Uno,
dos,
and three-0.

Travel notes: the anchovy forks:
Sister and I have a long running feud that stems from a love of anchovies. It started as children, I'm sure, and given my sister's propensity to stretch and mold the truth to for any applicable situation, I'm not sure just exactly how reliable she'll be as a source.

The problem cropped up several years ago after our parents had moved into their retirement home, a new place, all on one floor, and only three bedrooms. As in, one bedroom for Ma Wetzel's office, a bedroom for master's beds, and a single guest bedroom. Which is a good idea as it precludes any chance of Sister or me trying to move back in. Not that it would happen, but you never can tell what the whims of Fortune's gentle zephyrs will do.

Somehow, we'd wound up in Dallas at the same time. So this was far enough in the distant past that I had a lover in Dallas, and I would stay with her, rather than impose on the good will of the parents. Plus my sister would be - perforce - out of my immediate business. Nothing's more awkward than a bouncing Gemini at 5 in the morning, 'Hi! Talk to me!"

So it was over Caesar Salad one night, and the two of us, Sister and me, we were gently arguing about who got the little tin of flat anchovy filets. Ma Wetzel noted the discord and in her matronly attempt at harmony, there appeared two cans of filets at the next meeting. And ever more.

So Sister, in her wisdom, as is her wont, employed her wisdom on this diverse occasion, procured two jars of special anchovy filets, done British style, complete with a little anchovy fork shrink-wrapped to the jar. That was the fun part. Really, the anchovies are less of a meal and more like a little love token, an offering.

I love them. She did point out that the anchovies are really rather good during peak stress times, as well as peak physical labor, "Oh yes, lots of salt to replenish the salt you just sweated out, and then there's the protein. It's really good, too."

I was just a little worried about the sodium, but she's the microbiologist, so I can defer to her on this point.

I packed the two jars of anchovy filets, wondering about the forks. Less than three inches long, and by my standards, only good for digging anchovies out of the jar. But I separated the forks from the jars as I was carrying that precious cargo with me. Turns out that it was completely unnecessary, but I try to be as accommodating as possible.

><31V0IV

12/31
Travel notes.
Subtitle: Keep it all in the family?

Got home safe and sound woke up the next day, drank half a cup of coffee, and wound up at the doc-in-the-box. Funny thing, after going through it all? The doc gave me the exact same kind of medicine Sister was on.

I was in and out in less than two minutes, armed with a script for some antibiotics. A transcript, it went a little like this:

"I just got back from being with family (no mention of overseas travel or ten hours in a confined space), and Sister came down with some infection, and she probably passed it on to me."

"Did it have name?"

"Huh?"

"Like 'monkey pox' or 'SARS,' or 'Swine Flu'?"

Grin. "No."

He felt, listened, looked and wrote a prescription for some dope that'll get me all better. After one day, I already feel better.

I'm wondering if this qualifies as a family tradition, the getting sick and spreading it all around. Happens every other year, or so it seems.

12/30
The hat
"If our lives are dominated by a search for happiness, then perhaps few activities reveal as much about the dynamics of this quest -- in all its ardour and paradoxes -- than our travels."

The Art of Travel. Alain de Botton. NY: Pantheon Books, 2002.

The "hat of power" is just a standard issue 5X Beaver, made by the Peter Brothers, in Ft. Worth. That's Ft. Worth, Texas - Peter Brothers, downtown since - oops - no net access here, I'll have to wing it. I think they've been there for over a hundred years, which, in Texas, is a long time for a business. Maybe not like Tower of London - old, but respectable old enough for my Texas tastes.

The hat of power did me grand service in keeping my pate warm, and the hat shielded, except for once, from the typical questions I get when traveling aboard, especially in England, "Hey do you know where (famous landmark) is?"

Which really isn't so odd, I mean, I do know where a couple of the best places are. I can navigate London without a map. Or, at least, I can get around pretty well.

I was anticipating a couple of responses, and I was a little fearful of anti-American backlash, but I never ran into that sentiment. Might've been my long locks. Might've been a number of influences, but I wasn't really there long enough to figure it out. I wouldn't plan on going to England - or any place in Northern Europe - in the winter time. Too damn cold, hat or not, so I figured this was my one chance to get pictures with me and a hat, and like I suspected, it turned into a hat of power. Crowds parted. Folks stepped up and out of the way.

12/29
That opera
(again) What fun. No, that should be "What fun!" New cast, same show, and, as always another nugget of information, I'll pass along. Later. After I thumb through the libretto.

It did happen, the "hat of power" failed me. Finally. Six days on the road, and in the Fortnum & Mason's elevator? A guy asked me for directions.

And now? Back to the USA. Homeward bound.

"We do it our way," Sister said, "R & R: Rest and Repack."

Travel notes: the anchovy forks:
Sister and I have a long running feud that stems from a love of anchovies.

Unrelated:
What they need is a "Jet Lag Café"- for all those Americans who can't sleep at 4 in the morning.

