Sunday

It's almost eleven AM and everyone is sleeping except for me. I have a horrible headache (caused by the new bed, not the alcohol) and my skin feels sunburnt even though that isn't possible. And my legs ache.

Last night was interesting. What won't be interesting is repeating the experience tonight, which is what's on the agenda. Been there, done that.

The evening started at the hotel front desk where D and S asked the cute clerk what bars to go to. Once we had directions we headed out, planning to walk ten blocks to Sixth Street. Actually my secret plan was to walk two blocks and grab a cab. I don't really care how safe a hotel clerk says Austin is at 11:00 PM.

We walked our two blocks, acting silly the entire time, and were stopped by Sheriff Joe making rounds. Joe told us the hotel clerk was right, it really was safe to walk. But he gave us a lift to Sixth Street anyway. I got to ride in back, where the doors wouldn't open from the inside.

After that the evening basically consisted of entering dark, loud, sweltering bars, cramming our bodies between a lot of other bodies to actually reach the bar, downing a shot or glass or whatever, then going out on the street to get cool, fresh air and walk to the next bar to repeat the process.

It's about the stupidest possible way to meet people, which is probably why it's so popular. Lowest Common Denominator and all. You can't hare a conversation - too damn loud - so instead you have to choose based on physical appearance which is not how my mind works. Three different guys tried to pick me up. One even bought us tequila shots. It's very hard to be flattered, though. After all, if they were picking me over D or S then they'd drunk enough to impair their vision. Plus everyone sorta looked alike, so I couldn't separate my beloved nerds from the geeks, playboys, nellies, and posures.

I'll admit it was more fun after I had five or six drinks in me and once we found a bar with less of a crowd and a live band. I rode the line between drunk and not, and derived most of my entertainment from watching S, who was wasted enough that she thought everyone was her friend, even the guy whose ass she accidentally grabbed.

We went back to the hotel where I drank 4 glasses of water, ate a bunch of bread, and threw the crusts off the balcony. Then we called our cabbie again, and went to a Kosher deli (our cabbie's suggestion) where I had a not-so-good cheesecake milkshake.

End of the evening. End of about 45 dollars.

I wish everyone would wake up. I want to go shopping.

Saturday Night

Preparing for my night of hard drinking. (Not.) D's plane arrives at 10:30 PM and once she's on the ground we'll go hit 6th Street. We're in a new hotel. D made a one-night reservation at the Doubletree, which is nice but really expensive. We have a suite with a kitchen and every convenience imaginable, all for a whopping $189 a night. By comparison my interesting hotel was only $64 a night.

Spent most of last night working on a CSS layout, so I slept until 10:00 and then checked out. My plan was to drive to Congress street, but I couldn't find it. So I spent an hour just driving around, singing with the radio. I enjoyed myself, but I'm sure anyone else would have been climbing the walls. Eventually found Romeos and went in for pizza, roasted garlic, and directions. After a fantastic lunch I made it to Congress, and spent about 20 minutes in Yard Dog and almost two hours in Uncommon Objects. Walked out with a mirror and a handful of dice with words written on them. I tossed five in the store, and liked my mini-fortune so much that I couldn't leave them behind.

Checked into the hotel, did some laundry, and am about to curl my hair so I'll be ready for my bar-hopping excursion.

It Just Keeps Getting Better And Better . . . .

There are now about fifty million teenagers on my floor.

I don't resent their fun -- I don't even want them to stop having fun -- but I need to finish my Algebra, damn it!

(10:12 PM)

Wow, all the teenagers are quiet. I wonder if they had a ten o'clock bedtime. That seems an unrealistic expectation.

Hotel Blues

The conference portion of my week is over, and now I'm on the vacation portion. I'm having an OK time so far. I spent the afternoon shopping, hitting Habitat for the Humanities and a few thrifts. And tomorrow I'm going to my favorite stores and gallery on Congress.

D. is flying up tomorrow night with a friend, and we're going to go bar hopping on 6th Street. Gods, I feel so old. This is something I seldom did when I was in my twenties, and now that I'm well past thirty it seems a little pointless. I'd rather spend the time gallery- and museum-hopping followed by dinner, then find something relaxing to do in the evening. Maybe watch the bats fly out from under the bridge, or take a short tour on the river. But I'm not good at vacationing alone, so instead of doing any of these things I'm going to spend tonight doing Algebra and tomorrow night drinking 'ritas.

