My Austin FIlm Festival, Part 5

[Photo is of the Signs at Butler Dance Education Center and our building reflected in an SUV window parked by the ballet. I'm feeling a little askew myself. I haven't driven my car, I don't think, since last Wednesday. I didn't leave the building yesterday until we walked to Long Center. It's a weird life in a way.]

The conference is over so chances to meet celebrities, hear writers talk about writing and attend script readings are fading. It's about the movies through Thursday and we only have through Wednesday because of another commitment. So...choose carefully? Or choose randomly? Of course, the latter. Based on timing and location and the blurbs in the info we chose two films that sounded like comic/dramas. A friend went along who likes one of the actors from a sit-com.

The films were at the Rollins. They threw us another curve walking over. Just twelve feet of the west pedestrian bridge on S. First was blocked. This was apparently to keep pedestrians from stumbling into concrete pourings in the dark. Only, well coming from the north you would have already done so. We had to go 150 feet back west down a steep path that is big enough for a car (and not blocked to cars so someone could easily turn down it and come to a bumpy end on the hike and bike). There we intersected the hike and bike and could go up a new (as of a week or two ago) path to intersect the ped bridge just beyond the twelve feet that were fenced off. It's making me crazy this project that never ends that inconveniences cars, yes, but especially walkers. I get this way when I haven't started my car since last Wednesday. But enough about getting to the venue.

First we saw "A Quiet Little Marriage" which was paired with a short, "Carry On." The short left one thinking about overhearing people in public and making certain assumptions. It was everything a short should be, revealing characters but leaving us with just a hint of their lives, like a short story. Then we were plunged into that quiet little marriage. Really Olive and Dax have a kind of idyllic, adult life but it turns out the world is going to put up a few more challenges for them. It was interesting seeing them work out their own little crisis, but the curves thrown at them by people around them really propelled the story. And just as the short knew when to end, so did this feature. It ended at the point that not everything is resolved but much is revealed. We queued up again to see "Shades of Ray."

The leads were handsome in the way that mixed race people often are although the male lead, Zachary Levi, is according to my friend who went with us, Jewish. The female lead, Sarah Shahi, has an Iranian father and a Latino mother apparently. One theme of the movie is how mixed race folks feel lost between cultures. The film is light-hearted and funny and brings home its messages in a package that amused throughout. Some of the minor characters weren't as believable as one might hope for, but they were accomplished actors and funny.

This last film was more relevant to the election, I think, than "W." Much has been made of Obama as a black man. But he is really more 21st century American than that. He is one of an ever growing number of Americans who count racial background in different columns and who are influenced by step family members. I think this trend constitutes hope for understanding on the one hand but I'm sure we will still find in the next few hundred years ways to hate one another by artificially adopting religions and political persuasions to separate ourselves. We have a need to fight pitched battles in groups with firm ideological differences. In a scene between the young Ray and his best friend Sal (seen later as his goofy roommate, well-played if a little over the top by Franz Kranz), Ray asks if Sal sees him as brown or white. The answer is something like "you're just Ray."

The film festival winds down. We will probably catch Philip Seymour Hoffman in "Synecdoche, New York" tonight. I mean is has Hoffman in it, its directed by Charlie Kaufman and its title is a pun. [By the way, I went to my dictionary site to look it up and, coincidence coming, it was the word of the day. I have a friend who would imbue such a thing with lots of meaning. I told FFP and we said "Call Bob!"]

My Austin FIlm Festival, Part 4

We decided to mix things up and go to a script reading and some docs yesterday. The reading of the script "Mine" (Drama screenplay winner by Anita Skibski) was a tour de force with a bunch of actors doing the reading. This is the first script reading we had attended at the festival (we'd been to other script readings of movie and play scripts before). I enjoyed it although I did use one piece of my brain to work on the Sunday New York Times magazine crossword puzzle.

We read, napped (and I watched some recorded episodes of Jeopardy while finishing said puzzle, cheating only a little). Then we met up with a friend who lives in our building, went to Royal Blue for some snacks and drinks and walked over to the Rollins Theater at the Long Center. This would be an easier walk if the City of Austin wasn't taking three years to improve Cesar Chavez and the Hike and Bike. A digression I know, but I am SO sick of the mess to use the First Street pedestrian bridge. The other day I saw six workers watching women on the Hike and Bike while one guy poured a concrete footing for a post to keep cars from driving into the Lake and one guy watched that guy. I'm serious. My tax dollars at work.

We were almost the first people to queue for the movie. There was a technical problem and it didn't start until 45 minutes late. There was a performance at the Dell and so there was catering and I had a Shiner Bock to top off my Orangina I had on the way over. I never did eat the energy bar I bought in case I got hungry.

The first doc was "The American Widow Project." I didn't think I would like this one too much. The women in the movie are very young, most are mothers and their husbands (and in one case the widow, too) had committed to the military as careers. I'm more sympathetic with Viet Nam era vets and widows, especially where the guys were drafted. I'm in awe of WWII vets. But I digress. I didn't expect much from this. However, I was surprised. I couldn't really relate to these women. (Married younger than I did and widows before they knew it, little kids, etc.) But the story was told well. I came at the end to see the dramatic arc of these stories as they were revealed through the interviews, stills, home movies, news footage, etc. The woman who made the movie,Taryn Davis, with the help of Don Swaynos was there. She is a widow herself and she also starte a project to connect and help military widows. Two of the other widows in the movie were also there. I am very impressed with the movie because the real stories were told so well and represented a larger group and a larger truth about this era and I am also moved by the effort of these young people to help themselves.

The second doc I expected to like. It was called "Happiness Is..." and the blurbs led me to believe it might be a nice peripatetic trip around the U.S. full of kitsch and characters in a (vain) search for happiness. That sounded like fun. It turned out to be a movie that overused a drugged out woodcarver and Matthew Dowd. There was a pretend 'discovery' that doing good and being spiritual were the keys to happiness. La. Ti. Da. I came out of it asking my companions (1) If Matthew Dowd was gay. He was wearing clothes and jewelry that made me wonder. (2) If he really didn't imagine that Bush-Cheney might initiate a war. (3) If he understood that his son volunteered for the military. I'm not against theories like "you get more than you give" and such but I was geared up for some people I could relate to. Happiness scholars? Hrrumph. Willie reading a script. (Willie Nelson that is. He seemed to have agreed to say whatever for a quick interview. Not that it doesn't believe in giving, except to the tax man. Hard to disagree with that.)

Anyway, I wasn't happy with it. Ha. There was a rabbi saying all religions are the same. Well, no. And yes, but. Some religions would consign all other practitioners of other faiths to some kind of hell. Most believe non-believers are destined to some such fate. Many wars and atrocities can be lain at the feet of religions and I'm not talking about Muslims in the 21st century either. The rabbi said 'no religion came up with anything new.' Well, how about this: I just invented a religion. This religion believes that there is a life after this one of profound happiness and unending joy. No one on this earth from Mother Teresa to Jeffrey Dammler is barred from this second world. All of us end there. What we do on earth just enhances this low sad life stage for ourselves or others. No faith required to enter the kingdom of heaven. Maybe there is a religion that professes such a view. But it is far, far from the Judeo-Christian-Muslim canon of prayer, faith and atonement. As soon as you concoct this religion you see why it wouldn't be popular. No religious leaders are necessary to guide you. Unemployment for those involved in leading religious groups, printing religious texts, building religious complexes. Oops. Better hope my religion doesn't catch on. And, of course, it won't. I like to watch televangelists now and again and they are more entertaining than this movie. Sorry. Was I not supposed to be entertained? I guess not.

We walked back to the condo and watched "Mad Men" off the DVR. I like this show although the Don Draper thread is a bit bizarre. They are exploring lots of foibles and prejudices of the early sixties (a message is there yes) in a very entertaining way.

[The photo, completely unrelated to the post, is of a work of public art in a park near the East Bouldin Creek Greenbelt. I mean it could be a comedy (or tragedy) mask, I guess. I just feel I should always give you a picture.]

