Beat the System

Follow up to the last post, re: the money on the ground at the Blanton Museum.

Among the scenarios I considered were the prank/psychology experiment; that someone had accidentally dropped the cash; and that it was left as a random donation to the museum by a good citizen. It was Halloween morning, so this last possibility reminded me of the family who leaves the bowl of candy on the porch, with a note that reads, "Please just take one piece."

I liked the suggestion that I would pick up the money, and put it in a donation box (or I could have returned later to donate it). I wish that's what I would have done, but after 15 miles, that level of cognitive sophistication was beyond me.

The theory that I had to stop and pick it up in order to know for sure that it was only two dollars was a good one. But I did not stop; I only slowed a little, to confirm what I thought I'd seen. As I ran on, I thought about the slight possibility that some larger bills were hidden behind the ones, but I never checked.

What my "decision" about the money came down to was more about Karma than anything else. If the money was left by someone with the intention of it going to the museum, then I should leave it, hoping it would end up with the intended party. Two dollars makes no real difference in my life, so to pick it up and keep it would be a petty and selfish act. And as much as I try to foster an image of pettiness and selfishness, I did not reinforce that image in this instance. I decided to leave the money for "fate" to sort itself out. If it ended up as a donation to the museum, great. If someone who really, really needed it picked it up, that's okay, too. If someone who did not need it at all picked it up and kept it, well, that's between them and the universe. I'll never know, and I can live without knowing.

On Friday evening, I gave Carrie a kiss and headed down to the Erwin Center, to see if I could weasel my way into the AC/DC concert. The fun started when I parked the car between the arena and the Capitol. Older folks in patriotic outfits (think 4th of July meets Halloween) were leaving the capitol grounds. That's right, the Tea Party crowd was leaving their pep rally, and walking alongside people who were headed to the AC/DC concert. It was a perfectly peaceful mix, but there was no way to confuse the two groups, and I would bet that there weren't many who were actually attending both events.



I have spent enough money on big-time, big-money, big-arena concerts in my lifetime, and just being in the building for a major concert is not worth the money anymore. But sometimes the spectacle of a show draws me in, and I try to get a cheap ticket. I long ago got over the "loser" feeling that comes with going to a concert with only 16,000 of your closest friends. And getting a really discounted ticket depends on buying a single seat. Over the years, I have paid $10.00 to see the Dixie Chicks, $20.00 to see Bruce Springsteen, and on Friday I managed to get a $97.00 ticket in the lower level for AC/DC for $20.00.



Step 1. Wait to bargain until after the concert has started.

step 2. Set your price for upper or lower level seats (know the section #s), and be fully prepared to go home without seeing the concert. I've had guys meet my price only when I was walking back toward my car, keys in hand. And I was not bluffing.

Step 3. Find a scalper on the edge of the action, away from the other sellers. Peer pressure works against you, as these guys don't want their buddies to see them get worked.

Step4. Don't be an azzhole. Take advantage of simple supply and demand, but don't be insulting. Many of these guys would rather eat the ticket than sell it cheap to a jerk.

I saw this happen when I first arrived on Friday. The buyer was a young guy who did not follow Steps 1, 2, or 4. A direct quote from the seller: "I'd rather roll up this $100.00 ticket and smoke it, than sell it to some punk for $25.00."



Half the fun is getting in, but AC/DC is still getting it done, even if they are 25 years or more past their prime. They never slow it down for a "catch your breath" ballad, and the balding, horribly ugly Angus Young never stops, period. Just 5 guys with a signature sound, and a full house, feeding off the raw energy. Special effects included cannons, a giant bell, a replica train,
and an inflatable "Rosie." Oh, and some pyrotechnics that had me little worried. I wonder if the UT people knew about, and approved the fireballs. They played for at least two hours, and I left when the second encore, "For Those About to Rock," went a little long. I might have left before that, but I really wanted to see them shoot off the cannons. Good times.



Next month, I hope to blog about how I got myself into KGSR's Christmas Party. I've gotten in three times; once with a ticket, and twice through, uh, other means. I'll let you know.



