I Can't Quit You, Hyde Park.

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.)

Carry on, my eastward son.

So, Ross and I are sorta kinda thinking about becoming adults and looking for a house.

To buy.

Which is exciting (no more pink carpet!) but, also, heartbreaking (no more -- sniff -- Hyde Park!). 

Ross just phoned our realtor friend, who gave him the number of a mortgage person to call, who is going to tell us how much money a bank will give us (I think).  And then we'll go to a bank and say, "hey!  We'd like to borrow money, blah blah blah low interest rate, blah blah blah 15-year mortgage." Can you tell we have no idea how this works?

Truth be told though, I am really jazzed about this possibility.  Especially since we are thinking east Austin for our next house adventure.  Below is picture from one of my favorite east side restaurants, Blue Dahlia Bistro, where I once conducted these classy shenanigans.

If any of you reading this are east Austin dwellers, what do you think?  Do you enjoy living over there? I'd love to hear about your experience.

Sidle up to me on a Saturday night.

Roomate Caleb caught these two on a date just now.

Here in Hyde Park, we bear witness to all forms of wildlife, including pterodactyls.  As well as a terrifying, tree-climbing snake.

But geckos?  Cute geckos I can deal with.

My 'hood.

Oh, Hyde Park.  You are too lovely a muse!  Quaint and walkable, historic and hip.  You were the site of my very first all-by-myself apartment.  You have provided me countless TLT's from Mother's.  You housed my future husband, and then you housed me.  You were the neighborhood where concerned motorists stopped on the road to explain that I had a head injury, and you are almost home to the endlessly entertaining parade that is Hancock Center 24 Hour Fitness.

But ah, Hyde Park.  You are not without your controversy.

"The neighborhood was originally developed by Monroe Martin Shipe in 1891 as a 'White Only' streetcar suburb."  --The Daily Texan, via (natch) Wikipedia

Interesting, no?  But given the times, perhaps not surprising.

You've come a long way, little Hyde Park (and as far as diversity is concerned maybe you've still got a ways to go).  Flaws and all, I'm thankful you let me be your resident.

(That's my evil looking - but squeezable! - cat Claudia down at the bottom, and right below her, moi).

East Side Home Contest!

How cool is this?

And don't you lerve the poster??


This is neat - a photo tour contest of East Side homes. I predict we'll be seeing some of these lovingly-decorated digs on East Austinite, as they get submissions today. Design/decor websites like Desire to Inspire, Design Crisis, and Casa Sugar are pretty much like porn for me, so I for one am pumped to have this kind of venture going locally.

East Austinites, go enter here!

Dear Wheatsville

It's Tolly. Remember me? I know, it's been a while. But I remember you. I still have a co-op membership and everything! I continue to get your cute little newsletter in the mail, informing me about grapefruit varietals and exciting new hydraponics methods and whatnot. I thought about you today, after Lyssa told me about your grand expansion opening, and said to myself, "you know? I could really go for some texturized soy protein right now. Wheatsville, here I come!"

Ah, Wheatsville.....you never disappoint.

After successfully maneuvering around the seemingly endless road construction on Guadalupe to venture into your doors (seriously Wheatsville: is the City of Austin erecting an alternative living community below street level in front of your shop, or something?), I strode over to the "Lifestyle" section, where one can peruse your store's non-edibles. You know, soap, toothpaste, henna hair dye. Anyway, the Diva Cup - the "award-winning, revolutionary alternative to tampons and pads!" - immediately caught my eye. And how could it not? Like an exuberant school teacher, you had taken the time to post a laminated feature article from some newspaper in front of the Diva Cup's display. "But what does it do?" I thought. "Will this cup truly make me a Diva?"

The answer, according to you Wheatsville, is a resounding YES! Yes, we here at Wheatsville are eschewing the likes of disposable tampons and pads! We are GreenDIVAS, bitches!!! But, dear old friend Wheatsville, let's take a moment to consult our resident expert Beyonce Knowles for some trusted diva insights, shall we? Because, according to B, "a diva is a female version of a hustla," and since fifteen in her stilettos she been struttin' in this game, so I think she would KNOW.

