Guest Blog Summer 2012

 

 

For all of Jay’s loyal blog readers who have been wondering what he’s been doing all summer….I offer this guest post:

It has been a quiet Summer of Jay 8, with a lot of reading on the couch, hanging out with Beau and Milford, and doing a variety of small home maintenance projects while he’s out of school.  A few new lunch spots have been explored, but the most regular option exercised has been breakfast tacos at Julio’s, just up the street. 

Early on in the summer our youngest nephews, Elijah and Isaac, each visited for some miniature golf and general fun.   

Isaac ponders his options

Elijah enjoys a snowcone at the end (the T-Rex is not very intimidating)

 

 

I saw them again with their Mom and little sister when I went to Grand Junction to visit my parents.  (Jay stayed home to take care of the pets.)

Taking care of the pets has been a big theme this summer.  As many of you may know, we lost Sydney to kidney failure at the end of April, and that has left us sticking pretty close to home except for those occasions when we can schedule pet sitters to stay at the house. 

We were able to organize enough pet care to see Jay’s family this summer too, traveling to Arlington on Father’s Day weekend to see Jerry and Brenda as well as Jo Carolyn and family.  A weekend in Longview with Mary Joe and Jim introduced us to both a lovely East Texas vineyard and the Kilgore Oil Museum.  I confess to some reluctance about the museum, but of course Jay was right and it was pretty interesting.  (You can see a picture of his Great Aunt Nancy there!) 

Our “big” summer trip was a long weekend in Estes Park and Denver.  We looked at a map and asked ourselves, “What’s the closest place that won’t be hot?”  With Southwest Airlines’ direct flight to Denver, Rocky Mountain National Park won the contest hands down.

As we usually spend most of our time in Colorado on the western side of the mountains, we were stunned to see the proliferation of Medical Marijuana Clinics (or “MMC”s as they are sometimes discretely labeled) throughout the Denver area and the eastern slope.  Yet civilization appears intact.

Jay indulged my affection for a PBS documentary about old amusement parks with a trip to Lakeside Park in Denver on the last night of our trip. 

 

 

The picture you see below is of me barely able to pass the height limit test to drive the race cars.  Yes, the state of Texas has licensed me to drive an actual car for more than 25 years, but I barely met Lakeside’s 59 inch limit for this vintage ride!

 

I know Jay’s blog topics usually include some music and politics, but there hasn’t been much of the former this summer, and I’ve declared a temporary moratorium on the latter.  We spent some time in Denver at their main public library – which as it turns out is fabulous in terms of both architecture and collections.  Built 15 years ago, it still looks new and is a great example of a public building fulfilling many roles.  We hope the City of Austin does as well with the one we are building, but we aren’t too optimistic.  I think that might be a metaphor (or is it a simile?) for my hopes about the presidential election.

Jay is of course a much better prognosticator of such things.  You should ask him what he thinks!

Best to all his readers,

Jay’s lovely wife

Boston

Welcome to my Boston Marathon Race Report.
There is so much that I could say in this report, and 6 days after the race I am still not sure what to include and what to leave out. If you want the shortest possible read, skip to the end where I've included the bare essentials. If you get bored along the way, do the same.

If you have chosen to read on, settle in, and pack a snack, because this might take a while.

Qualifying and running Boston had been a goal of mine since my second marathon (Houston, 2008). I ran what historically would have been an official qualifying time of 3:30 at the White Rock Marathon in Dallas in December 2010. By the time I qualified, the Boston Athletic Association was considering new qualifying standards, but those were not announced until a few months later.

Because I had qualified by less than one minute, I was at the back of the line for the new registration process, and I did not get into the 2012 race as an official qualified runner. Still, I felt determined to run because I had run to the standard as it existed on the day of the White Rock Marathon.

Becoming a fund raiser for one of the official Boston Marathon charities is another way that runners get the opportunity to run Boston. I decided to get in that way. As almost all of you know, finding the right charity to raise money and run for became a sadly easy decision when Mike Troy, a teacher at my school, was diagnosed with liver cancer last spring. Because of the amazing generosity of friends and family, I have raised over $4,700 for the American Liver Foundation. If you were a donor, I say again, "Thank you." It was scary to commit to raising at least $4,000.  But I was thrilled and humbled to see the donations roll in over the last few months. If you are reading this and haven't yet donated, I'm giving it one last shot! Go to this site, and click on the Sponsor Me button.

http://go.liverfoundation.org/site/TR/RunforResearch/RunforResearch?px=1733079&pg=personal&fr_id=2820

One circumstance, above all else, dictated the terms under which I would run the Boston Marathon: Almost exactly one year before the race, I had surgery to repair a torn labrum in my left hip.
After the surgery, at my first appointment with the physical therapist, I told the PT of my plan.She paused for a moment, then said, "You can do that." Okay then.

So this was not so much a marathon training cycle as it was a long term rehab assignment / middle-aged science fair experiment. I did not run again until August, and even then, it was one minute of running, then a minute of walking. Progress was slow, but I knew I had time.

I dug out my Hal Higdon Novice Marathon Plan, which I had followed nearly religiously for my first marathon in 2006. This would be my guide. One of the biggest challenges was getting strong enough to run the 4 days a week that the plan calls for. Every time I ran a little further, or more frequently, my hip would remind me through stiffness or fatigue, that this was still rehab, and that I had not run these distances in a year or more.

I joined Gilbet's Gazelles, a local training group, but never attempted a single speed workout with the Boston prep group. I did join in for many of the long runs at gawd-aweful early hours on Saturdays, usually running with the slowest runners, or bringing up the rear in my own group of one. I became a regular at the Wednesday evening boot camps, which focused on core strength, which I lacked after (and probably before) the surgery.

Running for more than two hours was a threshold that I struggled to get past. There were a couple of long runs that had me questioning if I was going to be able to get through the training and be ready. Eventually, my body adjusted, and I had several weeks of mileage above 35 miles, and three 20 mile training runs. The bulk of my runs were done at a pace of 9:30 per mile, + or - 20 seconds. I just ran easy, with a greater concern for overall fitness and endurance over anything resembling speed.

Carrie and I flew up to Boston on Saturday, arriving less than an hour before the Expo closed at 7:00. Fortunately, my dad had arrived in town the day before, scouted all important driving routes, and whisked us from the airport to the convention center with time to spare. I picked up my race packet (no lines to wait in), we looked at, but didn't buy any merchandise, and were on our way to the hotel.

