journal archive

8/21
Wearing a Ring T-shirt, I was quizzed a couple of times by other folks who'd seen the same performance series. I'm not sure what happened, but my Monday morning e–mail was full. 33 messages that all required answers, and it all occurred while I was asleep. Since I had a couple of hours in airports, I managed to attend to it all, but nothing got sent back out until last night. And Monday, despite a Virgo Moon, it was an Aquarius day. First, it was the baby in the line at the airport in Seattle, then it was the flight attendant who kept forgetting my coffee, and finally, it was that server at Guero's, where I had a late dinner, upon finally arriving back in Austin. Bodes well, I guess.
8/20
Homeward bound — dinner, last night — my folks [Scorpio/Libra], my mother's brother [Aries], his wife [Libra], a cousin [Libra] — all at Seattle's EMP. My uncle and I both got up to take a leak, much after the main course, and in the bathroom, our conversation took a turn for the culinary. See: earlier, we spent a portion of the afternoon looking for a "double tart pan." Which of course, let me use the line about looking for a tart. So there we were, standing in the men's room, doing our thing, discussing tart crust. I just don't feel like this is normal bathroom discussion. I've been in the opera house's bathrooms at least a half dozen times, over the course of last week's Ring Cycle, and I'm pretty sure no one ever talked about pie crusts, or more important, butter tart crusts. For what it's worth, the EMP does have a delightful tart. Good desserts, too.
8/19
The saga continues. Seeing Götterdamrüng, live, in the Seattle Opera House, as the conclusion to the the Ring Cycle, is an amazing event. It was supposed to be the longest yet is seemed amazingly short, and it sparked much family discussion and friendly debate. Take it form the top, I've been actively listening to the music for several years now, in preparation. I know the conclusion is supposed to be a sad affair, the end of the world as the characters know it, but the effect of the music suggests that there is hope. Sure, the hero dies, sure his wife, a fallen deity, she jumps in his funeral pyre, too. However, there's a musical sense that something good is going to happen. One noted scholar, sitting a few seats away, chuckled when I suggested, "And they live happily ever after."
8/18
Kind of a weird deal, since I've been in Seattle, I've run into no less than four women from Austin. Just strange coincidence. I bought a postcard and some shampoo, and when asked, "Where you from?" I answered the way I have been for the last few days, "Texas. But I didn't vote for him." Even the conservative checker had a funny reply to that. Got the lowdown on Wagner's Gotterdamrung last night, had us a fine dinner, and how I wished we had cleared that restaurant. Reminded me of sitting in a place in Amarillo, after working one weekend, and we did manage to clear to that restaurant. I'm afraid my family let me down — we didn't scare anyone off. I thought we should've. Now, all I have to do is try to get my uncle to transcribe some of his thoughtful, tremendously enlightening, amusing [and spiced with family history] introductory comments about this one opera cycle. The art form is opera, but Wagner's Ring Cycle is a whole event unto itself. Now consider the source of this next bit of information, but I've found that the opera lovers are a rather strange set of critters. [That's even by my fairly liberal standards.]
8/17
There's a good chance that a "crazy" gene runs in my family's genetics. Not like this is much of a surprise, either. "Life mimics art," I suppose. Saw Siegfried last night. What a show. Act 1, the "hero" is raised by mean old man, then the hero forges a new sword. Act 2, the hero slays a dragon, then gains some wisdom [mental note, find dragon blood to make me smarter]. Act 3, find some girl in a permanent deep sleep state, kiss her, wake her up and live happily ever after. Of course, this is heavy psychotic German opera, there's not much of a chance of everyone living happily ever after, and there's a lot of plot left out, but in that synopsis, it was a great show. Incredible orchestra stuff, ripping good yarn to thread it all together. I could grow to like this. And today is the day off.