Now, not to be the semantics police or anything, but I think we may want to think twice before we go around evangelizing the "Diva"Cup, Wheatsville, since in my opinion, there could perhaps be a better brand name for a product that promises diva-ness merely by reaching up into your bizness to collect all your lady fluids. Um......is it also making me sick with benjamins I can't spend? Because if not, that's just false advertising. Since it can be used up to 12 hours at a time, I propose we call it the "Fuggedaboutit Cup," or if you still want retain that whole hip-and-sassy-20-to-40-year-old-female-demographic thing, we could call it the "BFF Cup" or the "Hey Girl! Cup." Just some thoughts.

Oh but Wheatsville, that wasn't all you had in store for me! Not two moments after I encountered the Diva Cup, did I wheel around to see this guy's orgasmic face staring back at me:

WHAT is going on here. I'm not referring to the man's rather aw-yeah-that's-it facial expression; I'm referring to the fact that someone has apparently dismantled a whisk and is peddling it as a massage device.

Right?

I know the recession is bad and everything, Wheatsville, but even I - a naive little 20-something with latent, deeply buried hippie tendencies - can see right through this. Ultimate Head Massager? I'll just walk into my kitchen and see what my utensils can do, thanks. Let's rid the shelves of this joke and make room for the much more practical Slanket.

But the real reason I'm writing, Wheatsville, is to present to you my petition. Right now, it's just a petition of one, but I am confident that I am not alone in my long-suffering plight.

BRING BACK THE NUT BUTTER SAMPLE SPOONS.

Wheatsville, do you know how excited I was to attend your expansion opening today, only to see that you hadn't come to your senses and adorned your generous buckets of nut butters with complimentary sample spoons? For the love of God. Those spoons are about as big as my fingernail. I remember back in 2004, when I first started dating R., and he introduced me to this exotic new world of bulk peanut butter, almond butter, cashew butter, WALNUT butter -

"Wait - walnut butter?!? That exists??"

"Yes," R. said. "They just grind up walnuts, rather than peanuts."

"MUST. TRY. THE WALNUT BUTTER."

And so I did. How? Well, I walked right into Wheatsville with R., plucked a teensy little spoon out of a little cup, and dipped it into a near swimming pool-size vat of walnut butter. It made my tastebuds quake with ecstasy. I bought some on the spot.

Eventually, I guess everyone caught on, and you know those co-op types, Wheatsville.....sometimes they get a little too co-opy. Taking bigger and bigger spoonfuls out of the nut butter barrels. Reaching their hands into the nearby granola bulk bins. I totally don't blame you for taking away the sample spoons (especially since we all cleverly started stealing real spoons from the coffee section, and using those for our samples instead...heh!!).

But that was a long, long time ago. We've learned our lesson. We've lived without the nut butter samples. For how long? Oh, only about four freaking years now.

So on the morn of your grand expansion opening, Wheatsville, I think we deserve a second chance. To do it right this time. To sample nut butters without greed. Do it for the children. Save the whales. Bring back the f-ing sample spoons.

Your friend and loyal co-op member,

Tolly

The Black and White Years AND Vain Salon party

So here is something pretty special I just found out about: The Black and White Years are playing tonight at The Compound over on the east side, along with DJ Manny.


I think I am going to go. I have actually never seen The Black and White Years, but I sure have shaken it to DJ Manny at Red Fez - so any way you slice it, this will be a fun show!

Also - guys. You know how I went red? Well, I have Buffy at Vain to thank for it, and tomorrow, the whole salon is having a party!! They have a GORGEOUS new website, and they are celebrating it with hula hoops all day tomorrow:


(P.S. - On the site, they have this amazing music video which totally captures the flavor of Vain, and if I were smart/web-savvy enough I would steal it and post it here. Until then, just go look at it.)

Ode to Hancock Center H-E-B

I must be about to get my period (sorry) because I just had the most emotionally rewarding experience at the H-E-B.

Ok, so, Hurricane Ike is happening right now:



(P.S. - Leave it to the NY Times photo journalist crew to make a natural disaster look so breathtakingly artsy!)

As a result, many Houston and Galveston evacuees have fled to Austin, where the weather here is relatively stable. As such, our neighborhood H-E-B has been packed with confused out-of-towners.

"Excuse me, where are your bottled waters?"

"Is there a cell phone store nearby?"

"Do you know how to get to "Man-chac-a" Street?"