The hotel sucks. They're redecorating, and it's just horrible. The city broke a water main the first night. On the second night my toilet wouldn't flush and when I picked up the phone to complain I found the phone didn't work. They moved me to a new room. I had a headache the next day and came over to sleep through a session only to find out someone was drilling something in the next room. They didn't have any construction-zone-free rooms to move me into. Then last night I went into the marble-floored bathroom and almost slipped on the floor. There is a leak in the ceiling, and the bathroom floor was soaking. And last but not least: today, when I came back from the conference, there was a turquoise B-cup bra on my bed.

Hm. I haven't been a B cup since about sixth grade.

I'm still in the hotel, though. Truth be told the inconveniences aren't all that inconvenient, and it's sort of like a really bad movie I can't tear myself away from. There are better things out there, probably at a better price, but this is so strange and so innocuous that I can't switch channels. Tonight's adventure (so far) has been visiting four floors in search of a working vending machine with Dr. Pepper. Oh, and the front-desk staff told me with a straight face that the hotel doesn't have any vending machines. When I raised my eyebrows they rushed to add they had soda pop machines on every floor. I can picture the looks on their high-school English teachers' faces.

M, who is at the conference too, used to live in Austin and knows all the best restaurants. I got to know him a lot better, which is nice. He's one of those quite guys, so it's hard to be friends with him. And I owe him big time -- he introduced me to Mozilla's Pizza!

The people in Austin are great, as always. Struck up a nice intermittent floating conversation in Denny's yesterday with two waiters and the couple in the next booth, and another today with the waitress in the Olive Garden. The guys in the Salvation Army gave me a table knife for free, after joking they would have to do a criminal background check first. (I have bread and peanut butter, and didn't want to pay for plastic silverware.) And so help me a sweet young kid in the Goodwill was trying to pick me up. He commented on every book I had picked out (about eight total) coming up with something funny to say about every title, even The Vagina Monologues, which I was sure would floor him. Full points for charming audacity!! He told me to come by and chat again, that he works the front counter five days a week.

I'm not doing too badly, but I wish I had someone to share this with. I'm sure things will pick up speed once D arrives tomorrow.

Studio Clean-Up

I've been working in the studio for almost two hours, and I managed to sit in practically one place the entire time. Hm. I think this is going to take a while.

It's a mess. I've been struggling to figure out exactly why it's so much worse than the rest of my house, and have finally decided it's because I tried to cram in several, well, layers of possessions without sorting and winnowing first.

Everything was fine when I initially finished the room. The only art supplies in evidence were essentials I carried from my home when house-sitting plus a few things I bought for my horrible drawing class. Everything fit, the counters were empty, and I was happy.

But then I started cleaning out R's stuff, and inherited a ton of supplies in the process. Jewelry that didn't sell in the garage sale, jewelry-making supplies, tools, a book press, paper-making screens, and a bunch of general stuff like colored pencils and half-dead paint brushes. Magazines I intend to cut up. More collage-y type books. Paper. And a bunch of stuff I can't even name offhand.

All my room-painting supplies got added to the mix, plus anything I bought for interior decorating. And then I started cleaning out my parent's house. Hello, pysanky supplies and endless reams of paper. Spray paint and fabric dye. Old calendars. Sixth-grade sticker collection. Family photos. Vintage postcards. Board-game pieces. Micro wheels. My jewelry-making supplies. Children's egg-decorating kits. Found object collection. All the magazines and books I intend to cut up one day. And all my office supplies, including a small fortune in sheet protectors and index cards.

Eventually I ran out of places to put things, so stuff started accumulating on the counters (intended as work space, not storage space!) and all over the floor, too. Storage containers were only half-full. Nothing was labeled. Endless piles of stuff, some of which has doubtlessly dried out/dessicated/rotted/broken/irretrievably tangled constantly threatened to cascade off the counters into the floor.

So now I'm going through everything, slowly, trying to figure out the best way to use the limited space at my disposal. Labeling as I go. Trying not to get distracted by "finds" like my Star Princess and Pluta paper dolls. (Wonderful costumes!!) Today I mainly organized 8x11" paper into file folders.

I think this could take all summer to finish. Maybe then, once fall starts chilling the air, I'll have money enough and space enough to install better lighting. Then I can spend the winter creating instead of accumulating.

Packing Blues

Getting ready for a four-day conference in Austin. I was planning on staying through the weekend, since the school is picking up the travel tab, and have a short vacation before summer school starts. I asked my mom to go, and I thought we were all set, but she's backed out.

Now I'm questioning if I should stay for the weekend. Austin is a great city, but I have a feeling if I go alone I'll just wander about brooding instead of enjoying myself. That's what usually happens. Instead of enjoying myself I order room service and watch expensive pay-per-view movies, wishing the entire time that someone was with me. I know if I had company I'd do all the things I want to do -- check out my favorite gallery on Congress, visit a club, see a couple of museums, eat out under the awning at that not-so-good pizza joint, and maybe drive to San Marcos and spend an afternoon playing in the river. Maybe hop to Houston and check out the art museum there. Stop at Spice, and at the dog museum/antique mall, and maybe even the rattlesnake farm.

