

About a year ago, we had an awesome discussion on Austin Eavesdropper about book recommendations, so if you have any suggestions you'd like to add to the list then by all means leave a comment! I referred to that post for a whole year afterward to get book ideas, and I selected these three titles below based on the amount of times I feverishly corner a friend or family member and force them to listen to me talk about them. Here we go:

The Art of Fielding came out last month, and the reviews it's been getting are downright bananas. (Check out this insane list of endorsements you have to scroll through on its Amazon page). I snagged an advanced reader's copy last summer, after listening to its editor breathlessly describe its charms at BEA (Book Expo America).

This is the first book by author Chad Harbach, and it took him nine years to write. It's the story of a skinny, corn-fed ball player from the Midwest, who possesses the most beautiful, graceful shortstop game you've ever seen. Well, at least Mike Schwartz has ever seen: That's the baseball team captain at Westish College, a fictional school in Michigan, and when he sees Henry -- the shortstop phenom -- he takes it upon himself to recruit him.

Henry's arrival at Westish introduces us to a small orbit of characters, Henry's gay roommate, the Westish College president, and the president's daughter. Mike takes Henry under his wing, grooming him, training him, and everything is going great. That is, until Henry makes a routine throw during an important game, one that pro scouts have come to watch, and the throw goes wildly off-course. It ends up shattering somebody's face.

The lives of the five characters also spin out of control after that throw, revealing to us secrets, a couple of love stories, and addictions that had been underpinning Henry's journey all along.

This is such a fantastic book. And yet, I have a hard time describing it to people. The moment I say "baseball book," girls think it's a dude read. But in actuality, it's one of the most emotionally nuanced novels I've read in a long time, and the character I thought I'd relate to the least -- the brutish, hulky Mike Schwartz -- ended up being my favorite. I adored him. I wanted him to be my friend. If this book ever gets optioned for a movie (likely), I'm incredibly curious as to who will be Mike Schwartz, because despite the fact that everything seems to rest on Henry in this story, it's Mike who is the heart of the novel.

Ross is reading my copy right now, but if you live here in town, I would be more than happy to lend it to you when he's through.

I also heard about The Night Circus on the BEA panel last summer, and like The Art of Fielding, it was also penned by a first-time author. Erin Morgenstern is on Twitter, and she's just the coolest.

This book I have no problem selling to people: It takes place largely in 19th century Europe, and is about a mysterious traveling circus. No one knows what town it will show up in next, or how long it will stay, but this much they do know: The circus opens at midnight, and closes at dawn. Instead of one red-and-yellow big top tent, there are a series of different sized black-and-white tents. When you enter them, there are no clowns, or bears on unicycles; rather, this is a different kind of circus. A magic circus.

You walk into one tent and are faced with a series of bottles; each time you uncork one, it unleashes memories. You walk into another tent and see mist before you; it's a vertical cloud maze that you can ascend high into the sky.

At the center of this circus are two magicians who have been entered into a duel practically since birth, and the duel only ends when one of them dies. There's just one problem: The two magicians are in love with each other.

If you haven't heard about The Night Circus yet, you will. The Twilight movie people optioned it before it even went to press. Foreign rights have already been sold to 23 different countries. I even saw some kind of promotion for it in a Starbucks last week. It's the kind of book people are DYING to franchise because the story is so downright imaginative, like a mix between Big Fish and Sleepy Hollow. In fact, is Tim Burton going to direct this thing or what? He's kind of the obvious choice.

But I'm not sure the author wants that -- the hyper-franchising of a vehicle like Twilight. Without giving anything away, this book has a definite end-ing. Not a cliffhangery to-be-continued ending. The story is squarely resolved, and I love it for that. Conclusions are the hardest thing in every writing enterprise, be it a book, a short story, even a blog post. And yet, Erin neatly pulls it off.

If you're here in Austin, you can even see Erin this weekend at the Texas Book Festival. She'll be speaking at 12:30 on Sunday, and PS, have you OPENED the Texas Book Festival schedule this year?! It's ridiculous!

The last book I want to recommend is the one I picked up in the airport yesterday, and it came out in 2009: The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin. It was a #1 New York Times Bestseller.

This is a one-year memoir of Gretchen, drive-testing various psychological theories of happiness, and taking up a new point of focus each month: Get healthier, improve your marriage, spend time with your kids. I've been curious about this book for a while, because I am intensely fascinated by life-satisfaction and more importantly, how to achieve it. Something tells me I'm not alone here.