Peace,



JS4

Post! (Mostly Running Stories)

Our story today begins with me saying that I have no real sense of the existence of the phenomenon known as the "Runner's High." The act of running never really feels effortless or easy to me, even when I'm enjoying it, as I have during the last few weeks of nearly perfect weather. I believe that I more often experience what I call "Runner's Dementia." This disorder has led to lost eyeglasses, lost keys, forgotten car locations, etc. During the worst of the heat of the summer, I was running with my mp3 player, returning to the house at the end of long-ish Saturday run. Saturday was our day to water the lawn, under drought restrictions imposed by the city. So before going inside for my post-run water and chocolate milk (yum), I took off the mp3 player to set the water sprinkler on the front yard. A few hours later, I realized that the mp3 player had never found its way inside the house. And when I looked for it, and I mean everywhere it could possibly be, it was nowhere to be found. "Runner's Dementia" strikes again.




I have bought another cheapo mp3 player, but haven't yet programmed it for operation. Still feels like scary new technology to me.









Some people get tired of running on the trail around Lady Bird Lake, otherwise known as Town Lake, or the Colorado River, not really a lake at all. I find myself drawn to it, especially for after work, evening runs, when I need a little natural beauty to get me going. It is often worth it to fight traffic through downtown, just so I can do 8 or 10 miles on the trail. Then I'll drive home, just after dark, to get my chocolate milk (yum), a shower, and a wonderful home-cooked, Carrie-cooked meal.









The trail is well loved by runners, cyclists, and walkers. I think there are fewer cyclists than there used to be, because with all the runners and walkers, the cyclists have to work to keep from smashing into the pedestrians, breaking their momentum. Sometimes the walkers get on my nerves, especially when they stroll three or four abreast, blocking the path that I want to take. Dog walkers can pose an even greater problem, especially those with dogs on retractable leashes, when they don't retract nearly enough.




Last week, I came upon a group of three women walking a very young dog, energetic, and on a not-retracted-enough retractable leash. This little dog was play/chasing a couple of bigger, more mature dogs close by. The hyper little guy ran right in front of me, and I had to stop on a dime in order to avoid tripping over the retractable leash. Then, he cut between my legs, wrapping the leash around my right leg twice, as he was flirting with, or pursuing the other dogs. The women were very apologetic as they helped untangle the dog from my leg. I somehow refrained from becoming verbally abusive, saying only, "Oh, this is great!" And, "Shorter leash next time." No blood, no foul, I guess.







Sometimes the human interaction on the trail takes an unexpected, and positive turn. On Thursday, I was four miles into an evening run, when I came across three guys in their 20's, throwing a football around. This was over by the youth baseball/softball fields by the mile 6 marker for the trail. The QB for the group was standing right next to the trail, and he heard me approaching from behind him. With the ball in his hand, he set into the "taking the snap" crouch, and timed a three-step drop perfectly with my approach. I was ready to take the hand-off, or sell the fake, whichever play he was running. It was a fake, and I smiled at the way he had set the thing up. Then I hear him say, "Run the fade." Are you kidding? I look back over my shoulder and he's looking right at me, his arm cocked to fire a pass my direction. I follow the trail, which was a perfect fade route, and make a "don't blow this" catch of his slightly under thrown ball. All three guys cheer as I flip the ball to the QB's friends, and I run on, with my arms stretched over my head, in the "touchdown" signal. Just like we drew that play up. And, hey, if I'd had my mp3 player, I doubt any of this would have happened.

On Saturday, I was running back home from the trail, through the UT campus. When I passed the entrance to the Blanton Museum, there were two slightly crumpled one dollar bills a few feet from the entrance doors. The museum was not yet open, so there was nobody in the immediate vicinity. It was so odd, and I spent the rest of the run thinking up scenarios for how the money had ended up there, and wondering if anyone had seen the money before I got there. Some scenarios were mundane and boring, others quite the opposite.

When you leave your "So glad to read a new blog post" comment, tell me if you think I picked up the money, or left it on the sidewalk.

Looks like the Yankees are going to win another World Series. If you see this as a bad thing, thank you for being a decent human being. If you are celebrating, know that this is the only situation wherein I wish my friends misery. If you are indifferent, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?

