Astrology Home Buoy
[Last modified: ]
8/31
I went ahead and dropped the monthly mailer onto the list yesterday afternoon.
I was filling in time for a slow Monday afternoon at the office — and looking
at some trailer maintenance which needed to be addressed. Then, in the late
afternoon, I got a very disturbing message. A reader wrote in to tell me that
she was greatly offended because there was a link in her weekly scope that she
found very upsetting. After telling me that I should never do that sort of link
again, the writer of the note also suggested that I send her a free chart. The
tone of the note was demanding, and it felt like an assault. Then to suggest
that I make up for what was obviously an error in judgment, the writer admitted
that she was browsing from work, and it could get her in trouble to see this
sort of thing on her browser at work. And her getting in trouble was my fault.
A lot of effort goes
into writing a weekly horoscope, and the material that is presented at "www.astrofish.net"
is freely available. So far, a half dozen other sites and astrology writers
have copied various elements from the format. And on numerous occasions, in
a blatant disregard for the copyright, the text has been copied and sent onward.
So the "look and feel" and the actual text is being distributed, and
the author is not getting any credit. Then somehow, I'm held responsible for
actions that some surfer takes. I work overtime to make sure that there is no
"bad language" in my work. The very strongest words that I've used
in over seven years, I once wrote the week "summarily sucks." It's
a personal problem, I know, but I find some of the offensive language just doesn't
look good. I find it upsets my delicate sensibilities. Offending links are supposed
to jar folks, do something that is going to make the reader examine an issue,
or lead to a "fun thing" on the web. Again, this is all material that
is freely available. [To heck with] it, I've go to finish fixing the plumbing
— "There are two things you need to know about plumbing: [water] flows
downhill, and payday is Friday."
8/30
The difference between writing a novel and writing something much shorter has,
in the case of the book I'm actively reading right now, much to do with the
ability to draw out longer characters, and from the opening pages, the prelude,
I realized that I was reading a masterfully woven tale. Much of the action is
on the Mississippi. I just couldn't stop from laughing, in the midst of the
disaster scene, at the notion that one of the narrative threads deals with a
white boy (skate punk to me) and black man (engineer who fixes things) as they
drift down the Mississippi River — if I ever get a chance, I'll ask the
author if he was consciously doing a "tip of the hat" to Mark Twain's
Huck Finn. While widespread destruction and loss is not funny, there
are some comic bits in the book which evoke laughter. This is the third novel
with parallel narratives this summer, and perhaps, this one works the best.
It has something to do with the way the characters all relate, but the book
I read before this had rather abrupt and jumpy transitions. The Rift
is amazingly smooth. I'm getting to the point where I can't wait to see how
all of this gets tied together at the end.
8/29
Some days, I really feel like I'm getting too old for some of my activities.
Birthday scene: "Wow, Kramer, you're the oldest one here." "Who
me?" I ask, "I'm only 29." "Dude, you've been 29 for as
long as I've known you, that's what, seven years?" But on Saturday morning
after wrestling with my computer at the strange hours of the morning, and all
because the battery on the daughter card for the mother board thing had to be
replaced. I just didn't want to lose any of the precious work I had done since
the last back up. Running amuck in town with some of my buddies, all of them
hung over, and me with little sleep, we had wandered into a bookstore, "Man,
I've got to get a book about programming, for work...." Kinky Friedman
has a new book out, and that little trip cost me the retail price of a hardback
book. Reading material is the big weekend topic, too, because I've got two authors
that are pretty much in the "Science Fiction" camp, at least, according
to what they've written the most of, and both these authors have books about
the New Madrid Fault, and what might happen if this fault was to let go (or
do whatever it is that fault lines do). The most recent one is a very hefty
novel (five pounds, 800 pages) by Walter J. Williams called The Rift.
For the sake of comparison, consider Alan Steele's 1994 novel, The Jericho
Iteration. Same premise, sort of, what would happen today if that sucker
let go?
8/28
"This is a good image, here you are, leaning against a pay phone, talking
on a cell phone — must be Kramer, and look, you've got a shirt on, too,
almost didn't recognize you." Old friends, some folks I haven't seen in
a long time showed up. Musicians and various members of the musical camp. "I
can't believe you haven't been immortalized in a song yet," suggested one
friend, "we'll fix that." I had gone to listen to a friend play with
a band and celebrate a Virgo birthday. We all started out at one place on South
Congress, and when the breaker blew for the third or fourth time, and the waitress
refused to go into a dark walk–in to get me some more Hibiscus Mint Tea,
the whole party decided it was time to move on to another place. To be sure,
the longish drum solo (as one critic observed) sounded more like a drum circle
than a drum solo. And the band didn't seem too keen to a do an "unplugged
at .. " set. We wound up at the Horseshoe, which, I'm sure, must be a venerable
Austin institution. Sorry I've missed it, it was rather friendly place. I got
a couple of good stories from the musicians, as well. "I was in Grand Prairie,
between Dallas and Ft. Worth, and we were in place like this, I asked for a
Shiner, and the bartender said, "We don't have no imports.'" "Hey,
you now why you always take Southern Baptists in pairs when you go fishing?
If you only take one, he'll drink all the beer!"Despite al the good times
last night, of which there were many, there was, of course, one little problem.