I don't know if it's the spirit of Texans to rise above adversity, or the fact that H-E-B employees are just so damn odd and charming, or (most likely) the afore-mentioned womanly reason, but everyone was in, like, the best mood at the grocery store this morning!

"Ok....GUYS....should we get some ham? To make......." (dramatic pause)...

That was a goofy Houston dad at the deli counter this morning, wearing an Astros shirt, with his two little kids in tow. I imagine that evacuating one's city and sitting on the highway for 8-10 hours is probably somewhat of a tense experience, and yet, here was this cool dad who probably did exactly that, getting his kids all pumped up about some ham.

...."sandwiches?!?"

"YEAH! Let's get ham!!" These are his little kids, who are quite literally getting worked up into a frenzy over Boar's Head honey maple ham.

"Ok! Ok. Ma'am, hi, excuse me? We need to get a sample of ham. We need to," (turns to wink conspiratorially at kids), "test it."

The kids are now shrieking with giggles, barely able to suppress their delight that their daddy just tricked the deli lady into giving them a sample.

"WHOA! This is some HAM! Am I right, guys? Am I right??"

Would you believe me if I said his kids were double-fist-pumping the air right now?

"We'll take ONE! POUND!"

And then, I kid you not, his kids started jumping up and down.

Oh dear reader, I wish you could have been there. It's not an exaggeration to say I was very nearly moved to tears by this grocery store tableau. It was pretty freaking precious, I'm not going to lie.

And it doesn't stop there.

Alright, so the poor H-E-B employees - R. was there yesterday, and he said there were check-out lines stretching down into the aisles. You know all those people had to work late yesterday, especially since H-E-B is a 24-hour operation. So I'm pushing my little cart to the check-out, still dazzled by goofy, feel-good Houston Dad, but bracing myself for a surly checker. Because they are probably underslept and tired. But instead, I got the most amazing service.

"Well hey pretty lady! How you doin today!"

That was my checker, as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (pause: weird expression? Are we talking about squirrels here? Is rodent analogy?) as you can be. I thought about it, and told her I was doing alright. And herself?

"I'm hangin in there, thanks for asking! You got any plans tonight?"

I told her about Dana's party tonight, and that we will be going karaoke-ing.

"Aw man! That's fun! Is it a birthday?"

I told her indeed it was, good guess!

"Hey, Rita - she's going to go karaoke-ing tonight!!"

By now a second checker, Rita, has wandered over, to get in on this crazy conversation.

"Oh girl, for serious! What are you singing??"

I sheepishly admitted that Fergie is sorta my go-to, precisely because she does not sing, but spells things. (At least Fergie circa 2006-07 did).

"Aw, lady!" (Back to original checker now), "You're going to be the best one up there!"

Now, based on appearances alone, this prediction was, shall we say, unwarranted. I was (still am) looking about as unimpressive and non-diva-like as you can get - wearing the shirt I wore last night which has a wine stain on it, yoga pants, and flip-flops, and sporting as my friend Rob would call it, "David Lee Roth hair."

But it made me happy anyway. These girls made me feel like a semi-celebrity, just for chatting it up at the check-out line. And, and - this, after all employees worked late, crazy hours last night.

So, Hancock Center H-E-B, it's official: you've stolen my heart.

And I'm totally coming to buy Midol from you in a few days.

A living room in Hyde Park wages War on Ugliness

So today on this lovely Labor Day weekend, R. and I are transforming our formerly horrendous living room ceiling into something fabulous. Or at the bare minimum, something not an assault to the senses.

You know how, in every office, there's that ugly, white, porous-looking ceiling tile?


That is our living room ceiling. 

We have lived with this sorry excuse for a ceiling over a year now.

And there not sufficient adjectives in the English language to properly describe the magnitude of my ceiling hate.

And - as if that weren't enough - the ceiling uses fluorescent lighting. Horrors.

So, yesterday was the Day of Reckoning for the ceiling. I bought some pretty fabric (at Fanny's - magical) to cover each and every monstrous rectangle. And it is actually turning out quite lovely!

Here is an in-progress shot:

It's not the best shot ever, but as you can see, we're doing green and brown thing. We thought that would go best with our carpet, which is PINK (also not our choice, but we're renters, so what can ya do, eh?)

Our goal is to finish it tomorrow.

Austinites - whether you live in Hyde Park or otherwise - are any of you working on any home improvement projects? Ceilings, walls, or perhaps furniture?