We stayed at the Hotel 140, within a few blocks of the finish line. The hotel thinks of itself (I know, a hotel is incapable of thought.) as a boutique hotel, but in reality it is a converted YWCA. Small, yet comfortable rooms, and not at all cheap on marathon weekend. Still, I was glad to get it when Dave had two reservations and was willing to part with this one. Dave met us for dinner, and we discussed the weather forecast, which called for record highs on Monday. Really, the weather was going to be beautiful for just about any activity, except for running a marathon.

The Sunday morning schedule included a very nice brunch for the Liver Foundation at the Westin Hotel. 185 runners raised over $1,000,000 for the foundation, and it was nice to meet the other runners and hear some inspring stories. There were still more warnings about the weather, as many of the charity runners are first time marathoners, and usually not nearly as well trained as the  time-qualified runners.

Next on the agenda was a Red Sox game at Fenway Park. When Carrie and I discussed the trip and Dave had secured the game tickets, she asked what else I might want to do while we were in Boston. I told her, "Let's see... I'm going to a Red Sox game and running the Boston Marathon. That's really a full and perfect weekend for me." We got to the stadium in time to buy some "100 Years of Fenway Park" t-shirts, take a few pictures and head inside. Here's Dad and me just outside the entrance. With little room inside Fenway, and no parking lots, it is a pre-game street festival.

We had seats in the shade in the third base grandstand. Perfect. I had a Fenway Frank, which is a questionable way to carbo load before a marathon, but a concession I felt was necessary. Dave spent part of the time between innings setting up our ancient cell phone to receive texts during the marathon that would alert Carrie as I passed along the course. The Sox beat the Devil Rays (In our house we still call them the Devil Rays.) 6 - 4, for their third straight win. They haven't won since.

Side story: Years before we ran marathons, Dave and I ran a 10K in East Austin, then went to breakfast at the Magnolia Cafe with Carrie and Dave's wife Melanie. I was wearing my Red Sox cap and Dave wore his Yankees cap. Dave cheers for all the wrong teams, but he has great taste in music and other good qualites, so the Yankees, UT, Duke thing doesn't get in the way. Anyway, a man leaving the restaurant saw us laughing and talking and wearing rival baseball caps, and he stopped at our table and says something like, "You two must be pretty good friends to be wearing those hats and sitting down to have a meal together." I don't remember what we said in response, but that guy had it spot on.

After the game we walked to dinner, but we had to wait for our 6:00 reservation. While we waited, Dave told me the the Boston Athletic Association had sent out an email saying that because of the dangerously hot conditions, runners could defer their entry to next year. I think this was an unprecedented offer, and it was really sobering, though I'd had no beer at the ballgame. We talked about what deferring would mean, and Dad and Carrie gave us space to weigh the risks and logistics of running versus not. I thought about it for a few minutes, had an emotional moment or two, and tentatively settled on running.

Dave and I had ravioli, and shared a kid's pasta plate because the ravioli was too small (good though), and we needed the extra carbs. We walked back to the hotel by way of the finish line to take some pictures. The kids at my school made a sign for me, so I wanted to get a picture with it at the finish line. Our neighbor across the street is an author and artist who makes cards; hers is the "Go Jay Go" picture.

Back at the hotel, I laid out my clothes, packed my bag, and had Carrie pin my bib on my singlet. I've never raced in a singlet before, and never wore this shirt before, but I violated the "Never do anything new on race day" rule more than once this time around. And that doesn't even count the Fenway Frank at the game.

I told Carrie that I had considered not running, and took her through my thought process as to why I was going to run. In my mind, I was still keeping the door open to not running. Well, the door was closed, but it wasn't locked. I thought about what it would be like to call Carrie from the start in Hopkinton, to tell her that I had bailed out at the last minute. What I did tell her was that every marathon has a part of it that is really hard, or that sucks to run through, and that part of what I love is making it through that hard, sucky stretch to the other side, where the real payoff for a marathon is powerful and undeniable for those that run them. For Boston, the really hard part was going to be the heat, from beginning to end. Then I talked about what made me want to run Boston in the first place. The history, the course, the crowds, just the overall experience.

I don't think I said it, but I think she understood that I also felt obligated to run for Mike, and for all of the people who had donated so that I could run. In my head I knew that those people would not want want me to risk my safety and health for this marathon, and that nobody would question my decision if I chose not to run. Actually, I think my friend Brad would question it, not because he wants me to take stupid risks, but beause he is honest, and knows a thing or three about human nature. If  people were to feel 99% one way (understanding, and glad I decided not to run) and 1% another way (just a little let down that I trained, traveled, raised money, but didn't run), I would expect Brad to say something when no one else would, even if everyone was thinking it, just a little bit. I know I can count on Brad to speak for the 1%.

So all of the reasons to run were still there, and the heat was not going to take them away. What I didn't know was how the heat would make all of the great things about the Boston Marathon even better.

I had not set a time goal to speak of, but had the weather been good, I would have shot for something between 4:05 and 4:25, a pretty wide range. Since surgery had forced me to let go of a pace that would satisfy my competitive ego, I was going to have to be okay with putting up a pretty big number, and the goal became to finish and stay out of the medical tent.

I slept well for a few hours, but woke up around 4:00 with my mind racing. I thought about the many times that I've said "I don't like running in the heat," or, "I'm no good in the sun or hot weather." I thought about the BAA telling people not to race, but to run safely. Then I thought about how there was still $800,000 worth of prize money for the elites to race for. People would be risking a lot because running is their ticket to a better life. I decided then that I would run, and that I would start at a 10:00 per mile pace, which is slower than my long run pace, a pace that would have me finish in about 4:22. I thought, "The longer I'm out there, the longer I'll have to enjoy the good parts."

I felt at peace about the decision to run, finally settling on the thought, "This is the day that we have been given." Yes, "This is the day that we have been given. So go out and enjoy as much as it has to offer." I smiled and thought about an earlier time in my  life, and the scripture, "This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." I got up and got ready. It was still nearly six hours before I would start.

Breakfast was at the Westin with the Liver Foundation. A bagel (Never had that before a race.) with peanut butter. I kissed Carrie, and got on the bus to Hopkinton. When we got to the athlete's village on the grounds of the high school, people were already staking out the shade. I went to what seemed like the overflow section, where there were fewer people, and spread out my blanket on the grass in the shade of the building. More people arrived, crowding around me, as I ate another bagel.

