Web Journal astrofish.net for Aquarius, 2002:
2/19
I was riding around with bubba, and I said something about "Duran Duran," and he pulls this CD from out of the behind the truck's seat. And I am not making this up. Just let it go [wish I could follow my own advice.] A quick look at the term "plagiarism":
"Hence, as a legal term, plagiarism has very sharp limits and is considered to be clearly demonstrable use of material taken from another without credit."
Holman, C. Hugh & Harmon, William. A Handbook to Literature, 6th Edition. NY: Macmillan, 1992. page 358.
Just as a note, when I copy something out of a book, and provide a reference to the authors, as well as acceptable footnote information, it is not plagiarism. As noted elsewhere, I had some crayfish for dinner at the Chinese buffet place. You just got to love a place where traditional Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, as well crawdads and steak fingers are all part of the spread. Cream gravy to go with those steak fingers, too.
2/18
Waiting to board the airplane home to Austin last night, just as the sun was setting, I couldn't help but notice that a ground crew guy was washing to windscreen of the plane just outside the departure lounge. I kept expecting him to "check under the hood," as well. Vices run in different flavors. I tend towards good cigars and that noise in a crowded casino with its special slot machine music. I tucked away the winnings from Friday night, and Saturday after dinner, I lit up a good cigar, and headed off towards the machines again, only to have no luck. At that point, I'd already won enough money on a single pull to pay my rent, so this was just fun and games. I pulled $100 out on my cash card, and set about to double or triple my money. No luck. Late Aries Moon was not working with me, but, I'd already won enough, so I wasn't doing anything like gambling the rent money. Really late on Saturday night, I put $25 in a nickel slot machine. Now, that's a name that doesn't apply. It's computerized. When I finally got straightened out on how to gamble with that one machine, I ran that first $25 up to $80, then back down to $55, and I cashed out because I really had to go to the bathroom. I went back to that machine, doubled a ten dollar bet, and cashed out again at $27. Then, one last time, I put a $20 in, and I lost every bit of that $20. Seeing as how I started with $100, wound up with $80 and change, I figured it was okay. Rent was still covered. Today, I'll be depositing $300 cash, casino earnings, and enough to pay the March rent. However, I don't think this is a way I want to make my rent money each month. Once was good enough. I had to make note of "system" which was more luck than anything, on the nickel machine. It does allow a single pull of the lever for $0.05; however, I was putting two coins on 9 lines, for a total of $0.90 per pull. The deal was, with all of those bets, it seemed to hit more often, and then when I got the general "double your bet" pull — I got 36 coins. Dollar slots, high stakes slots, game tables, card games, the real appeal for me is a slot machine where I can feel like I'm losing a nickel on every pull. It also helps when the Moon and Jupiter are in the right places. The cat was real glad I'm back in Austin — although, she was rather nonplused at my arrival.
2/17
Get away. Shreveport, Bossier City, LA — near as I could tell, there wasn't much difference between the two. The area has become a small version of Las Vegas, noted for it's "white trash" components. I think that does a disservice to the local communities, and the East Texas/Northern Louisiana atmosphere. I told Ma Wetzel that I need to make March rent money, and I surprised myself by winning it Friday night. One pull of one dollar slot machine, sort of a lucky gamble, paid off in over $200. Not quite rent money, but close enough. Considering what I started with, it was good. That was, I think, in Casino Magic. Or Isle of Capri. Might even have been at the Horseshoe, which, dollar for dollar, gets my vote as the nicest of the casino's in the area. I have to be honest, tough, there's that missing element in these small, riverboat casinos. It's not like that air desperation, that pallor hanging in the air, that sense of dread and doom that shows up in the places I'm more familiar with.
2/16
Ma Wetzel was discussing her most recent traffic escapade, and the results of the hearing about it, and its 'deferred adjudication' thing. "As long as I don't get another ticket between now and May 15, I'm fine." So we discussed her driving the speed limit, and her obeying all traffic rules, like stopping at stop signs and red lights. "I did that yesterday, it took me twice as long to run all my errands."
2/15
Some more: Happy day after Valentine's Day. Genie lied to me in 1996. Her representatives, in her name, lied to me repeatedly. About payment, about amounts, and more important, to me, about raw statistics, something computers are very good for. I logged on this morning, and I found that all links from her site to mine had been taken down. So I'll just pull her ad, not that it's doing her a lot of good anyway. This all comes on the heels of an e–mail note where she thought my ad for her site made her look like a porn site. Maybe that's because she ....
> Dear Kramer,
> I noticed the link on your site is rather unflattering. First of all to be so
> reduced and have the text eliminated, it is misleading. I appear more like a
> porn site than anything especially on top of the link to KPIG radio!