My Austin FIlm Festival, Part 3

Yesterday we attended the awards lunch. Our table mates included an older woman and a very young man who were (1) vegetarians; and (2) had been semi-finalists in the competition apparently. (They didn't appear to know one another.) Another guy (mid range in age...40?) was also a semi-finalist, apparently, and had written a book for children about screenwriting which he was promoting to Tom Skerritt who sat by me after mid-range age guy had rejected sitting there saying the view was blocked. He switched around by Tom when he showed up. Lastly, the table contained a couple who said they were guests and who apparently knew someone who was in the competition. After the man said he was a 'financial and estate planner' and had 3000 clients who'd 'never lost a penny,' we carefully avoided conversation with them. The rest of the seats at the table were empty (two or three). We enjoyed hearing about Danny Boyle and Gregg Daniels and seeing the reels about their careers. Lots of the competition winners weren't present to accept their awards. A sign of the economy, I suppose.

We decided to go home and do some chores (financial, not cleaning house which I do need to do) and then try to do a double feature at two different venues.

We queued up at the Paramount to see "Adam Resurrected." This movie was riveting and yet hard to watch. Only fantasy and looking away, the clown magician's sleight of hand, can really capture things like the Holocaust. Jeff Goldblum was incredible as were all the actors. Isn't it interesting that the only way we can get ourselves to look at some things is fleetingly in a misty haze with damaged people made endearing. "The Tin Drum" comes to mind in this vein.

We hustled south, peeking in bar windows to see the Horns running over the Missouri team in the first half of the football game that was going on at the University. We scooted across the lake to the Rollins Theater at Long Center. While waiting for the movie in Rollins, we saw people who were attending the Anton Nel concert with the Austin Symphony. We saw "I'll Come Running" and Spencer Parsons, the director, was there to answer questions. This tragi-comedy indie had much to like. We enjoyed the Austin scenes and the movie really dug into all the relationships people develop and how circumstances push us together and apart, in this case across the ocean to Denmark. (The Denmark scenes were cool, too.) I liked it while watching it and after but it grew on me even more today.

We ended the evening flying through the recording of the Longhorn game. I went out on the balcony to look at the tower to make sure Missouri didn't make a miracle comeback and then lost interest. But, yeah, we were up late. But it didn't keep us from getting up this morning and walking down to South First to El Mercado for a Mexican breakfast.

My Austin Film Festival, Part 2

[Picture is a reflection in a toy store shop window of a tie die Keep Austin Weird T-Shirt.]

Rule Number One of Film Festivals: You will not see half of what you put on your tentative schedule. Rule Number Two: You will meet interesting people.

We did see a panel today. It was about the Dramatic Story. There were some interesting panelists. This fellow Jeff Nathanson who did the "Catch Me If You Can" script said that every script needs to have a sort of 'original moment' that you build around. The twin brothers Alex and Andrew Smith ("The Slaughter Rule" is their main claim to fame and I haven't seen it) were very interesting. They both teach now. Alex provided a couple of good quotes.

Make the character a mess....Even Superman is a mess...he's two people at once, he's an orphan.

and

Something that happens is an event. A movie is a journey.

We also saw a Shorts Program. It was Shorts Program 6 but the programmers could have called it "Puberty and Young Love." It burst with the confusion of the attraction of one human animal to another, concluding with something that I think could safely be called "Geek Love with Apology to Fellini" but was actually called "Outcasts."

We saw a teen prom flick called "Bart Got a Room" in the early evening. This flick used its lead well and used William H. Macy effectively as the kid's father. Somehow they resembled one another. It wasn't really the kind of film you'd expect Macy to be in. The Florida setting was given a leading role, too. It was just fun.

We slipped out of film fest mode and went to a party for Austin Chronicle's Stephen Moser's birthday. It was amazing and we saw a lot of our friends although it was at Pangaea, a bar I don't get and would never go to if there wasn't an event there. We stopped over at Ruth's Chris after and sat in the bar and watched people stream in for the film festival party. But we never really joined that jostle, just greeting a few people who were.

Film. Food. Drink. And we walked to it all, too. Living downtown is great in that way. Also, there was lots of street theater today including a woman dressed in what appeared to be a wedding dress and tiara shouting across Lavaca at some guy then sitting down with another woman at a table at Austin Java. Mascara was streaked on her face. It had to be someone doing a movie, I decided, but I saw no cameras.

My Austin Film Festival, Part 1

The picture is from one of the shops in that South Lamar Center that includes the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema (South Lamar). Film presenters are, these days, very skittish about cameras and camera phones. Apparently you can shoot an entire feature film in shaky two-minute segments on your point 'n shoot digital and send it to China. Well at least post outtakes of Oliver Stone's "W." with Josh Brolin talking with his mouth full on YouTube. So this picture will have to do for visual entertainment while I talk about my impressions of the Film Festival.

Bare in mind: (1) I don't make films, I just watch them. And I'm not even a professional critic like my friend Jette. (2) I end up spending more quality time talking to friends and FFP or people we meet than really 'reviewing' the festival. Nevertheless, I have opinions. Who doesn't?

I love going to panel discussions and hearing real writers tell how hard it was to get inspiration from head to page to movie. As my faithful readers know I practice not writing. And these panels convince me that the pesky screen play form is not for me. I'll keep my unwritten stuff in novel, poem and short story form. Poem? Not really. Doggerell maybe. But I digress. The festival.

We managed to shake off the vodka martinis and Dos Equis we drank with the fabulous food at the Film and Food Young Filmmakers benefit and go to two panels. We love panel discussions as I said and these had speakers I really enjoyed. One was entitled "Shot of Inspiration" and the other "Common Mistakes Writers Make." Really it doesn't matter what the title is because in the former you get the 'where ideas come from' out of the way and then talk about war stories and movie people antecdotes. In the latter, you get 'two brads or three and no cute covers' out of the way and then do the same. Not really, but I love hearing people talk about what they do, what's worked, etc.

In last year's 'Shot of Inspiration' Dan Petrie passed out shots of booze. That was a surprise, but this year the speakers were Polly Platt and Herschel Weingrod. Polly has been involved with several movies that are, to me, iconic. As a writer, "Pretty Baby" and as a productions designer "Last Picture Show." She was involved with Peter Bogdanovich, but I've heard Polly before and she is an astute woman with a great eye for talent and a wide-ranging intellect. She also has an eye for the ridiculous and she looks at the world as a story with built-in metaphor. She forgets names of the great and not-so-great and asks the audience for help in filling these blanks.

Herschel was interesting talking about how "Trading Places" (one of my all time favorites) and how he managed to make a 'subversive' comedy. He portrayed the long winding road to 'success' with humility and humor.

The "Common Mistakes Writers Make" went through the usual physical appearance bits, the too long, too short, etc. but the speakers were obviously hard-working writers. Stuart Kelban teaches at UT and so is uniquely positioned to talk about mistakes as he shepherds many student scripts. But he writes his own, too. Yaphet Smith is a young local guy we talked to while standing around last year. I don't know that any script he's written has been produced. But he is so interesting and self-possessed. He hammered away at his idea that unless everything in the movie promotes its theme, you aren't doing your job.

Best quote from these two panels came from Herschel Weingrod, I think. "The script is an invitation to make the movie. It's not the movie." See, that's why I don't write screenplays. They are just jumping off places. I'd prefer to not write finished works. [Ed. Then why do you constantly rewrite blog entries. LB. Typos? Yeah, well, anyway.]