8/16
I begged off from the family for Wednesday afternoon, rode the monorail downtown, wandered around Pike Street Market. Sort of weird, felt right at home as the morning fog burned off. Sure as can be, some guy with an accent [British?] asks me for directions. "Sorry, I ain't from around here." Shopping, I came across a perfect pair of earrings for my redheaded Jimmy Buffet Capricorn friend, and when I was buying them, I asked about the sales tax, "These are going out of state, I shouldn't have to pay tax, right?" "Which state?" "Texas." "Sorry, Texas collects taxes, too," the vendor said. "And just because I'm from Texas doesn't mean I voted for him," I replied. "Oh I could tell by the long hair and the gentle countenance you wouldn't have voted for him." Not much later, I was buying Ma Wetzel a cup of coffee at Caffe Vita and relating that story to her, when the person behind the counter kept chuckling. Ma Wetzel, in her Scorpio tone, suggested that we not discuss politics or religion. The counter person replied, "This is Seattle, we always discuss politics." I think I like this place — out here on the Left Coast. Then there's the family, but you just have to love this branch of the family tree, I feel positively normal around here. And they're all fun. "Got beef jerky?"
8/15
My Uncle [Aries] gives us a short synopsis, each evening before the opera. The commentary is peppered with poignant comments, like from the first night, "Those Rhine Maidens, they are a lot like modern women, all talk and no action." Not that I would agree about the analogy, but it got me thinking, yes, sounds about right. He disagreed with at least one of the other commentators, and for a Southern Gentleman, he sure does command a fair amount of feminist resources for his material — maybe the whole Ring Cycle is about Brünnhilde as the redeemer. During the intermission last night, one of my cousins [Libra] had brought us all some food to snack on — she wasn't born in Texas, but her redneck roots show. "It's so perfect for munching on while watching the Ring." Caused a little stir, we just had ourselves a little picnic, right there — the myth, the magic, the music, the grandeur of it all, and a little beef jerky.
8/14
"Austin Survivor: Never give up, never surrender." I'm not sure what it means — it was note I wrote to myself in yesterday's predawn trip to the airport. Might've been a T-shirt, for all I know. "Hey, I know you," I was admiring her bright Hawaiian print shirt, "you're Linda's friend — you send me horoscopes." Can't get on plane without someone recognizing me. Must be my careful chosen, tasteful attire and sartorial splendor. Got off the plane in Seattle and froze my butt off. 67 degrees, which if you'll note, is one degree cooler than the water in Barton Springs. Had some lunch, saw the folks, took a nap, got the lecture from the Uncle [who is a real opera aficionado] about what was happening in the show last night, then saw the show. Pretty amazing stuff. Got up this morning bright an early: 8:00 AM, local time — must be damn near noon back home. I'm liking this.
8/13
"She told me to stick it where the sun doesn't shine, so I figured she meant Seattle..." [with grateful thanks to a Sunday comic strip.] Monday the 13th. Unlucky? Last time I traveled on a Friday the 13th, I lost my butt in Las Vegas. Sunday morning: Pisces to the left, Pisces to the right. Sunday night, Pisces to left, Pisces to the right. Actually, it was a hoarse Leo who kept some of us entertained. Erda, from Siegfried [2nd or 3rd act] says, "Men's deeds make my mind dusky." After working all day long on Sunday, I know the feeling. Sitting outside the Curra's on Sunday night, I was planning on a quiet dinner, but that just didn't work out. "There's something you don't see in front of restaurants in North Austin — a bicycle rack." It's a little disconnected, but it's so early to get on a plane for something that's supposed to be fun. I'd blame someone, but this flight was my idea. What was I thinking? 6:00 AM on Monday morning?