Peace,

JS4

More Maine Pictures

As promised, here are more pictures from our trip to Maine. There is some semblance or order, but not much. I did figure out how to upload all the pictures into one blog entry, so I got that going for me.

Blue Mountain State Park. Western Maine, near the immaculate pit toilet.
Maine's state capitol building. Completely unimpressive, but we were close, and I insisted on a drive-by.

Ken and Julie's living room, and our guest room, when the couch was unfolded.

Stairs and support beam for the loft. The door at the right goes into the workshop, the old sanctuary for the church.

Work area and band rehearsal space. It's much larger than it appears in the photo.

Kitchen and dining area, open to the living room. The loft is above this space.

To the left of the house is the garden and greenhouse. Yummy things grow here. We ate raspberries right off the bush.

View from the road on the way to Deer Isle.

We toured some gardens just outside of Acadia National Park. Very tranquil. When the ground thaws, Mainers rejoice in the growing season, even if it is just a few days long.

Carrie, enjoying tea and popovers at Acadia's Jordan Pond.

Acadia views.

View from atop the steeple above Ken and Julie's.

Near Stonington, on Deer Isle.

On our hike near Castine, ME.

Wild roses, seen on a foggy walk after the we recovered from the sea kayaking adventure.

It was low tide, so we could walk across this area that would be under water when the tide was up.

A walk in the woods.

On our way out to sea.

When we were at the the Inn in Weld, they had canoes that guests could use. On our last morning there, I insisted that we take another turn at being on the water. Sort of a redemptive boat journey. The lake was perfectly still, and made for a peaceful outing. No getting lost on a small lake.

We did return safe and sound.

Thanks for reading.

Peace,

JS4

Out of Order

If you want to chronologically follow our trip to Maine,
Scroll down to the entry "trip 1" and read from there, up.
There are five separate entries.

Boston

Before we left the greater Weld, ME area, we drove to the town of Mexico, the origin of which was never made clear to us. But the Chicken Coop was quite a treat, and we spent a few hours there, having lunch, reading, and writing post cards. The outspoken waitress, Debbie, warned me off the chowder, saying it was not as good as what she made at home. In true, "No Brag, Just Fact" style, Debbie also urged me to have the strawberry short cake for dessert. Debbie makes this herself, so how could I go wrong. We loved this place, and it was indeed, "Clean and Different."



We spent one night in Portland, Maine, on our way back to Boston. It is a cool coastal city, which we enjoyed walking around, seeing the sights. No pictures, though. Good pizza, good seafood, and a great breakfast, sitting on a deck, under a giant maple tree.


We arrived in Boston, and tried to drop the luggage at the hotel, before returning the rental car to the airport. We were thwarted at almost every turn, first getting stuck in the Big Dig tunnel, and bypassing our hotel by several miles. Then, trying to work our way back, getting blocked by construction and unmarked one-way streets. We should have known that Boston is a city that is easy to get around in, as long as you are not in a car. Once we settled into the Harborside Inn, we were able to appreciate its comfort and convenient location.


Boston was warm. Like 89 degrees that afternoon warm. So much for the cool mountains of Maine. We did not have time for much that evening; just walking through Back Bay on our way to Fenway Park for the Red Sox game against the Tigers.



Our seats were in the outfield, but were still really good. We were in the 9th row, with an angle similar to an outfield camera, able to see the pitcher, the batter, and home plate.

When I sat in the outfield bleachers at my first game at Fenway in 1989, there was a metal fence that kept the riff raff out of the rest of the stadium. Now, riff raff can't afford even a bleacher seat at Fenway. The good part of that is that the metal fence has come down, and we could see the rest of the beautiful relic that is Fenway Park. On a warm August night, the Sox won 6-5. This was after being on the Buffalo Bills' side of a four game sweep against the Yankees, so it was already about keeping pace in the Wild Card race.
It was Carrie's first trip to Fenway. She has been to games in Arlington (both stadiums), St.Louis (both stadiums), Chicago (Wrigley), and Minnesota (The sterile Dome). She is a good sport.

