Christmas is a Day of Rest

I missed writing anything yesterday. I was going to scoop up goofy pictures from facebook and put them here. Today will be a day of rest from many things. The picture was taken Friday of the long-suffereing husband (FFP) at Austin's Headliners club. They have a party on December 23 every year. It's from 11-2. I had several Bloody Marys. That's me in the mirror, post eating and drinking. We didn't do anything much after the party. Before the party we walked over to the bookstore (our local independent, BookPeople which is about a half mile away) and got a book we'd ordered. (Because we don't have enough books.) I think, after drinking in the middle of the day, I was pretty well finished. We read and watched movies.

Our Christmas Eve was jam-packed because we made it so. We went to the Armadillo Christmas Bazaar and heard a set from a band we like (Albert and Gage) and then we had an enchilada lunch at El Alma. It was a balmy day so we walked across the river to do this and, after lunch, walked up Doug Sahm Hill and through the dog park to say 'hi' to Stevie Ray Vaughn.

We read until time for our early reservation at Fixe. We had biscuits, steak tartare, pork roast,and barbecued beans. The roast was enough for six people (or more), but we knew going in that we were going to take a lot home. (If I ever get hungry again, it will be breakfast or lunch.) We had a bit to drink. A cocktail, some wine. We bumped into someone we knew who was alone at the bar and the three of us dined and dished.

It was still early when we packed it up. Fixe is a block from our apartment. We sat down and read a bit and were dozing, but, yes, we roused ourselves and went out again! We walked the five blocks to the Elephant Room and met up with our friends Butch and Linda. I drank a Guinness. FFP was down to diet Coke at that point. We lasted a set and Butch sat in for the final number and it was all we could do. The late show at the Elephant usually goes to 1:30 a.m.

By midnight, I was reading David Foster Wallace's "String Theory" (a collection of heavily foot-noted essays about tennis) in my bed. I fell asleep a few times squinting over the footnotes. And sleep.

Today is Christmas. And Sunday. I plan to publish this without editing and curl up in my chair with The New York Times magazine puzzles and CBS Sunday Morning. Maybe at the end of the day I'll write about my Christmas Day. I bet I don't get out as much as I did yesterday!

A Nostalgia For Simpler Times

The Picture
This is another reflection picture from the car show. Behind me is an old '50's era Chevy in that aqua blue color. These cars didn't come with Blue Tooth.

The Year
The random number generator came up with 1987. Specific memories of that year are elusive. I have some files on my computer where I have typed in some hand-written notes from old notebooks and journals and scraps of paper. I only found this:

12/29/1987 (December 1987)This morning on the way to work I was thinking about how I haven’t been playing tennis or racquetball. Then I thought about the lesson I bought for The Black Tie/Tennis Shoe Auction. I couldn’t remember Jeff Moore’s first name. Other Moores. (Greg for example) kept getting in the way. Even remembered his wife, Lucy. Then other Lucy’s started popping up---Katz for example. Finally about 9:30 I called FFP, but got the answering machine. When he called back and the phone rang---Jeff sprung to mind. I knew all the time that (1) it wasn’t alliterative; and (2) it was one syllable. FFP had lunch yesterday with Dr. Ernest Sharpe. He told Forrest he was losing his memory. Sometimes I’m afraid I’m losing mine a little fast for a 39-year-old woman. 

I'm not exactly sure where I worked at that juncture. It was a time of changing jobs before I landed at my final real job in 1989. It was perhaps a company that was later subsumed by another company and then another. I remember the event in the note (it was to raise money for Women's Athletic scholarships at UT) but not the tennis lesson or whether I ever took it.  I am sort of fascinated by the description of my effort to remember the name of the UT Women's tennis coach which, of course, I don't remember trying to remember. I have to laugh, of course, at my 39-year-old fears. This 65-year-old is both troubled and secretly glad that 1987 is sort of lost in the mists of time. It is either wonderful or sad that this year and this day will be similarly lost.

The Object

I got a haircut yesterday. It's a tiny bit short and the bed head effect was weird so I wore a hat on our walk today. I bought this hat in Normandy (en français, Normandie) in 2004. We went there for the 60th anniversary of D-Day. It was unseasonably hot. I hadn't brought a cap so I bought this one. It has been worn on some hot walks around Austin in the subsequent years. So it has some layers of salt from sweat. I keep too many old hats around but I particularly like this one because it reminds me of a trip and inspires some memories. 