We stocked up on food and drink at Ruth's Chris where a gaggle of Yellow Dog Democrats from the Texas Observer and friends were also waiting to see Oliver Stone's "W." It turns out from a little WEB surfing that this is unoriginal criticism but WTF was this about? One minute I thought we were in a Shakespearean tragedy about a son trying to please a father and the next I thought I was in the best SNL skit ever. And, I'm sorry, but does the real W. eat every meal with his mouth open and his fingers popping in that mouth? Rent "JFK" and "Born on the Fourth of July" for good Oliver Stone. See this one because, why not see Richard Dreyfus protray Dick Cheney and Toby Jones protray Karl Rove as a homosexual? Don't look for a message, though, beyond the obvious "George W. Bush screwed up the entire world in the last eight years because he is stupid and trying to impress his Dad." That may be entirely true or the truth may be more nuanced, but there it is. Not an original insight. The only celebrity at the opening was James Cromwell. Oddly, I believed him as Prince Phillip in "Queen" but watching him here just kept bringing to mind that dippy role he had in "Six Feet Under." He spoke before about how important this film is as a sort of political history. Um, no. "Bush's Brain" was all that. Of course, it was a documentary. This was a confection. One you may enjoy, but it doesn't dig into aspects of history that might not be obvious like "JFK" does.

Well, we could have listened to James speak after the movie or queued to see another movie. What we actually did was go with a friend to Ruth's Chris again and discuss "W." while eating and drinking. FFP watched the baseball game. (A pillar intervered with my watching but a play-by-play from FFP and other patrons watching was interesting.)

So, after Part 1 of the festival I have to say: the Manhattans and the carpaccio at Ruth's Chris are to die for! And I love being amidst the movie folk.

In the Yellow

I shot FFP the other day at UT 'inside' a sculpture that invites walking into.

I was in a funk all day. It rained. I felt powerless to do anything positive in several arenas. I wanted to be excited about going to the film festival, but it didn't really feel right.

Then I had a computer problem with connecting printers on my VMware Windows. I hate it when something quits working. Particularly when it quits workig by hanging tasks all over the place. I dreaded trying to boot to fix it because I've had some issues restarting with VMware and I'm wary. So I backed up stuff all over the place so I could go back to a Snapshot and restore data. Then the restart worked and fixed the problem. It's funny how something working for a change makes one feel better. I hate that it matters that much to me, though.

We had a pretty good time this evening. We started over at the Butler Dance Education Center by going to a presentation about the ballet performance next week. There were dance demonstrations, portions of the show presented and lots of good educational stuff to help you appreciate it more. After that we walked over to the Driskill for the Film and Food benefit for the Young Film Makers Program of Austin Film Festival. They had a couple of dozen restaurants passing out great food and lots of Tito's Vodka martinis and Dos Equis Beer. We saw people we knew, met some new ones and except for it being too loud to talk here and there we had a great time. Still I was a little miffed at the computer until I got it working again the way I wanted.

I thought of two other books I didn't write (or four depending on how you count). I was going to write a book or a screenplay (or maybe a documentary) called The Nancys. And, long, long ago I was going to write a set of three novels that would have references among themselves. There would be a novelist in one who wrote a novel that would actually be one of the other novels. Stuff like that. Yes, I actually thought it was clever. I set one of these novels in a future where everything was run smoothly with technology, but some people still choose to live 'outside.' Yeah, I believe I thought that was clever and original, too.

And so it goes. I'm going to go to the film festival and the ballet in the next ten days and I'm going to see the result of other people's artistic efforts and visions. And I will continue to be 'pretending to write but really just blogging.'

My Unwritten Books

One reason I've never written any of my books, leaving them all unwritten is that I have a fear of plagiarism. Will I unwittingly think some sentence or phrase or idea is my own and fail to faithfully attribute it?

Of course, My Unwritten Books is a book by George Steiner so the title of this entry is itself a plagiarism. [How many people, do you think, can spell plagiarism without looking it up? Digression. That's another enemy of my book writing.]

I'm itching to buy Mr. Steiner's book from Amazon. So it could join all the other unread books around here.

Mr. Steiner is a polyglot and polymath, according to Wikipedia. That assertion makes me envious and makes me feel small as the speaker of 1.1 languages (I speak enough French to qualify as a backward toddler) and the master of virtually no field of endeavor.

I was moved to write about what I have not written by a couple of clippings I found in a box of photos that I was sorting. One, from a 2002 New York Times OP-ED page was by Joseph Epstein. Entitled "Think you have a book in you? Think Again" he argues to not, as he puts it "add to the schlock pile." (It should be noted that Mr. Epstein has himself contributed several books to the publishing stream. I have actually read one of them and I think it is somewhere in this condo.)

The other article, from the Book Review in that same paper from the very next day's issue, was a celebration by Bruce McCall of his brother-in-law, John Jerome, who wrote books that never brought him fame, but who celebrated and loved the writing itself. The non-fiction books, their titles at least, speak of mastery and research and care for details. (I haven't read any of them, but On Turing Sixty-Five sounds tempting since I'm now old enough to realize that I'll reach that age without writing a book!)

But, what have I failed to write?

• A novel (or a screenplay...it is such a nascent work it really doesn't matter) about a woman and the effect when this woman dies in a plane crash leaving behind a husband, elderly parents and in-laws and a trusted assistant, all dependent on her for one thing or another. She is a bit autobiographical but neatly avoids most or maybe all of my own failings. Called 'Hole in the Water' the novel refers to the site of the crash (the ocean) and to the woman's absence from a water aerobics class. The entire book (or screenplay) may or may not be set after the event. Or maybe it's a flashback.
• A novel called Pogonip. The eponymous title character has a surname that is actually an obscure word meaning ice fog. He has run from tragedy into wealth until he can maintain multiple homes around the world and spend lots of money sending friends on elaborate 'games' using the map of the earth as the playing board. He doesn't really engage thoroughly with people in person, but his arm's length approach to life is interrupted when several players go to Berlin instead of Paris in the midst of one of the games he has financed and invented and are the unwitting victims of a terrorist bombing. This piece has been hanging over my head, necessitating a trip to Berlin to see in person something that was constructed since I was last there. It has its roots in intentional encounters with friends in faraway places.
  
• A short story which grew into a novel because, you know, if you don't actually write something it keeps growing. It explores the nature of truth beginning with the chance witnessing of a hit and run accident by someone who is somewhere they are not, technically, supposed to be. A serious crime witnessed by someone committing a misdemeanor. This one didn't have a name, I didn't think. It was originally in a collection of unwritten short stories that included one about a stone wall, I knew that. I thought that they were mostly in my head, titles and ideas included. I've considered combining this one with the one above in a giant novel for the purposes of not writing. At some point, the protagonist and the victim of the hit and run were revealed to me as being natives of Odessa. Odessa, Texas that is. And I needed to take a trip there to lend authenticity to a couple of ideas. [It turns out that I'd actually saved a document containing proposed titles and blurbs about the stories in that original, unwritten collection. When I found it on my computer just now, I only vaguely remembered the other story ideas besides the two mentioned. The title of this one that has grown out of control in my head was to be "Behind the Screen." There was another story in there called "Avalanche" based on something that happened to me as a kid. Another called "No Load-Bearing Walls" was vaguely familiar. Another entitled "The Next Apartment" had this blurb: "On relationships and envy of same." Although one (you or I) can imagine the story, I remember not one thing about its potential structure.]
  
• A screenplay that is technically not mine but a friend's (I was just helping or hindering or encouraging with some tasks like organizing a time line and dialog bits). She doesn't want the plot revealed so enough said about that. I think the material is on a WEB page with a logon and password I've forgotten. As you see above, I'm not so squeamish about telling what I remember of unwritten plots and would say even more about the ones above but you would only laugh. Laugh more than you are already laughing. And I would be making stuff up on the fly that I don't really remember committing to in the ephemeral plot in my imagination.
  
• A self-help book about packing, traveling and divesting oneself of unnecessary things. Seriously, I thought I could help others in this regard. Ha.

There must be others. Can this really be a life's collection of unwritten works!? How sad there can't be more when actually writing them, let alone getting them published, isn't required. However, my restraint, it turns out, is admirable. Joseph Epstein says in the above-mentioned article:

Misjudging one's ability to knock out a book can only be a serious and time-consuming mistake. Save the typing, save the trees, save the high tax on your own vanity. Don't write that book, my advice is, don't even think about it. Keep it inside you, where it belongs.