Gretchen is endearingly systematic in her approach, creating "action items" for each month's theme. In January for example, the "get healthier" chapter, she resolves to: Get more sleep, get a trainer, clean her closet. She even makes a chart for the whole year, and places a check mark or an X mark on each day, to indicate whether or not she successfully executed her goal. It's shockingly effective. Even things like "don't nag my husband" become a goal, and you know what? She stops nagging her husband. Novel!

I was reading this book on the plane ride home, and already began feeling more emotionally resilient, buoyed by Gretchen's can-do attitude toward creating happiness in your life. Proof: Work booked me on a window seat during the flight, and when I had to get up to go to the bathroom, I looked down sheepishly at my seat mates to deliver the news. The baseball-capped gentleman from Iowa to my immediate left had no problem with it, but the woman to his left with the aisle seat (lucky!) looked at me and said: "Well, you made your bed, Window Seat."

She got up anyway, all in a huff, and let me go.

Normally I would have slouched to the airplane bathroom, all hurt and wounded over this tiny, disparaging remark, but instead I found it so giggle-worthy. Window Seat!! Such a funny insult. As if to imply that the Window Seaters of the world are the irresponsible ones, who don't think ahead to things like bathroom breaks, and the wiser Aisle Seaters must always be accommodating our loose behavior! Our depraved, reckless natures.

Fortunately, I had just read one of Gretchen's passages on "lightening up," and it was the opportune moment. I predict that when you read this book, you'll find a rule or experiment of Gretchen's that will be opportune for you, too.

So now, here are my questions to you:

what books are you reading right now?

what was the last book you traveled with?

has someone ever called you "window seat?"

Buying handmade, a pretty sparkly elephant, and One Reason Why.

2011-10-20T07:53:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure if I've told you this, Internet, but my husband has a crush on somebody else.

And that somebody is Ten Thousand Villages.

In truth, it's a crush we both share, Ross and I. Austin's beloved fair trade store beckons to us with a life I think we both secretly want: To live in remote countries with artisans, making flatware sets out of discarded Coke cans and playing our handmade didgeridoos. I heard this NPR segment recently where they were talking about the artist community in Haiti, and for a brief moment -- right there in my temperature-controlled vehicle with comfy seats and yuppie coffee -- I thought, "I wanna go there."

And who knows? Maybe we will someday. Now that I've accepted hiking into my life, I'm up for all kinds of crazy adventure.

But back to our store crush.

Now a few months back, I went to The Austin Fair Trade Film Festival, hosted by Ten Thousand Villages. PS, you probably know this already, but Ten Thousand Villages is an ALL fair trade store. If you've never been inside, I encourage you too, because it's filled with qurky handmade art and jewelry and musical instruments from 38 countries. You'll find my husband in the corner, whispering sweet nothings to African hand drums.

Anyway, at the film festival, I watched a highly disturbing Wal-Mart documentary (The High Cost of Low Price). I'm so tempted to let this post devolve into Wal-Mart is A Hooved Devil! kind of a post, which is true, but instead I'll just encourage you to go here and read up.

BOTTOM LINE: That was the film that 100% renewed my crush on Ten Thousand Villages, and fair trade in general. Which for way too long was just a trendy, idealistic concept I latched onto in college, but now I actually spend my money on fair trade things.

I mean let's get real here: Part of the fair trade impulse is (for me at least) a warm fuzzies one. A little part of my brain goes, "you're welcome, karma!" when I see the little white fair trade label on something I just bought.

But on a less self-congratulatory level, I think the IDEA of fair trade, while new and imperfect and applicable to only a tiny fraction of all traded goods, is an incredibly worthy one. Aside from its explicit mission, to give artisans and workers in developing countries better wages, I think fair trade is good for Americans. It makes someone like me, who despite all my preaching against Wal-Mart still has a hard time giving up Target, think about the whole backstory of my purchase. (Which is always a bit invisible when you buy Isaac Mizrahi for Target shoes or whatever, no?)

One silver lining of the recession is that it's created a handmade renaissance of sorts, encouraging us to learn how to do things ourselves -- sew, plant a garden, cook -- and to be more careful with our money. I am NOT a perfect shopper by any means, but I think I have an easier time paying a bit more for something I really like, and buying less stuff in general.

(Even though I've still got a Target habit in a bad way.)

All of these pictures are shots I took at Ten Thousand Villages last week, from the collection of art that will be on display at One Reason Why: A fundraiser for TTV's Austin store, and their Artisan Special Needs Fund.

From TTV:

Ten Thousand Villages' fair trade partnerships also provide long-term benefits to artisans’ children, who gain increased access to education, health care, safe and affordable housing, and clean water.

The event is on Thursday, 10/27 at Art on 5th Gallery (1501 W. 5th Street) at 7:00pm. I'm going to try to go myself, so if you're in Austin, maybe I'll see you there!