One major difference between Boston and other marathons is the start times. Most marathons start around dawn, the coolest time of day. Boston starts with the first wave at 10:00, and my group would not go out until 10:40. That means we would be running into the hottest part of the day.

When the sun rose so high that it took away my shade, I moved to where the buses had unloaded, and then into the shade of a church adjacent to the high school. I talked to a woman from Portland, Oregon, who used to be fast but was running her first marathon in 15 years. She said it would be her last. She was starting in my group so we decided to walk to the start together. She said she had never started a marathon from the back before, and we both admitted that we had taken pride in being fast enough to start closer to the front in our earlier racing lives. Starting in the second group (out of 20 groups) at Dallas seemed like a lifetime ago for me. We talked about how it was liberating to not worry about time goals, and it was true. I was just going to enjoy all that the day had to offer. We wished each other luck, and we were off.

Early on, the course is really small town and even rural. Plenty of people turn out to cheer, just like they've done for 115 years. I'll post my mile splits, like they matter. Not much shade. Spring has come early, but the trees were still bare enough that the sun beats down. I was already sweating at the start.

1. 9:57

2. 9:50

3. 9:53

4: 9:55

5. 10:08

6. 9:58

So this is going well. All I'm telling myself is, "Keep it slow." We run into the town of Framingham, and the ealy downhills turn into flat. Carrie and my Dad are supposed to be at about mile 6.6, where the Boston commuter rail stops along the route. I told Carrie that I'd be running on the left side, which is the side that the rail is on. But any possible shade is on the right side of the road, so I wait as long as I can to move over. They are there to cheer me on. I tell them that I'm okay, that I'm running a 10:00 pace, and that I'll see them at mile 15.5. They have timed the train route perfectly, and I have reached Framingham so that they have a just a few minutes to catch the train back toward Boston.

I realize two things around this time in the race. First, wonderful people along the route were handing out ice cubes and chunks, which felt great in my hands as I run. I also put the ice under my hat, and let it melt cool water onto my head. Second, I decide that the best way to gauge my pace is to go slow enough that I can say thanks to the incredible number of people who have turned out to cheer for the runners. I had written my name on a piece of duct tape, and stuck it to the front of my shirt. That way, people, total strangers, could cheer for me specifically. I can't begin to tell you how much this helped.

Anytime I find myself focusing so much on running that I couldn't manage a "Thank you," or a wave or a fist pump when someone shouts, "Go Jay!" I slowed down. This becomes the practical application of the strategy "Finish, stay out of the medical tent, enjoy everything possible about the day." It worked beautifully, slowing me down so I would not overheat, and allowing me the chance to really enjoy the crowds and the sights along the way.

7. 10:22

8. 10:26

9. 10:27

10. 10:24

The volunteers were incredible, keeping water and Gatorade cups filled so that each runner could take what they needed. At each stop I usually took a one of each, then poured a cup of water over my head. Early on, I think that might have been a little too much fluid, as I felt some sloshing in my stomach, but after I skipped one water station, things settled down well. I think I stayed pretty hydrated throughout the race. After the first few miles, I walked through the water stations, which accounts for some of, but not all of the slower pace. I also stopped, crossed the street, circled back, or anything necessary to get the ice that people were handing out. Anytime I was down to half a handful of ice, I would search the crowds so I could re-stock.

The high temperature in Boston on Monday was 87, measured in the shade. Not much shade on the course, but I ran in shade whenever I could. Many runners were already walking, trying to survive to the finish.

Mile 11. 10:57

12. 10:18

13. 10:47

14. 10:40

15. 10:57

16. 10:49

Somewhere just before the halfway mark is where the girls from Wellesley College gather to cheer very loudly, and offer kisses to runners who will stop. I'm out to make the most of this marathon, so I take to heart the advice many have given to be sure and stop. Many of the girls are holding signs which say, "Kiss Me, I'm ..."

"a Microbiologist"

"From Indiana"

"Naked" (She wasn't)

Or something like that. It seemed like a competition to see how many runners they could get to stop for a kiss. I hated to disappoint them, so I stopped many, many times.

I reached the halfway point in 2:14, did the math for a 4:30, and thought, "Not likely." I met up with Carrie and Dad again between miles 15 and 16. I let them know that I was slowing, but that I felt fine. Hills were coming.

Heartbreak Hill is famous, but it is just the last and longest of a series of hills known as the Newton Hills. The first one really got my attention, and served notice the there was still a lot of work to be done. Miles 17-21 were killers for many people. Walking, stumbling, crowding into medical tents. Fortunately, no one died during this race. The preparations of the BAA, the added support of the people along the route, and the fact that a significant percentage of the runners are very well trained, all helped minimize the damage. I just told myself, "The next hour is going to be tough," and went to work.

17. 11:13

18. 11:21

19. 11:03

20. 12:07

21. 12:15

Brutal, slogging miles. But what came next was probably  the coolest thing I've ever experienced in a marathon.

Soon after topping the final hill, we came to the cheering section for Boston College. By all reports, the students start drinking early, and keep it up throughout the day. And they line the streets for the better part of a mile. They're loud, they're drunk (happy drunk), and they love the marathon. Groups of guys and girls, just searching for the next runner to motivate. They read my name on my shirt, and before I even reached them, they started chanting, "Jay! Jay!! Jay!!!" When I moved over to high five them, the next group started the chant, and on it went. At times I had to move away from the curb, just to get a break. But not for very long. This was better than the kisses from a few miles back. After hours of brutal heat, it was the best runner's high imaginable.  This part was downhill, and it was easy to speed up, though not the smartest move.

22. 10:59 

Yes, on this day, an 11:00 minute mile 22 felt fast.

The only real challenge left was surviving  the post-euphoria let down in the next couple of miles, after the BC drug wore off. The crowds were still huge, but not as enthusiastic. And the ice supply was low. I just pushed on toward the finish, as the buildings got taller, and I just wanted to soak in the last few miles. The heat had been a constant companion, but it was the only negative in the whole day.

23. 11:09

24. 11:28

25. 11:25

26. 11:20

For the first time all day, runners are passing me. No one is walking now. I think about speeding up, but why would I do that? I'm not racing these people, even if they are racing me. Instead of running along the curb, I run right down the center of Boylston Street, once again overwhelmed by the crowd, still out supporting, cheering for the slower runners, hours after the elites, the near elites, and the fast guys like Dave have finished.

.2. 2:29

Total time: 4 hours 42 minutes 39 seconds. 