Catching the T (the subway) back to the hotel after the game was a breeze, and the rental car debacle from earlier in the day was but a distant memory by this time.

The next day we had planned to walk through the Boston Common, and nearby parts of the city, before catching our afternoon flight home. As we walked, the morning, yes morning, heat became oppressive, and we stopped to reconsider our plans. Hadn't we come up here to escape the heat? We sat and watched the famous Swan Boats, and considered our options.

We could either go to the Museum of Art, which we had visited the last time we were in Boston, or we could walk to the aquarium. Both options were air-conditioned, which sadly had become the primary consideration.

We opted for the aquarium, and started back in that direction. When we got to the edge of the Common, the wind shifted, clouds arose from nowhere, and the temperature dropped 5 degrees in a matter of moments. Relief, and the chance to walk the Beacon Hill area, instead of seeking refuge with the fish. (I'm sure the aquarium is very nice.) The cooler temps remained, and we were able to walk over to the North End, which I love, and had a fine Italian lunch, before walking back to the hotel to catch a ride to the airport.

We return home, poorer in the wallet, but richer for the experiences.

As our friend Dave has said, I've never regretted money that I've spent on travel.

Thanks for reading. There are more pictures, and I will post them soon in another entry. For those who just can't get enough.

Peace,

JS4

maine

We left Julie's, after a stop at the farmer's market and the Granite Museum in Stonington, and a hearty lunch at Lily's.



We headed across the state, to the mountains and lakes in the west. On the way we passed through the town of Jay. I felt right at home, and as if I could break the law with impunity. I settled for a photo-op below. Carrie thought that asking for a free "namesake withdrawal" from the local bank would be frowned upon.



Near the town of Weld, we stayed at the Kawanhee Inn, the most relaxing portion of our trip. Below is the view of the lake, looking out our room's window. It mattered little that we were in a shared bathroom section, or that soundproofing was a foreign concept at the inn. (We could hear the snoring of the man in the adjacent room. We turned the fan on the next night, just for the white noise.) The mountain air was cool, they had fireplaces in the common areas, and really good food at the restaurant for dinner and breakfast.

The Kawanhee Inn, from the front. As we drove up, we knew we were going to like staying here.

Mt. Blue State Park was nearby, and we took a short hike to a nice overlook of the lake.
We were not ambitious for long or arduous walks at this point in the vacation.

The term "pit toilet" does not generally evoke positive mental images. But at the parking area near the trail head in the state park, this jewel of a comfort station sat, a welcome, dare I say luxury, in the midst of natural beauty. I was so impressed that I urged Carrie to see for herself. She exited, shaking her head in wonder, as it put to shame, any gas station or Mc Donald's restroom that I can remember.

Continued...

JS4

Acadia NP

Acadia National Park is the oldest national park east of the Mississippi, and is about an hour and a half from Deer Isle, where Julie and Ken live. We were there on a perfectly clear day. We did a great hike up from a beach, to the cliffs overlooking the bay and the Atlantic Ocean. There were a few places where we had to scramble up rocks, but it was the perfect hike in terms of distance and difficulty. Whenever I got the sense that Carrie felt like she has struggling, we would come across an older couple, or a family with a young child, and I knew she was thinking, "Well, if they can do this..."



The views were marvelous. As we came across the view pictured below, an older gentleman, coming from the opposite direction, asked me about the Red Sox, since I was wearing my "B" cap. Then he called out to his wife, a line that Carrie and I continue to use: "More views heah, Deah." Classic Maine accent. The he added, "Hurry up, Deah, you're going to miss it," as though the view would be gone before she reached the top of the ridge.

When we returned to the trail head, and the beach, we were ready to take off our shoes, and wade in the cold surf. There were hearty souls who thought it was a great day to swim, but for me, when the water washed above my knees, I angled back to the sand. This was Maine after all, and the water was too cold for a true swim.

We drove through other scenic areas, taking turns saying, "More views heah, Deah."

Inside the park, is a restaurant at Jordan Pond, known as a place to have popovers and tea. Everything on the menu comes with at least one popover, a hollow, sweet, clover roll that must be baked in butter. It was a lovely outdoor lunch, with a view of the pond and the surrounding mountains.