12/28
Sister and then some
Sister is amused at times, and distraught at other times - she still hasn't forgiven me for posting a picture of her somnolent form on the web - but she did catch a couple of points in the text I wrote - she caught the very points I was trying to get across. Unlike, say, my own dear Ma Wetzel who just grouses about the inaccuracy of text. "But you said that, Mom, I have three witnesses."

"Bah. Those witnesses lie."

So while Sister was laid up on the couch, she dog-eared a few of the pages, "Kramer, that book of your essays is fucking brilliant," she said.

Had some damn fine fish and chips at the Tate Modern museum. Just sort of all fit into place to dine there, and the Brits do deserve accolades with the way they can cook with hot grease. From thence, it was a quick tour through the Globe and from thence to the Museum of London, then off to the theater for a little RSC.

It was a production of that old fave, Romeo y Juliet. Good, solid production. I'm sorry to say, I found the pacing, in the second half, to be a little off. Not a bad show, and well-worth the price of admission, but the pacing, seemed a little slow. Firs half? Really excellent.

12/27
Not put out for the general public
The Sagittarius, not me, but the other one, she found the hot hook-up for cold cuts and such. I mean who else but the British can come up with something that wonderfully combines meat (roast beef) and pastry (beef Wellington).

She'd been shopping at Fortnum and Mason's, and she talked the sales clerk into some kind of deal about product that "was not put out for the general public."

Just think, purveyors to royalty, the titular heads of Europe - we got the goods. Feast on.

Unrelated:
Back to that again, if Sister looks at naked women, it's "art," but if I look at naked females, it's "porn."

Tourist trip:
Visit the Tate Modern.

In delirium, there is madness:
Sister was explaining about being on BBC Radio, the first time, "They asked, 'what are you going to do for Christmas?' and I told them that me and my family were going to sit around and eat." It's what we do.

Unrelated:
Sister is much better thanks, no doubt, to the dial-a-mood suppositories. There, stick that...

12/26
The big one
London's a funny old town, at once, the center of civilization, as we know it - the very pinnacle - and yet, also the symbol of what's wrong with the modern world, the decline and decay of the western world. The old and the new. The death, decay, decadence, and yet, all the fun stuff.

"Dude, pick me up some chocolate. Them brits take their chocolate seriously."

And ham, something called "stolen," and other stuff. It was a little like camping out, forced to improvise.
Sister
&
Oscar at night

12/25
xmas eve
Just a few items from London:

Sister's show closed, the various cast members have been flung onto airplanes and sent to their respective destinations, and Sister got sick.

I popped into her sickroom, the back bedroom, and I pointed out that I was eating Sticky Toffee Pudding, and because she was sick, she couldn't have any.

Here, take my picture?
No exit
Genius Bar (Regent Street)

caution

12/24
xmas (xmoose) eve's eve
Just pictures from the road, or from the foot traffic, as it were.
Shopping - Hatchard's Bookstore (established 1797)
Dinner with Sister's troop
Club Capricorn
Muse of astrology - xmoose version

12/23
Hey, they were right!
Sometimes, the weather predictors do make an accurate call. Austin was cold and wet, as the weather-scope oracle predicted, as we shuffled off to the airport. "International flights need to check in two hours prior to departure."

Concept of time. Seems to be a bit illusionary for my dear Sister.

"Where are you? Why do I get nothing but voice mail on your answering machine? Why can't you pick up the phone?"

Transatlantic flights - funny, they take a while.

"Oh Kramer, you should've been here last night."

All right, a little coffee, a little breakfast, a quick spin down the avenue (Piccadilly Circus), and some almost normal sleep, and life is better.

Picture - the view from here - thus far:
(London Homesick Blues)
Album : Viva Terlingua
Jerry Jeff Walker

Well, when you're down on your luck,
and you ain't got a buck,
in London you're a goner.
Even London Bridge has fallen down,
and moved to Arizona,
now I know why.
And I'll substantiate the rumor
that the English sense of humor
is drier than the Texas sand.
You can put up your dukes,
and you can bet your boots,
that I'm leavin' just as fast as I can.

Chorus;
I wanna go home with the armadillo.
Good country music from Amarillo and Abilene.
The friendliest people and the prettiest women
you've ever seen.

Well it's cold over here, and I swear,
I wish they'd turn the heat on.
And where in the world is that English girl,
I promised I would meet on the third floor.
And of the whole damn lot, the only friend I got,
is a smoke and a cheap guitar.
My mind keeps roamin', my heart keeps longin'
to be home in a Texas bar.

Chorus

Well, I decided that, I'd get my cowboy hat
and go down to Marble Arch Station.
'Cause when a Texan fancies, he'll take his chances,
and chances will be takin, now that's for sure.
And them Limey eyes, they were eyein' a prize,
that some people call manly footwear.
And they said you're from down South,
and when you open your mouth,
you always seem to put your foot there.

12/22
Two-Meat Tuesday redux
Buddy calls me up, "Hey, what you doing for lunch? Two-Meat?"