It was awesome, but I was ready to stop. The brain lets you go as long as you need to, but then the brain is ready to stop, too. I collected my medal, some water, a food bag, and my drop bag from the school bus that collected my stuff before the start.  I walked back to the hotel, eager to see Carrie and Dad in the lobby. I am so very happy that they made the trip with me.

Back at the hotel after a long, glorious day of running.

We said good-bye to Dad, and I got cleaned up. I wore my medal to dinner, a big burger and fries at the place across from the hotel. Such a great day. When I started rehab/PT after my surgery, I considered that this might be my last marathon, and I was okay with that possibility. Now I hope to run more of them, just not for a while. But if this was my only Boston Marathon, and it likely was, I couldn't be happier about how it went.

My legs were sore the next day, and walking down stairs was painful, but we had time to walk the city before our afternoon flight home. The Public Garden, Boston Common, Beacon Hill, The North End. The weather was beautiful.

Thank you for reading. Really.

Boston Bare Essentials:

I finished.
Lots of wonderful people helped me raise thousands of dollars for the American Liver Foundation, in honor and memory of my friend and fellow teacher, Mike Troy.

The following was written by Carlin Troy, Mike's wife:

Mike was very proud that you planned to run in the marathon. Everyone who donated to this cause is to be thanked by everyone that has and will be affected by this disease. Mike's life ended way too early and at the point he was diagnosed it was too late, as is often the case, for any effective treatment. My heart goes out in thanks to everyone who sponsored you and did so in honor of Mike. We all miss him so terribly but hope others can be spared through ongoing research into finding a cure.

-Carlin

Peace,

Jay

Serve the Servants

Last year, the appeal process for our property taxes was a three-part whipsaw of good cop/bad cop. Fortunately, the final say went to the good cop who came to the house and did a visual inspection, both inside and outside the house. She lowered the valuation dramatically. One would think that the folks at the tax office would consider that level of scrutiny an accurate way to determine the value.

When we got our tax appraisal this year, the value had gone up again, while I knew that the real estate market had been flat at best. In preparation for the initial hearing, I rarely do much research, though I have in the past taken in pictures of our rooms with 7 foot ceilings, etc. This time I checked the valuations of all of our neighbors on our side of the street. Down, way down! Everybody else's values had dropped from between $10,000 and $35,000 from last year.

So, with last year's visual inspection (assumed to be accurate, right?), and the neighbors' drop in value, I had a  case to make. I did not want to go to stage two, the formal hearing, which was a very adversarial, bad cop situation last year. Fortunately, the informal hearing people are good cops, willing to find ways to resolve the issue in your favor, if it can be justified.

After waiting in the crowded hallway for more than an hour, my name was called. I made my case to Ms. Reese, with the emphasis on the amounts by which my neighbors values had gone down. My goal was to keep my value the same as last year, not to lower it again. She punched up something on her computer that got pretty close to what I was looking for, then ran some other numbers that would be fatal to my case. We went with the first set of numbers, and she checked with a supervisor to make sure we could settle on keeping the value the same as last year. Why, yes we could do that, was the reply.

In 16 years, I've only appealed four times, so I don't do it for fun. It's not fun, but it is educational, interesting, and worth it when you win.
I've never been treated unfairly, or disrespectfully, by anyone while going through this process.

The current weather conditions inspired the use of this photo for today's blog entry.  I cannot wait for cooler, even cold, weather.

Peace,

JS4

About a Girl

In the final moments of July 4th, seven pounds and eleven ounces of wonderfulness was welcomed into the world. Our dear friend Tara provided the fireworks by bringing us Millicent Kathryn Kirkland, pictured below at about 36 hours old.

 

She is now several times older and 22% cuter (not scientifically measured).
Mother and daughter are healthy, happy, and one of them is getting plenty of sleep.

I am happy beyond words for Tara, and Millie is a joy to behold, for her family, and for those of us who share the kinship of friendship with Tara.

Peace,

JS4

Flashback to June

Summers of Jay, of course, begin the day after my last day of school. The plan for that first day usually involves sleeping late, and some sort of frozen beverage with lunch. This year the plan was an early alarm clock buzzer, followed by a day of travel. If I was going to break summer routine, there had better be a good reason. St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands was our destination, so that's a good enough reason, right there. My mom and her husband celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary in May, and wanted to renew their vows on a beach  in the Virgin Islands, where my sister Julie lives. No way were Carrie and I going turn down that invitation.  It was a quick and thorough break from school, and an easy place to move into relaxation mode. The first picture, I took as we glided along the bay after Julie had taken us out on a small boat to a nice snorkeling spot.

Weather-wise, June marks the beginning of hurricane season; not exactly ideal. We did get rained on, and the bugs were pretty vicious, too. We managed to get some sunny beach time, and snorkeling in the rain is remarkably pleasant, especially compared to sitting on a rainy beach. Plenty of fresh seafood, great burgers at Skinny Legs, and tasty home-cooked meals by our hosts, Julie and Ken, kept us fed and happy.

Barton Springs

My second job in Austin, circa 1992-1994, was as a counselor in the outdoor group therapy program that MHMR/Child Protective Services ran at Zilker Park. During the school year, we met from 3-6 p.m., but in the summer, it was 9:00 in the morning until 1:00, and included PB&J sandwiches three days a week. I was poor back then (not like now, 'cause I'm making teacher money, baby!), so that was free lunch, three days a week.

On therapy days, an hour for work in the summer was spent swimming with the kids at Barton Springs. Glorious. As a symbol of nature in Austin, nothing tops Barton Springs. The water is cold and clear, and there is no place that feels more like Austin. 

When friends came into town with their kids last summer, we took them to Barton Springs. The two younger kids focused on the cold water, while the soon-to-be college freshman understood the cool factor, which included many college-age girls in bikinis.  

The pictures in this post are from what has become an almost annual tradition for me: A New Year's Day dip in the springs. It's supposed to bring good luck, but I think of it as more about washing away the old year, and a clean start to the new. This "swim" usually lasts only a few minutes, and then it's time to quickly dry off and warm up. That is me and our friend Tara in the picture below.

Tara wanted to swim in Barton Springs for her birthday last week. Couldn't pass that up, especially since Tara is something like 78 weeks pregnant right now. With record heat, the pool felt great, and it was easy to see why people flocked to this oasis back in the day when there was no air-conditioning.

Just before we left, a couple in their 30's (maybe their 20's, it's tough to tell when you're in your 40's) asked me to take their picture with Barton Springs in the background. I was delighted to help, because this was a couple that understood. They hadn't just gone swimming, they'd just gone swimming in Barton Springs, and they knew the difference.