2/15
This one is so perfect. Airport notes: the folks who work the Amy's counter in the airport have been unfailingly polite, kind, considerate and even compassionate with me, ever since the new Austin airport opened up. I snagged Ma Wetzel a dozen chocolate covered strawberries when I was there, never anticipating that the full dozen would make the whole trip. They did. Almost, anyway. "A dozen chocolate covered strawberries? That's a lot of get–out–jail–cards, man." That was the guy next to me on the airplane.
2/14
Perfect: RSC has done "Puck's Potion" from Midsummer Nights Eve. For the cat, "I have seen small reflection of her wit." Shakespeare's Cymbeline [I.iii.29-30]. Speaking Rock was closed earlier this week. Bummer. I've got to get my "special of the day" straight for the BBQ place, three meat plate on Wednesday, two meat plate on Tuesday. Got to go on Tuesday. Not Wednesday — that's just too much. But yesterday, it was just so good. Warm afternoon, the tail end of the lunch rush, the brisket was extra tender, the pork ribs extra lean, even the hot link tasted more like a hot link. I did regret my excess later, with that, "I've eaten way too much feeling," but as the evening wore on, me and Bubba hoofed it up to Guero's. About halfway through a cigar, the waiter said something that invited a rejoinder from Bubba, and I laughed so hard Bubba was prompted to amend his statement, "Pay no attention to him — he's sober."
2/13 [Feast Day St. Agabus Patron Saint of Soothsayers]
I was researching some stuff on an article. My first mention of seeing Hank 3 was 3/13/2001. Gemini day — and the Moon was in Pisces* — Gemini mailed me so I mailed her back, and then we hooked up for a quick cup of coffee before she went to Roller Ball practice. Heard from a long–distance Gemini, I threw four dates from the last century at her, history quiz, as it applies to astrology. Then, during dinner, another Gemini called to set up an appointment. Finally, since Bubba is having emotional turmoil problems, actually, he's really doing okay, it just sounds like he's having trouble with one person in particular, we had us another mighty fine dinner at El Arroyo [Austin legend] last night. Poor new Libra waitress, didn't quite find us as amusing as I thought we were. "Valentine's day," he muttered into his second margarita, "that's when crass commercialism says, 'it sucks to be alone' huh?" I wouldn't know, me and the cat, we like it just the way it is. Signing the dinner tab, Bubba says, "Here, you should steal this pen." The pen? Promotional item, it said, "Daredevil tattoos: Guaranteed for life plus six weeks." Works for me. I think I'll get my cat's name tattooed on my arm.
*Astrological analysis: the moon just moved out of the dark phase, when it was in Aquarius, and Mercury is definitely no longer backwards, therefore, Gemini's are all doing better now.
2/12
A Texas company owns a patent on rice? I added a strange entry about signs and accidents. Never ceases to amaze me: a dozen or more people have sent me notes, letting me know that the Derailer's album is named "Prince." It felt so good to spend most of Monday morning typing up a horoscope. Now, to be quite honest, a portion of that horoscope got started before Mercury was retrograde, like, three weeks ago. The rest of the scope, I picked it back up where I left off — starting last Friday. So I spent Friday, Saturday, Sunday and finally finished it up yesterday afternoon. Took a shower and and ambled off to meet with clients and stuff. Wound up sitting in the sun, not wanting to do much of anything, outside of Jo's. Wandered on home with a cup of coffee and an oat cake in my jacket pocket, talking on the phone. Ran into a neighbor and exchanged some choice gossip, then attached that old headset for the phone again, and got back to work. Days like Monday, I can get real used to not having a scope go up Monday morning. Sure makes for a much more agreeable day.
2/11
After a late Saturday night, I wasn't like, truly eager, to go fishing Sunday morning. Bubba calls me, "Dude, it's gusting 25-35 knots, boat's staying in the garage today, hey, let go of that, it's the wife, tearin' at my clothes, gotta go...." From another bubba, "Dude, I hate to say this, but you know, I can feel it with Mercury no longer retrograde...." Interesting vanity link. Had a lovely dinner with a series of folks, another one of those unusual Austin dinner parties, but towards the end, I could sense, albeit a little too late, someone hit my play button, and I was about to launch into a usual shtick. I pulled myself up short. One recurrent theme: Saturday night, on 6th Street. "Did you see any naked ta–tas??" Only about two. Not much for all the effort. It was 10 seventeen–year–old males for every female. [Unofficial count] Naturally, I was there merely to support the feminist cause.
2/10 [the web log is open for idea — what do you want to see?]