End of the night, I get home, I fire up the old stand by computer because I
had left her off all night — dead machine. A little late night parts juggling
revealed that she has a dead battery on the board thing. No big deal, but it
added hours to an already late evening.
8/27
I wandered out of my trailer and aimlessly towards the road, figuring I needed
something to eat, and being fully aware that there was good country music, just
down the street. I stopped by a friend's trailer, a Virgo, and we wound up having
dinner together. As we walked into Threadgill's, the band was sawing through
a rather different version of some big band classics, and I must admit, a fiddle
and a steel guitar make a an interesting version of "In the Mood"
instead of the more conventional instrumentation for the song. Then we headed
on up to listen to Three Penny Opera. The guy in the band I know, he's a Virgo.
Same birthday as my other friend. I was talking about a proposed brunch date,
and her birthday is the same as well. So that's three big birthday's up and
coming. Virgo alert. My perspicuous companion for the evening decided that Three
Penny Opera was really good, and original, too, which, as she pointed out, is
unusual in Austin. Neither one of us had the cash on us to buy a CD, but they
are available in local stores. Get one now. Might make a really good birthday
gift, I guess.
8/26
My career as a critic ended a long time ago. My career as an art critic also
ended a long time ago, like about the week I finally moved to Shady Acres. I'd
lived in Austin on the North Side, the South Side, the East Side, and I knew
where I wanted to be. Several years back, a spot came open and I moved in. I
also acquired one of my first pieces of serious art for the collection: topless
blond on black velvet. I found her in a junk shop down here, and she spoke to
me. The way her nipples didn't line up. The purple cowboy hat, the way the painting
was actually signed by the artist.
(Looks like a pen name to me, though.) Caught in the grips of a Pisces and the
full moon, one of my distant neighbors finally ponied up the cash to buy her.
She'll be gone before too long. I might miss her, but I know Ma Wetzel won't.
My dear, sweet mother always displays concern about my taste in artwork.
8/25
Monday is usually
a heavy day for e-mail, typically I get as many as hundred messages before noon.
Tuesdays are getting to be no different from Monday, only, it's another day.
As a Sagittarius, I like to deal with pending messages as quickly as possible.
It's getting a bit tedious when there's no money attached to some questions.
Dreams have been a big topic as of late, too. Dreams:
like the time I see a woman that I fancy, perhaps there's an ascendant, sun
sign, moon sign, Mars, Venus, whatever that lines up. My brain takes off and
runs with the idea, we spark, we date, I start courting, we hit it off, we move
in together, we get married, we have a couple of kids, I buy a house in the
suburbs, I get a real job, she gets a mini-van, and before long, we're getting
a divorce, a nasty, lengthy and very ugly divorce. My friend sees this look
on my face, "Dude, what's her name?" "I don't know," I reply.
8/24
My musical tastes is a long running debate amongst several friends. "I
don't know / Where I'm a–gonna go when the Volcano blows..." (Volcano
– Jimmy Buffet). The Volcano never really did blow, though. At least, not
in Austin. I kept waiting for the big rain, perhaps some high winds, something
of meteorological interest, but other than some random drops of rain, there
wasn't much. I've made the trip to the coast often enough, though, and I'm familiar
with the territory down that way. I do know what it feels like to be there.
It seems like there are miles and miles of endless low dunes, sometimes with
a fragmentary low scrub, maybe a thin creek cutting a temporary pathway through
countryside. It's a good place for a hurricane. Nature seems to have adapted
herself to it rather well.
8/23
"That's right, you did say we were over due for a big hurricane,"
suggested one of my clients on Sunday. I was working at the bookstore, after
a really long Leo party in the hood. It wasn't so much an exciting party as
it was a late party. My Libra friend didn't show up on time — which is
really nothing new — and the party lasted until the small hours of the
night. Then it was a late start, and I came dragging in to the bookstore barely
at noon, looking a little worse for the wear and tear. I was completely oblivious
to the fact that the a hurricane was "just fixin'" to land on the
Gulf Coast. I had received some strange e-mail asking me about it, but frankly,
I didn't know a thing about it. It was a "business as usual" day.
About the most exciting thing, between me and a Virgo, was the idea of lashing
ourselves to the porch in front of a certain restaurant on Congress Avenue to
watch the storm blow in. By this morning, though, the location of Austin had
not been hit with anything but a few high clouds. I did step outside on the
deck last night, at three in the morning, to see what the weather was really
doing. It was just the usual eerie three AM., calm, so I went back to the book
I was reading.
8/22
Friday's lethargy seeped into Saturday. I got up and out early, though, forcing
myself to get a little amount of exercise while it was still relatively cool
— under a 100 degrees, by the local indicator. The "walnut paneling"
in the trailer was getting mighty warm by the middle of the afternoon necessitating
another nap. The only one who like this sort of behavior is the cat. The unabated
Libra saga continued into the evening, though.
8/21
Some days are really intense and interesting. Other days are really quite boring.