Peace,

JS4

Waterloo, Part Two

Audience participation is a risky proposition anytime, but especially at an in-store performance when you are from out of town. The Rosebuds tried it, and pulled it off, by coming off the stage, down to the floor, and getting the crowd to move in close to them. The quartet from North Carolina has an indie sound that I didn't expect when I saw the acoustic guitar and violin. The violin was played with choppy strokes, like in a horror film score, and the slow, moody keyboards set the pace for most of the songs. It was the first time this summer that I had seen a band that I knew nothing about before the show, and I like the "no preconceived notions" approach that this provides. The Rosebuds skew younger than me, like they grew up on Death Cab for Cutie, but put their own non-jaded stamp on the sound. They played later that night at The Parish, and I hope they drew a good crowd.

Ruthie Foster brings a gospel soul flavor to her live shows. She's got a voice that would sound good if all she did was sing names out of the phone book. Turnout was good for this show, even though they did not have beer. This is a video from Waterloo performance from a couple of years ago:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8YSyxox2Iw&feature=related

The Greencards used to live in Austin, and during their show they promised to move back, "someday."
They've got two new members, on guitar and fiddle. They used to be more of a bluegrass band, but they have evolved more into a pop-sounding group that happens to play bluegrass instruments. I thought some of the songs had a "Tusk" era Fleetwood Mac sound, but the new album is self-released so they branched out even more from a traditional sound. One song was a Latin-inspired, two-man instrumental with only the mandolin player, and the very talented new guitar player. The Greencards tour a lot, and if they ever make it to your town, it's a good time.
If you were alive in 1979, you shouuld watch this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_5LHxvDyRHo

One more picture fron The Rosebuds.

This week featured in-stores on four of the five days of the week. Amazing. I'm so thankful to be able to see them all.

Peace,

JS4

Waterloo means music

Live music at Waterloo Records is a "Summer of Jay" staple, and Waterloo is keeping their end of the bargain with a steady schedule of performances. These shows are not just summer events for the store, but it seems like they have a busier lineup this time of year. Plus, it's a whole lot easier for me to get to 6th and Lamar at 5:00 when I'm out of school. There may not be much structure to my schedule on a daily basis, but I'll build my afternoons around getting there.

Everybody likes Matt the Electrician, and he shows up in the audience when his friends are playing their gigs. He seems like the kind of guy that would pay a cover charge to support other musicians, rather than get comped at the door. His song-writing is full of bouncy melodies and standard ballads. He played with a full band that included Scrappy Jud Newcomb, and a female singer that really helped round out the songs. Matt plays multiple instruments, including the banjolele in the picture, but he really benefits from having a backing band that fills out the songs without stepping on the lyrics.

Matt is pretty well known for his cover of Journey's "Faithfully." People kind of giggle when they hear him start it for the first time, but he plays it totally straight. The result is sweet and sincere, not a bit campy, and a reminder that an over-played, sappy love song can still be a damn fine song. I was going to link to a YouTube video, but I'm having techo-problems. Do it yourself, if you are interested, and watch or skip to the end, where the audience sings along.

Hey, look. Google/Blogspot fixed the glitch:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=umO1uxi82VQ

While trying to solve those problems, I lost my picture of Foster and Lloyd, and could only re-post it at the top of this entry.

Foster and Lloyd had a little success in the 1980's as a country duo, and then broke up, with Radney Foster gaining some acclaim as a solo artist, and Bill Lloyd falling off the face of the earth. Foster still has a terrifically smooth voice, and is more of a showman than Lloyd, who played lead guitar while his partner did most of the vocal heavy lifting.

Their new songs felt pretty tied down to a Nashville formula, and I was left wondering why they've gotten back together. I think they are both really talented, and capable of writing smarter songs (although they did manage to rhyme "innuendo" with "comprendo"), but the results are not greater than the sum of their parts.
Here's a video from their first career:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAGncA1BlQ8

This entry was written a couple of days ago, but The Blog Company was experencing difficulties, which appear to have been fixed. Yea.

Peace,

JS4

P.S. It appears that the tech problem was largely Blogspot's, and that my incompetence was overestimated, but based on a reliable history of techno-incompetence.

Election update

The numbers tell the story, but I'll tell you more than you want to know.
Kathie Tovo: 23,911
56%
Randie Shade: 18,594
46%
Turnout was higher than in the general election, but both candidates did well in that area. Tovo got 9,000 more votes than in the general, while Shade added 8,000 to her total.

Media coverage of this race merits a comment or six. Not surprisingly, the Statesman endorsed Shade, the establishment incumbent. As soon as the runoff began, and Shade worked to negatively define Tovo, the Statesman played up the negativity, without providing much balance to what were supposed to be actual news stories. Editorially, the Statesman went all out to make Shade voters believe she could come back and win. The topper (whopper) in this effort was written in their editorial on Saturday, election day:
"Usually, a runoff election draws fewer voters, and usually, a candidate trailing by 13 points, as Shade was when the ballots were counted on May 14, finds it impossible to catch up. The comments of people who monitor city elections closely range from 'Shade has more than closed the gap' to 'the race is too close too call.' For Shade, the surge represents a vindication of sorts."

Surge? Surge?? She closed a 13 point gap to a 12 point gap. That was a surge comparable only to a LeBron James fourth quarter surge against the Mavericks. Please. That editorial is what inspired this entire post.

I was also disappointed in the Chronicle's (Austin's weekly alternative paper) tepid endorsement of Kathie Tovo. Their political coverage is good, but their endorsement decisions betray their ever-closer-to-establishment status. I have a theory as to why they were not full-throated in their support for Tovo, but I don't want to get into that here.

I spent about half an hour at the victory party at Scholz Garden, and recognized a few people there, including a cab driver who had given me plenty of unsolicited advice on how to enhance the script we were using for get out the vote calls. When I ran into Chris, the volunteer coordinator, he looked exhausted and elated as I offered my congratulations. He said, "We couldn't have done it without you." Yes, my 200 or so calls made the difference in the 5,500 vote squeaker. Nice guy, needs some sleep.

I shook Kathie's hand (Yes, I'm sure we'll be on a first name basis now), and exited through the beer garden, where the Hot Rod Honeys, a local roller derby team, was having a fundraiser to finance their trip for a big roller derby event in Australia. The election celebration, and the roller girls' party were not officially related, but I love that they were at the same place, on the same night. In my Austin, it seemed like a perfectly natural pairing, like chips and queso.

