journal archive

9/22
Luck with the weather is holding out — brilliant, clear morning, heavy–duty rain thunderstorms sweeping through in the afternoon, once again, creating the oddest of sights.... A dust devil and rain, across the alluvial plain between two mountain ranges. I think that was just after Piasano Pass, but I'm not sure. We checked out the Marfa Light Viewing area, and after dinner at Reatta Restaurant in Alpine, we wound our way back to the Lights. Holds up with my idea [amateur theory] about the Marfa Mystery Lights being a form of St. Elmo's Fire [static electric discharge] because the Mystery Lights were fantastic. Dancing and prancing, brilliant and all over the place. I counted about seven lights, all at once. At the behest of my fellow traveler, I drove down a dirt road [Nopal Road], and we continued to observe the Lights. I've been here a half dozen times, and the lights have never performed better.
9/21
Austin — Dallas — Midland/Odessa [MAF] — Ft. Davis.... "What do you mean, there aren't any phones in the rooms? What will I ever do? I'm cut off!" I could get used to this idea, too. There was a heavy, heavy thunderstorm, blowing out of the Northwest, pelted us with golf ball sized hail. It got so bad, I pulled over. But the effect. a little further down the road was amazing — just coming up to the Davis Mountains — I have witnesses, I can prove I saw this — the mist, the clouds, the rain, all combined into one diorama that looked positively magical. Amazing place.
9/20
I'm saturated to the bursting point with media. The truth may be out there, but it seems to be an early casulty in this conflict. Today's a travel day — off to the airport, approximately three hours early, just to catch a 20 minute flight to Dallas Love Field, then connect out to the Permian Basin, pick up a rent car, and drive toward the mountains of Texas. I will be happier once I'm in a rent car, but I'm not really too worried about flying. Rather disturbing images. What's more frightening, that there's civilian access to such a detailed image? Or that such an image is really available? I got an e–mail from Pa Wetzel, now in London. He's got a unique point of view because he was a college student during WWII. "It's like waiting for D–Day," he wrote, "you know something's going to happen, but you're not sure when."
9/19
I get the weirdest e–mail:
> sign: Scorpio
> TalkToKramer: Dude, you HAVE to answer this!
> On the FBI top ten wanted list at:
>http://www.fbi.gov/mostwant/topten/fugitives/fugitives.htm
> Of the top ten, 2 are captured, leaving 8
> individuals left - (you dont just GET on this
> list man). 4 are of the 8 left are Virgo's,
> what gives!! I thought these were kind
> and gentle souls??
The one that got away is Virgo? Perfect crime? From the tabloid picture department, and I couldn't find a valid source for this, as in, it might be "photoshopped" [or "touched up"] .... Then, from one of my cousins, more fine artwork [this one actually works on several levels.] Hey, steal these images if you like them — attribution is not required — fact is, I'd rather it not be known. Debunking myths.
9/18
I've taken to reading British sites for a variety of reasons. A new chip for Apple? My usual Monday walking partner came by, a lot later than usual — got in a few miles, a little lunch in a subdued downtown place — I was away from the computer, fax, media of all kinds for several hours. Predictions? I'm not heavily invested in the stock market — fact is — I think I have nothing that's traded on any of the markets, worldwide. I was in England, many years ago, first time I encountered an airport–like metal detector — while going into a museum. I suspect we'll see a lot more of this sort of thing. A lot of our freedom might have been taken for granted. Passing by Waterloo Records, I found the deal of the day as a barely used [looked new, priced used] copy of the recent re–release of Jimi Hendrix's Voodoo Child. Oddest thing, in the record store, one of the guys working recognized me from California, last year. Check it out: Black Cat Lounge, Thursday nights at midnight. "Yeah, you were with your sister?" Small world.
9/17 [Feast Day of St. Lambert, patron saint of Surgeons, and once forced to do heavy penance for breaking wind.]