8/12
"This hotel have a pool?" I knew I should've worn swimming trunks to work. My Virgo fishing buddy wanted to make sure I was appropriately attired when I hit the road on Monday, I'll be wearing a new shirt with a picture of medium size bass and really large trout — "Size does matter" — of course that bass is much bigger. And it's not even a large one by our standards. But from having been an avid fly fishing person, I'll tell you that's a huge trout. "We'd have been by earlier to pick you up, but the wife got to watching this — and I'm not making this up — a fishing guide in Louisiana named Bodreaux Theopolis — on a fishing show." Heard all kinds of excuses. Worked all day. Had dinner with a tired but rambunctious crowd at Cherry Creek Catfish Parlor. I was so hungry by dinner time, I almost ate a whole order of fried crawfish tails by myself. [Got to love that place.]
8/11
Off to work this morning. Radio, yesterday at noon. Walked in, said hello to the studio and support staff, wandered into the studio itself, chatted for a while, got called out for a "sushi break," and missed at least one spot. I really could get used to this radio lifestyle. All play, no work, just a lot of talk — I could really get used to this lifestyle. The joke I made about leg warmers and their play list was missed, though. Back at the trailer, I rested for a moment, then decided — with a push from a Pisces — that Barton Springs was the place to be. I was chin deep in the freezing water, and there was a commotion on the diving board, a little girl, no more than five years old, probably younger, was at the end, looking at the water, too scared to jump. The crowd was supportive, and I listened to a couple in the water, "I'll never do that to my kids," she was saying. I had to chuckle. Imagine the same scene, about ten years from now, and I'll bet that woman would be doing exactly the same thing, "Go ahead, just jump in, I'm right here."
8/10
"Kramer, I mean this with no disrespect, but you sound like an angry woodpecker." I've been called many things, but "angry woodpecker" was a first. I rather like it. "Fishing Guide to the Stars, the pecker wood with an attitude." After a phone consultation like that, and a couple more last minute calls, I scooted out the door and around the lake. Set off in one direction, wound up downtown instead, "surfing the shade," as I like to call it. [Sticking to the north side of the trail, picking a route for optimum shade coverage.] The big decision, BBQ or Tex–Mex? I opted for BBQ, and the waiter was as nice as could be. "Look," I was telling him, "I just want one extra pork rib with the two meat plate." "Let's order you a three meat plate, then double up on ribs, that's only a dollar more, but the extra rib alone will cost two dollars." There are nice people in this world, usually serving food at a place called "Green Mesquite" on Barton Springs Road. [Thank you. We'll be here all week, tip your waitresses.] From last night's e–mail files, actually — I'm quite honored:
> You made me laugh out loud.
> You made me spew beer all over my monitor.
> Therefore, I must cordially advise you to "bite me".
"Spewing," unlike its related brethren, is a sincere compliment. And the inside joke that caused the spewing? One of my patented two word replies. So you get a two word reply from me? Don't complain. Fun and games in the laundry shed: work with me here, this might be hard to follow. I leave Monday morning before dawn, red–eye flight to Phoenix, connecting up to Seattle and family. Prior to that, I work all weekend at an event in Austin. Today, I have to go be on the radio. Therefore, if I don't do that one load of laundry, including what I want to wear on Monday, I won't have clean clothes. So I wandered into the laundry shed, dropped the single load in a machine, walked back out, and turned right around. I pulled off my shorts, revealing cute yellow boxers. Dropped the shorts in, too. I want to wear them next Monday. To be honest, those dressy boxer shorts really cover more than my usual attire. Probably look better, too. If I didn't have multiple witnesses, no one would believe me. Wandering around South Austin in your underwear is really not that unusual, either.
8/9
With apologies to Vallejo, I need to change the lyrics a little, to my own version: "I'm used to cannelloni, now I'm eating macaroni...." Last check I was supposed to get arrived in June. No check in July, and the news thus far is no check in August, either. I would like to go grocery shopping some time, and the cat's food is starting to look delightfully delicious — but I think she'd wrestle me for it, and her claws are much sharper than my nails. I started on a project, about four years ago, and working on it again makes my head hurt, which gives me new respect for lawyers, that's for sure. Best cure for a headache is a hike — and I opted for the longer version of the east side of the lake, in yesterday's afternoon sun. Looked like it was going to be relatively cool, a mere 97 degrees. I came across a Mexican mom, and her two young sons, struggling with a fishing pole and tangled lines. "Know anything about fishing?" It resulted in a 20 minute lesson in fishing reels, how to cast, and what bait was good on the lake here. But it brings up another point, I don't know how I'm going to last all the way through these four–hour operas coming up, although, the term "Iron Butt Kramer," does have a certain ring to it. When I looked at the weather in Seattle, the overnight low is probably cooler than the tepid in my ice chest. I'll be ever so much happier when the nifty Virgo web designer gets to work on the "low brow mystic" stuff. Friday's Radio Station. [Not my scopes.]