But after the activity of the last few days, even the last week or so, and the
late nights and early mornings, I had to spend the greater part of the day resting
up. I did get out and entertained by Bubba, for a brief moment at lunch. "So
I met this one girl, and she told me her name, and I grimaced, and she asked
'have you ever dated a psycho girl with the same name?' Then I assured it just
meant that I didn't have to get the name changed on the tattoo." Then there
was that one piece of mail which was strangely disturbing. I spent a sum total
of one year in an Eastern Prep school, a long, long time ago. My Texas sensibilities
were infected with a certain degree of Liberal Eastern thought processes, or
something like that. I got to see the other side. I didn't last long, either
because Texas boys don't usually go east too well, not that far east of the
Mississippi, or, for that matter, that far north. I got a school alumnae directory
delivered, and that's what was so strange, names I hadn't seen in a very long
time, old flames, wondering what we all look like now. I'll bet I'm the only
who hasn't changed that much, my hairline is a little further back, but I still
wear cowboy boots. I still have a Texas flag tacked up in my domicile. Are they
now, corporate executives? CEO's, movers and shakers on Wall Street? I wonder.
So far, the only "old school chum" I've run into is a former drill
sergeant — now an ex–Marine M.P., too — and for all the world,
he just looks like the laughing Buddha, "When I last saw Kramer, he had
a lot less hair, and I had a lot more."
8/20
"Music: response. Music that triggers some kind of a response...."
(Chemical Brothers, Surrender, 1999 Virgin Records – first track). I've
got a bunch of almost random images floating through my head, and I tried to
put some order to them as I walked back from listening to Three Penny Opera
last night. As I crossed the bridge heading south to get to the trailer park,
I peeled my shirt off, and suddenly the hot summer night didn't have such a
sultry feeling because my chest was naked to the night air and a breeze was
blowing up from the south. The southerly breezes always comes laden with moisture,
and gentle refrain from some kind of a calypso beat — even though this
is only reminiscent of the Texas Gulf. Perhaps it's the Spanish influence, conjunto
music from the passing car. Before I went to hear the band, I grabbed a bite
at Romeo's, right around the corner from Shady Acres. A little Italian food,
but the seasoning suggested just a hint of something much spicier. I did stop
long enough to get a couple of cigars, and I kept trying to remember to tell
the guy selling the cigars that Mark Twain (Sagittarius) liked the cheap ones,
like I do. "What this country needs is a good $2.95 cigar." While
I was finishing the cigar, loitering outside the club, waiting on 3PO, I asked
the lead singer what her birthday was — another Sagittarius. Much earlier
in the evening, seeing as how I was running low on combustible entertainment
(cigars which can be smoked as opposed to cigars which are destined to age in
my humidor for some time — like wine), I just cranked up the stereo, and
sat outside while I was waiting on the phone to ring. It was some Texas stuff
again, "the road goes on forever and the party never ends." Now, the
there's a fiddle in that tune, and it's a proper country fiddle. According to
some of the stuff about Three Penny Opera, they have fiddle player as well.
Last night, he was sawing hard enough have strings flying off his bow. But 3PO's
instrument is a violin in the hands of a rock and roll violin player. I suppose
he can do a country reel, but I could hear more depth than just a light country
stroke. 3PO is still a distinctly different band. I've given their CD to several
of my "record label" clients so far, nothing, yet there's always hope.
".... alcohol and nicotine" (Three Penny Opera). Moon was in Sagittarius,
wonder if that was the magical feel to the night?
8/19
Of course I got a stern warning about not mentioning a name in yesterday's note,
but I really did get on tear with looking at Airstream Trailers, and I learned
a few things. Besides, any product that develops this kind of loyal following
— that should speak for itself. I really feel like I should move up, only,
if I were to acquire an Airstream, I might have to find another trailer park
besides Shady Acres, along the shores of the Colorado River, less than one linear
mile from the State Capitol Building — the neighbors might think I
was getting too uppity. The only way I can see getting one was if it was a really
old one. Then it's back to my original dream, a fantasy if you will, to have
both a truck and a trailer older than my girlfriend. Of course, that sort supposes
that I have girlfriend in the first place — which I currently don't. But
that luck might be changing as I heard from the girl way out west. She signs
her cards to me with the phrase, "your little water nymph...." because
she's a triple water sign. Always spooks my Sagittarius fire a little, all that
water.
8/18
So one of my unfailingly loyal fans calls me up the other night, "I'm PMSing,
and I need some one to take out on on," she says. I'm not naming names,
but it wouldn't surprise me if this was a Leo in Silicon Valley, working for
a big software company, perhaps, with a degree in French Medieval History, and
some artistic license, like an art degree, too. Her URL might indicate that
she was tiny Fred, as well. But no names. I was diddling on the net, not answering
e-mail (lots of folks have written in about Polonius), and we got to talking
about trailer life. Now that's something I know a lot about. We discussed the
top of line, all time, number one dream machine for living in, an Airstream,
and that lead to a little bit of fantasy surfing. Sure, I can call it research,
but let's not mince words, I was avoiding productive work. However, it did turn
up something rather exciting, my dream home: a 1962 Safari Airstream. Now all
I need is the spare $20K, and I'm set. This just goes to prove that PMS is not
always a bad thing.
8/17
Monday's sometimes have a barrel full of mail to answer. And yet, the whole
time I was busy ruminating about the events of the past week or so. There was
one over the top accomplishment at the end of Monday: another day with no shirt,
all day long. You know, the Neighbor sometimes pulls an early shift at the store,
leaving at 5 or so in the morning, usually about the time I'm going to bed.