The Last Few Days

I played tennis yesterday and took a walk around Lady Bird Lake today and it occurs to me that I'm happiest when doing these two things. We went out last night and serendipity took us to two favorite hangouts, Bar Congress and Arro, and we enjoyed the food and drink (a bit too much of the latter) and seeing some friends who were with some people we didn't know. Enjoyed a wide-ranging conversation.

Monday we went to hear music at El Mercado on South First. Christine Albert and Jimmy Dale Gilmore. Both yesterday and Monday were last minute choices of where to go and what to do. I like that in a way. Tonight we will probably meet up with a friend who is in town to see his mom. We haven't planned for where or anything.

Use Your Head

Lots of hats and heads in this photo from Let's Dish on South Lamar. (Including a shadow me head with spiky hair, a sort of signature in these photos as you know.)

Lots of thoughts lately all jumbled and unblogged. Some unbloggable, crossing lines I don't cross. (Spell check doesn't like unblogged or unbloggable for the record.)

SXSW is over and a visit from two aunts (one with husband) and two cousins (one with wife) to my Dad is absorbed and recorded. I have once again realized that there is not a winning strategy to a game called 'Spinner' played with double nine dominoes with a wild 'spinner' thrown in and certain family rules. And that these family gatherings will always be familiar in certain fundamental ways.

I'm enjoying my morning, thinking about the movies and music and SXSW and reading some things in The New York Times. Using my head to think about issues and the arts. Interesting essay about a C.P. Snow essay in yesterday's Book Review and a review of a play we might see when we go to New York. I can entertain myself thoroughly by watching movies, reading and then writing and thinking about them. (I also took a quiz on Facebook about 'what writer are you' and it came out Jack Kerouac. That's food for thought. Or impetus for a road trip.)

I didn't get to watch as many movies at the end of SXSW (or as we call it here 'South By') as I would have liked because of the relative invasion. I had to make a trip to the airport on Friday which I dreaded but which turned out to work very smoothly.

On Thursday, we saw "Soul Power" which is made from footage of a 1974 three-day soul music festival in Zaire when Ali and Foreman had the 'rumble in the jungle'. Amazing footage of the musicians and music and some great Ali monologues, too. Made me want to see "When We Were Kings." I thought I was going to have to take my aunt and uncle to dinner, but they went out with Dad and so I got to go with FFP to see "The Way We Get By" which is a doc about troop greeters in Bangor, Maine. Sort of ironic since the aunt and uncle I was ignoring are not that different than the movie people: they are both ex-military and live in Maine. Excellent doc. One of the people profiled was the director's mother. This wasn't clear until the Q&A which, I think, is a good thing. Does that mean that the personal is fine as long as you can take a step back? Maybe the personal is the only thing that works, in some ways. I was giddy to get to see this extra movie when I thought I'd be engaged with the relatives. I'm glad it was a worthwhile effort. I shudder to think what the movies cost me on a per movie basis since we bought badges and pretty late at that, not getting much of a discount. After that movie we went to Taste and had delicious fried chicken and champagne.

Before I had to go to the airport we got time to see "Breaking Upwards." We get wrapped up in docs and the fest is a great time to see them, but it's fun to find an indie narrative that you really like and this was one. The stars were co-writers with another writer, the male lead directed and the stars played people with their own first names. In other words, the film was very personal. It felt 'real' with funny lines and situations tossed away for free like in real life. Sometimes you thought you'd probably missed two or three things because it was going along like life in messy, sometimes irrational directions like life itself. It was very satisfying I think and ended ambiguously without trying in romantic comedy fashion to tie up loose ends. The parents of the leads were beautifully drawn as well as some minor characters.

I had to do further excavation in my car before I went to the airport to find room for relatives' luggage. Uncovered a stack of unread Harper's and The New Yorker magazines I still couldn't recycle. Never will there be enough time for the life of the mind I'd like to pursue. But I did take one inside the airport to wait and had a satisfying few minutes reading. I was early because I was afraid of traffic and finding a short term parking place around the 4:30 arrival of the plane, but it was actually early and so it was good that I didn't cut it close and leave the relatives in the lurch. The rest of the evening consisted for finding a suitable restaurant for dinner for eight, eating homemade pie and playing the aforementioned game about which one can hardly muster a shred of strategic thinking.