As seemingly remote as Acadia is, the crowds in the park were large, and we were struck by large number of foreign languages we heard while there. I guess that European visitors, who have time to see more than New York and Boston, come here for a taste of the natural beauty of the East Coast.

We returned to Julie and Ken's, to scarf down some homemade pizza, and listen to the pleasant sounds of Ken's band rehearse in the music room/workshop.

Read more!

JS4

Deer Isle Pictures

Fog gives the cemetery behind Julie and Ken's an eerie quality. A few of the markers are from recent years, while some date back to people born in the 1700's. The spirits seem friendly, which is good because if they had any zombie/vampire inclinations, there would be no escape.


This view is taken from the top of the church steeple.

Me, sitting atop the steeple. Hard to miss the sunburn lines, from the previous day's kayak adventure. My arms peeled like a shedding snake.

Deer Isle is hard-scrabble, lobster fishing area. There are vacation homes, but as you drive the side roads, there are mostly small homes and trailers, with stacks of lobster traps next to the driveways.

Stonington, the largest town on the island, is on the harbor where much of the lobster trade is based. The area is also known for pink granite, which was quarried for projects like the Boston Museum of Art. The pink granite is pretty unusual, but is very much like the Llano, Texas area granite that was used to build the Texas Capitol.

We had a great lobster dinner in town, caught fresh that day, of course. After having the Red's Eats lobster roll, and this meal, there was no reason to have more lobster on this trip. Once you've had the best...

We ate well on the whole trip. Ken made a terrific haddock, and also made some wonderful blueberry pancakes one morning.

Keep reading!

JS4

trip 1

We begin the vacation blog with a question:


If you have to set the alarm for 4:00 AM, does it really count as the first day of your vacation?


Catching an early flight meant that we could get from Austin to Deer Isle, Maine in one day, but it makes for a long damn day.


Driving from Boston, we took our little Kia (or was it a Hyundai?) up the coast, past 50 Dunkin' Donuts shops, through quaint New England towns, including Wiscasset, ME, home of Red's Eats, famous for their lobster rolls. On this Monday, the horrendous traffic that this town is also known for, was not bad, and the line to get food was reasonable, though the wait for food delivery was long. To be honest, the crab roll was better than the lobster roll, but it was all worth the stop, especially because Red's is featured in a Rick Sebak(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rick_Sebak) PBS documentary. As Carrie and I drove past Red's, we both thought, "Whoa, that place looks familiar." It was a must stop situation.


The first full day in Maine started out as a planned self-guided, half-day sea kayak trip around the small islands near Deer Isle. In the picture, you can see that there was foggy haze as we set out. Things cleared up as we left the cove, and we confidently crossed the shipping lanes to get to the scenic islands. The first couple of hours were great, although I wished for sunscreen as the cloud bank passed.


Then things got scary. As Carrie later said, it was the most frightened she had ever been as an adult. As we attempted to head back to the safety of the cove, the thick fog rolled in, making visibility nearly zero. We lost sight of the next island, paddled for a good 20 minutes without seeing anything but a "ghost ship" sail boat, and became totally disoriented. When we could finally see again, a nice couple on a "non-ghost ship," helped point us in the right direction. Still, the fog rolled in and out, and we went from island to island, paddling madly when we could see well enough to travel further.


Sea kayaking had stopped being fun, and there were moments - long moments - when I wondered how we were going to make it back. Three hours had turned into five hours, and we exhaustedly made the final run back to the dock. We joked later about how Carrie and I are "land people," but it took a while before a real sense of humor about this misadventure returned.


** All who read this are under strict instructions not to inform Carrie's parents about this portion of our trip. **




Julie and Ken live in an old church, which Ken converted to a small home, and a large workshop in the space that had been the sanctuary. The cemetery is right out the back door (pictures in a later post), and room for a large garden and a greenhouse. We picked fresh berries, and ate a huge salad from produce from the garden.

The next day, Julie, Carrie and I drove to Castine, a peninsula town nearby that the British really wanted to control during the Revolutionary War, and the War of 1812. Losers.