8/8
Road trip. Or day trip. Maybe call it a pilgrimage to Ft. Worth again, I mean all I was going to do was drive a pickup truck, maybe eat a little BBQ. So we got to telling stories, "Waxahachie [TX] is a Native American word. Translated it means, 'Super wal-mart'," that's what REK said. Talking about the mileage, and her background, being from the Northeast and all, that Pisces allowed, "You do know, 200 miles is 3 states." At the Czech Stop in West, Texas — there was a "Talking (beer) bottle opener," that said, "I think I'll have a beer." That place is famous for kolaches, had one. Useless trivia: Texas has a greater population of Czech ancestry than any other state. Now that one Pisces manages property, and she had some interesting stories. One tenant had a headstone (tombstone) in the apartment, just as a piece of art. [I know the tenant, too] Then there was another tenant with what appeared to be a coffin. When queried about this, the first response was something to the effect of, "I just want to save my folks the trouble, you know," and when this resulted in a few panic phone calls, the real story came out about how it was a prop leftover from Halloween. Her boss, Libra, worked as an ambulance tech many years ago, and he matched the tombstone, coffin tales with a story about how he posed as a stiff one time, and really scared one of the coworkers. In Ft. Worth, we first stopped by Paris Coffee Shop — on Magnolia St. — where we were possibly the youngest patrons for a late lunch. We grabbed coffee to go at 4 Star Coffee Bar where 3 out of 6 patrons were working on laptops. I discussed their source of ice cream for the espresso shake, and decided to go for the really big cappuccino instead. Caffeine powered for the drive home. 12 hours, three meals, 400 miles. What a day. The truck I drove back didn't have a CD player so I was resigned to radio. But there's something oddly reassuring about listening to country & western while buzzing down the Texas interstate in a pickup. About the time I hit the Austin line, though, I switched over to the station I'll be on Friday at noon. 1980's music. [107.7 on your FM dial.] It was that former Eagle's song again, "... don't look back, you can never look back." Finally, unrelated to most of this, from the e–mail files.
8/7
There are about 14 different Leo's I'm supposed to remember for birthdays. Being Sagittarius and all, I wrote myself a note, then filed it away, and now I don't recall which Leo has whose birthday when. Got the new fishing hat hooked up. Based upon real world experience, it's a "must have" item. Unvalidated data: Country and Western is the biggest musical market right now. Perfect day: meet with a client, have a little BBQ, go for a dip in the Springs, work in a hike while doing all those things. Nothing like thoroughly intertwining business and pleasure. Last night, being broke and all, a dollar movie at the Alamo was perfect. Bridget Jones's Diary. Chick flick. Worth a dollar, that's for sure. The Pisces' boss needs a truck driven back from Ft. Worth. While the boss wasn't about to touch my real day rate, a summer afternoon run up and down the highway almost sounded like fun — think I'll go — a 400 mile jaunt to have some lunch up yonder. BBQ? 8.0? That good chicken friend steak in the truck stop [just north of Temple, west side of the Interstate]? Which culinary treat wins?