Peace,
JS4

2011. We're back.

Welcome back.

A few people have asked if the blog would return, and while I would not say it's back by popular demand, a few requests/inquiries is all it takes for me to get sucked back in.

I finished my seventh(!) year of teaching in May. Summers off are an amazing benefit of the teaching gig, and I try not to take them for granted. People have stopped asking me if I'll be teaching summer school. Ha! Most of all, what summer allows is what I affectionately call, "The luxury of inefficiency." There are many things that I need to get done before mid-August. The list builds throughout the school year, and this is the time to take care of the list. But I can address those things at a pace that brings very little stress, and as much as I enjoy my job, having a couple of low-stress months is really sweet.

As I considered the blog this spring, I thought about the fact that I moved to Austin 20 years ago. I think this will be a common theme to my writing this year. Some of what I write will be memoir-like, looking back to record some of the events, even if the details are getting a bit fuzzy.

I love Austin, and I cannot imagine what my life would be like if I'd settled anywhere else. When a city doubles in population every 20-25 years, major changes are inevitable. One thing that has not changed since I moved here is the full-contact nature of city council elections. People may decry the low voter turnout, but there is no denying the passion and energy involved in city elections around here.

On Saturday, a run-off between faux-liberal Randi Shade and true-liberal Kathie Tovo will be decided. When Tovo nearly unseated the incumbent Shade in the general election without a run-off, I was surprised by Shade's weak performance. When I first moved to Austin, local elections were boiled down to "development/growth" vs "environment/quality of life/Barton Springs" battles. Even though the environmental/neighborhood voting bloc has generally controlled the city council, growth in a city like Austin cannot be stopped. "Smart Growth" became the pragmatic slogan, and center-left realism has ruled the day.

The battle lines of the Shade/Tovo race are a throwback to the early/mid 1990s in Austin politics. Back then, I was still learning about the electoral dynamics in the city. I voted for the environment candidates and hoped for the best. This year, I've got time to get more involved in such a race. On Memorial Day, I called the Kathie Tovo campaign to say that I wanted to volunteer. Guess who answered the phone? Yep, Kathie Tovo. Probably a million dollars will be spent on this race, and yet, there is small town feel to how leaders are elected in this city of more than 800,000. The candidate herself was answering the phone. Sign me up.

My critical role as a volunteer for the campaign has been to bug people with phone calls. The volunteer coordinator is ready for anyone that walks in off the street. I'd had a follow-up phone call, so they knew I was coming. When I made that call, the woman who answered the phone said to Chris, the volunteer coordinator, "We've got a live one." Other volunteers were occupying all the other rooms in the pleasantly spartan campaign office, so they put in a room that had a shower and a sink, and room for two small chairs. They not so originally called this "The Shower Room," and promised me that the acoustics would be awesome.

I had a script, and a list of names and phone numbers, which also included information about how often the people I would call had voted in recent elections. Nothing about who they had voted for, but clearly targeting regular voters in strong Tovo precincts. At least half of the calls resulted in messages left for people on their machines. With such a low percentage of people voting, pushing turnout is the key. I know that most people find these calls annoying. I know I find them annoying, but the professional campaign people seem to think it works. 14,000 people voted early in the general election, and 24,000 voted early in this runoff. The campaign people are wondering what those numbers mean, and they are keeping the hammer down, trying to keep the momentum strong until tomorrow's final vote.

I've been in the campaign office three times, and twice Kathie Tovo has been there, doing whatever a candidate does in the last week of a big election. She has been good about thanking volunteers, and taking the time to talk to people who are giving their time to support her run. One odd thing about this race is the public support that the mayor and other council members are giving the two candidates. I knew there were divisions on the council, but most of the members have openly chosen sides, trying to get, or keep, an ally on the council.

I have no idea how this race will finish. My prediction about how the general election would go was far from accurate, but Tovo's strong showing motivated me to get involved in the run-off. Cold-calling people was not fun, but getting to see some of the inner-workings of a campaign, while helping a candidate that I think will be good for Austin was worth it. Especially if she wins.



Remember, comments on the blog are not just welcome, they are mandatory.

Thanks for reading.


Peace,

JS4

Guns in the Capitol

Earlier this year, some unbalanced guy entered the Texas capitol building with a gun, acted suspiciously, went outside and shot his gun into the air a few times. No one was hurt, but the incident opened the public debate about security at the capitol. Governor Perry weighed in, saying he was against metal detectors, and making the capitol look like DFW airport. This might be the only issue on which the governor and I agree. Any nut job can do unspeakable harm in this, or any open setting, if they want to make the news badly enough. Metal detectors and other obvious security measures only serve to provide the illusion of safety at such a symbolic location.

Then there is the combination of legal exceptions and political posturing which allows just about anyone to enter the capitol building with a gun. Texas, being a state with a concealed handgun license law, and a state where lawmakers aren't about to give up their guns at the door, or go against the gun lobby, is not going to take meaningful steps to make the capitol building a gun-free zone. So, as pictured below, we have metal detectors and a clump of state troopers manning the area. And then we have the express lane, where those with a concealed handgun license can bypass the line, and enter with their loaded weapons. I feel safer already.

When I read about the new "security" measures in the newspaper, I was especially struck by one detail. As an "open carry" state for long guns (shot guns, rifles, etc.), people can bring these weapons into the capitol. My first thought was, "Wow, that's crazy." My second thought was, "I'm going to do that, just to see what will happen."
Stephen F. Austin, role model:

At first this seemed like a bit of a stunt, maybe even a joke. Still, I knew to take it seriously enough not to just stroll up the steps with my gun. And not being a gun owner, I had to buy a Daisy BB gun, which at about 3 feet long, could pass to the untrained eye for a dangerous weapon. So I went to the capitol to do some reconnaissance. I spoke to the troopers about what I planned to do. One guy asked me for what purpose I wanted to carry a long gun into the capitol. I told him I wanted to exercise my rights, to the full extent of the law. This seemed to throw him off a bit, and he referred me to the sergeant in charge that day. I met with the sergeant, confirmed that what I planned was legal, but he could not tell me all of the security policies in place. He emphasized that a weapon should not be carried or held in a threatening manner, and that other people in and around the building might react to me if they sensed that I was a threat. He was very clear and very professional.

Gun themes are evident all around the capitol complex. I walked past this statue between my parked car and the front of the capitol.