We took a nice hike that the guide book said might include eagle and seal sightings. Seeing neither, we settled for nice chicken salad, and BLT sandwiches in town.

Julie, resting mid-hike.

To be continued in the next post.

JS4

Random Stuff

In checking out the big map of Maine that I bought at the Mapsco store, it is clear that folks from Maine are not terribly original in the naming of their towns. In one area you can find Livermore, North Livermore, East Livermore, South Livermore, and Livermore Falls. Nearby is Norway, North Norway, Norway Center, and Norway Lake. You get the idea. Still, I can't wait to get there tomorrow.

Another food trailer review: Hat Creek Burgers are behind what used to be the Star Bar on West 6th St. Yes, a fancy bar closes, and a burger trailer takes over the outdoor seating area. The burgers aren't big, which is fine with me, but they are 100% Angus beef, and with pepper jack cheese, they are de-lish. Lots of lawyer types, and other professionals walking up to get the quality burgers and fries.

What did I learn from the Austin American-Statesman lately? July was the hottest month EVER in Austin. Just brutal, and all the more reason to look forward to going to a place with town names like Norway, Norway Lake, etc....

New World Deli is within walking distance of our house, and has been serving dinner for more than a year. Greg and Sarah run the place, and are usually there with their kids on the weekend nights that Carrie and I stop in for a casual dinner. The oldest daughter is now waiting tables, although she has to say things like, "I'm not old enough to bring your wine, so you'll have to wait for my mom to get it for you." She's cute, and probably too young for me to actually comment on how cute she is. On more than one occasion, the youngest daughter has been seen zipping around the restaurant on her Razor Scooter. The most stern comment I've heard from her mom was, "Dear, don't smash into the customers' tables." They have a shrimp and pasta dish, with a spicy cream sauce that Carrie and I share. It's good, and so much food that after sharing, we still have leftovers to take home.

Going to bed now.

Peace,

JS4

Vacation Planning

One mistake I made this summer was waiting until August to travel. Summer in Austin is like being on vacation in your own town, but 43 days above 100 degrees has made it harder to "chill."

I just got off the phone with the good folks at The Kawanhee Inn in western Maine. Somebody had just cancelled a reservation on the nights we needed, so we score. Carrie usually takes more of the lead in planning trips, but this one has fallen to me. Something about me having more spare time. Four nights with my sister, Julie, and Ken on Deer Isle was easy enough to arrange. Nights in Portland and Boston came pretty easily, too. But a weekend at an inn, or cabin, with lakes and mountains was proving tricky, especially since I had waited until a few days ago to begin my search in earnest. I was afraid that I was going to have to Priceline a dump in Bangor, just to find a bed.



So if all goes well, activities will include, but not be limited to:

Sea kayaking.

Going out on a lobster boat.

Hiking on Deer Isle and at Acadia National Park.

Seeing the Maine coast, and the mountains.

Seeing a Red Sox game at Fenway Park.



Many of these activities are dependent on having the weather cooperate. The lady at The Kawanhee Inn told me that it had been hot and muggy up there in the past few days. When asked to clarify, she said it was around 80 degrees for the highs. If that's the worst weather we face, this is going to be a great trip. We leave Monday.

Peace,

JS4

Running Talk

I woke up early, before the alarm went off this morning, with some nervous energy about the run I had planned for the day. In the past week, I had run 30 miles for the first time in months. Last year at this time, I was pushing 50 mile weeks, but I had already laid the groundwork for an injury that I am still dealing with. I trained through the injury (osteitis pubis, if you want to google it), and ran two marathons last season, including a PR in Austin in February. In short, I was running while developing what soon would have become a stress fracture in my pubic bone. After the marathon, I turned myself in for treatment, got officially diagnosed, and have been getting physical therapy ever since.

The first step in treatment was 8 weeks of no running, while trying to rebuild some serious muscle weakness in my left hip and glute. Apparently, you can run a marathon while major muscle groups are totally misfiring. Pieter the physical therapist, and his minions, have built me back up slowly, testing me first with water running, then progressing to what is now 5-days-a-week with one run being what I call a "speed test." Pieter wants to know what happens when I go for a faster turnover, to see how the injured area responds.