Saturday I devoted pretty much the entire day to family. Picked up a couple of things for my dad at the grocery, got his shirts from the laundry and visited with the assembled family and a friend who dropped by. Got through lunch (take-out barbecue brisket and sausage and sides from Rudy's...I had to pick up but not pay...it was a cheap weekend that way), more games, leftovers, several pots of coffee, discussion of family matters and excused myself at nine or so as everyone was winding down. I also excused myself from the next day's activities and departures. There was a time when I wouldn't have done that. That time is passed and I have become more selfish. So be it. Thus I was able to watch the SXSW fireworks from my balcony, make a brief appearance at a party in the building and go to hear a set of music at 1AM on Sunday morning (Partice Pike at Momo's). (Yeah, we never do that, but we did it Sunday and then slept and goofed off the morning.) We ended up catching a set of music from the Jeff Lofton quarter at Belmont in the afternoon and then attended possibly the best anniversary party ever.

Speaking of selfish: I have used my pea brain to decide that I will do my duty but also be a bit selfish. I have been accused of "selfish bordering on narcissistic" in the comments of another blogger. I was misunderstood, I would claim, but that made me realize that commenting in other people's corners is unwise if the topic is serious to anyone. (And lots of things are serious to people.) I decided to save myself from the unsettling arguments by not commenting in such space nor even reading the comments of others or any further messages directed at me there. It is much better to write in your own space and moderate your own comments. I know I'm a selfish person...but I don't need that taken out of context! You must be accurate in your assessment of why I'm an ass or it makes me mad.

So, yeah, I'm enjoying my morning, thinking and reading and doing as I please and going over in mind the things that I want to think about. It's great to have activities. But it's also great to have a day when you can exercise, do chores and think when you feel like it. We are back to a more normal schedule now and that's a good thing.

Cocooning

Today we did some cocooning, just hanging around our place. We did walk about three miles this morning, over to Caffe Medici on W. Lynn with our friend and our God Dog. The dog walked further, detouring up walks and chasing a few squirrels.

Since we have a gym across the hall, it counts as part of the cocoon, although it's a public area. I did forty-five minutes on the bike. I had to use my iPod to pipe Ella Fitzgerald and such into my ears to avoid listening to rap music on an audio source that couldn't be cut off. (I know I said I wouldn't use my iPod in this way. It was an emergency.)

I confess to some depression today. In part it's because my computer setup had a glitch and that always makes me feel bad because I feel so dependent on it which is stupid, I suppose. Fortunately one of my backup schemes saved me. All is well for the moment. Also, the ongoing meltdown of the world makes me depressed and my condo needs cleaning and I have other chores I don't feel like doing. So I worked as much of the NY Times Sunday Magazine crossword as I could (with a couple of Internet cheats and asking FFP some sports questions) and then logged onto this cool site that has the solution and discusses it. I ate the food FFP prepared (because left to my own devices I eat cheese from the frig although I also had a bagel and cream cheese at the coffee shop).

Instead of doing what I should be doing, I downloaded CDs to iTunes. I read some newspapers while displacing from the things I should have been doing, too. I read that Billy Graham was too old and sick to advise Barak Obama. In fact, Barak has yet to get to meet him although Biily would like to 'pray with him.' This is news, my friends, in the era of evangelical politics.

When I was all sweaty from my workout, I got a call from Lifeline Systems that my dad's system had gone off and they couldn't communicate with him. We were halfway out there when they called to say that he was OK and had simply "spilled a beer on his phone device." We continued out there and, sure enough, I think the beer may have disabled the phone. They'll replace it. I wasn't all that worried. Real emergencies don't follow predictable patterns, I find. It did make us get out of the house. We even thought of grabbing dinner out on the way home, but instead came home, relied on FFP's cooking again and watched "Sunset Boulevard" and some football. We drank some delicious wine, too. Cocooning can be a good thing if you don't take it too far.

I Should Be...

I should be working out, I should be cleaning, I should be doing some errands. But. I'm blogging. I have a lunch date with a friend and my father later.