And one morning last week, I was just saying good bye to a departing visitor
when the Neighbor stuck his head out of the door of his trailer. I'm not quite
sure what he saw. But he did hear the car wheels crunch on the gravel, and he
did bring this up later in the weekend. "Dude she was leaving at 5 in the
morning, so, what happened?" "Nothing," says me, "nothing
all. Really." I go banging through the Neighbor's door a few days later,
pop a cold one, and settle down to watch some sports. He starts up again, "So
Kramer's got a girlfriend...." "Look:" says me with a deepening
blush, "nothing happened. Got it? She's just a friend." "Oh right.
Sure."
8/16
DETROIT ROCK CITY was the main plan for Sunday. We were sitting at Magnolia
when a Ted Nugent song came on the music system, a waiter came firing out of
the kitchen going "All Right!" I didn't waste moment to point out
that the musician in question is a Sagittarius, what with my hand raised in
an almost involuntary universal "rock on dude" gesture. I looked around
guiltily, and the waiter said, "Yeah, I know he's Sagittarius, like me,
but he's weird, you know, a Republican gun freak." I'm not too worried
about the artist in question because, as Bubba pointed out, how worried can
you be about a guy's politics when you consider that one of his biggest claims
to fame was "Whang Dang Sweet Poontang?" But
it was Ted Nugent music that launched the sound track for "Detroit Rock
City." One of the opening songs was "Cat Scratch Fever." Yes,
we did spend part of the movie trying to out do each other with music trivia.
I'm pretty sharp on certain time frames. More amusing, though, is that some
of the music that I listen to was first released before Bubba was even born.
I don't mean in a figurative sense, I mean, literally. The movie has a fairly
simple premise, and it's sure to be available on video tape in about a week
or two. Which doesn't stop it from being a new possibility for cult status,
too, because it's a classic tale done in four parts about a road trip from Cleveland
to Detroit to see the band KISS. Each of the four characters get s a chance
to have that one magical night of [insert your adolescent male nightmare fantasy
here]. With searing symbolism, the guys' tickets get torched in the beginning
of the movie, and the adventures include "death to disco" which was
prevailing sentiment at one point in that decade. As with a typical, even possibly
predictable, plot device, there is a much dope humor. Is it a good movie? What's
missing from too much of the entertainment press is a push that would rate this
as a miserable movie, which it is, I'm sure, according to some highbrow definitions
of art. But rather than trying to apply a post–modern, deconstructionist,
neo–feminist critical interpretation, why not just suggest that it's a
good film to see on a hot summer day? Especially at a matinee price? I wouldn't
hesitate to suggest, only at a matinee price. But at that, it's worthy —
if nothing more, the sound track is a pretty good trip through the heavier portions
of music in the 1970s era. Costuming, cars, everything was fairly accurate except
for a one, minor flaw. Maybe two flaws. It was almost a little too laden with
religious imagery in one respect to one of the lads. And then there was a one
other problem, a touch-tone pay phone. It's been so long since I've seen one
that's not a touch tone phone, I couldn't factually remember that the phones
back then were all rotary. Considering that it was a pretty lame movie that
was nothing more than a romp through the afternoon with a couple of kids having
stupid adventures, I figure it was better movie than most of what was out there.
There's a chance
that this could be compared to the "Hero's Journey into the Underworld"
as described by Joseph Campbell in "The Hero with a Thousand Faces."
According to that definition, it does rate as a fine movie. Of course, I'm sure
most of the press will miss the symbolism there. But from what I recall about
rock concerts in that time frame, and especially a KISS show, consider it a
trip it the underworld? And on a hot afternoon in Austin, with the thermometer
popping close to a 100 degrees, isn't that what it's all about?
8/15
Some days have a single flavor that sticks out, a more prominent and distinctive
aroma, something that hangs around. Saturday morning, after late night Friday,
the phone started ringing, the buzzer started buzzing, and the electronic cacophony
began promptly at 10:00 AM. Within 20 minutes, I had heard from 4 Libra's. In
fact, I ate twice yesterday, once at Magnolia, and once at Threadgill's. My
dining companion was a Libra in each case. I was out listening to music last
night, and my date for the evening was Libra. If there really is anything to
this astrology stuff, I guess I should note the moon was in Libra. In the last
48 hours, I've had a share of rock and roll, country and western, and one of
last night's stops included the heavy jazz music (for lack of better terms)
of Tabu at Top of the Marc. That makes for an interesting round of live music
in a single period of time. We did finish the evening out on Sixth Street —
listening to some local rock and roll guys sawing their way through some original
music. Can't say it was particularly great, there's a certain amount of local
music which all begins to sound the same, after a while.
8/14
I should've been more worried about Friday the 13th, but I wasn't. After what
the last few days have been like, I just couldn't work myself into a frenzy.
Or even a cold sweat. I did "glisten" at one point, fresh in from
a work out, and I summarily got kicked out of my neighbor's trailer for "trying
to look like a bronze he–man." I was just attempting to scavenge something
to eat and drink — being true to the character created after me. Two very
Texas things occurred yesterday. One, I finally got around to seeing "Hands
on a Hard Body" which is not a piece of fiction, and it's not something
that could ever be scripted; however, it's a wonderful window into the ways
and peoples of East Texas. It's a brilliant movie, and I could wax poetic about
it's verisimilitude, the documentary accuracy, the real characters, or even
just make one point and compare it to some of the more violent "real"
TV episodes, like "Cops" and "Springer." The film is done
in Longview. Last time I was there, Motel Six cost $5.95 for a night. Doesn't
look like a lot has changed.