Mile repeats, and hill intervals weren't enough for Pieter, so today was the day for some 400 meter intervals at the track. Running faster than 10K pace is more stressful on the body, especially a 42-year-old body. When I start training for another marathon, I don't plan to ever run 400 meter intervals, but for Pieter, this kind of run is good data. Overall, I was pleased with how the run went. Every time I have done a "speed test," I've felt good during the run, and then tightened up in the hip later in the day. I've had less of this tightness today, though enough to remind me me that I'm not "cured." I see Pieter tomorrow, for the first time in four weeks, and am looking forward to to assessment of the situation.

It is frustrating to not be able to make any real running plans (for future marathons, and the like). I was talking with Carrie last night about how I planned to schedule runs once school started again. I might be back in marathon shape for the winter, or I might still be struggling. Meanwhile, Houston (January) is sold-out, and the chance to be ready for San Antonio (November) is gone. It may be a year of half-marathons, if I can't start training for a full in time.

The subtitle for this summer's blog includes "running less." Well , I'm tired of running less, and would like to get going again. But pushing too much, too soon, is what got me into this mess, so I have to be patient.

At least I am able to run around the trail at Lady Bird Lake, with views like this:

Peace,

JS4

Long Post, Maybe Too Long.

When restaurants change location or close down these days, what moves in seems to be a less fancy, more affordable option. Starlite is my best example. When they moved from 34th street, Salvation Pizza (quite good) moved into the old house. Now Starlite has closed their downtown location, and a hot dog joint has moved in. It may be gourmet hot dogs, but that is a pig you can't put lipstick on. Maybe Starlite should have stayed put.

What used to be Basil's at 10th and Lamar has changed a few times, and is now the unfortunately named "The Screaming Goat." It is a classy taco place, but a big step down for the cute house that used be one of Austin's "special occasion" restaurants. The tostada I had at The Screaming Goat was impressive, not only for the fresh, quality ingredients, but because it held together while I ate it, rather than crumbling onto my lap at the first bite. Worth a return visit.

Over the weekend, Carrie and I ate out several times, and each time were impressed with the quality of service. Local restaurants as diverse as Hoovers Home Cookin', Mirabelle, and Kerby Lane Cafe have staffs that make you want to return. We're pretty forgiving on the rare occasions when we get bad service, but Austin seems to have an abundance of waitstaff who take pride in their work. Always appreciated.

I'm not a jazz fan, but I had a pleasant surprise last week at Kat Edmonson's in-store. Two drummers and a bass player provided enough rhythm to keep the music from wandering off into indulgent jazzland, and Kat knew how to get out of the way when her awesome trumpet player had a solo. Her vocals had a nasal quality that took some getting used to, but fit really well with he music. Someone in the crowd said she reminded them of Madeleine Peyroux, if that helps. (That comparison did not provide me with a useful frame of reference.) Carrie did not care for the sample of Kat Edmonson's music that I played for her when I got home, but she may still agree to see a performance at The Elephant Room downtown, where we have never been, in all our years in Austin.

Trailer food, way beyond taco stands,has become big business in Austin, especially on trendy South Congress. High class Hudson's on the Bend has brought their food to the masses with The Mighty Cone, a quality wrap with a choice of chicken, shrimp, or avocado. They are wildly popular at the Austin City Limits Festival, and I must admit it was very good, but at $6.00, it was pretty indulgent for street food. I did like the custom cone holders on their picnic tables, though.

Speaking of indulging, since the cone was not a full meal, I decided to supplement my lunch with a chocolate cupcake from Hey Cupcake, on the same gravel parking lot as The Mighty Cone. Nothing phenomenal, and I'll get my empty calories elsewhere in the future, but I do love the giant rotating cupcake on the top of the trailer.

I also like that this collection of trailers is right across the street from Vespaio, one of Austin's finest restaurants. As South Congress goes more and more upscale, it is nice to know that doesn't mean exclusive. It's still Austin, after all.

Hey, I just thought of a new slogan for

Austin:

No Velvet Ropes,

Just Velvet Ruts.

Okay, this post is long enough, 'cause it just got lame.

Peace,

JS4