Part one: airport run with Red Headed Capricorn. "Tuck and roll, baby." Part two: airport run with Pa Wetzel; got chased out of the airport while assisting Pa Wetzel to curbside check–in, on the way back to Shady Acres, stopped off at a little taco stand for a meal. There's just something about watching a vintage [1980's] movie dubbed in Spanish, adds to the ambiance of the experience. "Y es todos con mi." [I think that's what she said.] Part three: 6th Street & feminist activism. I think it was really too cold to be out, much less exposing one's breasts, but hey, I'm all for it. Me and Bubba bounced between parties settling for the upstairs balcony for one club that overlooked the street. There were, oddly enough, about ten times as many males as females, or so it seemed. Cost me two good cigars, too.
2/9
Some place in "trailer park bylaws and rules," there's an unwritten rule that one's neighbor must try and fix car with a case of beer while turning the gunning the engine in a sickly fashion at strange hours. At first, I was sure it was just some additional noise in the music I was listening to, but no. So Mercury is no longer retrograde, but it's still a tough time. Good for some introspection — I've gone on at considerable length, both here, and in my web log about my take on Hank III. I fished around on the net for a while, and found this interview with Hank III. I laughed out loud when I read Hank's comment about his fiddle player [Michael McCanless], Hank quoted as saying, "He's a weird one." Which got me thinking about why I like the Hank III music and its myth. A disaffected youth, an outlaw, someone who hates the established system, someone — at least nominally — and judging by the passion he imparts to his "anti–Nashville, anti–pop–country" songs — who's been scorned by the bastions of his industry. That's a pain I feel. I was ruminating about this because I had a cup of coffee with Pa Wetzel, as he was in town for a business meeting. We got caught up with current details while chilling out at Little City on Congress. While father–figures [or actual fathers] are sometimes good for bouncing ideas around with, being an outlaw astrologer, grown–up disaffected youth, and generally contrary, I kept certain opinions to myself, and I just enjoyed his outlook on some things.
2/8
After doing the radio show, me and my Leo wandered into Magnolia for breakfast. We were immediately besieged by staff members, wanting to know how come I'm not on the radio every Thursday. Make it happen; write the guy in charge of programming a note. Leftover observations from the Hank III show: I counted three different guys with mohawks in Wednesday night's crowd. Serious hawks, not lame "aspiring to be a rebel" sort of thing. And cowboy boots. Lots of them. All of it mingling. I got to thinking about it, too, that whole, "You're a guitar player, right?" thing that happens to me so often. Or, "You're a musician, aren't you?" So, the question is, is there a guitar player, or some musician out there, he goes walking down the street, and people come up to him, "You're that astrologer, right?" Or, as the radio producer says, "You're our horoscope–ologist."
2/7
Radio at 7:00 AM. What was I thinking? Off the Hank III "Ass Jack" bootleg, there's a great song lyric, set to something, for all the world, it sounds just like 1980's punk, "If you don't like my hillbilly music, hey man, GO FUCK YOU!" Another intriguing title, perhaps one of the better titles, "Beer, drugs, Flatt & Scruggs." Yes, I went to the second Hank III show last night, got home way late, and in between, my usual [this is becoming a habit these days] Wednesday night "date" with Bubba turned into quick run to San Marcos for pizza. My fave: bacon and ranch dressing pizza, served by a Sagittarius with purple hair [this time.] Throughout dinner, over a mouthful of pizza, I kept trying to explain that the Historical Marker by the bank was about the Newton Boys, their gang, and how the one heist in San Marcos blew coins across four city blocks. Or something like that. In the freezing temperatures, I wasn't about to hang around outside. Inside, at the show, I swear, I'm magnet for weird people, "Don't I know you? I play pedal [steel guitar] for Jesse Dalton... you're a musician, aren't you?"