Sounded like a plan. I looked at my suitcase and the inbound e-mail, and I figured, sure, one last day to wander around in shorts. Texas is due for an arctic blast soon enough, but I'll miss it. I'll be in London town, in the middle of winter. 37 in London, and 73 here.

So it was two-meat platter, the brisket was a little dry, and the pork ribs weren't all that wonderful, but the help was saucy, if a little inattentive. We did a get a "headshot" with antlers. Way it goes. I wandered next door for a box of worms.

So after a little gentle chiding, I baited a hook and started to feed the fish. I caught a couple of little perch, but suddenly, they all disappeared. Meant a hunter-killer big-bass feeding machine was present. Was he ever. I put two worms on the hook, and dangled it right down where he was cruising. Bent the rod in half. Big bruiser. Old friend, really, I mean, he usually puts a single fishy eye-ball on me. He was not happy. But he did get to keep the bait, I thought it was fair, he got a meal and picture. What an excellent way to wrap up the xmoose time.

Two-Meat Tuesday
1) Packing. 2) Quotes.

I've been "on the road" for over a decade now. That's some miles. I finally broke down, after shuffling through close to a dozen of the cheaper suitcases, and picked up a decent one. I've been using a standard "Neo-con Yuppie Scum roller board" (carry-on size) for years. Isn't large enough. I finally graduated to a slightly larger model, with wheel, in hopes that it will do the trick. It's full of xmoose goodies for the family, and I'm about to saddle up and head off on the silver bird for the UK. Xmas in London. Seeing as how Sister had a show up over there, it was time to go. But packing is no fun.

Travelin' Man (Leon Wilkeson -- Ronnie VanZant)
"I was born a travellin' man, that's all I'll ever be
Moving around from town to town its what makes me so free..."

"It's cold over here, and I swear, I wish they'd turn the heat up...." (London Homesick Blues)

Or, better yet?

It's the King ("I married your mom") to Hamlet (el guano-loco prince dude):

"Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety--
Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve
For that which thou hast done--must send thee thence
(With fiery quickness). Therefore, prepare thyself.
The bark is ready, and the wind at help,
Th' associates tend, and everything is bent
For England.

Shakespeare's Hamlet, Act Four, scene three, lines 41-47.


12/21
T-minus one day and counting.
Looks like it's cold over there.

I was with a particular Libra, and it turned into a Libra flavor for the day. I was trying to hook her up with whatever available male seemed to hit the radar screen. I pointed one out, and she just demurred.

"Oh, can't you hear him say it? 'You know how many fashion magazines I had to read to look like I didn't care about fashion magazine'?"

Never argue style with a Libra - they are usually just better appointed.

Unrelated:
I found & read this entry, and what I thought? That opening line? How hard is it to not write every day?

Unrelated:
(file this one under typical Austin humor): a clip about signing your life away.

Fish notes:
After a busy and productive morning, I rolled on over to the lake around 4 in the afternoon, my recent stack of inbound mail still in my pocket. I had one, but he got away, snapping the line at the hook (after wrapping himself and the line around a submerged log). One miss. Sister returned a phone call, and while I was juggling the phone, I missed a second hook set. At the mailbox, a neighbor asked if I fished every day.

"Every day I can."

The fish are slow, on the bottom and eating anything that moves. Like a blue worm. But I did get >one for the day:

12/20
Holiday fun.
It's a thin line, that break between reality and the fantasy world. Navigating that thin line is a task I am supposedly well adapted to handle.

I'm not sure what became what, when, on Sunday. As a professional astrologer, I can write it all off to the fact that Mercury was backwards. In Sagittarius. My sign. My stuff.

Expectations were zero. About the time the call came in, "My friends from LA are here, let's dash off to meet them," I begged out. I'd been running at a manic pace all day. Started innocuously enough, I suppose, withy a simple client-Kramer breakfast at Bouldin. It's not like I had a lot of sleep from the previous night, either. Not that I needed much, but I just didn't have much.

Then came a quick dash to the Blue Genie art & crafts fair, which, I might add, was a certainly a cut above the usual fare available. Each booth displayed material that was distinct in its own right.

I called Sister, "Hey, you still using that flimsy plastic thing for a wallet?"

I picked her up a selection of wallets, user friendly, artistically rendered, and made of animal-free plastic. Or something. Found a nice hat for her. Leopard skin print with kitty ears.

Then we wandered off to the mall. Not really a good idea, the last weekend before xmoose, but it did result in my Aquarius friend snagging her "impossible to buy for brother-in-law" a bottle of hot sauce. Where I mentioned the old "scorned woman hot sauce," and the guy behind the counter asked about it.

"Dude, on the scale? It goes to 11," I explained.

Stopped at the Apple store, picked up an iTunes gift card for Sister and a peripheral that Pa Wetzel requested.

Somehow we wound up at the Austin Museum of Art and the Andy Goldsworthy display. Interesting artwork. Rather, it was pictures of sculptures and installations done in nature, and quite breathtaking. Which meant we ran into the birthday girl - friend-of-a-friend. Introductions. Coffee. Sushi.