Carrie knew that I was thinking about doing this. When I told her that I had been to the capitol to check out the situation, she said that she was worried about me getting arrested. I assured her that she need not worry about that. What I did not tell her was, rather than being arrested, I was more likely to be shot by someone with a concealed handgun, who perceived me as a threat. Not wanting to die, but in my mind committed to taking my gun into the capitol, I had to figure out the safest way to make it happen. I also had no interest in freaking out families and other tourists as they visited the capitol. Imagine seeing a man entering the capitol with what looks to be a shotgun or rifle. From any distance, one's first thought is not likely to be, "Oh, that's obviously an unloaded BB gun. No problem."

I made at least two more trips to the capitol, thinking that I would carry out my plan. Too many people. People I might scare. Scared people doing things I could not predict or control. The metaphor is too obvious, but I was sweating little metal projectiles. This was a bad idea. I asked a state trooper out front what hours the building was open to visitors. 7:00 AM to 10:00 PM.

7:00 AM. That was the key. A few days later, I arrived at the capitol just after 7:00. The place was not deserted, but it felt calm. I walked unarmed, to the security station inside, and told them my intentions. I wanted to walk around the rotunda a few times with my gun and then leave. The trooper I dealt with seemed unfazed, but told me he wanted to check the gun to see if it was loaded before I came past the check point. When I asked him later if someone could bring in a loaded long gun, he said, "We probably would not let you do that." From the way he said this, I got the feeling that he was revealing a security policy that they really prefer not to make public.

I went back to my car, and pulled the gun (still in its box) out of my car trunk. Though few people were around, I was amazed that my anxiety level was so low. I could tell that this was going to be fine. The same trooper met me just outside the doors and walked inside with me. I handed him my gun, and he checked it quite thoroughly, even stepping just outside to examine it in the natural light. He handed it back to me, and said that he would hold the box for me until I was ready to leave. During all of my dealings with the troopers, I had made clear that I wanted to cause the least amount of alarm to others as possible. He saw that my actions were consistent with this, and he projected a calm confidence, and a trust that I was in no way a threat. I'm pretty sure that he had alerted troopers in other parts the building, because when I was in the rotunda, the state troopers there were on their radios, and keeping close track of me.

As I circled the rotunda, I kept my gaze mostly on the portraits of past governors. I looked down the side halls, and made sure to make eye contact with members of the security team that were close by. There were no other civilians in proximity to me, so any threat dynamic was off the table. In fact, by this time it felt almost like an academic exercise. I was thankful for the lack of drama. I returned to the security area, boxed up my weapon, thanked the man for his professional help, and walked quickly back to my car.

My reflections on this activity:

Aside from the specific actions, this turned out to be an exercise in fear, mine and that of others, and finding ways to minimize it. On the days that I went to the capitol planning to take my gun inside, but never got it out of the car, I had to trust what my self-inflicted anxiety was telling me. I would stand on the steps of the south entrance, look down the great walk and Congress Avenue, and think, "Not today."

As to the issue of gun rights vs. gun control, I am firmly ambivalent. The political battles are mostly symbolic, and great ways for special interests to raise and spend money. My ambivalence is evident in that I can't decide what to do with my Daisy Red Ryder. I don't know of a family that would want it for their kid, and I don't want to throw it away, like it's some kind of danger that must be buried. So for now it is in its box, in the trunk of my car.

The men and women of the Department of Public Safety are very professional, and do a great job. I am grateful for how they dealt with me each time I was there. The one question that I could not bring myself to ask was, what would they do if 500 people approached and wanted to enter the capitol with their rifles?

This will be my last post for a while. Thank you for reading.

I should tell you that the outcome of my property tax appeal was successful beyond my wildest dreams. I had asked for a $10,000 drop in the appraised value. After the lady from the county came to do the interior visual inspection, they dropped the value by more than $28,000. Wow, we do live in a hovel. It's amazing what you can get used to. I love our house.

If I write anything during the school year, I will consider you "opted in," and will notify you when I post. If you want to "opt out," send me a private e-mail - it's less humiliating for me that way. Thanks again, for encouraging me to blog, and reading when I do.

Peace,

Jay

Worth Every Penny

Many, many years ago, songwriter Butch Hancock played a show every night for the month of February, with a different theme, in a different setting each night. Carrie and I made one of those shows, Train Night, at the old Waterloo Ice House on Lamar. I don't recall if we've seen him do a solo show since then, but his latest stunt at The Cactus Cafe was enough to get us out on a Thursday night. It was also the only live music that I paid a cover charge to see this summer. To close out this era of The Cactus, Butch played five consecutive nights without repeating a single song. Half the audience had bought a five night pass so they could attend every show. I like Butch, but come on, one night was enough, especially if you happened to pick the right night.


Butch's songs are full of wry metaphors, and casually deep observations, with bits of wisdom that the listener can hold or ignore if they so choose. The wordiness and observational style can keep a separateness between him and a larger audience, but the intimacy of The Cactus easily overcomes that issue. Anticipating what turned out to be a very long break between sets, Carrie had me drive her home during the intermission. Big Mistake.


When I returned to the show, Butch was joined on stage by Joe Ely and Jimmie Dale Gilmore, making the last 90 minutes a full-on Flatlanders reunion. Unrehearsed and hilarious, the three of them shared two guitars and plenty of stories about the songs they had written together. It was sublime. I could write a lot more about how great it was, but that would just make Carrie sad.



Earlier that week, Jimmie Dale's son, Colin Gilmore played an in-store at Waterloo. It's tough to write about his music without comparing it to his father's. Taking five years between albums, it is clear that Colin works hard crafting quality songs, and mostly succeeds. Natural images of wind, sun, and raindrops in July give a listener the chance to put him or her self into the heart of the songs. I was a little disoriented when the first notes of the first song he played were identical to John Prine's "Picture Show," but after that it was all original. Colin's vocals only occasionally wander to the nasally heights of his dad's, but the resemblance is more evident when he is speaking. Otherwise it is a straght Texas songwriter sound, doing what he does well, taking it seriously, but not taking any bold chances. He's making music that his dad can be proud of, and it was nice to see Jimmie Dale there supporting his son's effort.


L.A.'s Ozomatli packed the store with fans and energy last week, in town for the Latin Music Awards. They were not playing anywhere else in town, so lots of people made the effort to see it. The variety of styles they play is amazing, and all of it is high energy, with horns and keyboards, and lord knows what else. On this day, they really brought the funk, reminding me of James Brown meets hip hop. They left the audience wanting more, playing only about 25 minutes, but for serious fans they'll be back at ACL.