It was a special Leo's birthday this weekend. Elaine was having a "get together" at the legendary "Broken Spoke" on South Lamar, just around the corner from Shady Acres. Several of the party's members were absolutely shocked that I had never been to the Spoke. It's not like I've been avoiding the place, I just never seemed to get around to catching a show there. Between the movie and the rest of the afternoon, I never had a chance to change clothes, either. I mean, it's not like I was going to drag out my "boot scootin'" attire for a summer's evening. I did have on a special Shakespeare hat, though, that would be Shakespeare Fishing Equipment — the hat was from a Virgo and that hat came all the way from Waco. I had on shorts, a simple linen shirt and sandals. Dinner at the Spoke was sumptuous, "If you're getting the double cheeseburger, let me know so I can notify the hospital for a cardiac case..." Yeah, thanks buddy. The meal was great, and Elaine passed me a few bites of her Chicken Fried Steak. That's the way it's supposed to be done. Period. In the dance hall in the back, the band playing was Gary P. Nunn. To be really honest, the last time (I think) I saw him was when he was doing backup for Jerry Jeff in 1975. The second set had his perennial favorite "London Homesick Blues" as I grabbed the birthday girl and headed to the dance floor. That one song, after all this time, an anthem for me, captures more poignant emotions, a little bit of a loss, a little bit of melancholy sadness, and a an astounding revelation that I really don't dance country and western too well. A little bit later, me and another fellow were trying our best to do the Cotton Eyed Joe with the birthday girl. I learned that there's a secret to do this particular step with sandals on: avoid getting trampled by the line of folks in front of you. And really watch out when some girl in black shorts joins that line in front of you — it can really screw up the timing of you and your friends.
8/13
I was going to try something different and just do the day as a series of bullet
points —
Being a "Crowned Prince" of astrology and humor, maybe a court jester would be a better term, or "clown prince," has its drawbacks. By my estimation, the effect of the eclipse finally caught up with me — by the end of Thursday afternoon, I had irritated any and every available female within a quarter mile radius — maybe much further. [1200 miles, last estimate] Didn't much matter what I said, it seemed my sarcastic comments were too close to the bone. My caustic asides ruffled a few too many feathers, and my apparently good attitude just caused further damage. I knew it was going to be a bad week. Maybe I should read my horoscope more often. Then, on the hike and bike trail, I passed, a woman wearing shorts and a halter top, trying to get her dog to behave, "Sit. Sit boy. Sit! SIT!" I couldn't resist, "He's male, we don't mind very well." "I had him neutered," she replied. "There goes his brains," a friend later reminded me. But I had high hopes for the rest of the day. Try as I might, I couldn't ever work in a decent afternoon nap. Either the beeper or the cat prevented rest. As sun down approached, I caught a ride to Threadgill's for the start of the evening's fare: dinner and Don Walser's voice (and band — "Pure Texas"). The fiddle player was wearing the nicest Hawaiian shirt, but some how, I wonder if that fit with the music. From there, I trucked on up to Little City Coffee (Coffee promotes confidence) and had a steaming cup of Cappuccino to promote my confidence. While I was making my way back towards Sixth Street, around 8th and Congress, in the deserted city at night, right in front of the Texas State Capital building, a lone skateboarder went through the flashing red lights, riding down one hill and up the next. I may have to consider a skateboard for transportation, it looked so easy and swift. I hooked it on over to the Bobalu's to get a couple of cheap cigars for the evening. My first choice was a "Texas Draw" which was tasty, a perfect way to set the tone for the evening's entertainment. But like everything else, the day just kept getting weirder and weirder. The band was supposed to come on at 10:30, but neither the band, nor the girl I was supposed to meet, showed up at the appointed time. Now, this is two weeks in a row when a Libra has offered to show up and not made it. Different people, but the same sun sign. While I was finishing off the first cigar, I struck up a conversation with the sound guy from Steamboat. An article in the local paper yesterday morning suggested that the place was going to be closing soon — put out of a great location by the landlord. Which is really a serious detriment to the local music scene because Steamboat is one of the few remaining rooms with that intimate feeling. "Pretty soon it will all be shot bars and ..." suggested the sound guy, and he wasn't happy. When the band finally started, of course, the evening finally had a good feeling to it. There are several songs off the band's CD which are "worthy." The strong vocals and the somewhat eclectic assortment of instruments still sets "Three Penny Opera" apart from the homogenized cover bands which are becoming increasingly familiar in the "live music capital of the world." But I also remembered what the sound guy said when I asked about the fact that there weren't as many small venues as before. "You're romanticizing," he said. There's a lyric from one of 3PO's songs, and that refrain has made me sad, two times now, "Somebody said she looks a bit like me." Of course, it was different girls each night, but still. After the band's set was over, as I was making my way home, back down Congress Avenue, I ran across another friend. He works at one of the multimedia mills, Human Code. Well past midnight, "Yeah, I've been doing a lot of this lately." He was just finishing up a smoke, and we shot the breeze in the magic of a summer night in Texas.