Then it all gets blurry, something about a roller derby skater named by her Indian name, "Little Bladder Full of Beer." Or maybe it was Blanche Davidian. And Mona Littlemore.

"You got your Jewish Mother Guilt, the Xtian guilt, usually, Catholic, and finally, my mom was a hippie. Hippie Guilt. She would ask, 'Are you aware of the natural consequences of your actions?' Every time. Worse than the other guilts."

I forgot the Tofu steak. That was good, too. Don't even ask - almost as good as chicken-fried tofu.

12/19
Not the oracle, part three
(in two part-harmony)

Got in from fishing and I cleaned up and lay down. For a long winter's nap. Just as I was good and asleep, the cell phone rings.

"What are you doing? I'm here with Mom and Dad, and we're talking about you. Because you're not here of course. What do want for Xmas? We've got lots of food."

I was in that state of almost complete sleep; I'm guessing I was about 30 minutes into a two-hour power nap. And I was hoping that I could drift back to sleep. Sister persisted.

"Here, talk to Mom. No, wait, talk to Dad. Are you sick? Why are you asleep?"

I was up before the sun, on the lake before sun-up, frost on the boat cover, barefoot at 2 in the afternoon, still fishing, and I was headed out to the movies later.

"What are you going to see?"

Doubled-header, "Santa Versus Satan," a 1960 Mexican film with marginal production qualities, but timeless in its own right, and rendered in "better than surround sound" Foleyvision (live accompaniment). Then Purple Rain.

"Mom says she's heard of Purple Rain. Is it any good?"

In that movie, Apollonia asks The Kid (Prince), "Are those your folks?"

He replies, "(can't make out my notes) freak show."

I did spend a little time unglued because the movie was so "1984." Not in the Orwell sense, but in the sense of, "Hey, that's my generation." I lived through that. The style, the music, and then, at the end, the audience's reaction, with cheering and arm waving.

I've seen lots of Prince video. Too much, maybe, and the music still makes me want to move. But somehow, I don't think I ever saw the whole movie. Not that I missed anything, or, maybe I did see the movie, but I was in no condition to remember it.

Which, of course, is why I live like a monk.

As the oracle predicted, part numero dos
5:59 AM, phone rings, "Kick her out dude, time to fish."

What was odd, I was still in bed. Asleep. (Alone: I live like a monk.) What's not so odd is that it took about three minutes to get dressed and hustle out the trailer's door. For some reason (Mercury is retrograde in Sagittarius - that's my story), the alarm clock didn't go off.

It was very foggy on the lake. Part of that was a function of the relative temperature, the lake itself was 60 to 65 degrees, and there was ice on vehicles, as we approached in the cold pre-dawn dark.

There had been much discussion pertaining to the right bait to use. I opted to listen to wiser, better-versed with this lake, gentleman's advice. But I was also complaining, albeit in a gentle, chiding way, that the set-up might have been a set up for me to catch no fish.

"What did you catch it on? Huh?"

So he was right. So there. Proves something.

12/18
As the oracle predicted
Business started Friday morning. Which gave me a new one: the three-month rule.

"If he starts acting mean in three months? Find another man."

Unrelated:
Looks like costs are going up, and I'll be forced to pass this increase onto the consumer.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch:
I tossed a few worms in the lake, at one time they were attached to a fishing line and pole, and I was largely unsuccessful until almost sundown. In between, I did wander downtown to tend to business, and I did enter into another barista barrage.

"So, what's your birthday? I asked.

Leo. The other barista smirked. I mean, she smirked in a snarky, smirky way, punctuated with a great rolling of the eyes.

I pleaded my case.

"But The Leo is always the best."

More animated smirkiness. From a Scorpio, no less. I got out of there as fast as I could.

I'm up and out the door to hit the lake: Saturday's supposed to be a mirror image of Friday, damn near freezing at night, but almost 70 by the end of the afternoon. But weather in Texas is a fickle mistress.

12/17
Friday five
Is there still such a thing? Do I even care? I can imagine that this should look like the bullet points on a presentation. But if there are bullet points on a presentation, then everyone will yawn. Those "presentations" with the factory-made templates make me very sleepy.

1) Missed one, and it's important, St. Valerian's day (Ides of December) - the saint we appeal to for protection from cold and snow.

2) I was exchanging e-mail with clients, and looking at blogs, two unrelated activities. But I was thinking, been thinking about this a lot, partly because of the book I was reading, too, and what I miss about not having live grandparents? That five buck they used to slip me. Came at xmoose time. In a more caustic mode, I'd think, "five buck, no big deal," but on cold nights like Thursday night, all alone, it's the thought that counts.

4) Devo on the stereo. "Going downtown." "We're through being cool." Which brought about a new name for Thursday, I was thinking, "freeloading Friday" instead of Friday Five, since that's what I did. Free bandwidth at two coffee spots, free food, first from a Libra (bless her larcenous soul), and then from a Gemini.

5) Weather. All depends. Might be fishing at "oh-dark-thirty" in the AM. Wait and see.