This photo shows me reflected on a giant gadget (an iPhone?) in the Apple Store window. I'm thinking the little things around represent games and such you can download to your phone. I've thought of getting a new phone but not very hard. I'm not sure I want a phone that can do more than phone.

We saw k.d. lang last night. I'd never seen her in person. Things I love about k.d. lang:

1. She is impossibly, completely, irrepressibly herself and damn the consequences.
2. She can take a brilliant song by someone else (Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" last night) and make a chill run through your body that you suddenly realize is going all along the row, all through the audience and at the end they rise to their feet and it's not to beg an encore but it's just that one piece and an appreciation of it that has yanked the audience up.
3. In spite of the above, in spite of the fact that she could cover songs and perhaps be the most popular singer on earth (think Roy Orbison's "Crying" here, too) she does material that is all her own (written by her or for her) and bangs on it over the years and takes her faithful with her. (See number 1.)
   

I enjoyed it. Before that we went to the Austin Club and ate and drank too much. I like the Austin Club. The bartender. Summer, knows our names, our reciprocal number (we aren't really members at all but are in a reciprocity club from another club) and my drink. FFP saw her preparing my drink and realized she was using a different whiskey than I prefer. He said she stopped, thought, poured it out and got out the Woodford Reserve! It's great when people do their job well, isn't it? It's not like we go there all the time. (No, really. We drink all the time. Just not there.) Then she was laughing at herself for not remembering!

Yeah, I'm going to do some of those things I should be doing. Soon. But not until FFP and I finish listening to Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" sung by a bunch of different artists. And not until I finish reading a play by my new friend in New York that she sent us.

Flash Writing

Photo was taken on Second Street and flash went off. Usually I discard these, but this one I like because it looks like a mannequin is lighting something in my face. Anyway....

I decided to 'give' myself some writing time today. I had in mind to do a little cleaning while I was tossing around a few last dreams this morning. Then FFP informed me that we might meet a playwright/film maker for coffee. (This gal is lives in New York and we met her at a panel where after she had ask a question about adapting plays for the screen, FFP asked her a question afterwards about her work.) And he said we'd do that coffee at Jo's. The Jo's on SoCo, not the one three blocks away. I was bleary from being up late. (After the movie last night I read and drank a beer.)

We did hear from her and we tried to make it down there by 8:45 but it was after nine when we got there. We had a long and interesting talk with her and by the end of it we made a plan to perhaps see movie(s) together tonight. FFP and I also decided that we would do Bloomsday in New York City next year.

FFP had to hustle up and walk back to the condo and get his car to go to lunch in the hinterland. (OK, Hyde Park). I decided to take some pictures along SoCo for Austin, Texas Daily Photo and to grab an early lunch. After a bit of snapping, I sat at the bar at Enoteca and had potato and fennel soup with truffle oil and an avocado sandwich. Then I took a turn around Uncommon Objects and walked back.

I was determined to do some of the cleaning I had planned. One way we are trying to save money is to do our own cleaning. Supposedly having only 1200 or so square feet will help in this regard. I'm not much of a maid, however. I don't have a good concept of what cleaning supplies to use and how to efficiently go from room to room. I have decided to use Swifter products. The duster, though, seems less satisfying than my feather duster. In any case, I like throwing some of the dirt right into the trash. Anyway, I did a bit of cleaning. I used to always have advice for the maid we used and get perplexed when she gravitated to things I'd already cleaned. I must say I'd almost rather do it myself.

After the cleaning I should probably have gone across the hall to the gym and exercised. I didn't however. I decided to give myself time to write, remember?

Oh, I was downloading CDs to iTunes. (I'm not sure why I'm doing this project, you may recall, since I don't have an iPod although I do occasionally listen on my computer. But I digress. As I did while I had time to 'write.' I decided to blog. And I wrote in my journal. I checked over the mail and looked up some stuff on our finances. (Another ugly day on Wall Street. I checked some stocks I own and some I don't.)

Soon it was time to shower up to go see a movie.

I was going to use a quote from Ulysses in whatever writing I didn't do. On page 640 on my edition the character Zoe says: "I'm very fond of what I like." Probably this was going to be the title for a blog entry I didn't do.

So it's time to go to a movie. So I couldn't possibly write a word beyond this sentence.