Good advice, I think. I think I'll let my self-help advice be just that and let my characters continue to grow and mature and change inside my head. It'll save me a trip to Berlin not to mention Odessa.

[Today's photo was taken on W. Sixth using a gift shop there as a lens. One wonders how many shops selling what we call 'gee-gaws' will be shuttered in the current economic crisis.]

Lost and Found

The black mood lifted. I'm not sure when. I kept thinking "I've lost my sense of humor." I was cataloging physical things I'd lost. But I knew they didn't really matter. They weren't irreplaceable.

But that wasn't it. It wasn't physical stuff and it wasn't my sense of humor. I'd lost my sense of wonder. And with it the world's power to entertain me had faded.

When it came back, I suddenly found weeds and trash interesting and was, as usual, intrigued by how different each person is from all the rest of us and yet how many things we share.

So I escaped the black cave once again. By Friday morning I could smile at one of my brokerage pages that couldn't handle the four digit drop in the Dow. I laughed after considering putting some money into a stock and not pulling the trigger to see it up two and a half points on the day, a down day for the Dow with volatility that made ending down 128 seem like a victory.

Today some guys walked by the tennis court where I was playing and in spite of wearing a cap and having his head turned some little mannerism assured me that one of them was a certain acquaintance of mine. Voices drifted over from a Men's Saturday workout and I recognized the head pro and other friends. This gave me pleasure for some reason. As did the hits and misses of the tennis balls.

It's a wonderful world. You never know what's going to happen and that's the beauty of the journey. Everyone is watching the UT/OU game just now. UT will probably succumb to the Number One team, but then, you never know. Yeah, that's the best part.

The Black Dog

I am not feeling colorful and gay. I'm the one in black reflected with the toys from that cool toy store down on SoCo. Did my walk yesterday cheer me up? Not so much. I took a little cheer from my lively companions at a wine dinner at Taste and all the lovely food and drink. I might have enjoyed tennis this morning, but we didn't play. I welcomed the 'time off' but didn't embrace it. Finally I cleaned a little and folded clothes. I guess I need some exercise in order to feel better. I'm thinking of going for a walk followed by the gym. I've let the cool morning pass into a moderate (76 degree) midday. I'm a mess mentally for some reason. I should feel great (well, ignoring the fact that the entire country is in a recession, OK make that a depression). I'm healthy, retired, somewhat secure, my condo is as near 'finished' as it will ever be. So. Get over it.

Progress Delayed

There are things I should be doing. Cleaning house. Getting the files and boxes I moved in here organized. Getting a workout. Maybe going for a walk on this cool morning.

I am supposed to (according to Dad's GP) call a cardiologist for an appointment to get an echo cardiogram of his heart. But Dad said (during my morning call to him when I told him this) that he would 'think about it.' In 2005 he had one after having a TIA. It is a non-invasive test but we both wonder what they will do if they find out he has congestive heart failure. Give him some more drugs? I tell him I'll delay getting the appointment until he talks to his GP about it. He needs to go get a flu shot. He changes the subject. "When are we going to get a haircut?" I suggest next Tuesday after my tennis match.

I need to clean house because we are having people over tomorrow evening on a hallway progressive cocktail party that one of the guys on the hall organized. I need to accomplish things. But it's such a cool morning. I think I'll take that walk.

I took the picture in front of a Bubble Tea place on the Drag.

Touching Base

Really, a blog (or a journal) should be updated in a quotidian way. I sometimes feel like people are looking here for me and I'm missing. I read other people's journals and the ones that update faithfully, well, it's hard to miss what's going on with them even if they don't say it. [I missed that a blogger I regularly read had split with her husband somehow. Hmmm. Well, we've no such news here you'll be glad to know.] And, of course, without a record I lose track of myself, disappearing as in the above (aren't you sick of them?) reflection picture.

So, I woke up this morning having dreamed of bacon the size of bath towels and wondering about the pig. The thing about dreams is you can't make that stuff up! What's more I think I dreamed of giant bacon before. I was thinking it was Thursday, too, instead of Tuesday. I'm mixed up and confused.

Yeah, we've watched stocks plummet the last few days. Worldwide financial news is so bleak it makes our losses look minuscule. We have started looking at stores, restaurants, banks, building projects and businesses and wondering which ones will go feet up first. I feel like I should be like Warren Buffet, cash rich and bargain hunting. But, yeah, not.

I am still cataloging things. I'm still not doing any real projects. A short story I had in my head that evolved into a novel started merging with another novel. I think this is fine as long as they just stay in my head, don't you?

I've been looking all over for a little book I bought in Paris, A to Z of French Food. I'm not sure why I'm looking for it. I just saw it in my catalog of books and wondered where it was. I had a box of books at Dad's labeled Paris/France but it was not in there. I went out there and looked through it today. I did decide to bring a few books and maps from that box to the condo (although they are still in my car) because I'm noodling about planning a trip. Only maybe a trip to somewhere in the U.S. where we can stay with friends is a better idea.

Yeah, my mind is all over the place. I got a call from my dad's doctor, too. He didn't get the chest xray we had done, he did get the ultra sound of his leg (no clots, the technician had already proclaimed) and he got the blood test for peptides. It is high. Maybe. There is normal and then there is 'adjusted for age' normal. But the GP thinks a trip to the cardiologist for an echo cardiogram is in order because high BNP might mean CHF. (Congestive Heart Failure.) Only one wonders how one treats a 92-year-old man for CHF. Or anything else for that matter. Drugs, I suppose?

We went to a party tonight for people who had donated to Hospice Austin. In spite of the financial meltdown, people were cheerful. Compared to death, yeah, not so bad. Some were sneaking out to hear the debates. I'm sorry, what?

Oh, well. I'm here. Nothing new, really. We are not trying to slip anything by you at Visible Woman.

Can't Stop Collecting and Cataloging

In spite of the mad frenzy of divesting ourselves of things, we still have a plethora of media and entertainment options. As I type this FFP has piped standards from XM radio (off the DirecTV feed) into our office. I've been uploading a bunch of our CD collection (mostlly jazz and standards) to a fast Firewire disk in anticipation of possibly hooking it to the system or just having it easily available to search for tunes and play them on the iMac. I have several Netflix films waiting to watch. It's football season and there are a few new TV shows, too. Our social calendar is full of entertainment.

I've been trying to get back into keeping a private journal. Of course, I want to keep up with this blog and my other blogs. I've been cataloging and sorting the books we did keep in all this downsizing. (Besides an Access database I'm trying to catalog them on Library Thing.) What is it with this urge to organize, to catalog, to collect? The picture today is the cover of the book I'm reading which I scanned for Library Thing.

We walked to the university today and I snapped a bunch of pictures along the way. (Hmm...I need to organize pictures. Yeah, so it goes.) We also went to hear jazz and eat at Taste and to hear Hedda Lane at Rain. Input, enjoyment. Catalog, journalize. Repeat.

Ah, well. I think I'll sit down and try to work the Sunday Times magazine crossword.

Under Cover

Sometimes I feel like being undercover, just out of range, involved in the world without the risk of being asked too many questions about how we got here. Lots of people have lots of answers. I don't. But I want to know what's going on and hear a little of what other people have to say even though I always take things with a 'grain of salt.' I guess that's what I like about being online with my blogs on the one hand and peeking into other people's lives through their blogs. Connect, yet don't. Converse, but only sort of. Appeals to my innate shyness. My life is led mostly in an 'overcome shyness' mode. A lot of people don't realize that because I battle hard against it. But I'm really happy when I'm mostly missing from the picture yet there. Maybe that's why I take all these reflection pictures like this one of a fancy Second Street clothing store with a stranger caught peering across the street.

In The Belly of the Beast

How was the trip to the spa? Relaxing, invigorating, refreshing. How was it to come home? Jangling.