Number three was lost in a spam filter.

Friday addendum:
Which, I suppose, I could tag to that Devo note. Wasn't Devo (originally) classified as "New Wave?"

"We're through being cool."

For me, it's off that "greatest hits" CD. Took two passes through my stacks of CDs to find it - I knew I had it. What was playing earlier, though, at the coffee house? I'm pretty sure it was Devo's New Traditionalists CD - with a 1981 release date. A little Libra guy was spinning the CDs yesterday morning. The music, it was almost as old as he was. Off by a year or so, but a good juxtaposition as any.

Which then lead back to the weirdest occurrence I've had in since - seems like July - a Friday with nothing on the books. No readings. No phone appointments. Nothing. Easy to predict that, by noon, the schedule will fill up and I'm going to bed very early so I can get up and maybe fish Saturday morn. Still, it's the first absolutely blank day I've seen in a while. There's a spin on that, though, with that electronic datebook/calendar? I've rearranged schedules about 43 times, and there's been items scheduled and erased or moved, a half-dozen times. Mercury mayhem, for sure.

12/16
Hard Freeze
Wednesday morning, I was hoping I would be suiting up for fishing. Before I crawled out of a warm bed, punctuated with the cat singing the blues, that phone rang, "It's 22 degrees at the airport." When I got around to checking, moments later, it was 21 degrees, here.

I'll lose part of a garden. I'll wonder who didn't drip water and has frozen pipes.

Unrelated:
Too cold to fish in the morning, but that didn't stop me from thinking about a new hairstyle. I've got to consider, especially after the blustery boat ride, and what that did to my hair, I'm thinking dreadlocks would be a good idea. Far more manageable.

After Tuesday morning and afternoon? I'm halfway there, already.

Unrelated retail fish tales:
"Man, you got to love this place," my buddy was telling me. Smart shopper (Virgo).

He had a new reel, two, in fact, so I picked up my xmoose present to myself, a shiny new Capricorn spinning reel. Got home, strapped it on, tied a cotton-candy colored grub on, and went to test it.

Third cast. Solid hit. Felt like I was struggling with a submerged branch, only this guy fought hard.

Daiwa Capricorn Spinning Reel - CA2000A - $99.00
The reel's model name is Capricorn. Means good things are in store for the future.

December 15, 2004, nice piece of bass

plus one at night

I got to looking at the pictures, one's from the phone, the other is from the "el-cheapo deluxe digital" jobbie, and both pictures look like the same fish. Almost as if I'd seen him before, earlier in the afternoon. Maybe not the brightest of fish, but a nice fighter. And the fighter is free again. Very different baits, too.

12/15
Ides of December
Fish on, and then some.

"Dude, it's going to be cold."

It was. Wasn't as cold as I thought it would be, and I suited up in the spare winter suit, and I was good to go. First fish of the day, by the power plant (Lake Fayetteville) was mine. I tossed him back before I got a picture, but it was nice fish, about this big.

Not long after that came the next fish.
There's something rather surreal about looking at smoke on the water, really just steam, rising up from the surface, with a cold winter sun burning through the mist, and the smoke stack in the background, plus a strong north wind, making it rather more choppy than usual. But fun, nonetheless.

There was something almost spooky, perhaps a little eerie, looking out from under a ball cap, brow sweating, a freezing wind billowing down, and that steam rising up off the water. With concentration and a rather narrow field of vision, I wasn't sure where I was.

It's also all about the total experience. Instead of turning left, we took a right and towed the boat into Fayetteville, "BBQ in Smithville, or just grab a bite here?"

"Here" turned out to be Orsak's Café, on the square. Not like there's much of a town, either, but it was nice. The blue plate, or chalkboard, special was "Pork Chops, Sweet Potatoes, Black-Eyed Peas & Dessert (Large $4.50, small $4.00)."

Deal of the day. Priced right, tasted fine, and I'm not sure, but I think the mashed sweet potatoes had some onion in them. Not much, but not what I'd expect. Made it even better.

It's all about the total experience, remember? Caught a couple of fish. Smoke on the water. Fine dining in a little café in a small town in Texas.

Of course, watching the other diners? My buddy kept suggesting lyrics from Charlie Daniels' "Uneasy Rider."

Me? I was enthralled by the bulletin board. Deer tracking services, hunting dogs, fence repair, a bearded lizard (iguana?) for sale, whole stories on that one little board, life's ebb and flow in a small town that was bypassed by the interstate and big highways.

"Watch him folks because he's a fairly dangerous man..."

12/14
More stuff.
(And to me, it's interesting):
The quote? "Vincit qui primum gerit"

The tangential link.

(login/registration required, and from bugmenot.com:dev.null@washingtonpost.com & devnull)

I hate posting and then fact - checking.

stuff
Pay forApple's itunes with PayPal now?

All unrelated:

Gemini meteors? Right by Saturn.

Re-up?

Snopes link again.

That memorial service. But Arlington, TX? I just never imagined that it was a metal town. Could be me, though. My perceptions are skewed.