I'm used to using astrology for individuals, not countries or really big pictures. The best, most concise analysis I read thus far is here [Jonathan Cainer's site, with the best text by Robert Hand.] I've wrestled with this week's introduction more than anything else. Best thing I could do was swipe one of those waving flag graphics and add a link to the local Red Cross. I've still been without work ever since the fateful day. So Bubba give me a shout on the blower, and asked if I want to go to the park and listen to some music. He had a couple of free tickets, which turned out even better as they included backstage passes. He pulled into a Shady Acres, parked his car here, and we were off. Not half a block away, some guy was asking us if ice chests were okay to bring in. "Happens all the time, you work at one event, then everyone assumes you're working at every event." Saw Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Vallejo, dinner between sets then the last few songs of Blues Traveler, and part of the finale from the Black Crows. Joan Jett did a couple of remarkable numbers, a couple of tunes from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, apparently she was just on Broadway with that not long ago, and then a theme song from a certain TV show, Mary Tyler Moore? Was that what I heard? The event was hastily renamed "Freedom Fest" but all the T-shirts were already calling it by its original name. Two, huge American flags flanked the temporary bandshell. It was sponsored by KLBJ [93.3 FM], and in some rather unique marketing, when the Black Crows started to play, some station with 102 as the call letters dumped a dozen beachballs with a glowstick inside each one. "Man, that's tacky," Bubba suggested. No, it's really effective marketing.
9/16
Up before sunrise, a lone osprey making off with the catch of the day. That and a particular last sliver of a moon, right next to Venus. Even Jupiter was bright overhead. It was as if the fish were taunting us. Therefore: no new pictures of fish. While idly chatting about things in the middle of the lake, my fishing buddy asked if I remembered a certain Far Side cartoon, "You know, the one where they're these two guys fishing, and one looks up and sees a mushroom cloud? The caption says, 'Looks like we don't have to worry about bag limits today.'" Moot point, didn't catch a thing, but it was the first time I'd been removed from mainstream media in the last week. Came home to the first of the really painful e–mail messages, a person who lost someone Tuesday. I fretted over my response — feeling woefully inadequate — no matter what I wrote. Headed over to the Spoke for Chicken Fried Steak and the excellent fiddle music of Alvin Crow. Really small crowd and a huge number of red, white and blue outfits.
9/15
While searching for something unrelated on a web site, I found a curious ad, in the El Paso Buzzards site: Help stop the violence. I like the notion of ice hockey in El Paso, and I very much support the idea of the cause, I just find them strange bedmates. A Gemini friend decided that I needed to get out, so we jammed coffee at Jo's, lunch at Tamale House #3, and Academy in between — she was looking for wrist, knee & elbow pads for her upcoming debut in Austin's Roller [Derby] Entertainment. And while I was at Academy I remembered to update my fishing license, as well as pick up a couple of new lures. Which was the oddest coincidence — I got call a little later, asking me about a Saturday fishing trip. Perfect weather, perfect idea. It looked like I planned it that way. To be honest, I'm looking forward to getting in some serious discussion about current events, hopefully from a different point of view. A Colt 45 might not be the usual equipment taken fishing, but in times like this, it only seems appropriate.
9/14
One of my friends in far west Texas works for a public safety department. In other words, he's a cop, located in a border town, between a harsh environment, the aching beauty of the desert, and the task of scooping up bodies, he gives even an impartial observer like myself a sense that life is a little cheaper in some places. Despite the freeze and lock down, locally, the crew cutting the lawns kept working. The guys laying the new sprinkler system kept digging and putting plastic pipe in the ground. After the recent rains, a paint contractor was making use of good weather to get caught up on a job — his largely Hispanic crew worked with joy in the cooler weather.
I worked at an event once when a religious fanatic burst through the door, interrupted the event, and loudly proclaimed that all the readers were minions of the devil. I know about about the devil, having had a date once with his sister, and while one ex might be considered a distant relative of Satan, I seriously doubt that I consort with such peerage on any kind of a regular basis. While I don't support the views of that one individual bursting in and damning us, I do support his right to say his piece — I'd just be more inclined to listen to the message if it came in peace.