I'm putting together a Q&A for God's least favorite nightlife blog, The Famousish. They are fellow Austin bloggers and pretty damn rad. I'm going to try and send them some questions tomorrow, so stay tuned.

Statesman, y'all

So, I'm in the paper today everybody! And R., too.

You can't see my pic in the online version, but it's on the front page of today's hard copy. Look for the nerd in glasses typing on her laptop.

Before you ask - it's nothing accomplishment-related. It's an interesting story by Eileen Flynn about the "balkanization" of Austin, and how the city is breaking up into it's own little universes - such as, oh, for example, Hyde Park. And seeing as how R. and I rarely leave the neighborhood....well, we were ideal subjects.

During downtime, R. walks back to the shed to make wood things, or his studio to play drums, and I head to Quacks on to write, eavesdrop and stalk Chloe. (Who, sadly, I haven't seen lately. Where are you, friend/crush?)

In other news, got home from work trip last night at 1-in-the-morning-ish. Now, maybe it was because I was so damn tired, but this thing happened at the airport that I can't stop thinking about. It wasn't even that big a deal, just a passing observation. Wanna hear about it anyway?

Picture this: a skinny little blonde boy, maybe 5. He's in front of a downward-moving escalator with his dad, knees shaking. He inches cautiously up to it, Dad right behind him. You can tell he's really nervous, and in all truth, I don't blame him. From the second to the first floor at the Austin Bergstrom Airport, it is a really tall escalator.

He almost takes a step, but not with conviction - besides his toe, the whole rest of his body is leaning backwards. So he sinks down on the floor instead, right in front of the escalator, and into his dad's arms. He can't do it. As he starts crying a little bit, his dad sighs, "Jason..." -In that voice, you know? That calm parent tone. He's seen this before.

Like I said - it was probably lack of sleep. But the whole thing was just so sweet and honest to me. Yes, escalators can be pretty damn scary when you're 5. No, I don't want to step on. Sometimes it would be nice to have your fears so easily defined, yes?

Ever since I was a little kid, big dogs have scared me a little. Isn't that lame? I don't even know where that stems from.

Go hide your shame

There's a really sweet woman here in the neighborhood who used to work at FreshPlus grocery story. Then, she moved across the street to be the checkout at Pronto (a gas station). For a few years now, I've called her: "Cancer Survivor." Or, on occasion, "Chemo Patient."

Now before you go getting all horrified, let me explain. Without fail, this lady always wears a scarf on her head. And not in a Nicole Richie, ooh look at me I'm-a-haute-couture-hippie way (think bandana, not Hermés). She also wears long sleeves and pants all the time, as if cold - even in summer! - and doesn't wear any makeup, ever. Plus, she just has the look of a strong, indomitable spirit. You know what I mean? Like, "child, I seen things you never should."

Now, taken together, these observations clearly do not diagnose someone with cancer. But when I first met her, my fanciful mind got to working, and...well. It was a private observation. A ridiculous jump to more absurd conclusion. And thus = "Cancer Survivor" was born.

I never really told anyone, until I told R., and now he views her with the same (perhaps unwarranted?) admiration I do. Sometimes, when we see her at Pronto, we exchange knowing looks that say, "what a courageous, unyielding soul."

(Sidenote: Cancer Survivor actually got held up at gunpoint in Pronto last summer, if you can believe it. R and I's first reaction to the news: "but she's already been through so much!")

So anyway, this pillar of a lady, this beacon of hope in a world so dark, is totally not the type to chit-chat about, oh, day-long male erections. Or so I thought.

I'm at Pronto yesterday, filling my car up with 1/10 a tank of gas or something - OPEC, can you hear me? WTF? - and walk inside to pay for it.

"Hi there, honey!" Cancer Survivor, suppressing a giggle.

"Hey! Just $10 on number 5, please."

Giggle. Sideways glance at female coworker. Giggle giggle.

"Honey, question for you. How would you react if a man, a man you knew and had been hanging out with, had an erection. For - hold on, let me tell her! -six to eight hours?"

Furrow brow, really consider it. "Run?" I offer.

"See, exactly Honey!" Turning to coworker, presumably the one with the, er, "situation."

"I would tell that man to stay indoors!" Finger is up and wagging now, scolding this invisible man with the offensive penis.