Oh, maybe I didn't tell you. Back in June we went to a benefit for Aids Services Austin and the Capital Area AIDS Legal Aid Project. One live auction item was a two night stay at Lake Austin spa and a 'treatment' (massage, etc.) credit for two people. This place is pricey. We opened the bidding and after some confusion found out that there were no other bidders. We promised ourselves that when we achieved escape velocity from the real estate maelstrom that we would actually go out there. And we did it! FFP arranged everything. He called the spa about twenty times so he was famous before we ever got there.

Monday we left early and got there in time to be offered some breakfast and coffee and got to see Billy Yamaguchi present his Feng Shui beauty tips. He was really sweet and he recommended stuff to FFP like new glasses and wearing some different colors and getting a buzz cut. And he said he'd do my hair with these scissors that cut different lengths so your hair spikes. Ladies were lining up to get five hundred dollar sessions with him.

From there it was all about massages, exercise classes, eating many tiny, healthy portions of food, relaxing and reading. They create such an utterly peaceful feeling somehow. It made returning to the real world of traffic, board meetings, medical tests for my dad and the reality of the condo issues a jangling contrast.

Truthfully I can capture a peaceful feeling in my condo or on the hike and bike. Just got to do it.

Photo was taken last month with a reflection of a toy store on South Congress.

Taking Time to Notice

One really needs to take time to notice one's luck. To remind oneself that even when a day seems filled with things that don't work and make one angry that those things are trivial. One also needs to observe how one's fortune far exceeds that of most everyone else. Most of our friends have faced or are facing much more serious health problems or they are struggling more for money. A lot of people still have to work. (How does anyone find time for that?)

It's also important to take note of what's going on around one's own little nest. Sometimes I think I notice TOO much around here and not enough outside. I've been fretting over some cosmetic things FFP says don't matter much, that he wouldn't notice if I didn't notice.

I took this picture from the Long Center Terrace. I photographed the 360 from over there plenty of times. Our building really wants to be noticed from other there, set apart from the tall buildings on Congress.

Most of all one needs to notice when one is happy, take heed of what one is doing when there is that sought-after peaceful, satisfied feeling. Then repeat those moments. I spent a few hours at my club on Tuesday. I thought I was going to play tennis but there weren't enough folks for doubles and the one other lady didn't want to play singles. I went to the gym and had a long ride on the bike to nowhere finishing up a book I'd wanted to finish reading for a while. Then I had a coffee/yogurt smoothie and a breakfast taco and then I lifted weights and did sit-ups and stuff. Very slow and leisurely. Then I went to the locker room in the pro shop which I had completely to myself for a shower and grooming. I took my laptop to the club house to wait for a meeting and popped it open and read my e-mail. Someone came by and said the meeting would be in the pro shop so I went over there and ordered some food. I met with a sub-committee I'm on and then we walked the construction site. I felt peaceful and unstressed. (In spite of the worries about the construction project.) I realized that I really enjoy exercising, reading, relaxing. Yeah, of course. But sometimes I do forget.

This morning (which started off cool and sunny, almost but not quite fall) I played tennis and while I was playing I so enjoyed it. I even enjoyed the feeling when I got back to the condo and I was moving stuff around and cleaning up the place a little and then taking a shower. I felt I should go visit with my sister, but when I called Dad he said my sister and my brother-in-law were not back from going off somewhere to visit friends. I felt I had a little reprieve from trying to go out and compete with traffic for the ACL festival and the UT game. I like it when people entertain themselves.

Yesterday was a bad day, mostly, although I made myself stop, breathe and appreciate more than once to get through it. I must remember to repeat the things I love, over and over, as long as they give me that pleasurable feeling.

Floating

I don't seem to be connected to anything. Oh, I have my duties, my schedule. Today I was talked into playing tennis. Although playing four times a week is something I do not need to be doing. And I hate to disappoint my regular social friends the other three days. I am a registered sub for this team, though, and one of them had to go help a relative impacted by the hurricane so I relented. Then my dad told me yesterday morning that he had some edema in his legs. We decided he wasn't bad off enough to go to the emergency room, but needed to go to the doctor today. I told him I'd cancel tennis, but he improved some so we are going to try for the doctor this afternoon. We arranged to have dinner with friends we haven't seen in ages this evening. And so it goes.

Yesterday was social mostly. I did have my computer guy come by and install a fast Firewire drive on my Mac in an attempt to keep the VMware image backed up with Time Machine. Otherwise, we did our dog sitting duties for our god dog Zoey and took a walk and ate breakfast at Halcyon. In the afternoon we drove up to UT and saw a concert in the foyer of the Blanton museum and then came home and walked over to Long Center for a fund-raiser called Octo-Tea. A group of folks raise money for a fund (called the Paul Kirby fund) that helps people living with HIV-AIDS by providing emergency assistance for rent, meds, utilities, whatever. The group has raised over a million dollars over some years by having a loose band of people party on their own nickel or donations or both and charge attendees a fee that goes one hundred percent to the fund. This party was a dance party with a DJ on the City Terrace of Long Center and a jazz band in Kodosky lounge. There was food and drink and a silent auction but, mostly, we were there to see people and we saw a ton of people we know and met new ones.

We spent the evening reading (well, FFP watched a football game which miraculously was delivered by our dicey building DirecTV Sat service). I went out with my god dog's mom for the final walk. We were laughing about how she behaves when I take her out (looking longingly over her shoulder at the building where she last saw Mom). She stopped to sniff something. My friend said, "Come on, Zoey, or I'll give you to Auntie Lin." She handed the leash to me and the dog stopped in her tracks and whipped her head around to look at her mom. Hilarious. What separation anxiety. But it means I can't take her for long walks when I'm dog sitting. The further we get from the building the more she resists.

Well, I have to go play tennis and then see about my dad. It is a lovely day for tennis, still cool out there. It's hard to appreciate it, though, with other things on my mind and when I'm actually playing more hard court tennis than is probably good for my aging body. It's a good problem to have, though, as opposed to not having anyone to play with now that I don't have to work.

The other thing that has me at loose ends is a family visit. I'm not sure how long my sister and her husband are planning to stay with my dad or what they want to do while here. We have our schedule to keep, of course.

I'm not even going to mention the uneasy, floating feeling that finishing up the condo gives me. (Wait, I just did.) I know things are ephemeral but it does give me pause to invest all this time and money and then see places next door having sheetrock sledge-hammered out. I'm just saying. It adds to the floating, nothing is permanent feeling.

It's Not the End of the World

Last night we went to Taste Select Wines. When other places are crowded, this spot always seems to have a table or seats at the bar, even if it's buzzing. We'd had some people come by in the late afternoon and I'd had a couple of glasses of wine. But I had ordered bacon-wrapped alligator with homemade sauerkraut. And so, of course, I had to order a beer. They don't have beers on tap, but one of the owners had told me that this bottled beer they sold was very good.

Yes, La Fin du Monde means 'The End of the World' and I'm guessing that is fire and brimstone on the label. It fit my mood. FFP drank a bottle of Sweet Leaf tea. But he ordered a beet salad to start.

Today was a lovely day on the tennis court, especially at first when it was still cool and shady where we were playing. I didn't play that well, but I did have fun. We don't have a 'schedule' the rest of the afternoon (except that FFP is planning to watch football this evening) so it's hard to figure out what to do. We tentatively decide on a movie at the Alamo Ritz. I shower and we walk over there. The Pecan Street Festival is going on. It looks like a seedy State Fair. We see a booth for an artist we knew long ago. "It's a long, sad way down," I say. But maybe it isn't true. Maybe he's making lots of coin.