In his novel, Big Trouble, the author — usually a humor columnist — Dave Barry, mocked the state of airport security. For the second time in less than a year, I'm amazed out how this piece of written material has so accurately foretold the current events. [Florida voting scandals, airport security questions.]
I'll be interested to hear again from one of my friends — her significant other has an Arabic name, in fact, he looks like an Arab. He is of Middle Eastern descent. Never mind the fact that he's an extremely devout Jew, and never mind the fact that he's fought the same type of terrorism — if not the exact same enemy — on holy ground — before immigrating to America.
So far as I could see, I never did hear anything about the actual perpetrators, either. "How could someone do such a heinous, suicidal act?" Imagine being born in a part of the world where horrendous violence is a day–to–day occurrence.
Second to last paragraph. "Bin Ladin, the youngest son of a wealthy Saudi businessman..." My question, where did the father make his money? First guess is oil, or oil–related industry.
9/13
I was answering an e–mail, and I needed specific Mark Twain quote to fit the current state of the news: "A lie can travel half way around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes." I was thinking about everything I was reading and seeing concerning tragic current events. Last time I checked, this country began with religious tolerance as one of its founding principles. Our freedom [particularly my freedom to publish my own astrology column] seems tenuous, at best. Unable to work — most folks are rescheduling — understandable — I looked over next week's introduction. Erased it. Then put it back. I picked that quote more than a year ago, and it has an eerie hint to it. Don't know what I'll I do. I tend to stay away from either sensitive issues, or politics, what with me being an ardent, tree–hugging liberal these days. Then again, one of the precepts we used to have was the right to choose. I also rewrote this week's introduction several times — but so far, nothing's changed.
9/12
Prior to learning yesterday's news, I scheduled an appointment to eat sushi with a client. Despite the news, we went ahead and met. Downtown Austin was greatly subdued except for dozens of individuals selling special editions newspapers, which felt like WW II history I was just reading. Had Japanese food. Discussing Pearl Harbor and the recent attack. "Better enjoy it, probably the last of the fresh fish that'll get flown in for a while." I surfed around the net, looking at sources for information on terrorism, not wanting to buy a paper because the data was out of date by the time it was published, and meandering home, I recalled passages from a novel I just reread. Images, some part of the plot, something — there's a spooky connection. [6/9 entry] Islands in the Net by Bruce Sterling has some micro to macro comparisons to the current events. Terrorists working out of African nations, 3rd world politics, the media as part of the problem. I hopped over to Jane's Defence Weekly — probably the most level reporting I found last night.
9/11
The book I've been reading lately is about World War II, concentrating — so far — on the training and personalities of a particular B–24 crew. I got interested in the B–24 aspect because it was less well–known, but used a lot more, back then. After reading all the patriotism and the general feelings, this act of aggression — as it unfolds — I have to wonder if it will be the turning point that catalyzes some sort of action. Ruins our sense that we're safe at home.
9/11
Whether it's my own compulsive behavior, or just something else, when I couldn't sleep late Sunday night, I logged on and read some mail. Someone was complaining about their scope for the week, less than two hours old. Said it wasn't easy to understand. Said I wasn't doing my job. I shot back a quick note that said it wasn't my job unless I was being paid. I got a response about not enough humor, which I quoted back and concurred with. I got told to "lighten up." Maybe I was cranky from loud neighbors having a late night party, but such noises are quite quotidian in Shady Acres — I'm immune to that. What's troublesome is when someone complains about free stuff. "It's you're job to help people!" was an emphatic response. It's my job to help people when I'm being paid. Otherwise, it's my job to amuse myself. And feed the cat. My red–headed Cap friend scooted by for a long hike around town. Lunch at Huts, an hour in Book People, looking at travel stuff for London. A little ice cream at Amy's. She's looking forward to a good trip coming up. So am I. Then I turned on the news this morning. Oh great.