It's just not the same by myself.

Winter Windows

In summer my backyard is lush with plant life. I feel very comfortable in the house, convinced my neighbors can't see much of anything through the foliage. But winter is a different story. When the yard is bare I feel like the neighbors can see everything I do.

The obvious solution is to put up curtains, but I love sunlight. And in winter, when sunlight is scarce, the huge windows at the back of the house are a gift from heaven.

I need privacy, and I need light, and I want something I can move in the summer months. I've considered shoji screens, but I already have rice-paper lamps everywhere, and I don't want to go too Zen. Curtains would be a chore to set up and to move, and I'd always have those awful curtain rods.

HGTV to the rescue. A show today had an interior wall made of frosted plexiglass. Wonderful, diffused light. Beautiful window preserved. I think I can do something similar. Maybe hanging panels fastened to eye bolts set in the window, or a folding screen of some sort. I have a few months to work out the details.

eBay and Dishes

Bought a Globe-Wernicke steel bookcase on eBay yesterday for $100 + $30 delivery. I'm thrilled. The bookcases usually go for about $199. I've wanted one for several months now to match the one I already own. It's being used as a china cabinet to show off my Slice of Life dishes. I love how the psudo-traditional dishware looks surrounded by all that industrial steel. I have photos, but they're trapped in my camera. Will post later.

I've also purchased two pieces from TabletopsEtc.com. The person who listed them claims both the mug and the plate are "French Cafe." I've never seen a Slice design titled French Cafe. To add to my doubt, the only design I've ever seen as a mug and as a plate (and a tray!) is Miss Liberty.

So it's probably too good to be true, but the company will refund my shipping if they've made a mistake at their end. TabletopsEtc is actually an interesting concept -- sort of like half.com for china, with a bunch of individuals selling their wares. But sadly it's sort of a sucky system at present. I can ask for a photo or for a measurement, but there isn't any way for me to ask a question about the item.

I've been trying to decide what to do about serving pieces. The line comes with four fantastic platters and a ho-hum veggie bowl, but nothing else. For some reason I want a teapot, and a sugar, and a creamer, and a cake platter . . . . I don't know why I want these things, it's not like I'll ever serve a formal dinner.

Originally I thought I would mix 'n match, concentrating on black matte stoneware and nice glossy white stoneware. Then I found this fantastic Arthur Wood teapot, and decided matte black wasn't the way to go after all.

So matte is out, gloss is in. (Good bye, matte black salt and pepper shakers! Good bye, matte cereal and ice cream bowls!) And I want FIGURAL stuff. Not a lot of figural, but a few pieces here and there to add a little more punch. I know I want a traditional Victorian black cat chocolate/coffee pot. Maybe miniature black-and-white Eiffel Tower salt & pepper shakers. Also in love with a Tower of Pisa Parmesan cheese shaker.

So some pieces will be figural, and others will be, well, white. I found some Villroy & Bosch at the JC Penny outlet, for about $4 each. They look great with my dishes, and will form the core of the collection. Not everything can be V&B (unless the outlet keeps coming through!) but it's a nice start.

Coffee Tables and Clutter-Busting

I think, for the first time in my memory, I'm living in a semi-clean house. A home where everything has a place (OK, almost everything!) and where almost everything is tucked away out of sight. My house is actually cleaner than my mother's.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last month I somehow bought two additional coffee tables. (Don't ask me, I don't know how these things happen!) My father suggested I just trade them out every few months. I think he might be on to something.

Here is the original coffee table. It needs to be re-stained. It's actually the most expensive one I own -- $60 at the Austin Garage Sale.



Here is one of the new tables. This one is, I think, a retro piece from the late 80s or early 90s. Strong Nougouchi influences. It's very light -- I can pick this one up my myself without much effort.



And the third coffee table, a more recent stunner. Very heavy, very well-constructed, no markings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is a photo of my favorite corner, where I do most of my reading.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Saturday Mom and I re-upholstered a stool for my vanity. Here are the infamous BEFORE and AFTER shots, plus a shot of the stool in front of the vanity. The fabric is actually a little greener than the images show.

Playing Games

Since I'm on holiday I thought I would buy a video game, and spend pointless hours sitting in front of my computer. (Hey -- that sounds sort of like what I do at work!!)