We are the first ones in the theater to see "Burn After Reading." All the trailers show Brad Pitt acting like an empty-headed gym dork but the movie is so much more than that. George Clooney is a character with a partially furnished head who is a sex addict. John Malkovich is a character who is intelligent enough, too intelligent maybe, and can't get over himself. Frances McDormand is a very empty-headed character who does probably the stupidest things and is, in the end, rewarded by getting what she wants. (Although one suspects it doesn't get her what she wants.) It is so Coen Brothers. High intrigue with simple explanations and disastrous results. I like it. There was so much physical acting and spot on action that all the characters, major and minor, were revealed and then their hilarious (yet explosive and dark) interactions made tons of sense.

We walk back through the tawdry festival and stop at CVS. I broke a shoelace in my hiking boot on the way over. I buy some that turn out to be almost long enough, usable. FFP buys some shaving balm that turns out to have a broken cap. The elevators don't seem to be working when we return. He goes out to return the shaving stuff. I have to walk my friend's dog at five or so. (Which will involve four elevator rides.)

My good cheer is evaporating. Sigh.

But...it's not the end of the world.

Hope

Lots of people are looking for hope these days...including this graffiti artist who thoughtfully put a message going both ways on the hike and bike.

My mental landscape veers between hope and anxiety, bouncing around like the stock market.

So far we don't think our unit is impacted by the massive leak in our building and don't think they will be wielding their sledge hammers in here. (Although they gave us a scare yesterday by sending us an e-mail about removing material from our unit).

It's a cozy little nest, this place is, exactly like we want it with a few exceptions. The shades aren't right yet and there isn't a sub-woofer (although the surround sound is awesome even without it). Many channels we are paying for are 'searching for satellite' a lot of the time. There are still a few pictures to hang and a couple of small pieces of furniture to work out. Nothing cosmic. It's really peaceful and lovely in here.

When you step out the door, however, there is a vaguely industrial smell, fans blowing and wallpaper whipping around some bare studs, baseboards pulled off. When the elevator stops on other floors you hear the roar of fans and see piles of debris. Going in and out of the place feels strange. When you get close to the door there is that roar. I've become obsessive about cleaning my place and reorganizing. Rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.

People wiped out by Ike and other floods, residents of this very building whose units are like the hallway all have far more reason to let the thing called hope fly away. But, as it says in a part of the poem (by Emily Dickinson, of course) not so often quoted:

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've been trying from the beginning to think of this condo as a permanent place, a home for many years. Now I simply see it as a resting place before the next storm.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

We are all followers in our own way. Slaves to the fashions of the moment and inordinately proud if we step out a bit from the ruts laid down by others. I like to think I have my own 'style' for clothes, hair, activities and attitude. But I'm sure I'm being influenced mightily.

Sometimes one wonders what will happen next. What storm, what failure, whose death, what OJ will be in court for? (Can you believe that amidst all the Ike devastation and Wall Street meltdown that we are still getting massive updates from old OJ in court?) I very much feel I'm moving into a new phase, but recent events are making me feel very unsettled about how it might turn out.

We went to a Heritage Society thing last night in a house that was once owned by Charles Marsh and that had decoration by Mansbendel and Weigl. The current owners have spent enormous amounts of money restoring the house and then effort, money and insurance restoring windows after a storm. FFP and I enjoyed looking at the place but all we really saw was maintenance, maintenance, maintenance. We almost have our condo like we want it and it is small and the exterior and common areas are someone else's problem. (Well, the Homeowner's Association and the developer and how much of an issue that is remains to be seen.) We hope we have simplified our involvement with our shelter and can think of other things. Last night we vowed to keep trying to simplify our lives in any way we can. FFP said at least we'd gotten rid of lots of possessions. I said I wanted to stay the course on that. He agreed.

Well, we'll see.

It's hard to simplify with all the clamor to get you to buy gadgets and fashionable things and be entertained in myriad ways. It helps to wear the same clothes for years, fashion be hanged.

The picture was taken of the VIVID shop window recently and the monkey observing a (human?) skull seems to be some sort of game board or once-lighted sign.

Why Blogging is Perfect For Me

I noticed that Austin, Texas Daily Photo is about to catch up to this blog in number of posts. I don't want Visible Woman to become yet another LB abandoned project. There are so many. My collection of 'stuff' reveals many fits and starts of projects. (I have this habit of getting interested in something, buying the books and then not reading them. I start collections in haphazard, unstudied ways. I buy cooking gadgets but never cook.) My collection of online blogs and WEB sites reveal great unfinished ideas and my computer is littered with fits and starts of projects represented by folders and files. There are bits of novels and short stories, mounds of journals. You get the idea.

But. You do a blog entry. You insert a photo. You ramble. You hit 'Publish Post.' It isn't exactly an accomplishment but there it is. It adds up. Not to much perhaps. But it does accumulate in a somewhat organized way.

This photo, of a shop window of a store called AREA, reflecting me, distorted and subtracted, partly there and not, perfectly describes how I'm not always exactly present, how I'm flitting. I'm here, I'm not here. (The reflected building above is Austin City Hall.)

While trying to publish this post, I had a phone call, a visitor, helped the visitor remove some stuff from the premises, distracted myself by trying to look at some financial stuff and started reading an article in yesterday's NY Times. But I wrote it, and now I'll hit 'publish post.'

Bigger Things

There are bigger things in the world than my small problems. The hurricane damage has even people who were flooded by the leak in our building saying "I guess we are lucky." Naturally we feel lucky to have been a hair's breath from the flooding in our building.

Lehman Brothers' bankruptcy has sent world markets into another tailspin. So what if I lose another couple of percentage points on my stocks and mutual funds and retirement funds? Others are worse off. (Of course, not the people who perpetrated the banking and mortgage crisis. They come out floating on golden parachutes.)

I am small. The world is big. I should be happy to be safe in a small corner of it, dry and with power and food and water. Just be thankful. That's my mantra.

The picture was taken at the By George store on South Congress during our big wander yesterday. We walked to Guero's for brunch and shopped a little on SoCo (buying nothing but an Orangina in Farm to Market Grocery to refresh at walk's midpoint). Then we went over to S. First on Annie and back to the condo. Nice long walk. Oh, and we didn't start our cars yesterday. We had a charity event at the Bob Bullock Museum on MLK. We walked over to Congress, caught a 'Dillo up Lavaca and went to the bar at the Clay Pit for a drink and snack. (We couldn't time the 'Dillo ride because they quit running at six on Sunday.) We walked from there to the museum and then were prepared to catch the Airport Flyer for a couple of stops to get home. (Or walk. Not so bad when the sun is down.) Some friends, however, insisted on going out of their way to drive us home.

Feeling Blank

This mural that looks perpetually unfinished (like ads or pictures might appear in the boxes) is on North Lamar just south of the Tavern. Where you, my faithful few readers know, I was on Tuesday.

On Tuesday I thought maybe I'd finish 'tricking out' the condo. Oh, I knew something would probably be missing or wrong and need fixing. Big projects are like that. I knew a hurricane was coming and was vaguely worried about how bad the offshoot weather would be in Austin and how our building and our houses would fare. I'd become increasingly disgusted with how our brand new high rise operates, how poor elevator service is and such and so was vaguely worried about getting everything up to the tenth floor on Thursday.

Thursday didn't go too badly. After FFP got the concierge to open the door to the loading dock door and figured out how to operate the freight elevator himself we got the stuff up here.

Then, of course, the unexpected happened. The thing about the flood (or leak as I call it or as the building management calls it an 'incident' or 'water flow' problem) is this: while I escaped damage (apparently) in my condo, many people did not. The water was, quite literally, about ten feet away. The elevators got flooded. They are operating haphazardly still (which, frankly, they also did before). There are dirty streaks inside them where water flowed. Frankly, one is put in mind of an ancient and subsidized apartment. Remediation equipment is all over the place. There are harried residents fighting a battle between the developer and the management with their insurance companies and lawyers at their side.

I feel helpless, of course. I love my condo and except for the unfinished shades (which also need some adjustment) things are just the way I want them. But it all seems ephemeral. I will never feel like it will last. I see water coursing down the walls, damaging the book cases and the books I've so carefully assembled. I see it damaging my art, my electronics. Nothing seems safe.