Artist's Negative Space

At MOMA they had a small collection of Allan McCollum's Shapes. He conceived this idea of being able to make a small work of art for each person in the world. The shapes are computer-generated and, quoting the MOMA info, "His system has the capacity to produce thirty-one billion shapes, far more than peak–population estimates for the mid–twenty–first century, when a decline is predicted to set in." A lot of them look like forgotten countries. I photographed this display with two interesting people. Two unique individuals partly in motion.

The conversation at my lunch on Wednesday wound around to an affliction (as I called it, not my companion) that my lunch buddy began suffering after being hit by a truck. (I think it was a truck, although a passenger truck, but he was walking.) He's 'lucky' I guess that the only apparent result manifested in a loss of smell and taste for some but not all things. (It seems like a big deal to me actually.) I had offered some of my pizza. After he ate it I asked, "Can you still taste garlic?"

"No."

"Well, lots of garlic. Have to gargle today!"

"Thanks. There is nothing like garlic breath at the gym!"

I started joking about someone spotting for him and being bowled over by garlic breath and letting him drop a weight on his chest.

But we got around to talking about this loss of sensation. He said one friend of his thought maybe the changes in his brain from the injury had actually fueled his writing. He said he felt music in a new way since the accident.

So is our art, the unique things we produce, the sum of our unique afflictions and not our unique abilities? When we are blocked, is our competence overwhelming us?

Is my bloggy writing entertaining? Are my shop window and museum pictures that don't require(willing) models or a particular adeptness with a camera beautiful to some? Art even? Am I working within the negative space of my limitations? Is that the only place we have? Do I blog because the form fits my mental restrictions? (My buddy is disinterested in writing anything but plays. Why?) If it's good (big question), is it good because of the things I cannot do as opposed to the things I can?

Did Allan McCollum come up with his mass-produced but one-of-a-kind works because of a particular affliction?

If I am creating anything in my bloggy space, it is definitely somewhat a product of shyness, attention deficit, fear of judgment, etc. And what are these things but infirmities?

Of course, when we explore artists who lost vision, musicians who lost hearing (or use of one hand) and writers who were unable to actually type or write or perhaps even say words, we find some great creations. In spite of? Because of?

As a last thought, and going back to the first in this series (Writer's Negative Space), memoirs need adversity. That must be true or would-be memoir writers wouldn't make some up! Do some of us lack enough pain to write certain things? Clearly not because they can be invented and convincingly so.

Have Your Self A Merry Little Christmas

We went to a tamale feed (actually they had all kinds of Tex-Mex including chili and inexplicably, coconut shrimp) and drinks party some folks gave at Santa Rita Cantina since they are sort of between houses. This is a peek in a tiny home furnishing store in the same shopping center, 26 Doors. After Christmas, life-size Santas and elaborate nutcrackers can be yours to store for next year---at a discount.

My title today is a song. Of course, you say. But what movie is it from and who sang it? That's my trivia question for today in honor of Jette, one of our hosts for Holidailies. Jette is, of course, a movie expert and published critic.

We plan to take our parents quite early to Threadgill's for a feed. Then back here to open gifts. Which reminds me: must turn the heat up a bit in the 'opening gifts' room.

From the song mentioned, a song twinged with sadness because of the circumstances of the movie, "Through the years we will all be together, if the fates allow." We don't know what 2008 will bring, but celebrate with your loved ones who are close by today and "make the yuletide gay."

No soundtrack, no moving pictures, just accessories

In the eighties, for a very short time, I had a cassette WalkMan and a few tapes and I thought "I'm making a soundtrack for my life!" Then the thing started bugging me wanting its batteries replaced all the time. I have listened to CDs and cassettes in my car, of course, but I am more likely to listen to the books or language tapes. Or hit the scan button on the radio and listen to rap/classical/talk/some Spanish talk/some static/some country/some rock never stopping so long as to tax my attention deficit disorder. I rarely listen to tunes while sitting at the computer or whatever. I don't have an iPod or an MP3 player. So, no, my life doesn't have a soundtrack.

But just for the sake of argument I fired up Rhapsody (we have an account because FFP likes to shuffle through music looking for stuff) while I wrote this. I had to install new software it had been so long since I started it. Of course, we only have one account so I don't usually use it since only one can sign on at a time. (And he hasn't really forgiven me for cutting a CD with a dozen versions of 'Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas' for a party. He hated it and then later became addicted to playing it in the car in the middle of the summer.)