2/6
Spit and post: Tuesday afternoon, or evening, I suppose, depending on one's point of reference, is usually "Hippie Hour" at the Continental Club. Local star, Toni Price performs. But this Tuesday, there was a special late night show: Hank III. Start over. I was, over dinner at Threadgill's, trying to explain to Bubba what the appeal was, for me, of Hank III's music, all of it, not just the "neo–classicist country." Didn't work. Try explaining what a Johnny Cash perennial favorite, "cocaine blues," sounds like when it's done by an obvious speed metal band playing acoustic instruments. No, that doesn't fit either, but it's close. In a banter, several years ago, I asked a drummer friend why most punk songs were two minutes long. "Dude, that's all the drummer can play...." Seen Hank III several times now, and he usually does that song. Speed metal, in his "country" set. Opening for Hank III was Danni Leigh, pretty much a straight up country act. Two degrees of separation, her recent album contains a lot of Jim Lauderdale's songs. She's Aquarius — I asked her because my burning question was really for her band, or her, whomever, she sang a version of "Fat Bottomed Girls [you make the rockin' world go round...]" — only, it was pure country. The lead for the Souvenirs, the band backing her, said it was her idea, she said it was his idea, so I never got a straight answer — although, he did mention that he thought it would make a good bluegrass song. Definitely. Looking at the lead guitar guy though, I was guessing the song was possibly older than him. Her? I'm not about to guess ages in dark, smoky bar. But next up was Hank, looking fit as usual. He was prompt, sober, and slightly less harried than previous times, almost relaxed, for a high–strung "hellbilly looks & sounds like his granddad" type. Hank did one hour of country. He's got a distinctive, fast guitar hand, and wondrous voice, evocative of hard times, rough roads, and woe. His yodeling was superb. He covered a David Allen Coe song, one from his granddad, one from Wayne Hancock, and Hank III did his [I would hope] signature pieces about the state of the music industry. I don't think he likes Nashville very much. Or Music Row. Not my area of expertise. Then, as usual, he came back out and did about half an hour of his heavy metal. It's musically tight. I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but it's solid. Some [most] of the lyrics, I'll admit, I couldn't make them all out. I'm pretty sure I went to my first concert before he was even born. Some of the lyrics, though, hit home, "I knew a guy who shot a lot of speed, he's dead now..." Another introduction, though, he talked about being sixteen, and having his car break down, and him with a mohawk, got chased out of little two–bit town store. Look: this is what separates the men from the boys, the poseurs from the real thing. I'm using ear plugs next time. His second album, the CD, is an excellent piece of work — the punk, hard rock, heavy metal roots show through, but in a delightfully sublime way. Don't confuse it with his punk sets, that's done under a different label. And it's not really punk —or heavy metal — it's hillbilly hard metal. Oh yes, he can play a guitar very well, either acoustic or electric — that's the other thing, his guitar playing is pretty awesome, either style. "I'm running and gunning, and little bit hazy..." [from the Ass Jack bootleg]
2/5
Maybe it's the weather, maybe it's the time of the year, perhaps it's a cycle of the moon, but Monday was a big low point. Nothing happening. From insanely busy to nothing happening at all. This situation is compounded by my own enforced exile from what I like to do, the writing part of this business [Mercury is almost stationary, sliding backwards, down the charts, into Capricorn]. Subsisting on Y2K rations, wondering how to make those "minimum monthly payments" to keep all the balls in the air. No, it's not a happy place right now. Mercury? Probably. Two, three weeks ago, I was on top of it all. Just coincidence this matches Mercury's cycle? I tried a "Diamond Crown" [Dominican Republic] cigar from my humidor, trying to find that elusive feeling again. Someday, I'll grow some really tasty [something] in my garden, just outside the trailer's door, I've got a flower pot full of cigar butts. Natural tobacco, I would supposes, it makes good fertilizer.
2/4
The politics are only going to get more ugly. But that aside, and the big game, too, the Austin journal writers' group got together yesterday afternoon. On a quiet Sunday afternoon, I strolled along the side streets, ambling along under a gray sky in coolish weather, sorting through various "Mercury is sure making life complicated right now" issues. Up on the porch swing of one domicile, a female with bright purple hair was talking on a phone, "Sid Barret, you know?" It was a passing comment, a snippet of conversation, floating above the unmowed lawn, along a broken sidewalk. At the coffee shop, there was a rather small group, but then, there's an intimate feeling when there aren't a lot of people there. Coffee, conversation, a new leather jacket, all the important facts.
2/3
I'm not absolutely sure, but I'm pretty sure that it's a Ray Bradbury short story — a rather old one — and it's one of those little pieces of fiction that's had a huge impact on my life, an example [the story itself is science fiction time–travel] of how one little action can have an enormous outcome on world events. My buddy suggested this following a line of thought as variation on some chaos theory discussion. I'm still looking for that one story, I know I've got it here some place. The show last night was good — started promptly at 10:30 PM, and we didn't leave the theater until well past midnight, a solid two hours. The warm–up guy was almost as good, and I never realized what level of humor the headline act — Janeane Garofalo — was really going to be. It's obvious that I don't watch enough TV these days as some of the joke set–ups went right over my head. It's a generational thing, I guess. Early on in the show, I have to admit I was much buoyed by the thunderous response from the audience when she made disparaging remark about the President. The Texas Governor's Mansion is a few short blocks from where the theater is located.