The sad truth, though, is that I'm bad at picking video games. I like first-person shooters best, but somehow I usually get seduced by "brain games" -- the simulations, puzzles, and strategy games. Instead of playing I get frustrated, and walk away with the game maybe 5% played. In the past I've bought (and hated) Myst and The Sims and even Rollercoaster Tycoon.

This year, though, I've been doing pretty well. I bought Gun and F.E.A.R. and (my favorite) Total Overdose. (Funniest, best storyline, best side missions, best kick-ass Tejano soundtrack!!)

But today . . . Call of Duty 2 was on the shelf. Beside Counter-Strike Anthology and Half-Life 2. So what do I pick up?

Civilization IV.

I opened the box ten minutes ago and knew I had made a mistake. The manual is 224 pages. It comes with a complicated-looking poster describing different relationships between things. And I've opened it, so a return isn't possible.

Certain people just shouldn't be allowed to make choices. Some people shouldn't dress themselves, others shouldn't have control of their own finances, and my mother should never, ever, ever be sent to Blockbuster alone. (One example: Soul Man.)

And I, clearly, should not be allowed to buy video games for myself. I should hire my brother-in-laws to buy games for me instead.

Photos

Updating a couple of entries with photos, and plan to shoot more photos tomorrow.

This one is from my friend D's new apartment. She claims it's a painting (painted by her mother) that she hasn't hung yet. I say it's in the perfect spot already. It's art for her cats to enjoy.

Good Things

One of my greatest joys in life is watching my mother imitate her dog.

Condensed Citizenship

A committee I'm on has been asked to list three books all undergraduates should read.

Hmm. I know what I don't want to list -- Plato's Republic. I used Cliff notes myself, so I'm sure most of my students will try something similar.

It's still an interesting question. And it's made me focus on an issue in my own life that I've been avoiding for years. A "dirty little secret," especially for someone in academia. So here it is:

I don't read nonfiction books.

Oh, I skim certain titles, and I've sampled my way through a vast selection of technical books, but I haven't actually read a nonfiction book in, well, years.

Instead of reading I listen to my colleagues really closely, and I read reviews (Thanks, Amazon!) so I know the main points (and a few weaknesses) of the latest books I should read.

Part of me thinks this makes me superficial. Another part of me says it's a clear indicator that I don't have enough free time in my life. (Yeah, I played the video game Gun for an hour and a half this morning.)

But part of me thinks that's just how most people operate, but most people are also afraid to admit it. We live in a condensed society, surrounded by PowerPoint bullets, news "bulletins" and Good Morning America. We're inundated with information, and I think most of us are looking for an easy way out.

I can't decide if I'm superficial or wise. Maybe, in our world, there isn't a difference. Maybe superficiality is wise, since it keeps us from drowning in Anna Kournikova websites, movie reviews, and Paula Abdul's new line of jewelry.

My new motto (maybe): superficial is smart.

The Surreal Life

I love overheard conversations. Today's feast is a co-worker yelling into the phone. "The CDC cares! Don't you know about this? You're punishing several people for the faults of one person!" And three minutes later: "If an Italian teenager bought wine in the States do you think we wouldn't arrest him? We would bust him!"

I'm trying to find a connection. A connection may not actually exist, but when has that ever stopped me?

• Someone spit into wine drank by an Italian teenager, giving the teenager AIDS. The CDC has reacted by banning wine sales.
• An Italian terrorist is spiking wine bottles in the US with anthrax. The CDC can't find the wine terrorist so they're persecuting all Italians visiting the States, arresting them and making them drink wine in retaliation.

It's all very strange, and fun, and nonsensical. I have a friend who doesn't interact on a significant level with flesh-and-blood people all that often. (He prefers catho-ray tube people.) I wonder sometimes if his life is like this -- small observations of things that don't make sense, diced slices of other people's days tumbling around in his head. His face, more than any face I've ever seen, has a perpetual just-interrupted look. The kind where a person has been thinking, daydreaming, and you've asked them a question. He isn't bothered by the question, but he needs a few seconds to cycle back to the here-and-now.

Of course that's an exaggeration -- he's really as well-adjusted as anyone else -- but it's nice to think that someone could live, disassociated, on the borders of our collective consciousness. It must be a beautiful and frightening place.

So I love crowded events where bits of fragmented conversation float to the surface of my hearing, and empty hallways where I hear non-existent whispers.

And I especially love people who talk on their cell phones in line at the grocery store. These people are much more interesting (sometimes more amusing) than National Enquirer headlines.

The "manners police" are offended by this behavior, claiming they don't want to know about another person's personal life. I, on the other hand, am fascinated. I love this secret glimpse of how people interact, how they communicate, what matters in their lives. I don't understand people who aren't fascinated.

This is the stuff of life, here. Free for the listening.