Of course, people say that we don't want to let this get out (that we have these problems a mere four months after the building is occupied) or we can never sell or lease our property. But, you know, you are required to disclosed anything you know about such problems. Can't escape it.

As time goes by, if they get the elevators working and assure us that they have inspected and re-inspected whatever systems failed and all remediation is done, then I'll become more comfortable and complacent. Probably I won't get flooded by a leak. Something else will happen. It will come out of left field when I'm comfortable. On Shoal Creek I fought water. Water came in the garage in the '81 flood (from the street not Shoal Creek) and we fought it back with a French drain and sealants. (In that flood, water reached into our yard on the bluff and knocked down fences, too.) Water main breaks happened in our front yard three different times. Our pressure step down valve failed and water erupted in the garage where the service entered the house. We had sprinkler system leaks, roof leaks, condensation line leaks and toward the end a leak in the service from meter to house and had to rebuild that. I thought that I'd worry less about water on the tenth floor of a brand new building developed by a company experienced in high rise construction.

Time will pass. I'll worry about something else. Meanwhile I'm going to revel in living where I want to live. Being urban. But I won't forget water. Beside the building is a creek. It is, in fact, Shoal Creek. Of course, it won't rise to the tenth floor (or if it does, you know, goodbye Austin) but it could rise up and lap around the building stranding us here. The lake could come up here. Tom Miller Dam could fail.

After the Northridge Earthquake in '94 my friend who had lived there moved to Austin. She said that for a long time she would look at glass objects on shelves and think 'that is going to break in the next earthquake.' Even though the objects were here in Austin where the earth doesn't move that often.

So I'm seeing water damage. But my future disaster is probably something else.

Oh, My. Chained Melody!

Well, if the drilling in the next room was worrying me yesterday and I'd found a few things to complain about that guaranteed I was going to have to have workmen back here another day and it all seemed futile...well, that was nothing! The guys working on the AV decided they had to go to their truck for something. Then they popped in and said 'FYI, there is water pouring out of the telephone room.' They were right about that. Yikes. One condo, a one bedroom, separates us from this little room with all its phone wires and cables and routers for Internet and TV. About then the gals came out of the sales office down the hall and said we had to evacuate. It was about three and I'd just started to eat a late lunch of some cheese and crackers. (I'd had a taco and a banana for breakfast earlier and I don't usually do breakfast so I was a bit off, but I'd gotten hungry.) So, yeah. We lock up and go down the stairs with our four workmen. And we don't get back in the place until around five. It looks like 9-11 except no one is hurt. Lots of fire trucks, firemen running up the stairs, EMTs standing by with stretchers. The EMTs gave water to over-heated people. Finally I went into the Mulberry, a wine bar on the first floor, which kept operating. We sat in the cool (AC still working) and had beers and I had a sandwich and thought of that delicious cheese on my counter.

So, yeah. Worse than having guys drilling in your living room.

What happened, apparently, is that a sprinkler pipe burst on the 19th floor. I think the people on 19 were put up in hotels. Water remediation teams had to climb to 19 with equipment. Because water went into the elevatoars and they didn't work. They still don't. My workmen had to climb up here to work on the AV and they are going to have to remove the ladders and tools for the shade guys as well as their own. On the stairs. Now, we are on the 10th floor. Imagine if you live on 29 or 33 or, I don't know how high it goes where people are living, but WOW. Supposedly we will have one elevator 'some time this afternoon.'

And I was worried about drilling in my living room. And Ike (which seems to have turned his cheek to us but has sent thousands of refugees our way).

I went up to eleven and rescued my friend's poodle yesterday afternnoon who was unhappy and confused at being drug down eleven flights of stairs. My friend got home from work and we drove to the eighth floor and walked back up, changed and drove out of the place from eight and went to Ruth's Chris to drown our sorrows. We weren't surprised to find no elevators when we returned. We drove up to eight and climbed the two flights (three for my friend).

This morning, FFP called about the newspapers. The concierge said he hadn't had time to climb up with them. Yikes, who would expect that anyway? I went down and got them. The climb up was a little harder than yesterday when I was running on adrenelin. Of course, I was chatting with my neighbor who lives on one side of the telephone room. He didn't get water but the guy on the other side did.

When you are looking one way, something always happends somewhere else. Of course, I am cooped up inside now with workmen (who had to climbe the stairs) who should have finished yesterday. By the time that's cleared out, the weather will probably turn bad. So it goes. It could be worse. I could be in the path of Ike.

The picture was taken on Second Street I think.

My New Neighborhood

One of the first things we did when we moved downtown was make dates with some couples who already lived downtown. We'd met them downtown for meals before or visited in their places, but this was to inaugurate downtown friendships in this new way: WE LIVE DOWNTOWN, TOO! One couple mentioned how many places they walked to and it seemed like they really walked a long way. Since the weather was moving into the teeth of summer, it surprised me. But the longer we are down here, the more we realize how easy and fun it is to roam around on your feet.

When I walked to The Tavern on Tuesday for my friend's book signing, I realized how easy it was to roam over to things in that stretch of Lamar. Not just the venerable Tavern but Wink Wine Bar, an interesting looking health food snack bar, Betty Sport (sport stuff for the ladies) and Twelfth Street Books. The latter (where the picture was taken) is a real live (as opposed to WEB only) erudite secondhand bookstore. Most of those don't maintain a storefront anymore. (I saw my friend David at Momo's the other night and he used to run a great place called State House Books. He is still in the business. Only just virtually.) Which reminds me: my dad and I somehow got on the topic of 'book rate' postage and wondered if it still exists. And, yes, it does.

But I digress. My new neighborhood. Yesterday I only got out in the neighborhood for that walk over to the Four Seasons. I felt cooped up because, for the rest of the day, the closest I got to getting out was going to the parking garage to get some books out of my car and going to the concierge to get a package. I ordered some bookends. Given our decoration strategy (bookshelves, bookshelves, bookshelves with art and artifacts and gewgaws mixed in, all artfully arranged in the aesthetic of devil may care modern collector), our decorator said 'bookends are our friends.' However, only the right bookends work, in my opinion, so we gave some away, saved ones we thought would work and have used things that aren't really bookends. It looks nice, but we are still in the market for a few cool bookends.

But, yeah, digression from new neighborhood and walking in it. Did I mention that I'm stuck inside again today with workmen doing my 'final' AV stuff and motorized shades? Did I mention that Hurricane Ike has promised some stormy weather late tomorrow and early Saturday?

But really the possibilities for things to be walked to are endless. When we moved in, a friend who had been leasing in the Brown Building waiting for his place in this building, turned us on to the delights of Torchy's Tacos which had a trailer in Little Woodrow's parking lot a hop and skip down the street. But they moved! To S. First, I believe. Some people we had turned on to Torchy's just walked the mile and a half each way to satisfy their Torchy desires. Cool.

So, yeah I'm stuck inside getting stuff that makes you stay inside: fancy shades to block the early morning sun and fancy AV equipment. So, you know, you can stick in a Blu-Ray disk at seven in the morning and watch Blu-Ray DVDs all day long with surround sound. I've never seen a Blu-ray disk played (except maybe by accident in a store) and I've never owned a flat screen HD television bigger than the nineteen inch one I bought for a temporary one back in June. I don't own a Blu-ray disk. I thought of buying one (1) Blu-ray Disk but I couldn't find one at Costco. I didn't look too hard.

I wish I were out walking. Guys measuring and drilling in my condo make me palpably nervous. Forrest finds errands to do although I don't think it makes him as nervous. He knows I ordered this stuff and I have to answer questions. Although I can't imagine I'd know the answers.

There are so many places I could walk to. Even to the University on a good day. Or take the 'Dillo up there and then walk around. I could go to the Harry Ransom Center or the Blanton, shop on the drag. Heck for the price of the AV and shades, I could take a limo up there every day for a year or two probably and have them wait while I had a burger at Dirty Martin's.