2/2
Mercury is still backwards. Bubba is a Gemini. The two do not go hand–in–hand with harmony. But from my Sagittarius perspective, it means I get to hang out and smoke cigars more often — it's Mercurial thang. "Dude, swing by the office right before 5, and we'll go pick up our tickets for tomorrow night...." Done deal. Opera box seats for tonight's show, Janeane Garofalo at the Paramount. We dined sumptuously at the legendary "El Arroyo." We took our time, I had a cup of coffee while he finished another margarita, smoked us a couple of fine cigars, then I was supposed to be back at the trailer for a phone reading. Now, I usually much prefer a more private setting, but I knew Bubba wasn't due any place for an hour, so he made himself comfortable, crashed out on the couch and puffed away while I did my thing. Bubba was reading a magazine, my more recent New Yorker, and one of his "special female friends" caught him on the web cam, "Yeah, she thought I was smoking a cigar and reading porn. Hey, can I borrow this edition? It's got a really well–written article about...." Most of the articles in the New Yorker are well–written. See: it's that Gemini thing, coarse and intellectual, all at the same time. After Bubba departed for some unknown destination, I cracked open the new Carl Hiaasen book, "Basket Case" again. The three Florida wacko—crime authors I've grown to love are Carl Hiaasen, Tim Doresy and Dave Barry. There are subtleties, though, between them all. Whereas [as expected], Dave Barry will be the funny guy, and Tim Dorsey is the over–the–top crazy one, the latest from this journalistic trio has that special flavor, a haunting sense to the wackiness. Plus there's that satiric edge....
2/1
As the lyric goes, "I'm leaving Mississippi, and I'm looking for higher ground, 7 long months and 39 days to turn my ways around...." [© Hank III, 2002] I openly admire this young musician. He plays one kind of music that I would, in my ignorance, classify as punk. It's been a year or more since I saw him that first time. The first set was "hard country" and then he told the audience, he was about to come out and do some of that "Screaming Devil Rock," and if you didn't want to hear that, best leave now as you only get one warning. But it was his harder, more aggressive stuff that impressed me so. I'm an old fart, I like the easy going blues, country stuff he sings; sounds like his grandfather. But I'm equally impressed with the hard driving, variant speed metal. Begs the question, can you really call it "speed metal" if there's a stand up bass, a fiddle and pedal steel guitar? That's, naturally, where I see his brilliance, an ability to combine several hard–core elements. Sprawling, brawling honky–tonk, deep–fried country music. A touch of bluegrass, a nod to his father's father. Then, some of that real, post–post–modern punk. [Post–post–modern punk has a special quality, it's more lyrical than your average "angry white boy rock" cacophony.] I was spurred about this because Bubba swung by for an after work cigar, a cup of coffee and the sunset over the lake, me & Bubba — quite the romantic couple, then some fish tacos at the Hula Hut. I didn't mention anything at all about Capricorn females, and their proclivities. We were summarily unsuccessful at entertaining an Aquarius from Amarillo at the Hut.
1/31
SFO was closed down for a few hours. Now, I gathered this information while streaming a superior radio station, KPIG. That little station is an odd one — Grateful Dead [and not "Trucking"], back to back with more, straight country. Odd stuff. It's like the local favorite used to be. Strange playlist, and at least they don't push the top 100 songs. Plus the commercials are petty entertaining. It's just too bad I don't live anywhere near them so there's not a chance I'll be buying gravel or feed from one of their sponsors. Music was a popular topic as a Taurus joined Bubba and me for dinner on S. Congress Avenue. I think, this is like the third Wednesday in a row, we've been able to sit on the patio, and generally talk trash. One time it was other drunk white people — last night, it was Bubba who was drinking. Tequila. The right balance of signature Tex-Mex, Tequila, and conversation about you know who, the one we will not mention by name, and so forth. But see, the tequila and the cuisine naturally lead to Amy's, and that naturally lead to Waterloo, and wandering around in there, me in sugar induced daze, Bubba fried on Guero's margaritas, I stumbled across the latest offering from Hank III. All I can say is that it's highly recommended. I've seen Hank III twice now — it was that waitress at the Broken Spoke who first got me to listen to his stuff. A couple of songs on the new CD, I've heard live — more than once. Looks to be highly original material, although, he's sticking to his family traditions, sounding just like his grandfather, and doing it his own way, like his father. Despite its rockabilly, honky-tonk, country sound, there's a break between two cuts, and there's an unmistakable noise that is so reminiscent of raw, straight up punk material. Definitely — defiantly — worth full retail price.