9/10
New scopes, new navigation bar. Not sure I like it, but it's the result of something I was playing with months ago. Woke up Sunday morning, glanced at the clock, and I was pretty sure it was close to ten in the morning. I was off by about two hours — two hours too early. "Elvis loved his Mama." [From Jimmy LaFave's Texoma] I'm being left in the digital dust by new technology — poking around on the Hank Three site, I found out he considers himself "speed metal" to a certain extent. Finished reading Fargo Rock City. Loved it. The only person I know with a more encyclopedic knowledge of popular music has to be Bubba Sean. One of the reasons I liked the book so much is it read like a N. Dakota version of Bubba, rambling on about advertising, media, music, various girlfriends, and drinking experiences — framed around sociological deconstruction of 80's Metal Music. I wandered off to an informal meeting of the Austin Journal Writers. I liked the group because it was normal people [okay, so "normal" is a relative term], but two–thirds of the group present is currently unemployed, I guess that's about right for averages around here — the new, migrant class: high–tech–workers.
9/9
"Diary of a madman/Walk the line again today/Entries of confusion/Dear diary I'm here to stay." ["Diary of a Madman," Ozzy Osbourne, Diary of a Madman, Epic, 1981.] What was so odd, that was music that I didn't remember acquiring, but found it in my collection, and I slapped it down in the CD player yesterday. Made for some interesting changes in pitch.
9/8
I got a call around six last night, "What are you doing? Were we going to do something tonight? If we were, I'm too tired to...." So was I. My really big Friday night in Austin: a 44 ounce diet coke. Curl up at home with the cat and a book. Water the plants. Take it easy, not answer the phone for a change. Between meeting clients, having lunch, going for a hike, and doing readings the phone, I was too tired to play. Besides, I'm enjoying reading that book. It's about music, music that doesn't matter, but does. Like most journalists, the author has a way of turning a quick phrase, but there's a lot meat in it, too. I'm not sure I follow the logical progression of the book, but then, just how logical was 1980's "heavy metal," or "hair metal," or whatever you want to call it? One of the funnier, possibly more astute observations, had to do with what happened to all those females from the rock videos? According to the author, and I'm inclined to agree, they're all on County Music Television now. From a strict, historical perspective, the book's a must for music fans of all genres — perhaps the only "definitive" work about a bygone genre. Perhaps a music most folks would like to forget.
9/7 [Queen Elizabeth I birthday]
It was cool and dark at 5:00 AM yesterday. The morning jock [a Cancer feller] is still one of the best I've ever worked with. I ran into a another Austin journal writer at the station, on my way out the door. [Chopped her hair, dyed it black: threw me for a loop.] I had a decision to make: walk home or catch a ride? While standing outside I did my best weather prognostication, took a gamble, and partially regretted it — not because it rained, but because it was deceptively humid — like "being in Houston" humid. I was lightly sweating by the time I made it south of the river, running errands along my route home. The coffee girl at Jo's made a light–hearted comment about one of my nipples showing because I wasn't wearing my shirt anymore, I had just slung it over my shoulder. She asked what would I do if one of her nipples was provocatively showing — like mine, "I'd tip a little more, I guess — but not a lot more, as I'm broke right now." Nice to know I've got noticeable nipples. Nipple, I guess, should be singular. One errand was putting money in the bank, so I'm only cash poor right now. Properly stoked on Jo's coffee, I returned to my trailer to receive an e–mail from fredlet asking about my favorite book. Here's my response:
> send me title and author please....
"Snow Crash" by Neal Stephenson [oddly enough, you sold it to me at Bookstop, in the summer of '93]
"Stranger in a Strange Land" by Robert A. Heinlein.
"Job: a comedy of justice" by Robert A. Heinlein.