We proved the other day that walking to toney SoCo is no problem. I could shop for weird bookends at Uncommon Objects. We could explore South Lamar, North Lamar (see above) and S. First. We could wander in old West Austin and Clarksville like we did the other day. Of course, downtown offers many wandering options. The library is on Guadalupe, not far away. It's true that the homeless population has made the Central Library a home away from no home, but there are still books there for ordinary people. Wait! I have enough books in the condo (after furious downsizing of them and with a few boxes pending at my dad's house) to last a reader a lifetime. Especially a reader who gets The New Yorker (fifty issues or so a year) and who has subscriptions to two seven-day-a-week newspapers, one six-day-a-week newspaper and one weekly newspaper and who occasionally picks up at least one free weekly. Ruined by Reading. Which is the title of a book that I don't think I gave away. I think it's still in a box at Dad's house.

I could walk to a myriad of coffee shops and write on my laptop or in a journal and look literary. I could walk to the Capitol and take a tour.

But today I sit, logged onto the Internet and worry at the sounds of drilling in the next room. Maybe I'll pop the DVDs of all issues of The New Yorker from 1925 through April 30, 2007 into my iMac and browse around. But I'd sort of rather be walking.

I Forgot to Say What I Ate

So, yeah when last seen, the Visible Woman promised a report on lunch. Day before yesterday's lunch! Hmmm. Where does the time go? That isn't my refrigerator but a window display on South Congress showing trendy products in an old refrigerator. The window was intended, during these dog days, to project coolness. In more ways than one.

So I had a panini sandwich for lunch day before yesterday. It had pesto on it. I was in a wine bar but I had water to drink. I'm thinking I went incommunicado after that last note precisely because I didn't want to describe my terrible diet. I think there was some of the ever popular arugula with that sandwich. For dinner on Monday, I had guacamole, hot sauce, chips, enchiladas and a beer. My companions were being good. They had guac and chips and stuff but had salads they didn't finish. And tea, not beer. I topped that off by buying a single, large Hefeweissen at Royal Blue on the way back from the restaurant and drinking it at home.

Yesterday, the good news was that I didn't eat anything until about 1 or 2. I was busy. I played tennis, ran a couple of errands and went to my dad's house where we washed the filter on his HVAC unit and I sorted some books to bring a few more into the fold at the condo. Didn't have time to eat. When I did, I chose, um, nachos! But just water to drink.

I walked to the Tavern (12th and Lamar) around 4:30 and it was plenty hot out so a cool Newcastle was nice when I got there. I wasn't just wandering around looking for a cool beer...could have done that steps from my building front door. A friend of mine was having a book signing for her book. I've known her since I first moved to Austin and while I rarely see her any more I thought it would be a great chance to catch up.

Dinner last night involved a couple of glasses of wine, a peach and arugula salad and risotto and (the shame of it!) a share in some rich dessert.

Too much food! So what did I do? Go to The Four Seasons for a delicious Market Breakfast which had heirloom tomatoes, local sausage, local Goat Cheese and eggs and a griddle cake. I don't even eat breakfast usually. Now I have to stave off the desire for napping and accomplish some of my goals for today. Hmm...what were they again?

Onward

I have lifted my head and will now move onward. I will finish sorting and straightening the stuff that didn't already get tossed. I will do creative projects. I will learn new things. I will entertain my friends with witty conversation that never touches on the topics of downsizing and moving. I will make a book of shop window reflections. I will call this one 'Butterfly' and wonder if people notice the building reflected in the glass. I will buy strange black frocks and mix it up with society types. Well, maybe scratch the last part.

The weekend was kind of strange. Between me and VMWare, I bollixed my Windows image. (I'm running MAC OS X and XP on this machine). My techie tended to blame the setup and the software, but, you know, I pay him. I must pay him one day to teach me the magic. He got most everything back and what he didn't recover I think we got all fixed up from the data backups. This happened Friday night and Saturday I tried to fix it and recovered stuff to my laptop and Sunday he fixed it for me.

I played tennis Saturday and then, because I was part way north, made a trip to Costco and then my Dad's. He wanted D batteries and toilet paper. He had a stash of the latter in the garage but he didn't notice it. I visited with him, did a few things for him that he can't do and sorted three boxes of books. I took two boxes back to the condo because we do have some space for books still. You have to mount the ladder to get to most of the rest of the space, but this is where books as decoration comes in. Who has time to read anyway?

Actually I now have times when I choose between reading the papers, reading a book or The New Yorker or writing. Or watching TV. Or, you know, eating and drinking.

Saturday we went early to Lambert's just as they opened when there was no one at the bar but staff chatting and getting briefed. Craig, the actor bartender who looks like some famous actor or maybe an amalgam of two or three, served us some food and I had a cucumber gimlet (with vodka substituted for the gin they recommend). OK, I had a glass of wine, too. We came back and I finished reading an interesting article in a New Yorker that was a couple weeks old and watched some of the U.S. Open tennis and then we went to the building's media room and watched the U.T. football game with a few other residents while a private party raged outside in the clubroom. The sound-proofing is good...the sound only rushed in when someone opened the door.

I spent five hours on Sunday, closer to six really watching my techie minister to my computers and network while I was going through some paper files and straightening them out. A lot of stuff got moved rather haphazardly at the end. After that, I had cabin fever. Or, in this case, tenth floor condo fever. (FFP had been out to take stuff to my car and storage and to get tacos and across the hall to work out.) We headed over to Taste and sat around eating stuff and drinking wine and picking out some party wine to take home and working the NY Times Sunday magazine crossword and talking to three of the owners of the place who were around working and planning. Then jazz started at five so we listened for a while before going home and reading some more Sunday papers while alternating between tennis and football and watching "Mad Men."

A good weekend. Except for the computer woes and evertying seems to be working out now including some new features we added to the mix. I don't think FFP started his car since Friday night. (When he drove five of us to see Elaine Stritch at Austin Cabaret Theater at Mansion at Judge's Hill.)

This morning we had a little shower downtown. I was supposed to play tennis so I called the captain of the team I'm subbing for and said "You know, if it's going to be a rainout I don't want to start my car!" But she said it wasn't raining and had only sprinkled a little earlier. I went and played. It went to three sets, but I was on the winning side. It didn't hurt that my partner (tall and twenty years younger than I) hit a few aces and service winners in the last game.

So here I am. Back with the details. I'm going out to lunch. I'll report back. No unexamined meals. I'm going to be a better correspondent. With you and with myself.

The Unexamined LIfe

After you die, people write about you, sum up your life. If you are somebody, maybe someone writes a biography or you write your autobiography while you are still around. (If you are nobody, you write a memoir!) Old Plato said it.

"The life which is unexamined is not worth living."
--Plato, Dialogues

I just finished writing a little piece about a friend who died last year for another friend to use in a tribute. I have so much material about this friend that it's hard to hone in on a couple of pages of words and quotes and a few pictures. The e-mail file for this friend has almost 2000 pieces of mail. As I struggled to keep my facts straight (even the year something happened sometimes eludes me sometimes) I appreciated the scattered online journals that I kept and that e-mail file and files of paper journals and records.

I realize that I've neglected any kind of journal for some weeks except a few scattered and distant entries here that now seem full of self-absorption and self-pity and short on facts.

The other day a friend said something like 'I'm tired of the examined life.' Not me, though. The better record I have the better I feel...even when I can't locate anything in the heaps and piles of pictures and words. I wish I had a record of every bite I'd ever eaten and every movie I'd ever seen and every song I'd ever heard. So. I've got to get back on the journal bandwagon. Online and/or off.

While thinking about this entry, I tried to find the above quote by looking in my old journal entries housed on the IPOWER host. All my WEB pages on this service were out of service. Very disconcerting.

This reflection picture, by the way, is from the store VIVID although in the picture name I identified it as Uncommon Objects. You live, you lose track, you die.