1/30 [check it out: weblog neighbors: to the left and to the right]
Milestones come in various form. Dealing with my body of work, one would assume a milestone in my life would be "X number of words written," or another publishing contract, or something similar. Mercury is retrograde with a vengeance. I'm on a brief break from serious writing. The local weather — which will change — has been beautiful. I crossed Congress Avenue, heading east, right before noon yesterday. I took the interstate bridge north across the river, continued eastward to Pleasant Valley, looped back south again, arcing west. Stay with the schematic. Stopped off at the office, then bought a lottery ticket from a girl whose tattoo aid she was a "Shy girl." Doubtful, at best. Had some very tasty carne and al pastor. Dropped back down onto Riverside, turned north on the interstate again, and picked up the trail along the northern edge of the river, heading west. Took that trail all the way to Mopac, basically, the western terminus of the Town Lake Hike and Bike trail. Back under the Mopac on the pedestrian bridge, and back along the edge of the river, past the point where Barton Springs feeds into the lake — still with me? From there, I abandoned the trail, and followed city streets up to Jo's, back on Congress Avenue. Picked up an afternoon coffee, turned around and walked on home. 11.96 miles. Not quite the 12 I was looking for, but close enough. The milestone for me, though, was making one complete loop, figure 8 style, of that trail. In one afternoon. In January, with a Retrograde Mercury. It's just the Full Moon energy, spurring me on to reach a new, personal best. Skirting through some of the swampy ground, or beach, as it might be called, I kept getting a scent, something like wild onions. doubt that's what it really was, but it's trick of the memory, childhood time spent in East Texas backwoods — the same scent. got home and started reading the new Carl Hiaasen book, "Basket Case," and as usual, it's a fun romp. Or guilty pleasure.
1/29 [my notes show this as St. Francis de Sales day, patron saint of writers, but I've been unable to confirm the datum]
Warm enough yesterday, even without discernible sunlight, to catch a long afternoon on the trail, at least 6 of the 7+ miles without a shirt. Life is good. From an online news posting of a magazine article, onto my weblog someplace, then back into my brain, I found a reference that claims services like hotmail, yahoo, and [formerly] excite, all that free e–mail costs the provider roughly a $1 per month for each account. Storage space, bandwidth, it's not free. With the downturn in advertising revenue, and the acknowledgment that ad revenue alone can't pay for web site up–keep and maintenance, these "free" services are gradually going away. It's the business of the web. It's a business model, and the question is, will it evolve fast enough, or correctly? I was on an evolution kick, as I've got a better understanding of the cascading style sheet question, but then I've got another, rather serious problem about implementing "bleeding edge technology" at this point. Look at the chart. That simple pie chart is for the first few weeks of 2002. 96% of this site's usage is on "version 4" browsers, and it's obvious that version four browsers have an incomplete way of dealing with said cascading style sheets. Some work, some don't. Last big change like that resulted in a torrent of hateful e–mail, about folks not being able to get to their free horoscope, and what an awful person I was for taking that away. And for designing an ugly site. For free, no less. Just be glad I don't use a horrible splash page with ugly flash animation, too.
1/28
Sunday was such a relaxing day — started with nothing, and ended up with nothing. I got to sleep in late which is a rare event with a normally hungry cat acting as lazy as I was. The night before, I'd saved her some tidbits of brisket, and that seemed to mollify "Her Corpulence" for a little while. She didn't display any of her usual short–term memory problem, opting instead, to try to sleep on my head. For the [uncountable number] time, I fixed another web site problem. Got a page looking the way I like it, and got in a good hike with my red–headed Capricorn friend. Variations on a theme. Conversations, over the last couple of day, got me to thinking about a coherent theory about astrology, the stuff I do day to day. It was prompted by one of my old army buddies, in an explanation of some principle. Just about everyone has a series of driving energies in his or her life. Forces, some internal, some external, that push us forward, propel us in one direction or another. With astrology, I tend to explain that it's "his Mars talking," or "she's just acting out of her Moon Sign" when I try offer an explanation for some behavior or trait. But what it's all really about is combining these elements into a single, focused voice. Freud blamed his mom; mine's a Scorpio, not laying any blame there, no sir. You've got your orders and hierarchies, theories and models, and I keep coming back to making peace with certain planets in a chart. Doing so, gives the energy, the elements that spur us onward, a name. I think it was Saturday night, the moon slipped into Cancer. It was also the first Saturday night in almost two months when I was home in Austin, with nothing on the agenda. Bother me? Take that Cancer Moon energy, clean a few things around the trailer. It's not like this is a large space for living in the first place, a little cleaning was in order. Why stay home? Moon was in Cancer.
1/27
I don't suppose it's really a Texas image, but in Saturday's early morning hours, the boat crews were out on the river in front of my trailer. One distinct image, about four of those single rowing boat crafts, the various folks pulling on the oars, making tracks down river. Just the most pleasant, if somewhat unusual, images from my spot in Shady Acres. I paced a few of those same boats when I was on the eastern loop of the trail, yesterday afternoon. It's that weird weather but to escape my "trailer fever," I took an extra long route. I've got to remember that 60 degrees is just too cold for me to be running around in shorts. The sun would poke through, it would heat up, I'd pass through to another section of trail, and a strong southern breeze would be cooling everything off again. Then there's the question of stopping along the way, and if a big plate of barbecue reduces the effect of a long walk. I was doing some fun links late last night, and I stumbled across this one, Devota, Patron Saint of something or other. I liked this guy better, with his gift of prophecy. I've been told I have a gift of prophecy, too, but I always deny it. Just luck. And some applied astrology.