I got message, that said, basically, "What's too cold to fish?"

I'm thinking, with the current planetary disarray, maybe having to cut holes in ice is too cold.

We'll see this morning.

12/13
TexMex
Kept looking, but no luck finding Xmas enchiladas. Xmas "migas" at Twin Sisters again. Those rock.

Looked for the magic tortilla at Mi Tierras again. Again, no luck. However, my gyrations with the little digital camera and the tortillas caught the attention of the neighboring table.

I had to explain, looking for Mary in a taco. Tortilla, really.

Did score another Xmas gift. Amy's T-shirts for the whole family.

And the dessert notice, from Twin Sisters.
12/12
What do you want?
Christmas Enchiladas.

Seems like that's a tough call to match.

Christmas enchiladas are tough to find, more so than I thought. I found shrimp, nothing like a plate of shrimp, but Xmas enchiladas? One red and green enchilada, right? Shouldn't be a tough order to fill.

One breakfast was migas, done tastefully with red and green tortilla strips, so that was close, But not quite what I was looking for.
12/11
SA
Bit of snob, now aren't I?
Yeah, well, funniest thing I've red in a while, not the whole thing, just one line struck me as rather amusing. Ironic, even, in its finest sense:

"Eating lunch at the best Mexican restaurant in all of Columbus" (via More Sarah).

"Sun in my eyes, wind at my back, top down on my Cadillac, smile on my face it ain't going away. Got the wheels turning, I made my escape. I'm headed south again. Headed south again. Getting out again, Look out, I'm coming about. Headed south again, lord I'm headed south."

"Moon on my left sun on my right, I don 't what I'm doing, but I'm doing it right. I'm sitting on G headed and I'm waiting on O, I'm someplace between Marfa and old Mexico."

(Larry Joe Taylor's Headed South)

(really, just a file shot that finally caught up with me)

I'm headed south again. Not like San Antonio is that far south, but it's a noticeable difference.

As the late, great Doug Sahm observed, can't get a decent enchilada in Austin anymore. But in SA?


12/10
Mining (not really redux)
I went mining the other morning. Evening. Sometime.

"Life is a freak show - I just do the charts." (original source)

Preceded by Sex & Cash.

That was just weird. Wandered over to a coffee shop to meet a client, who was running late. I was quietly, and as unobtrusive as I could be, observing a lad make conversation to a clutch of females. In walks a another girl. I tap her on the shoulder.

"I was here first, you're following me."

Grin.

She introduced me to the guy, her boyfriend. We sat, chatted, and then they moved on. Next client.

I wandered down the hill, crossed a bridge, checked the PO Box for promised funds, which did arrive, and then I wandered on out to another coffee shop.

"Hi Kramer," times three. Pisces, Taurus, Leo, Gemini. Four. Whatever.

On homeward, I noted a car, on the way to the bank. I was on the way to the bank, the car was just sitting there.

One of those would make a cool home.

Unrelated:
Little fish before dinner. Jig pole. Jig. Fish.

12/9
More about the process? Plus a favorite item or two?
Should file this one under "the writing life."

Wish list (uno):
This book just looked like fun.

Unrelated "best of":
Brannagh's Hamlet and that really nice version of Titus - both on the list. And John Sayles' Lone Star.

Unrelated fish:
Two by noon, bass & perch. Each was too small for a picture. Although, now that I think about it, that bass looked mighty familiar - none too happy with me, neither.

Unrelated sartorial notation:
The phone hat? It's not really a hat, it's a bandana. I've got several. I finally opted for a 'cowboy' (extra large) model, after years of struggling with 'do-rags' - trying to find something that fits. I used to use a phone headset that included a long clip to hold the earpiece and microphone in place. Wednesday was one of those days when I slipped the phone hat on (after I got out of the shower, see next notation), and I never took it off. Never really got a chance. I did sneak off with a sweet and injured Pisces for quick cup of coffee and cookie. But I had to hustle home to answer more phone calls. Never took the phone hat off.

Paranoia:
"Into your heart it will reach," I think that's how it goes. I just got up from the toilet. No, I was actually still in a seated position, and I leaned into the shower to turn on the water, so it would heat up the pipe between the water heater and the showerhead- a distance of a mere few feet. I'm imagining, like in a cartoon, the little green water hose with a bulge making its way to the trailer.

"Bam! Bam! Bam!"

A persistent, insistent knock on the front door.

I grab a towel, wrap it around my waist and greet that Sagittarius delivery guy. Again.

I'm not paranoid, but he ONLY knocks when I'm in the shower. Good thing I wasn't in the shower, or I would have my now-trademarked "drowned Kramer" look.

"Yeah, I usually see you either after a shower or after you've been in Barton Springs, huh?"

He grinned. I cursed a blue streak.

(He really is a cool guy and straight arrow - Sagittarius - but he does wait until I'm in the shower. Every time. Been like this for years.)