"No, 'oh WOW this is so amazing' about it! No! I would tell that man to get away from me. To get out of public, and to go hide your shame."

You can't put a price tag on sage wisdom like that.

The hot homeless girl

There is something wrong with my friends and I.

This past Friday night at R's surprise party (yep - surprise! Pulled off by me, biggest blabbermouth ever!), a few of us Hyde Park residents began discussing this girl. Let's call her "Jeanie." Not her real name, but trust me, she looks like a Jeanie. We were telling our non-Hyde Park, South Austin-dwelling friend Kim about her. Here are some tidbits of that conversation.

"She's schizophrenic."

"I think it's a drug thing."

"She hates men."

As you can see, Jeanie doesn't have a reputation for being the cheeriest gal ever. (But when you are homeless, you sort of have that right). However, she also has this reputation...

"You know, if you cleaned her up, she'd be pretty hot."

Now, in any other group of friends, this would be the point where things would start to get weird. Eventually, one person would have the wherewithal to say, "hold on everybody - this girl has a tough time as it is, what with her homelessness and all, let's not add insult to injury by blatantly objectifying her." But not in my group.

"That's so true! She's really cute! Like, totally not bad for a homeless girl!"

Oh God.

But here's the thing: they're right.

Jeanie has really nice skin. Yes, I know she is evenly tan and tawny because she doesn't have shelter. I know it's wrong. But so be it. Jeanie is also physically fit. Why? No shelter! Or car! Always on the move. I know what you're thinking, and yes I'm a little sick.

But I'm going to keep going. Jeanie also has: short brown hair that is mysteriously clean for being homeless, brown eyes, and not to harp or anything, but seriously really pretty skin - not a zit in sight. I know - shame on me! I can't stop sizing her up for one second to pity her situation! But I notice these things, and guys, I would notice it on anyone.

I pass Jeanie on the sidewalk from time to time. I think we're roughly the same age. She doesn't really say much to me, and I never really thought she was homeless, just a little eccentric. Which I like in people. And, she has a tendency to mutter (but then I have a tendency to eavesdrop: so, all good).

The facts became more clear, however, when R. saw her walking around the neighborhood with a sleeping bag. And then, our friend Beaux found her little camp-out area behind Hyde Park Bar and Grill where he works (I think she chased him off). That's when it became startingly clear that Jeanie was, in fact, without house.

Now, Hyde Park has some characters, so if Jeanie was going to hang out anywhere, this is the place. We didn't find it too terribly odd, for example, when our friend Jeremy was standing outside our house, talking on his phone, and Jeanie stopped on the sidewalk to turn, point, and berate him. I wasn't there, but Jeremy said it was along the lines of "you're a MAN and you can rot in HELL." Well, there you go. She also warned Beaux, also unprovoked, not to rape her (why? Because she's kinda hot!) after which we began to "detect a pattern" if you will.

So my last face-to-face with Jeanie happened a few days ago, and this is why I kinda like her. R. and I were leaving Hyde Park Bar and Grill, walking through the parking lot that goes behind La Dolce Vita, a gelaterie. Jeanie walks up, an expectant expression on her face. She looks right past R. (who is a man, keep in mind), focuses on me, and asks if I have any money. Why?

"I just...really want an ice cream."

In the midst of unemployment, not having a home, and having terrible people who blatantly objectify you behind your back in the face of some seriously awful life circumstances, it's nice to know that Jeanie still has a taste for the frivolous. For the simple, silly things that won't substantially improve your lot in life, except maybe bring a smile to your face. I gave her some bills on the spot.

Don't ya wish your unrequited-love-crush was hot like me?

Here at Quacks in Hyde Park, under the pretense of writing stories for Rare. (P.S. - The "Rarest of them All" issue of Rare Magazine, with winners written up by yours truly, is on newsstands now! Look for the cool, collage-looking cover designed by Austin local Missi Jay). Am also anticipating the possible arrival of new friend/long-time girl crush, "Chloe," whom I've talked about before.

Saw Chloe at the gym this morning, and can't remember if I told everyone or not, but we're pals now! As in, have exchanged real names and salutations. Right here at the coffee shop. And, Chloe is utterly delightful. Which is good, because there's always that risk you run with crushes: that the sexy, perfect persona you've built up for them in your mind is nothing like the somewhat disappointing individual they are, once they've opened their mouths.