1/26
From the "What I've learned by reading a book" department: It wasn't so long ago that I made my first trip to Las Vegas. Then, it was the casinos in El Paso, and hopefully soon, I get to try one in Louisiana. While I was book shopping with Bubba the other evening, I picked up a short text about slot machines. I love the energy I feel in a casino. It's not like, a clean and pure sense that I feel after the fifth mile on the trail, when the temperature is hitting a 100 degrees, and I'm soaked in sweat, broiling in the Texas sun, it's dirty energy. Still fun, though, that casino energy. I liked the Speaking Rock vibe in El Paso since it approximated what I got in Vegas. Stale cigarette smoke, cheap whisky, an air of desperation, slightly over–age cocktail waitresses in stuffed into alluring uniforms, and occasionally big luck. So after reading this book, I was searching for tips, I figured out, according to that one author, it's all luck. The machines pay back between 88% to 98% [in rare cases]. However, to be truthful, that payback scale is over tens of thousands of plays. In the short run? It's all luck. Talked to my army buddy yesterday — he turned me onto Marcus Aurelius [highly recommended] — which prompted an addendum to a previous discussion about how tarot cards work. I was in El Paso, and I carry a beat up copy of Meditations for light travel reading. I was dealing with a certain problem involving various behaviors, and there, in my notes from that trip, is a passage from Meditations that deals succinctly with the question. Better: it was the page that the book fell open to at the time. Preordained? Fate? Luck.
1/25
So much for nice weather — Canada exported us Arctic Air, and it rolled in yesterday morning. This being Texas, like many events in my life, I'm sure it can change in a moment, but it felt like January is supposed to feel: cold. Gray. Bubba rolled by to fetch me up for some lunch at that place with the best tortillas in town [Angie's]. We discussed fishing. I do believe the suggestion came up that it was just plain too cold to be on the lake. Dedicated? Yes. Foolish? No. We discussed important topics, but we also touched on the absurd. I asked for advice about one situation, and my Virgo buddy was great: straight, to the point, cut through the core issues and my hype. Plus, I still remember one experience at Angie's, with their extra thick corn tortillas, not much bigger than a silver dollar, the grease from the taco dripped down my arm, all the way to my elbow. I was more delicate than that at lunch yesterday,"You've lived in Austin all this time, and never eaten here?" I asked. "Yeah, this is too close to being 'south of the river'." "Even though it's almost 7 blocks north of the river?" I asked. Being a good Virgo, he has a little bit of hard time keeping up with my Gemini Moon influenced conversations as of late. Which got me to thinking about a good Mercury Retrograde analogy: I've been streaming music in over the wire while working on one project as the "Dance Trance Electronica Techno" mix sets the right tone. When I fire up a connection to an audio stream, my computer has a little dialog box: "Prebuffering stream." Mercury Retrograde is like all that music without the proper buffering.
1/24
Redesign is under way. Something appealing, I hope. One can never tell what the boys in the backroom will cook up next. Caught one typo, late last night. I want to beat someone around here. Yesterday, I was reading e–mail, and I got another query about the yearly overview. Okay: when I was paid for it, I would post it on my site, after it was published elsewhere. I didn't get contracted for one for 2002; therefore, I didn't do one. Takes too long. Then, looking around on the web, especially at Susan Miller's works, I realized that there really aren't any good yearly overviews. Maybe it's because it costs too much time, and the net revenue isn't a happening thing. Seems like I'm not the only one feeling this crunch. Several sites have removed features, especially high bandwidth features. I get tired of writing about it, but then, the e–mail keeps pouring in. One Gemini kept changing up yesterday's plans, so I took a hike, instead — warm enough to go shirtless for 4 miles. The water, too, it was this peaceful shade of teal, all that limestone spring water, nature's purifier. Or something. Then good grub at Bouldin Creek coffeehouse where I had those delicious collard greens again. Just hard to beat. I was moaning about the web design stuff, cascading style sheets, XML, and other things, saying, "I want it to be easy, fast access and simple to load, dynamic...." She asked, "You're talking about some girl, right?" Nice try. Bubba joined me for dinner last night, and he had a number of tales to tell. After sitting in traffic, he was explaining that were three things he wanted, tequila and food were two of those.... the third? You're on your own, dude. However, as we were riding back to the trailer, he took a cell call from one girlfriend [the girlfriend? Who knows? I'm only an astrologer, and he's a brilliant Gemini.] Best way to confuse a significant other is to tell the absolute truth.