12/8
Two-Meat Tuesday
Uno: BBQ
Dos: Write & erase
Side-dish headlines:

BBQ
That was weird. I wandered up the BBQ place to a, oh heck, call 'em a client, and to talk about certain matters and a (good) research project that involves charts and stars and such. I'm pretty sure they were playing with me, but the two waitresses were fighting over me, and I got glared out for not sitting in the right place. The other was unctuous with her service, "Yeah, well, I'm bored." Then , as we wrapped up our discussion, I meandered to the other side of the restaurant to avail myself of the little boy's room. I spotted a familiar visage, "Kramer? I was just thinking about you."

Small world, getting smaller by the day. I didn't think about it at the time, but after my first appointment departed and I sat with the other client, I plopped a Styrofoam package of worms right up next to the brisket (for the cat). I sure hope that didn't put her off her feed. The client, obviously, the brisket didn't bother the cat.

Write & erase, write and & erase (repeat as needed):
It's all about process. It's all about passion. It's all about heart's desire. I thought my original intent was to write about how to be an astrologer, but I realized that most of that was just the same information, slightly repackaged. The real trick is passion and process.

I covered a good 2K words, meandering around like I usually do, and I was attempting to distill what the essence of a particular type of endeavor requires. I stumbled into this business, not by a direct route, but sort of a backdoor - in other words, I didn't set out to do this, it has grown as an organic destination, and sometimes, that leaves the path to progress as a murky trail.

The most important component, what became apparent after writing and erasing all those words, was the point to this endeavor, or for that matter, just about any endeavor, the real trick is two-fold. Process and passion. Or passion and process.

Christopher Moore had a rather good and thoughtful bit of information about the process he goes through when he's writing a book. He's a Virgo, just sort of figures, right? I know, just from a casual glance, what kind of astrology chart he's got, and I understand the forces at work in his life. It's a generational influence that I'm looking at. I share that.

So finding a niche, locating a place, a spot, a little but of turf to call my own, his own, your own, that's tough. That's the passion part of the deal.

I spent three years at a university, taking every creative writing class/workshop they offered. I studied with several well-known authors. I participated in countless workshops outside of the university environment. I learned, basically, one useful piece of information. Write every day. That's the process, pure and simple.

The passion is a little more difficult. Isolate what matters. Or, what interests grab the intellect.

I've got a number of different interests, from fishing to opera. What really interests me the most though, is psychology. Not the formal study of how people interact, but the informal study of humanity as whole, and individuals. That's also called literature. A little history, a little Western Lit, a few good thrillers, maybe even a Chris Moore book about zombies, sex and Christmas holidays?

It's got two parts, something I have passion about and then the process of putting that passion to the page.

Side-dish headlines:
Motley Crüe to reunite?

IBM PC biz?

Northern Ireland peace prospects?

Ultimate mobile home?

Which leads to e-mail mayhem?

12/7
Theft - intellectual property
I was about to link to this comic strip from the scopes, but once I got into it, I discovered that there's a very clever - clever as far as I'm concerned - pitch for sponsorship. That pitch comes before the real strip is available. Nice way to sneak in adverts.

Personally, I'm rather fond of the cat in this strip, too. So that one made me giggle, wonder if I could steal that? "Harry Da Vinci Ring - the horrible scopes."

Shades of the future?

I might have to switch from tortillas in my quest for the perfect image. On a related note, if I still lived in the Phoenix area, I'd be looking to switch to that one dentist, too.

All it leads back to is a little more marketing, and I'm trying to figure what's not too intrusive yet carries the message. Besides, my eternal internal debates, when to sell out (not like I've got any offers pending, but it could happen).
First draft.
Second draft, but oddly, not much less of a footprint.

It's not unrelated:
Mercury - being backwards and all - means I've got a little extra time to assess business decisions in the last year, and consider directions and goals for the coming year. What worked, what was a success, what didn't work, and where to go from here. What worked? Scopes. Length and breadth has finally hit a comfortable spot for me. Not too comfortable, but there's a process involved, and I've got most of that worked out. I still felt a twinge of panic when I looked at all of 2005, all those blank page holders.

Some mystical chatter is bit too much. That spooks folks. Plus the "free" horoscopes are losing a little ground, as folks realize that the stuff on the front page is last week's material. But the flip side of that, the site is gaining in paying customers. I was offended by a sales guy who called me up to talk about astrology when all he wanted was to sell me ad space. Of the ads that I've tried, nothing's worked. I tend to steer clear of various "new age" directories because those, it's been my experience, cost a lot more than the business generated.

Another success, and one I aim to expand upon is the weekly audio file. It burns up as much as 10% of the site's bandwidth. Not bad, except that it runs between 1 and 3 megs in size each week. Next year, I plan to archive all the weekly meanderings. Plus, I'm a little closer to having my lectures available on CD.

Unrelated to anything:
Poisson de jour (different day, different fish):

Nice fish for a Monday afternoon.
(Watermelon 4-inch worm, #2 worm hook - she was a fighter)

Really unrelated (except for travel):
As of last count, Austin was ahead of Seattle, way ahead of Dallas or Houston, too. Since we've got all this free WiFi, it means there's a solution to the traffic problem: don't drive. Join me on the sidewalk.