So I wrote this with first "Turtle Blues" playing (sang by Janis Joplin on the "Cheap Thrills" album) and then various artists doing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." And I did come out of the Alamo the other night singing "Piece of my Heart" (same Janis album) after seeing "Romance and Cigarettes."

But...my life has no soundtrack and no moving pictures. I can't remember songs and lyrics very well. Although sometimes when I hear a song, it does take me back to another time. (Usually the '60's!) My life has accessories like bendy Santas and still pictures of those, mostly. This year, though, the bendy Santas are still under the stairs.

My SXSW Movies, Part 6

Our idea was to see a movie about Roller Derby at 4:30 (yes, another doc.) and then go straight to the Paramount for a narrative feature.

Parking wasn't that easy. We decided to pay $10 for a place two blocks from where we will live some day.

So while things were blooming in my backyard (see picture) only the dog was enjoying it. She was banished to the outdoors so we could stay downtown a long time.

We were in plenty of time to queue for the movie Hell on Wheels. Our friend Jette and locally famous film dude Bryan Poyser sat by us. Actually, maybe Jette is locally famous and Bryan is nationally famous. Anyway, it was interesting hearing about their festival. Jette is writing for Cinematical and so has to scribble notes while eating her pizza. The movie is about the resurgence of Roller Derby in Austin. It was a pretty good film. There were lots of tattoos, lots of fake violence, lots of ego and then a suppression of ego. And the movie contains one of those moments when you see an injury on the screen that makes your stomach do flips. (Nothing fake about that injury.) I didn't lose my Asian chicken salad, though. We slipped out before the Q&A and got to the Paramount to queue up for the next movie.

FFP chose a narrative feature called Bella and he made an excellent choice. The acting, cinematography and set dressing was wonderful. The story was a little sappy but the other things were so good that all was forgiven. Basically the premise is that two damaged people can make something complete.

We decided to have a snack afterward and we slid into 219 West for some decent wine and apps. Not an SXSW venue they weren't terribly crowded. A strange little trio called Accoustic Jungle played innocuous instrumentals.

My SXSW Movies, Part 5

Today FFP is picking the movies. But I was the culprit yesterday. One out of two isn't bad.

Yesterday we headed downtown in a windy drizzle. The first parking lot we tried was full. We barely got a place in the next one. We got in for $6, however, and got to stay in the spot a lot of hours.

We headed to the Paramount to wait for our documentary. This movie was pretty (amazing storm footage and scenery and chromed up trucks) and ugly (let's face it...truck stops), sensitive and insightful. Big Rig is a documentary about truckers and the land they are crisscrossing bringing us goods from everywhere. I think I saw Doug Pray's other doc (Scratch) and this one really works and introduces you to the world of other citizens of our country. I enjoyed it. It was the kind of movie where when a couple of the participant truckers came up after, someone asked one of them about his health and his son who had been in Iraq.

We decided to eat at the Capitol Brasserie bar. Happy Hour here is a bargain. We had a big plate of calamari, mussels and pommes frites and a carafe of wine (which we ordered a half carafe at a time). The bill was 25.70 before tip. That house white wine was good, too, like the simple wines served in French cafés with a touch of slate and a touch of sweetness.

We headed out to queue up for the next movie. We had decided, after thirteen doc features, to see a narrative film. The Lather Effect comes almost twenty-five years after The Big Chill. It attempts to do for the graduates of the mid-eighties what Chill did for graduates of the mid-sixties. Now, my first disclaimer is that naturally since Chill was my generation I was more predisposed to it. I thought all the Lather music completely forgettable. A sound track of would go a long way toward being a sound track that would take me back to the day. (Absent the Janis and Beatles.) I also thought the premise for people showing up was better in Chill (someone died) than Lather (someone's parents were selling their house?). A lot of Lather didn't ring true. I wasn't convinced that one gal returned to meet up with someone you don't see. (They had a character you don't see. There is a party and the whole movie is after the party and one of the guys went to jail? Is this a nod to the dead body of Kevin Costner?) I couldn't be convinced that someone had that much furniture left in a house they were selling the next day either. Oh. Well. It's just a different generation. And we were less than usually predisposed to a film. It started a full half hour late. While we waited we were standing in front of the (closed) State theater. FFP stepped out of line and went back a bit to talk to someone he knew. There was a noise like a shot and the glass in the door behind me shattered. Apparently something was propelled from the street by a car or truck tire and broke the window. A guy standing next to me said he saw something go right by my head. FFP said he always is a few steps away from disaster. (He has August 1, 1966 syndrome.) Anyway, after it was already quite late, Matt Dentler yammered about how he was being short and the director Sarah Kelly came out and yammered on before the movie. I'm sure she did after also. This is one of those 'special screenings.' They always seem to get shown because someone knows someone. (Or because someone is in it like Connie Britton who stars in the series Friday Night Lights which films here in Austin. I love that show, by the way, and her role in it. She didn't move me in this movie.)