1/23
> kramer, what they do at dell is "commoditize"
> the market. the innovative part
> is skipping the middleman, that's all.
> hey, it makes money.
I'll agree. Except I don't like the "adverbalization" of nouns. It started, promptly at 10 AM [really, that's too early], and I depleted the batteries on both cordless phones before I finally took a break for lunch. We tried one place, the spot with the best tortillas in town, but they're closed on Tuesdays. Downtown traffic was worse than usual, a car nearly cutting us off, a left-handed turn from a right lane across two lanes of traffic. My Virgo buddy noted, "If Jesus is really riding with them, I'm sure He wants to ride with some one else...." [Their bumper sticker, no joke. Just makes you wonder.] A plate of barbecue, a huge glass of ice tea, "Nashville Suicide Weather" [gratuitous REK allusion], and I was feeling just fine. Then, in my e–mail, a former employer, offering me a new position, as my former self, writing horoscopes again.... After the batteries recharged, on the phone, "Hey, you want to go a dinner for the State's Republican Attorney General?" No. "But it's casual attire, you'll...." What Republican casual attire? Loosening the tie?
1/22
I was looking at news online yesterday, and I found a headline that said "Dell surpasses expectations" or something akin to that. Which got me thinking, see, Dell, doesn't make anything truly innovative. Instead, in my analysis, they just repackage ideas — they don't write software, they don't engineer storage devices, it's just bits and pieces assembled. True, it's less expensive, and the marketing is close to innovative, but it's not really a new model. They don't shoot for high–end, bleeding edge guys. Instead, they market to the masses. Not that it's bad, it just is. Top 10%? Or the middle 50%? Which number is bigger? My former employer, arch–rival, maybe the biggest pain in the side I have to deal with, a particular astrology web site that's huge... a Dell Computer of astrology. I'm haunted by a comment, from a reader and client, "I was reading their Virgo scope, then the Gemini scope and I realized it was the same scope for Virgo, from Gemini a week earlier...." I can spend my time being innovative, or I can just repackage old scopes, and let them run. It's not a tough call for me, I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing, and each week is a new challenge to express the planetary energies as best I can. Went to have dinner with a Pisces and go to Fry's, one more time. Something about having to have a male present makes buying technology safer. Right. "Get this one, get this one, it's cooler!" Didn't actually save her any money, but it was a good deal. Then we had some noodle soup while discussing business. Got another "Kramer Tupperware party" in the incipient planning stages.
1/21
I was sort of surprised: the lines at the airport on Sunday night were non–existent. That was good. Arriving at the airport almost two hours ahead of schedule, that wasn't good. Just goes to show that [something]. Shoot — I don't what it shows, I like regional opera, I like regional airlines. The opera on Saturday night, as it turned out, the seats were, indeed, sponsored by Ma Wetzel, and were a little bit better than I had anticipated. The show itself, too, was rather well-done. Comparing it to what I'd seen in Seattle, the bad guy in Dallas was "more bad." Voice about the same, but the Dallas guy emoted that "I'm a horrible person who will step on everyone to get ahead." The deal with Wagner Opera, especially any part of the Ring Cycle, is that it's all a spectacle. The story itself is about convoluted as it gets. Which, in part, is also part of the deal. Weird, triple double–cross, family lines that make a joke out of local color inbreeding jokes, yes, it's all there. The first act was slow on Saturday night, but then, the next two acts just rocked right along. I fired up Pa Wetzel's computer long enough to mail myself a couple of pictures, which, as it turns out, he downloaded from Ma Wetzel. One of these is from last Thanksgiving, and I think it's a pretty amazing picture. Of course, maybe I'm just being sentimental, too.
1/20
Still having trouble with the "in" versus the "out" bound mail while in Dallas. Must be a Mercury thing, Mercury as in the planet, not the substance. Or car brand. Saw The Opera [Gotterdamrung] last night.. Most excellent. See: The Seattle version was fresh in my mind so there were plenty of points for comparison. More about that when I get a coherent moment. Ma Wetzel was just sure I was going to be let down, but you know, for a little regional version [Dallas Opera] they did a damn fine job. The one bad guy was really bad, and that might be all that much better. Me and The Virgo ducked into a pub, for a quick after the show drink. A friend of a friend from Austin was supposed to be there. Didn't see him, but we did feel a little overdressed. Me in black tie, her just in black [opera wear]. Rather amusing. Never did find the lad. Didn't much care, either, Been a while since I've seen a real mohawk hair cut [not some impostor looking thing.] "See honey, don't I take you to just the finest places?"