8/12
A year and half back, I stopped on one of the bridges on the hike and bike trail
to idly chat with a nature photographer. We were discussing the life expectancy
of some little baby ducks, about seven which were in the chicklet stage. Last
year, all of those little ducks made it as I could track them while they grew
up. This year, another family, and I stopped yesterday, long enough to share
a moment or two with the artist. She was sketching the ducks, and while she
didn't know much about most of the critters, she did have quite an eye for a
quick pencil sketch. "But I don't know much about waterways," she
said, "or waterfowl." I did my best to enlighten her about the best
places to see some of the cool critters we got along the river, the various
long legged fishing birds, the hawks, the scrap meat eaters, the varieties of
ducks, the snakes, and so forth. And turtles, the red and yellow eared sliders,
soft-shell with their long necks, and the occasional big snapper.
8/11
I had dinner last night with some old family friends. It was a little different
from what I'm used to because it was a true family dinner, two kids, mom and
dad, and "strange" Uncle Kramer. Thankfully, I'm just known as Kramer
to this group. The four year old Aries boy has it made. He's typically Aries,
through and through. Although his parents are both advance degree, university
trained kind of people, I can just see this kid being a football player. Or
fishing guide. He likes both. His older brother, in a fit of candor, made one
of those off the record comments, "I hate this kid." Scorpio. We all
have our little crosses to bare. But the little Aries shows promise. When we
were all pilling out of the family mini-van, the mother took one look at that
little Aries and decided she should carry him because the kid was acting tired.
Right. I was watching his face as he was no longer feigning sleep while he grinned
at me as he was carried into the house. Right. Kid's got it made. I'm with his
Scorpio older brother on this issue. Of course, being an older brother myself,
I know what this is like.
8/10
I was wandering Grace's house yesterday morning, that shell–shocked, "I've
worked all weekend" look in my eye, and I was vaguely listening to Grace
talk with her mother on the phone. I can usually cadge a free meal from her
folks — Grace's Mother's homecooking should be legendary — and the
topic of hummingbirds came up. "No Mom, I don't think the hummingbirds
would like chili peppers" — hummers like a confectionery solution
that's mostly sugar. "But the article in the paper said they were attracted
to red, so they must like peppers<' is how the line of reasoning went. I'm
not sure it works exactly, and I'm not sure that a really hot New Mexico pepper
would be exactly what that hummingbird was expecting when alighted on the feeder.
Might cause those little bird wings to freeze up. But it was an interesting
idea. The food was, as usual, rather tasty, although I did miss the peppers
which were, apparently, being saved for the hummingbirds in El Paso. The
ongoing trivial pursuits game I try to run is an interesting one. It seems to
have a number of strange answers.. .
8/9
As much as I love spending time in El Paso, there always seems to be a day or
two that I would rather be some place else. Any place else. Doesn't much matter.
Maybe it's the question of being at work, or perhaps it's the "tax holiday"
that's cut into the psychic fair business. But the dinner companions in El Paso
sometimes make it really worth the trip. One night, Robin had a rather bit of
heretic's view about the music pouring out the speaker's at the restaurant,
"Only in Texas would they call that music." Robin is from New Mexico
— it was a Willie Nelson song. There was another bit of game, Mac (the
Aura Photography guy) sent over a waitress to get her palm read. See, Mac had
a groupie at this show, and the young lady didn't appear to be old enough to
drive. Anyway, the waitress comes over and says, "Here, Mac said you could
read my palm." The message inked on her palm was "Oh Baby." We
conferred and sent a message back, on her other palm, "Jailbait."
I must admit, the waitress was a good sport. Maybe I need an underage groupie
— to further embarrass him as much as possible every available female stopped
by his table to let Mac know they were interested in another naked full body
massage, "Just like last weekend." I never did get the full details
from Mac as to what really transpired. The local population doesn't see the
corollary, but there's been precipitation in El Paso every weekend we've been
here, for the last two years now. I often compare astrology to weather forecasting,
a West Texas weatherman once made note of that fact in the ten o'clock weather
forecast in LubbocK or Amarillo, but in a town that averages 4 events a year,
and six inches of rain in a year, and to have four of those six inches when
we're all in town, I would begin to see a pattern. It's been like this for three
years or so. Of course, it could just be me.
8/8
The clock radio went off with the Steve Miller Band singing a song about "groove
on El Paso," which I took as a good sign. I saw the cutest departure couple
at the Austin airport, in the pre–dawn gray, an elderly gentleman was obviously
seeing his wife mistress? girlfriend?] off, and the guy had on the same kind
of sports sandals that I was wearing. Of course, he had socks and slacks as
compared to my shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. That's one of the things I like
about traveling in Texas in the summer time — packing is really easy. I'm
beginning to take a shine to this new airport, too, the music was playing Stevie
Ray Vaughan and Saint Willie (Willie Nelson) first thing in the morning. All
I remember from the landing in El Paso was there were no Jackalopes visible.
Usually, whole herds can be seen, on the military reservation, right before
landing at the El Paso airport. Apparently, it's a restricted area, but commercial
flights are allowed over it. I wonder if that's why the herds have been moved.