"Almanac of the Dead" by Leslie Marmon Silko
"The Antipope" by Robert Rankin [first of six books in the "Brentford" trilogy]
"The Odyssey" by Homer
"As I Lay Dying" by William Faulkner
9/6 [5:00 AM radio slot]
Fancy lit term: bildungsroman. That's what we're supposed to call a novel about a guy coming of age, growing up, so to speak. That's also what Fargo Rock City is. Plus, it's a fairly serious look — as serious as one can be — at the varieties and vagaries of so–called "metal" music that emerged in the 1980's. I should admit that I bought the book based on a "NY Times Review of Books" article, and the one paragraph that was excerpted in that review was comparing the guitar signatures of Clapton and Van Halen with disparate sexual fantasies. Here's one passage that obviously struck a chord with me:
"The term "redneck intellectual" might seem troublesome to some people, and I can understand why. Is it positive? Is it negative? Is it an oxymoron? I would answer all of these questions by saying "no." It doesn't have a connotation. It describes a person who tries to think critically at an age (and in a place) where critical thinking is almost impossible. And I would guess this scenario occurs almost everywhere in America." (p. 48) [Fargo Rock City. Klosterman, Chuck. NY: Scribner's, 2001.]
So far, the text reads like this, both breezy and conversational, yet there's an elemental truth tucked within its core. Caucasian males, under 50 years old [more like 30 to 40 demographic] can identify with the feelings, the senses, and maybe even remember the music. For that minority, the book is great. If you never watched mucic, never cruised down the road listening to some "metal" on the radio, or if you've never layed air guitar, then maybe it isn't for you.
9/5
Saddle up and sit at home. Feels like I've been gone for a long, long time — missed a lot of August in Austin. I haven't had a chance to fully decompress yet, and the "Nashville suicide weather" hasn't helped, although, I can usually enjoy a rain storm. Took a rambling tour between and after readings, wound up at Book People, ran into a buddy there, compared notes about music criticism, and I found out that Kinky seems to release a new book every August or so. That's a piece of joy. I also picked up Fargo Rock City. I got about two pages into it, and all I can say, the book rocks. It's a must for any musical–minded person [the subtitle says it all: A Heavy Metal Odyssey in Rural Nörth Daköta — complete with requisite umlauts.] I realized, further into the book, why it got such mixed reviews on Amazon, it's for white males, maybe someone who dreamed about being a rockstar in a misspent 1980's youth. Yesterday's mailbag netted two divergent opinions:

round about 9/4/01 9:06 AM, ya'll said:
> The three pictures of sunflowers, one after
> another, in your journal
> entry this morning made me laugh out loud,
> in the midst of the end of a
> lot of crazy shit.
> I'm glad you share your wacky sense of humor

round about 9/4/01 11:21 AM, ya'll said:
> Re: this is BRILLIANT image
> http://www.astrofish.net/aimages/sunflower3.jpg

[a picture is worth a thousand words?]
9/4
The picture is from Colorado City, Texas. Someplace between "here" and "there," and unfortunately, the whole picture didn't make it, just part of it. Uneventful flight, uneventful trip, and the cat was singing my praise when I walked in the trailer's door. Or looking forward to being fed, not sure which. Other pictures from the road: #1, #2, #3. I'm sure on one of the bank buildings, I saw sign that suggested the temperature was 96 yesterday afternoon. A storm front blew threw last night, and I know my little online thermometer suggested it was 66. How things change, so quickly. I'm sure there's a lesson there, or a an apt metaphor for a Capricorn, but I guess I should let that one slide.
9/3
At one point yesterday afternoon, I was sure I was pretty darn near blessed for the countryside I was cutting through, down the middle of the Permian Basin, slowly crawling with the interstate up onto the hills west of Abilene, it was all lush and green, That's twice this year I've been in the area, and both times, it's been right after rainfall. Amazing stuff — verdant, lush, almost tropical, in a gentle way [as long as you're inside a vehicle.] Then I got back to Dallas. I have witnesses — I come by my skills naturally. The very fact that I can ever string a true statement together is amazing. Both of my parents [no really, I have witnesses] are able to twist truths and words around to an amazing degree.