8/6
Same song different verse, "In Texas killin' time ain't no crime," and for all its assets, the Web has never really yielded up resource notes for that one song. 1974 album, that's about it. And killing time in Ft. Worth was fun. My accent gets a real workout, and by the end of the day, I'm twanging with the best of them. Saw some sights. Places to eat: Chuy's. This is not affiliated, or so it would seem, with the chain in Austin, where the motto is, "Is that I.D. real?" Rather, it's a local place, just a little bit south of the stockyards — two ambiance attributes going for it: no other anglos in there, and the menu had an ad for a bail bonds — a discount bail bond place. That's good. Food's great. Period. Then, there's a place on the way to the highway, the old airfield, and the home of the Vintage Flying Museum. After touring the one in West Texas, this one was sort of a let down, at first. But one of the volunteers corralled us, and I got step inside a real B-17, take a tour, and listen to stories by a guy who's actually flown it. The real "Flying Fortress," only one of less than a dozen still flying these days. Pretty amazing plane, and even more astounding was the guided tour of it. According to the pilot, the term, "Give them the whole nine yards," originates from the gunners on these birds, the machine gun ammunition was loaded into belts — 9 yards long. Cat was happy I was home, though, by the end of the day.
8/5
I spent a portion of Saturday morning, herding my father [hereinafter referred to as Pa Wetzel] off to the airport, so he could rejoin his girlfriend [Ma Wetzel] in Colorado. It was the usual comedy routine, trying to get him out the door, or pulling up the departure gate, "My bag! I forgot my bag!" "No, Dad, I got it. Right here." "Getting old is not for wimps." I'll take his word on that. Then airport is halfway to Ft. Worth. Special treat: Stockyards, a hotel in the historic stockyards. Historic hotel. Pretty cool, in and of itself. But better yet, the avowed purpose of the trip was to see Robert Earl Keen at the Bass Performance Hall. There was only one hitch in the entire show, okay, maybe two. One, just about everyone was dressed in a variation of "cowboy formal" so I stood out [and was remarkably chilly] wearing only shorts and T-shirt. The other hitch was the Xmas Song. "Can't do it before Labor Day," he told the crowd, "It's against state law." What was cool, the Derailers opened the show. Always a good omen. I was with the Virgo, a Leo brother, Pisces, a Capricorn brother, and another Leo. Some of the folks never heard REK before, whereas at least one member of the group had seen him before. Amazing show. What was greatest, I mean, besides the "5 Pound Bass" song, and somebody's Mom commenting on my hat, was the closing number. It was a Billy Joe Shaver song, done all acoustic. In the concert hall. It's from another musician, but I still want to get that tattoo: "On the muscle of my arm, there's a red blue tattoo, says 'Ft. Worth I love you'." Fun place to visit.
8/4
I had an e-mail or two with that Gemini, and a late night phone call, about a project we're working on. Going to be interesting. I'll have the first round of documents up in the next couple of days, when I get back from the wilds of Northeast Texas. Last night, it was off to the airport — via an early dinner at Hoover's. The Jamican Jerk BBQ ribs are really excellent, as is anything vegetarian. It's remarkable to find place that satisfies both food groups, animal and vegetable, well. I slipped on my "pawnshop band of gold," and then shuffled over to Ft. Worth. Looking forward to a rare, less rowdy, indoor venue for Robert Earl Keen — Bass Performance Hall.
8/3
Morning show: love it. I think I like radio life. Good: Don't have to shower [except that we're stuck in tiny studio together]. Better: Don't have to dress [not like I do, anyway]. Best: the station was doing a Krispy Kreme Doughnut remote, and the producer showed back up with two boxes of doughnuts. I'm thinking, "This is the life." I hoofed it out of the station, begging out of a ride home as I thought it was early enough to still enjoy a modicum of coolness in the atmosphere. I wandered around the hike and bike trail, over to the office, then back to the trailer. Got home and found a FedEx envelope — hope springs eternal — right concept — with a check and card to the cat — but not the envelope I hoped for — originated in the wrong state. By noon, I'd had a full day. NYC stuff. King of Hearts. Hooters. I fetched up a bunch of e–mail, but one really caught my eye, long, funny, and so Scorpio —