It seems like my luggage was moved with the herds because it didn't show up
at the airport. So much for a fortuitous start to what rapidly degenerated into
a slow day.
I like working at small events where I get a lot of interaction with a diverse clientele. I use special tapes that are about 15 minutes in length for taping my readings, so that the client has a record of the wonderful weird prognostications and outrageous metaphors that invariably pepper a reading. This weekend was a special "tax exempt" weekend, for folks buying back to school stuff. State supported specials in retail heaven meant that the psychic mall was half empty. So just about everyone I read for on Saturday got a tape with stuff on both sides because I had a chance to be long winded and particularly colorful. I was bale to launch into lengthy explanations about upcoming stuff. I got to paint wonderful — in my mind — pictures for folks. I wasn't bored, but it wasn't particularly lucrative day. So much for auspicious beginnings.
8/7
Life on the road again, at least that's what it is going to finally look like
— I'm up at five in the morning to catch the El Paso Red Eye. Should be
a very interesting weekend. I had numerous notes about yesterday, but all I
really remember was it was a hot day. I tried to hit the trail earlier, got
to get myself all buffed out, but after a late night the night before, I was
doing the best that I could to drag myself out of bed an unseasonably late hour.
By the time I got halfway around the trail, though, I was making good time and
sweating profusely. So much for Friday's early start. I did an afternoon reading,
of sorts, for a certain Virgo, and she was asking all sorts of technical questions,
technical computer questions. I was monstrously hungry, and I had just gorged
myself on a chicken salad, a fried chicken salad, "You want the 'fat free'
salad dressing with that?" Then, when when the Virgo paid me, she wrote
a special note in the memo section of her check: "For: quick and dirty
sex on video." "There," she said, "let's see you put that
on the web. Or try cashing that check." I figure, if I just put
it in with the rest of the checks from this weekend, no one will notice. Besides,
the dollar mount and the services referred to, well, they just don't add up.
Grace did call from
the Western Front, and she had bad news, of sorts, the room we're all working
in has been double booked, and we have to tear down and set up twice. Going
to be a bit of a trial for some folks. Considering I just cards and a lap top,
I got it made.
8/6
"Somebody said she looks little like me." (Three Penny Opera) Yesterday
morning, I was reveling in the warm summer heat, and I deviated from the way
I've been traversing the trail in the mornings. I wandered along some very cool
back streets with huge trees overhanging to form a tunnel of broad, green leaves.
The houses were a little different, too, not what one would entirely expect.
Conjunto music drifted out of one open window. A relatively older couple was
either setting up table to sell something from, or they were enjoying late mid
morning meal outside. It felt like the "hood" had a different pace,
with the moist air, and the green shading giving it all a relaxed, tropical
feeling. Libra was the flavor of the day, for starters. Heard from several.
I had a quick dinner at Magnolia, and what a good choice that was, as I looked
across the table into the Libra blue eyes, "What are you having, you're
not having meat are you? Not tonight, please?" One nice trait about Magnolia
is that they do Vegetarian very well. Spinach enchiladas with the Magnolia Chipotle
sauce (which, I might add, is one of the better ones in town). Late in the evening,
I had promised to stop by to see Three Penny Opera playing downtown, so I was
off again, and the summer night was alive. It was hot, a little muggy, and the
evening's air was still. Turning down Sixth Street, though, there was an urgency,
an electrifying surge as music came pounding out of the various venues. The
band's got a regular Thursday night gig for the this month, so I expect to see
them a little more frequently. They are different, and that's hard in this town.
My final concern for the night was to get out of the club long enough to run
by the cigar place — supplies for my upcoming trip. My host in El Paso
has taken a liking to some of the flavored cigars. Amongst us purist, this is
an anathema, But she is a Leo, and and Bobalu Cigars does have the finest in
flavored cigars, so I snagged a couple for her. I just wonder if I'm going to
have another long and detailed explanation for the IRS about this purchase.
These are gifts for a professional acquaintance, certainly not cigars of my
liking. Of course, Bobalu does have the one kind of cigar that I do like, it's
called a "miniature Hemingway." A "Hemingway" is a particular
shape, and this place has little ones, a smaller version, more of a Robusto
size. I like to call them "Hemingway Short Stories." I was going to
have one when I got home, but I was too tired to do much of anything.
8/5
So the Mercury Retrograde period is just about over, and everything is just
about to go back to normal. Just about. I've been arguing with the webmaster
about what things I approve of having in the "bookstore" and, in fact,
why I insist on it being Amazon UK instead of the US version. Amazon US doesn't
carry my favotie astrology texts, they still owe me money, and the stuff from
Amazon UK is usually a better edition, as long as it done by a British publisher.
Besides, most of the books listed aren't even available in the States. It doesn't
look like I'm going to get to the grocery store anytime too soon, but there
was only one real item that I wanted: Captain Crunch Breakfast Cereal. "Dude,
get the Peanut Butter Captain Crunch, it rocks," admonished my Neighbor.
A few weeks back I read Neal Stephenson's Cryptonomicon, and there's
a fair amount of text devoted to the main protagonist's description of how to
eat this one cereal. I will, at some future date, attempt to duplicate the actions
described in the book — it just sounded like such an appetizing endeavor.