9/2
I never cease to marvel at the culture I get in El Paso. I narrowly escaped manual labor, Bubba was laying concrete, and I scooted around town for a spell, picked up trinkets for the folks back home, then winding up at Cattleman's, on the way out of town. Big steak. Didn't last as long as I wanted it to, either, by Monahans, I was starting to have trouble telling road from "not road." But in that magic hour before the motel, the mountains off to the south, the glorious sunset behind me, a full moon just cresting the eastern horizon, it was the fullest majesty of the western Texas wide open spaces. I had a little trouble when I tried to snap a few pictures at a Federal Border Patrol stop, just west of Van Horn. One guard didn't take kindly to my enthusiasm or desire to take a picture of the full moon. I did snap one shot, though, of the Toyota Hybrid, with some of the sunset in the background. As usual, the picture doesn't do justice to the evening's colors. The other guard at the checkpoint, though, did allow as how the moon rose right over the valley, which lay right in front of the checkpoint.
9/1
Ruidoso, NM — El Paso. TX: creeping sore throat. After spending as much time traveling, like I have been, the dreaded "sore throat" ailment finally slew me. I had to check my notes, but it was in the low 50's up in the mountains. I came out of the motel room, dressed in shorts, barefoot, bare chest, ready to hop in the car, and had to back track to grab a sweatshirt for cover. Heater worked fine, though. By the time I was rolling down the mountains, it was getting warm, peel out of the heavy clothing. Grace greeted me, "talking me in in," once my cell phone started to work again. I suppose I should get ready to write about my adventures driving a Toyota Hybrid car, a super fuel efficient vehicle, but that's all going to have to wait as it's a long way from here in El Paso to Dallas. Had us a some fabulous food — Grace's treat — at the Riviera, "over on the west side."
8/31
Austin — Denver — Raton Pass — Roswell, NM: I had to stop. I was making really good time, but I was running out of energy to focus. I almost stayed the night in Roswell, NM, because I'd seriously like to explore a number of topics there. Cresting Raton Pass, it felt like all of New Mexico opened up on the high plains heading south. I recalled nothing specific about the drive alongside the front range of the Rockies, either. But the view from the top of the pass, snaking down the mountain, the incredible vistas and panoramic views. Plus, there's been a lot of rain lately, and this was not how I remembered New Mexico: green. I tried to capture some of the feeling with a series of digital images, but it didn't really catch the vast expanse of sky, scattered clouds, and then huge stands of sunflowers. I did note that, for about 20 or 30 miles, I was on the old [pre 1937] Route 66. For the sake of amusement, I did stop at the Wal-mart in Roswell because there was a UFO sitting in the parking lot. Got a single T-shirt. Too bad they didn't have more. Then, while sitting in the Denny's at the corner of two highways, I made a few notes, like the local western wear place had a picture of an alien in a cowboy hat and boots, and the UFO stuff was everywhere. Not much has changed, other than the old Tastee Freeze is gone. And there's a plethora of new motels. Either it was creeping road fatigue, sheer fear at confronting my own past, or the fact that I was still vibrating from driving some unreasonable amount of mileage, but after a cup of coffee, I was back out on the road. One memory from a long time ago still stands, though, looking east from Roswell's Main Street, there's still not a lot but high lonesome desert and prairie. That view hasn't changed — my last room there in the barracks faced east.
8/30
It was raining lightly yesterday morning. Same for the afternoon, on into the evening. What a pleasant surprise. Wasn't raining so much that it beat a tattoo on the trailer's roof, either, just a gentle, heavy mist. Home for less than 36 hours, back out on the road again. Red eye to Denver, snag the car, roll out on the highway — I had to burn a couple of CD's for folks in El Paso, diagnostic software for their computers, and while I was at it, I ripped a few of my CD's for the road. There's a haunting tune, done by both Lyle Lovett and REK, the lyrics keep haunting me for this road trip. Set out to hear Steve Fromholz last night, got rained out, wound up over at the Saxon, listening to Kacy Crowley. Given the early start time today, though, it wasn't bad at all.
