Summer of 2010: Welcome

Oh, where to start...?

Well the Summer is supposed to start at Trudy's, on the first day with no school, this year a Wednesday. The picture below is of the Trudy's parking lot on that day. Plenty of parking, no? That's because they're no longer open for lunch or breakfast, except on weekends. Change is bad.

Plan B worked out fine, as Carrie and I went to El Chile on Manor Road, for the requisite margaritas, nachos and quesadillas. They have a nice covered patio, good food, drinks and service, and feels more like a neighborhood place, instead of the hipster hangout vibe it had when they first opened.

Welcome back to the blog. I've been out of school for nearly three weeks, and this is my first entry of the Summer of Jay 6. I view the blog as a celebration of Summer; more specifically my Summer. In previous blogging summers, I've been in the mindset of the celebration almost immediately after school ended. This year, for a number of reasons, it has taken a while to become inspired, and I did not want to force it. But I've taken today, the first official day of summer, to begin again. I thank you all for your patience, and for your requests for the resumption of the blog.

Let's get to the music. For years, Waterloo Records in-store performances have been my favorite way to sample a wide variety of music. I go to in-stores during the school year, but the pace picks up during the summer.

Of the two main guys in the local band The Gourds, Kevin Russell is the better songwriter and performer. He has a solo project that he calls Shinyribs, which sounds just like the best stuff from The Gourds.

Sometimes music sounds like where it comes from; think Motown and Detroit, the Beach Boys and California. Well, The Gourds, Shinyribs, and Kevin Russell sound like South Austin. For this nearly one hour set, Russell seemed more clean-cut than usual, with a trimmed goatee and a clean shirt, but the music was pure South First, Tex-Mex Mile, South Austin. He turns a casual phrase, like he's your slightly embarrassing uncle, but there is genius in how simple he makes it sound. It is also fun to see a guy unafraid to switch out his electric guitar for a song or two on the ukulele.

Josh Ritter seemed very much like a kid when I saw him last week. He is 10 years younger than I am, but that, sadly, no longer qualifies one for kid-dom. I'd heard of him before, but was really not familiar at all with his music. I looked him up on Wikipedia, and his background is interesting. Useless fact (if Wikipedia can be trusted as factual) : he was married last year in Branson, Missouri. Funny, he did not seem at all like a hillbilly redneck biker for Jesus.

His first three songs were void of any pop-sounding hooks, and he seemed to be more interested in showing off his songcraft. He followed that with more fan friendly folk/pop, going completely solo for his full set. The store was nearly full, and he held the room's attention well, not an easy task, even when the place is full of fans. He impressed me because he was playing later that night at a sold out show at Antone's. He could have cruised through a short set and left, seeing how there was no need to further promote the show. Instead, he played for an hour, was more than gracious, and gave John, Waterloo's owner, a big ol' hug before and after the set. Nice kid.

Sage Francis is nearly the same age as Josh Ritter, but a completely different kind of performer, though he also took the stage solo. I'd read that Francis was a hip hop artist, but that's not what I saw. No music, just poetry, delivered in a hip hop, freestyle way, but definitely not your garden-variety hip hop. It was more like a guy who had won poetry slams for 5 years running, getting semi-famous, and going out on tour. With a gig later that night at The Mohawk, he was intense, political, engaging, and only rarely slipped into paranoia about the government. With several dozen fans in the audience, I was thinking that the crowd was younger, more disaffected, and more likely to download music than buy a CD, than any crowd in recent memory at Waterloo. It was different than other shows at the store, but he threw a verbal barrage at us with undeniable intensity, which made it well worth being there.

Pictured below is Annie's, a breakfast, lunch and dinner spot on Congress, just across from Manuel's. Carrie had half of a huge burger with fries, I had a chicken salad sandwich, and both were very good. It's a nice place, with lots of natural light from the multi-windowed storefront. We have been there a few times, but have never sat outside. It looks like a delightful place to enjoy the street scene, but it was way too hot, and judging by all the empty tables, everyone else thought the same thing.

If you have read this far, you are obviously a committed blog reader. Thanks. Check in as often as you like. I may post a few times a week, or I may combine things into one entry per week. Either way, I hope you'll be back, and that you enjoy another Summer of Jay.

Comments are always welcome. Needed, craved, etc.

Peace,

JS4

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