Besides, an almost inordinate volume of the of the novel is dedicated to the
description of how to eat the cereal, including how to keep the milk in the
coldest part of the ice box. On a hot afternoon in Texas, it really does sound
good.
8/4
Yet Another Virgo sent me a weird link the other day. http://www.mjl.kellog.home.att.net/.
I couldn't help myself, and the link itself is on the "hotlist" now,
called "Austin del Sur." There were just few words in the description
of South Austin that touched my soul. Yesterday's angst is gone, but not without
sniping at a few folks trying to peddle the new age "it's karma, and it
will come back to you." — Sure, tell the guy who keeps calling me
from the one overdue credit card. Check's in the mail, I promise. There's nothing
like decent flirtation to really make my heart soar, if only for a moment or
two. We all have fantasies, what's yours? Never mind, if it involves making
a mess, I'm not interested, not this week. The evening's entertainment was supposed
to be a trip to the grocery store (around here, that can be very entertaining,
"Kramer, it was a FREAK show in there)" but that didn't work out,
either. We tried to get down to the bat bridge to see the bats, but that was
another lost cause because there was rain, moments before the guys left the
bridge and we beat a hasty retreat home. The biggest bummer yesterday was the
fact that I finally broke down and pulled on a T-shirt — to go to the store.
Turns out we didn't go, and I didn't need to wear a shirt after all. That would
have been two consecutive days with no shirt. I can't remember the last time
my luck was so good. I'm not any closer to getting my first book published,
but I did discover two authors who cite me. I did a plug for their books on
the front page. Stay tuned. I also discovered that I was cited in an EML paper
about Shakespeare and astrology. Then, I was cruising a Science Fiction link,
and there was a reference to a review of novel, and I was quoted from the paper,
way back in 1989 or so. That's what's dangerous about committing anything to
print. Thankfully, it was a good quote.
8/3
I looked at my chart, and I know that I am increasingly irritable these days,
shouldn't be a lasting influence, over with by the end of the week. But there
are few things that seriously get my dander up. Folks write in with very specific
astrology questions, like "what is the degree of the my ascendant"
or "which house does the next eclipse fall in, in my chart" and then
I'm supposed to stop what I'm doing, calculate a natal chart, then apply my
advanced skills of astrological ability to said chart, and do this all for free.
I love questions. I love getting interesting questions. I hate getting detailed
questions which can only be answered by casting an astrology chart, and someone
EXPECTS I'll just stop whatever I'm doing, and cast their chart — free.
I wonder if this is unreasonable? Of course, this was touched off last week
by a reading for a client, and she kept telling me she was going to give me
her credit card number. At the end an hour and half, she suddenly had to take
another phone call and I was left holding dead airspace. Call back? Wait and
see? Fire up the poison pen for a collection notice? Wait and let the wheel
of fate take of me? There was one good thing I could say for yesterday, one
Pisces showed up and got a reading, "But you hate Pisces," oh no,
I love them. Really. Ask whatshername. And I didn't put a shirt on all day long.
Never wore a shirt. I only wore footwear long enough to hike, too. Now that
makes it a successful day, no shoes, no shirt, no problem.
8/2
This really started a little while ago, I mean months ago, but the best part
of the story really occurred only last Friday. And I didn't make a note of it
because I was just going to forget about it all, but my friend wouldn't let
it be. See, a trailer came open here at Shady Acres, and one of my Virgo friends
was looking to simplify her life, so I suggested she look into moving in. She
moved this weekend. Last Friday, I accompanied her to the Post Office to get
a "change of address" form. I told what to do. I explained the process.
She made me (okay, so maybe I volunteered for this one) stand in line so she
could speak to a living postal employee who reiterated the exact steps that
I painstakingly spelled out just moments before while waiting in a long line.
We stood in line for several minutes, and our lively banter had the attention
of everyone around us, or so it seemed. After the nice lady at the main post
office gave my Virgo friend the news, as we turned to exit the building, I was
about to say something, and my friend turns to me — in front of the long
line of folks — and she says, "DON'T say a word." I recall making
several gurgling noises as I tried to stifle my voice. I distinctly heard a
few muffled laughs from the line. I must admit, I found the whole scene rather
amusing.
8/1
By two in the afternoon, it had been an almost perfect day, my lawyer (well,
one of them) was late for a breakfast meeting which turned into an early afternoon
meeting, and then, I checked my e-mail while waiting on the lawyer — there's
nothing I like more than getting some form of acknowledgment Of course, the
expression I hear most frequently is "You were SO right...." I hadn't
heard from this one scholar in quite some time, but I was just surfing some
of his academic entries online the other evening. In my own, small way, I contributed
to his thesis. This, in turn, prompted yet another round of academic questions
about a different play, and I have to admit, for several moments, I was lost
in the academic world of old texts, Elizabethan scholarship, and looking at
historical astrology charts. It really made my day.
>By the way ... the folks at Shakespeare's Globe in London (whom you know,
>I think) took a shine to my research. So they staged a special matinee of
>"Julius Caesar" at 2PM on the Summer Solstice which, I suggested with the
>support of your analysis, was the 400th anniversary of the opening of the
>first Globe and the world premiere of Julius.
Index
of older entries
© Kramer Wetzel, 1999