8/29
Ft. Worth — Dallas — Austin. Big day yesterday, still glowing from a Lyle Lovett show, too. Kimball Art Museum, in Ft. Worth — sort of an interesting, meandering tour. It's like I always meant to stop off, but never made it before. The price for the standard galleries, plus the price of parking, is perfect for me: free. Then wander homeward, the big deals in the city failing to send my head reeling. The skies looked really rocky, stacked high with thunderclouds, but after a long, hot summer, the rain is welcome. Typical Texas weather, typical Texas attitude: drought or flood. We don't do well with that middle stuff — gets boring. I'm thinking I'm going to have to change the Sagittarius smell from whatever most astrologers choose to patchouli — only seems right.
8/28
Dallas: my parents' house is beginning to smell like my grandparents house, I figure it's about 50% that way now. Just an olfactory memory. Ft. Worth — BBQ at the Railhead [mighty fine brisket] — their T-shirt says, "Life's too short to live in Dallas," and I've never been able to find the source of that quote, "Dallas and Ft. Worth: the oddest of couples." Lyle Lovett at the Bass Performance Hall: a little of this and little of that. The show includes his Large Band. Amazing stuff. Each year, I forget how good that particular band leader is, and after it's all said and done, that would be what I'd call Lyle in this present form. He looked almost scared, almost vulnerable, almost too human on stage. It's worth noting that I just recently heard Jimmy Buffet sing a Lyle song live, and in this set, I heard Lyle sing a Kinky Friedman song. Wonder if the next time I hear Kinky, he'll sing a Buffet song. It could happen. Words can't really convey the excitement of Lyle Lovett live. It's an experience that should never be missed.
8/27
Round about 8/26/01 9:58 PM, ya'll said:
> On a related note - the stormtrooper armor I just bought reeks of patchouli.
> I'm almost detecting a trend here..
I'd say there was a trend. I fetched that note up from Dallas, a brief stop over on my way west for a day. Got into the Dallas airport minutes before the heavens opened up and let a flood come down. There was an other note, cycled through late last night, pretty much irritated me, "Why don't you post the scopes on Sunday, like everyone else?" I had to erase that snappy comeback, "send money." But complaining without sending money doesn't get my attention these days, just a heated response. Or no response.
8/26
Late last night, I had another set of misadventures that turned out well, or amusing, at the very least. My Pisces buddy calls me up, and she wanted to see a movie. "Jay and Silent Bob...." From the trailers, it looked like pointless good fun, and there was something else about it I couldn't place. She shows up at 9, with a Sag girl in tow, and we're off to theater. Closed by a power failure was the story — when we got there. So we go by the new South Austin Krispy Kreme place and have ourselves a little milk and spun sugar [the doughnut variety], notice that the theater's lights are back on, and go back to the movie. At that point, I was quite on the roll, between computers, the sugar, the cat, packing, the sugar, and so forth — the movie made me laugh. Laughed the whole way through. Laughed until the end of the credits. Now, it's very rare that I pay full price for a film. This was one of the rare ones that was worth the entire $7.75. When this one makes it to the dollar shows, I'll go again. It's not really a movie but a spoof. It's got everything, including an amazing cast doing cameo appearances. Imagine light saber battle with Mark Hamill — and that's just one scene. I suppose, it's really a "stoner" movie, too. But that just makes it ever so much more appealing, as far as I'm concerned. Must be a generational thing.
8/25
[That author's web site.] One of the calls I got in the last few days was from an ex–girlfriend [Virgo], still living in Arizona. She's been getting a monthly astrological update from me for more than 7 years, postal mail, then e–mail. Conversationally, I noted that I was probably going to stop sending out the monthly mailer at the end of this year. "Too much work, not enough fun." Not enough cash revenue generated by it, as well. Like I was telling her, the weekly column is fun, and continues to be fun; therefore, I'll keep doing it. I like getting up in the morning, looking at a blank template with the signs, casting the charts, doing the math, and writing the material. The constraints of publishing suggest that a really short monthly might sell. Since no publishers came forward with suitcases full of money, I think I'll drop it. I reached this decision a few months ago, but nothing is engraved in stone. I've written up the end of this year. Who knows? Something could change between now and then. A further reflection, I was trying to pinpoint exactly what happened as a result of my hospital stay in 1998, the "near death experience" I went through [they forgot to tell me I almost died — I was still making jokes and asking nurses their birthdays.] That was when my weekly went from a mere thousand words a week to close to a 2,000. And after that, I started the web log, and let the weekly find its comfortable length, between 2 and 3 thousands words per week. In newspaper terms, that's way too many column inches. Most of the weekly horoscope columns run about 75 words per sign — do the math: 900 to 1,000 words. Heard from several Gemini folks yesterday, apparently my weekly scope hit home, with at least two of them referring back to it more than once. "How do you do that?"