Anyway, it just now occurred to me that should Chloe and I become actual buddies, I have to stop blogging about her. Which would ruin all the fun! I've already accepted that she'll probably conclude I'm incredibly creepy someday. But who cares? I sort of am. Why not embrace it. However it would breach the rules of friendship to keep on broadcasting to the world my imaginary assumptions about my long-time girl crush / friend, right? (Not that poor R. has escaped this fate -- at least with him I tell it like it is, such as his propensity for vacuuming up flies).

Anyway, for now, I'll let her live in ignorant bliss.

**Edited to add:** Chloe actually did show up at the coffee shop. And yes I had to furiously change windows on my computer right before she walked up and saw me writing about her, stalker-style.

A new level of sickness

For those of you who get disgusted easily, it's time to navigate away from the page.

Because this girl has a new, sick hobby!!

Before I tell you about it - oooh I'm so excited - some backstory:

So a few weeks ago, R. and I think something died underneath our house. We live near a creek. Critters run up and down our street every day. Get over it. Anyway, the smell was something awful in our kitchen - like, oh my God, I'm not sure I want to eat in my home ever again if it involves stepping foot into this rank room. This den of suffering. This assault on my nostrils. You get the idea.

Fortunately, the smell just lasted a week, when I began to notice - larvae? - crawling on the kitchen floor, near the door that leads outside. I didn't know what they were, exactly - some new weird bug? That wants to get in? Keep dreaming! They were tiny and just inching along, so I smushed them and promptly put them in the trash, in with the more civil trash, like coffee grounds and cereal boxes. But it gets better.

Last week, R. and I began to notice flies everywhere in the kitchen. At first I got really saddened by it - am I that royally undomestic in my first year of marriage? I've let my home decline into a fly feeding frenzy? But then R. - who is much more scientifically-minded than I - reminded me that there had been larvae, and now there were flies, so this was probably the cycle of life going on underneath our house. I think it goes like this:


Adult flies eat carcus --> Get so excited that they have to lay some eggs while eating --> Baby flies i.e. LARVAE hatch --> New "teenager" flies enter my kitchen looking for food.


A rough theory, but I think that's basically it.

And I'm still not done!

So, flies swarming around the kitchen, and for some reason these flies are really dumb. I've basically been walking up to them with a paper towel and sort of placing it over them and pressing. No "swatting" involved, more like "gently squeezing." Sometimes they just give up and die on the floor. "I'm so dumb and don't know how to get myself out of this situation!" It was getting really gross and a little depressing, seeing dead flies everywhere. But yesterday, R. had a brilliant idea!



I came home to see the vacuum cleaner plugged in near the kitchen counter, with the long, cylindrical, tube-like attachments all hooked up. I knew what was coming. R. virtually squeals, "you're gonna LOVE this!" turns the vacuum cleaner on, and points the sucking tube at the helpless, dumb, buzzing-around flies.

And...away they go! Shwoop, down the vacuum cleaner! Some of them fly out of the way in time, but honestly, they don't stand a chance against the Euro Pro Shark Pursuit 12 amp. (Yes, my vacuum cleaner is inexplicably called "The Shark Pursuit." You know, when sharks get in the carpet.)

So today, when I got home from work, I went for it in the kitchen. I was ruthless. Fly-blood-thirsty. I've never been a video game player, but I totally see the appeal now: I could virtually hear myself getting points every time I sucked up another ugly fly. Ding! 10 points! Ding ding!! I didn't want to stop!

It was so addicting, I sucked them all up. In about 5 minutes. And guys, not to gross you out, but there must have been about 30 flying around when I started. In my mind that equals 300 points.

It's the first time I've been excited - nay, giddy - about flies.


**Edited to add:** R. just said we should kill a person and put their dead body under the house, so we'd have a ton of flies. Told you we were sick.

Lean times

There's nothing that gets a girl down like lean times.

No - not skinny times. When you unexpectedly wake up one morning feeling oddly light and flat-stomached. Dehydration? Stomach flu? Who cares! That's a wonderful feeling.

I'm talking about lean finances. Flies in your wallet. Cheap-ass broke. Feel me?

All of my friends are getting married right now. They're all getting married in exotic, pretty, non-Austin locales. In addition, I (stupidly?) decided to pay my car insurance half a year in advance. And finally, my work - which I adore - realized it hasn't been charging me for health insurance, so now I need to make up for it with my paycheck.