Peace,

JS4

Never Too Late for a Tribute

Alejandro Escovedo is lucky to be alive, and he plays music like he knows the value of every day. At 59, he's pretty old to still be chasing rock and roll fame and fortune, but a recent interview made it sound like he'd like some commercial success to go with the critical acclaim he has earned. I'm pretty sure that window closed a while back, but it means that he can be seen in smaller venues, always a better viewing experience. He's also got friends in high places. When he last played the Stone Pony in New Jersey, Bruce Springsteen joined him on stage for a few songs.
Escovedo played a noon in-store, which I think was scheduled to keep the store from overcrowding. The picture at the bottom of this post is from the side of the stage, since getting close up front was not in the cards. The show was great, but writing about it is just a way to get to something I've been wanting to write for more than a year. If I blogged during the school year, a post in the Spring of 2009 would have been titled, "A Sad Day in May."

Carrie and I were in the car on the way down the street to vote in the city elections when the news came on the radio. Stephen Bruton was dead. We knew he had cancer. We knew the prognosis was not good. We cried a little in the car, then went in to vote.

Stephen was not famous, but people who knew him or knew his music loved him. We knew only his music, but we knew it from up close. Most of the times that we saw him perform was at The Saxon Pub, as part of the band The Resentments. We dragged many of our friends and family to their Sunday night shows to see Stephen, Jon Dee Graham, Jud Newcomb and whoever else might join them on a given night. Great guitar work, raspy unpolished vocals and hilarious side stories were guaranteed as they traded songs. Jon Dee was the only one of them who could carry a solo show, but together, they blended perfectly. They had fun playing, had obvious affection for one another, and they let the audience in on the whole thing. And you got the sense that it worked week after week because what everybody really wanted to do was hang out with Stephen, and Sundays at The Saxon was their chance.

Stephen did some solo work and released some albums, but really he was a band member. I don't have expertise about guitar playing, but nothing I heard ever made me think that Stephen Bruton was an all-time great. But the list of people who wanted him in their bands, starting with Kris Kristofferson, is more than impressive, and includes Bonnie Raitt and Elvis Costello. Almost as much for his guitar playing, I'm sure people of that stature just liked having Stephen in the band because of the same things that we saw over and over again at The Saxon Pub. There was a light about him that drew people in, an intangible spark in his music that connected to people. He is the only musician in Austin that we had that connection with who has died.

He worked on the music for the movie Crazy Heart, which won an Oscar for Ryan Bingham and T-Bone Burnett, so he has had some recent acclaim. Alejandro Escovedo's last song at the in-store was an instrumental, dedicated to Stephen Bruton. The famous, the not-so-famous, and just regular people like me want to pay tribute at least one more time.

After Carrie and I voted that day, we knew where we needed to go. Except for a couple of regulars, there weren't many people in The Saxon Pub at 2:30 on a Saturday afternoon. We pulled up to the bar, told the waitress we were there to drink a beer in Stephen's honor, and paid quiet tribute. A few minutes in, a group of young guys started setting up musical equipment for their matinee show. I have no idea if they had ever heard of Stephen Bruton. They said they were new in town, and this was their first time to play The Saxon. The timing had a "circle of life" feel to it. We stayed for a few songs, stuffed a few dollars in the tip jar, and walked out into the harsh daylight.

Peace,

JS4





P.S. There is a Youtube video of Bruton playing with Kristofferson on an Austin City Limits episode. It won't copy here, but if you go to Youtube and enter Kris Kristofferson Austin City Limits, it's the first one up. Not much of Stephen, but worth 3 minutes of your time.

Jimmie V. + 2

I think the first time I saw Jimmie Vaughan in concert was an October 2001 outdoor deal with B.B. King, John Hiatt, Buddy Guy, etc. One thing I remember about that day was the overdone security at the gate, since it was so close to 9/11. I also remember that KGSR's Bryan Beck attempted a horrible joke about Afghanistan. Nine years later and that joke's still not funny. Didn't like Beck then, and I still can't stand him on the radio. Musically, my expectations for Jimmie Vaughan were not real high. I'd always considered his rhythm sound second to Stevie Ray's straight blues. Jimmie's set was the best performance that day at Auditorium Shores. It's been 20 years since Stevie died, and Jimmie has had the burden of managing his brother's legacy, while trying to carve out his own career, always in the shadow of a legend.

I knew the in-store for Jimmie would be crowded, but wow, what a turnout. The first picture is of John Kunz, the owner of Waterloo. He usually takes pictures of the bands as they play - such a fan. There was so little room between the crowd and the stage, that he had to crawl and scoot along the floor to get his pictures. Later during the show, I snapped this image of him standing on the counter in the back corner of the store, as he took more pictures.

Jimmie plays the role of bandleader, with swing elements like a horn section and stand up bass player.

What seems to work for Jimmie Vaughan, more than any player I've seen, is his ability to perform on the edges of relaxed intensity and focused cool. It does not translate to his recordings, but live, it is something special.

Lou Ann Barton joined the band on vocals for a few songs. She can be unpredictable (drunk), but has the goods. She can sing the blues with authenticity, and has lived them probably as much as a white woman can.

A recent double bill at the store included Here We Go Magic. After a long sound check, they finally started playing their weird, ethereal, hyper-echoed songs. If there was an arrangement of the instrumental parts, it was lost on me, because it sounded like they were making it up as they went. The only postives were that the lead "singer" and the keyboard player were pleasant to look at, and at under 20 minutes, it was thankfully the shortest show I can remember seeing.

Lawrence Arabia played the same day, which meant it was not a totally wasted trip to 6th and Lamar. Their style was hard to categorize because it seemed to shift from song to song. They (he) is from New Zealand, so British influences like The Kinks and George Harrison (and recent Wilco) were strong. Then on their last song, the bass line opened and dominated throughout, and it was lifted straight from Blondie's "One Way or Another." Just noticeably off harmonies gave the songs a more indie feel, but took nothing away from my liking their music.

Reportedly, there is a great BBQ trailer on the access road of I-35, at about 35th street. I've driven by, and can confirm there is a popular trailer selling something, but the long lines and the heat have kept me from trying it so far. They have a shade to cover part of the line, but the two times I've checked it out, the line stretches out beyond the shade, into the hot parking lot. Maybe another time. I'm of the mind that someone other than me should be suffering for quality BBQ.

Peace,

JS4