8/24
After a late night with music and cops, I got off to slow start on Thursday morning — sure is nice living in South Austin where good hygiene means I can splash on some patchouli instead of having to take shower before I meet a client. Virgo day: Virgo client calls, Virgo ex calls, Virgo reading. Is this a trend? Moon was in Scorpio, fresh like. I started rereading HardWired by Walter Jon Williams, a book that's been sitting on my shelf for over a decade. I liked the cover art, and the story line was good because it was set in New Mexico, with a central figure named "Cowboy." Because the author was living in Albuquerque at the time [might still be for all I know], and despite the novel's "high–tech, science fiction" nature, there's descriptive imagery that properly evokes the real feeling of the western landscape. I'm trying to jog something loose from my memory, hoping maybe this novel will do it.
8/23
I was fishing for some more Lyle Lovett music, but wound up playing Fat Boy Slim first. Nice transition, I thought. Both CD's in that Step Inside This House set start out with tunes penned by Steve Fromholz and when I searched for his web site, I discovered he was playing down the street at the Hill Cafe last night. The music touches memories. Like when his originals were playing on the outlaw FM radio, back when I was growing up. I was a certainly a city boy at that time, yet I had an innate, inherent understanding of the countryside described, having spent portions of Texas summers along the banks of the Brazos River. This isn't some romanticized, Texas childhood. Hot days, catfish on trot lines, poison ivy, and rattlesnakes. Sort of a strange mix, but then, so is the music. When we got to the cafe last night, strains of "Texas Trilogy" were coming from the back patio. Been something like 20 years since I've heard it sung by Steve. He also did a few cuts from his new album [buy it]. Fromholz was properly attired for a South Austin summer night in the backyard, wearing shorts and a Hawaiian print shirt — excellent tunes, relaxed atmosphere, good food. Then, to make it more interesting, one, then a second, officer joined our party. South Austin isn't like, a regular police beat. At the end of the night, I'm not sure if the songwriter's stories were the best, or the tales from some of Austin's peace officers — and I'm still not sure what was best, the company of the officers or hearing Fromholz play. I was surprised at the light turn out, though, with the rise in popularity of the "alt.country" set, I would've expected a lot more folks turning out to see a ballad–singing, story–telling, Hawaiian–shirt–wearing–cowboy perform. I'm not sure I can swing it, but I'm hoping to be there next week, again. And the steaks are excellent.
8/22
It's hard to shift musical gears, as the Sun moves into Virgo today, but that's not until this afternoon. Listening recommendation, in anticipation of next week: Lyle Lovett's Step Inside This House, one of the bravest — and coolest — collections of music — for all you "alt.country" types. This is the real stuff, liner notes are a must. Sometime around noon yesterday, I finally got unburied from most of the accumulated paperwork, only to look at my upcoming schedule and realize I wasn't home for long. Pa Wetzel bought a new car this year, and in his effort [some would suggest the motivation lies with Ma Wetzel] to escape Texas summers, he left the car in Colorado. The familial duty of bringing the car back to Texas falls to the eldest offspring. I've sworn, on numerous occasions, that I will never, ever make that drive across West Texas again, not in its entirety. Looks like I'm the designated driver for this one. So much for the resolution. Some folks mind find it a little odd, to head to Dallas via El Paso, but if it works out, that would be my choice.