Just some unrelated material.
reading material:
I’m currently reading Bill Fitzhugh’s Highway 61 Resurfaced, and while I thoroughly enjoy the experience, because his books are starting to have a soundtrack, I’m wondering, if this is a fiscally prudent idea. Apple iTunes’ credit, and song references, late in the night? Not that it matters, but for someone who lives in CA, he sure has a way with the true south. And music. Radioactivity is the precursor, well-worth the effort.
Bill Fitzhugh’s Radioactivity & High 61 Resurfaced.
Both books are highly recommended.
Unrelated:
How sad is our current media and quality of life when reliving the best commercials is the point? (I got there from an obvious Apple link, but I like the herding cats best.)
Like a ghost town
Musical interlude, Ghost Town by The Specials. Scratch that. It’s a party-party weekend, and Wednesday is the new Friday. Yeah, like the local slogan goes, “Come early, stay late, be loud.”
I’m always interested in the tiny interstices, the crevices that are missed by many, sometimes the small cracks that appear on the veneer of life’s surface. Wednesday afternoon, I was working on a theme, an idea, a bit about neighborhoods in Austin, but I got lost, had to meet a client, have some Tex-Mex, and then coffee, and next up, my little Pisces friend calls me with an invitation for a quick dash to the mall. During the big game. Which was part of the original musical reference of “like a ghost town,” because that’s what it was like. In one store, the manager was watching the big-screen TV. Just about everyone in the mall was wearing an orange T-shirt. But it was all oddly deserted.
I stopped in the Apple store to pick up a cable and query the staff. Not much help. Wandered on over to Victoria’s Secret to find my Pisces, and we meandered through the empty mall for a few moments.
The cavernous space was certainly discomfiting, devoid of people. More so, I was bothered by the vast amount of real estate used to “brand” products, stores, and promise that I could be trendy. I’m not. I wasn’t actively watching the game. At the half, Texas was up. All that mattered to me.
At the exit, as much as I hate unpaid product placement, there was a curious sign.
Whatever.
We stopped at a locally owned restaurant, and the waiter was a Scorpio. On his arm, there was a strange bit of script, a tattoo: dum spiro spero (while I breath, I hope).
I queried him about it, not that it’s an odd combination, but it sort of is, ink and latin.
“I’m, not like, all that into football,” he said, “but if they win, this place will be packed, and if they lose, it’ll be a ghost town.”
I was watching the sports ticker while I was typing this, and it looks like it was a bit of a cliff-hanger of game. Which is why I started with the ghost town theme. But after 11 local time, I noticed a change in the score, the pendulum swung again, then there was a sirens, honking, and what sounded like small arms fire. Probably just fireworks.
That Scorpio waiter served me something I hadn’t seen before, from Kerby Lane, a hamburger made from “Bandera Grassland fed cattle,” I’m sure, just a nod towards local business. There was something about that latin quote, though, I found that to be uniquely, I couldn’t really say, not weird, but different. Oh yes, it’s part of the local flavor.