I. Am. Dying.

I can, however, still afford a cup of coffee. And people-watching - one of my favorite Austin activities - is free.

So I've got a recommendation: Emerald City Press. Just popped up on South Lamar. Check out this genius: coffee shop, fab newsstand, and florist in one. It's outdoors, a la Jo's on South Congress, and already has a hip little vibe going on. You can face the river out back (or South Lamar, in the front), sip your cappuccino, flip through the latest Nylon, and generally behave like the cool and trendy person you are.

The man and I went there on Sunday, while Cheapo Discs across the street was calculating returns for his used CD's. My cuppa was lovely, the takeaway menu of "services" even lovelier - I found out you can order a "get well soon" bouquet from Emerald City, which includes not only flowers (who doesn't feel better with flowers?), but tea, Emergen-C packets, and best of all - maybe only girls and gays understand this - glossy magazines!! When ill, men turn to ESPN; girls, O Magazine. It's like comfort food for our brain.

And P.S. - they have cinnamon rolls from Upper Crust. Go, go!

A season for everything

HOORAY, the sun is out today! Thank you, merciful heavens!

For the past 3-4 days, Austinites have been sinking into a soggy, weather-induced depression. At least, this Austinite has. Cold, drizzly weather = no go. I do not want to go outside. I do not want to take walks. I do not even want to go to the grocery store, nay, drive to the grocery store, because it would involve freezing in my car for 2-3 minutes while the heater stubbornly warms up. And I love the grocery store.

Anyway, today, Hyde Park is totally Mayberry because it's all pretty outside. Neighbors happily doing yard work. Children laughing. Me, walking to the gym! This week I have been driving, even though the gym is literally up the street, because it has been so unbelievably nasty.

One of my favorite weekend rituals is lunching by myself at Whole Foods after a long work-out. Somebody tell me, is there a happier place in Austin than Whole foods? The one place where hippies and khaki-slacked, Oprah-watching moms can co-exist? Sure it's overpriced, but then, you're sort of paying for the experience along with your food. Abundant free samples of gelato and coffee. A juice and wheatgrass bar. Pretty pretty gems of artisanal chocolate truffles. If I die and go to heaven, I hope Whole Foods is waiting for me.

Also unique to Whole Foods: it is pretty much always busy. There are no off-hours here. If you are, like me, addicted to both a) salad bars and b) eavesdropping on strangers, this place is the closest you will come to paradise in your waking lifetime.

So, after rounding up a ginormous salad, I'm enjoying my Morrocan glazed carrot-something-or-other and discreetly listening to this conversation two frat-ish guys are conducting next to me. One says to the other, "yeah, she said she was nervous..." -at which point I began to tune out, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. But I kept on: "dude, she was nervous. To sing. In front of me. Even though she said she was good. I was like 'well then what it the problem' and she was like 'I don't know I'm nervous' and I was like 'well you need to get over yourself'" -blah blah blah.

It wasn't that enthralling of an exchange, until I began to envision the scenario. And I found I could totally relate to the girl in question.

Before you get any ideas, I am decidedly not a singer. The only time I sing is during karaoke, I am usually drunk, and it's only Fergie. Why Fergie? Because Fergie likes to spell more than sing:

"G-L-A-M, O-R, O-U-S yeah"

or:

"I'm the F to the E-R, G-I to the E, ain't no otha lady put it down like me."

Now that it's 2008, I should probably find a new karaoke artist.

But, anyway, even when I'm drunk and spelling, opening your mouth and putting forth tones in a "musical" way is always a vulnerable act. Always. It comes from inside of you.

Imagine how this guy would have felt if he said to his girlfriend, in confidence, "you know, I'm a pretty good dancer for a white guy." And in response, she pressed her finger down on a stereo and said, "ok. GO." I bet he would have felt pretty put-on-the-spot.

See, singing, dancing, and sex are all bodily acts that require a lot of confidence and a lot of practice. And, context. You can't (re: shouldn't) just up and do the act anywhere. You don't dance at the DMV. You don't have sex at Texaco (ew). And you certainly don't have to sing just because someone commands you to do so. Honey, he is not the boss of you.

Anyway, back to those three things: maybe they are what make Austin so damn cool. There are plenty of people in this town - be they band members, fire dancers, or tantric yogis - proficient in at least one of the above areas.