Conclusion: I'm twenty years too old for The Lather Effect. Big Rig is about people who could easily be related to me. It's about a world I'm only baby steps away from and yet I'm miles from there. After we saw Big Rig and were sitting in Cap Brasserie drinking wine, I told FFP about the one and only time I rode in a large truck. Then I told him that it was the same day I started drinking coffee and liking it. I continued to tell him about the first time I liked beer, straight tequila and beef tartare. He said he'd never heard any of these stories. That is a miracle, I think. I thought we knew all of each other's stories.

Well, it's time to head off to the seventh day of film feast, er fest. Wish FFP luck on his picks.

My SXSW Movies, Part 4

We are getting to be experts at the logistics of SXSW. Last night we headed downtown in the rain. So far, we have completely avoided parties. We got a whole envelope full of notices about parties we were entitled to attend with our badges. What a laugh. We don't do crowded bars well. We'd rather pay for food and drink and have it in comfort at our convenience.

But this party was for a movie we were going to see and our friends were involved...one as the PR firm and one as an investor.

It was raining when we got downtown but not too hard. We captured a parking spot roughly between where the party was and where the movie was to be shown.

At first we thought the party was a bust. It was in a small bar that was supposedly reserved for the party at 8:30 but was full of a happy hour crowd listening to a band called the Jitterbug Vipers. Sure enough they managed to displace these folks and move in the movie party. We found a couple of seats at the bar, had a free drink and talked to our friend in charge of PR. We learned that the movie's producers and directors had been able to sell tickets in advance that pre-empted badge holders. Hmmm. The director kindly gave us a couple of these so we could jump the badge line. We eschewed a second free drink and FFP bought a CD from the band. (They are good. Happy Hour every Tuesday at Lambert's. Catch their act.) We headed out for the theater. We knew it would be crowded. But, of course, we jumped the line and got the seats no one realizes are the best in the house. (I'm not saying where they are. Figure out the Paramount for yourself.) We sat with a Canadian lawyer who actually says 'eh' every sentence or two. We met her at another film. The movie was about lawyers and the bar exam.

A Lawyer Walks into A Bar... is about the bar exam in California. It follows six people taking the exam and intersperses lawyer jokes, interviews with lawyers and laymen about lawyers. Although it was disjointed here and there it really had a lot of great information and the people we were following were interesting. Warning: Spoilers follow. One went to a sort of alternative law school and was finally not allowed to take the exam on some technicality. One person was taking the exam for the 42nd time. One person you were certain wouldn't pass, but she did. One you hoped would fail and she did. One guy was on his third try. One woman had a small child she left to her artist companion while she studied and you weren't surprised she passed. The companion's art was interesting. They had some footage of old time Texas lawyers at work (in spite of the CA bar exam they interviewed lawyers everywhere) and that was hilarious. They also talked to Joe Jamail. Can you say old time Texas power brokers?

One of the lawyers interviewed said that when she took the bar exam that a guy lost his breakfast just as the proctor said 'begin.' And she said everyone just ignored it and kept writing.

And so I dreamed that people were running around asking if you could find a person's DNA in their vomit.

If you are a lawyer or if you talk about going 'back to law school' you should see the movie. Others will enjoy it, too.

Well, today we may see two movies. And one of them is not a documentary. I sort of hate to break the record (12 full length docs, 1 doc short) but everyone needs to branch out. Besides this one has Eric Stoltz in it. Isn't he like the chief actor you know you've seen before of the Indie world?