And sometimes, Lord help us - all three.

Chloe, Life Twin

I've blogged about this girl before.

I've never spoken to her. But I've felt for a long time that she is my "life twin." You know - that random person who basically has your life, only you've never met? You like all the same things, go all the same places, maybe know similar people?

Her name is Chloe. At least, it is in my mind. It hasn't been confirmed because I've never summoned the courage to open my mouth around her. I used to always see her at Quacks, once at Buffalo Exchange, and now regularly at my very commercial, very un-hipster gym. The best memory I have of Chloe is watching her check-in at the gym's front desk, stride confidently into the dressing room, pose in front of the full-length mirror to evaluate her killer outfit, and waltz right back out. Imagine! A gym membership, just for the huge mirror! It was so vain and fabulous. She won my heart on the spot.

These days however, I have actually seen Chloe utilizing the work-out equipment at my gym. Looking adorable, of course...just like I would expect of my life twin! And, formerly a towhead with long, charmingly scraggly locks a la Mary Kate Olsen, she now has shorter red hair, natch.

Someday, I'll introduce myself. Someday, I'll say, "you know what! I have seen you traipsing around Hyde Park for years!" I guess it's not really all that unusual to keep running into people who apparently share your neighborhood, now is it? Still: it's neat to consistently cross paths with someone who isn't exactly your acquaintance (I believe that would at least require a mutual exchange of first names), but you feel like you sorta know already.

I am aware it's a slippery slope to "stalking," Reader! But admit it: haven't you ever consistently bumped into someone around town / your neighborhood / your nightlife haunts, and thought, simply, "I bet we would get along."

That's how I feel about Chloe.

Keep Austin NICE

It's true that I'm a little bit biased about central/south Austin.

Everything major that goes down here - SXSW and Austin City Limits for example - happens south of the university. And all of the Austin-y press that comes out of the city - our live music, our indie films, our vocal vegetarians - points to the central/south Austin experience. So navigating the area of town where my office is located is always an adventure, because it is north, while I am vehemently a Hyde Park resident.

Whenever people say "The Arboretum," there are about 4 locations that I think they may be talking about. I have since learned that one of these areas is the Gateway Shopping Center on 360 and 183, which would make sense, since this shopping center is not an "arbor habitat" of any sort, but an extremely large parking lot with stores on it. That still leaves 3 "Arboretums." But the point is, since I work in north Austin each day, I've slowly begun to unlock the mysteries behind this family-friendly, slightly yuppie corner of the city, and for that I only feel a deeper kinship with my demographically diverse metropolis.

However, there are times I wish I had nothing to do with north Austin.

It was dinner time, and I was taking a client out for sushi. It was a restaurant I had never visited before, but came highly recommended by colleagues. As I turned onto the street, I slowed down to read the address numbers, chatting happily with my client, scanning signs for the restaurant name. I guess I was driving a little slow, because the next thing I knew, a most hostile individual pulled up next to me.

I wish I could quote for you all what he said. Judging by his face, it looked like he was saying: "I AM GOING TO TEAR THROUGH YOUR METAL CAR DOOR AND DISMEMBER YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS FOR DRIVING SO SLOW!!! BAHHH!!"

However, I didn't roll my window down to catch his diatribe - not because I was deliberately ignoring him, but because I was genuinely confused. Why was he so mad at me?

My kind, easygoing client laughed it off. But I felt embarrassed.

That wasn't a peace-loving vegetarian or a hipster musician, like we're known for. It was - I hate to say it Austin, but you know it's true - a hick. A clean-cut hick for sure, but a hick all the same. That insipid reminder that you still live in Texas: a truck mounted on ginormous wheels, close-cropped hair, puffer jacket (which did provide a small degree of comic relief -how threatening can you look, really, as the Michelin Man?) Totally losing his shit because the car in front of him was going a little slow.

So, come on north Austin. You gotta weed these types out. They do not belong in this city, and moreover, they probably feel like they are surrounded by a bunch of freaks anyway. Let's enroll them at UT and not let them come out until they are educated, thoughtful, and civil, or send them back to Beaumont / Tyler / wherever in Texas these people come from.

Otherwise, they are just going to get all upset when they eventually have to come to central/south Austin, and must share the road with bikes.