12/6
12 Days of Xmas
I couldn't plug this into the scopes, so I just put it here. I suppose it should be filed under "too much time on my hands" department. Wait, isn't that a lyric?

"Yeah man, it was one of those 'one hit wonders' from the 70s."

It was a belated brunch on the east side with a glowing Pisces, which in the minds of some, might refer to a fish that comes out of my lake. Then it was off to Wal-Mart - on a Sunday before Xmas - what was she thinking - and from thence to pick up another Pisces and rendezvous with the journal folks.

There's a law someplace, governs the way the wheel of commerce churn along. We found a really short check-out line at Wal-Mart. Me with a few fishing items and her with a few fish items. Just then the checkers decide it's time for a cashier change. So two women are standing there, with their blue smocks on, and I'm flipping through the pages of the Weekly News of the World Tattler Tribune Enquirer. Some tabloid.

"Look, it says right here, an asteroid will be coming out of Scorpio to smash planet Earth. Figures it would be a Scorpio!"

"Weather patterns are going to be weird! Wow! Who'd a-thunk that? Like an extra ten inches of rain this fall?"

I made some other comment, too, but I don't recall.

"I hope I didn't offend them," I noted, as we departed.

"No Kramer, they were amused. I'm sure."

I think it was punctuated with a roll of the eyes.

From there, it was way far north in Austin, almost to Waco, might even be Ft. Worth, to a restaurant and I was wondering if there was tissue, in case I got a nose bleed on the high overpass, I mean, so far north. I was with two avowed - along with myself - South Austin Snobs. And proud.

"Breakfast served all day" which, as I thought about it, might be a good tag line for something here.

Jette tapped me for undefined services in an undetermined capacity since I had the temerity not to join the holiday dailies list thing. I was trying to explain, it's a list that encourages people to write every day, and to post in their web-journal-log-blog-whatever every day of the holidays. I do that anyway. Matter of form. Besides, I'll be out of town. I can't play.

So over the pancakes, who would think that pumpkin pancakes would mix with gingerbread pancakes so well, I found out why I was desirable in an undefined capacity for an undetermined role that still lacks definition.

"Yes, Kramer, you lack a certain, how can I put this delicately? Class?"

I took that as a compliment.

Unrelated:
Still no Mary or her kiddo in the tortilla - can't blame me for trying, though.

Unrelated - coming to terms:
I've got an essay that I've erased twice now, for lack of working introduction, it's a simple, "So you want to be an astrologer" piece, done for my own entertainment. Which lead me on merry little chase through the internet to look at the weblog awards. Which lead to me to understand a few points, I mean, as I was flipping through various nominees, and I didn't dig into their processes, but it's all stuff I've seen before. Same voice, different day. Some of the design awards - I just didn't get. Nothing too spiffy.

What I did see were the "A" list, first-tier names. But from what I've seen in the past, we got plenty of local talent who can code, design and write rings around some of those ("A-list") folks. Of course, we're already in Austin, why go anywhere else?

One of the terms I had to come with was the fact that I'm not A-list. Not even a B-side that becomes a second hit. I'm probably not up with the C-list, either. Does it matter much? There's a certain pleasure that comes from being anonymous. Means I can scamper about barefoot and fish on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon - in the middle of the shortest days of the year.

I suppose, to break into that A-list category, what I'll have to do is get a lot of money for tortilla that has a face on it.

I'm working on it, one flour tortilla at a time.

12/7
Coffee shop metaphor
I've used it before, and it looks like I'll have to use it again. I was tending to the garden, rather, I was twiddling the bits that comprise the backend of the website, and I got to thinking about streamlining, and general housecleaning.

I've got three URLs that point here, as of now. The obvious one? astrofish dot net, the original. The second? astrofish dot org, and finally, one I added a few months back? LowBrowMystic dot com. The first two are obvious, the last one is an old moniker from a Gemini & Virgo, a name someone took for a while, but then didn't use. I just bought it up on sale, and I have it point here.

So pursuant to the idea of reviewing everyone's Egg Nog (something) coffee drink, I got off wondering about how my horoscopes fit with the rest of what's out there.

It's simple. The places I prefer, like Jo's, Bouldin Creek, Halcyon, Little City, and the Hideout? Those places all qualify as "funky." A bit off-beat. One step different from mainstream.

Places like Halcyon have cleaned themselves up a little too much, but the coffee's agreeable, and it's a prime location for me, being just a block out of the way coming or going to the post office. Bouldin is preferable these days, but my tastes will vary. Plus I try to suit a spot to any clients I might be meeting. Places like Bouldin are sometimes a little too funkified for the more refined and elegant clients.

"I can't just stop off at your house?"

It's a trailer. It's 300 square feet. No, you can't. There's always that problem with stalkers, too. Don't laugh, it's happened before - "But you're a guy; guys don't have stalkers."

Oh, that's right, just groupies.

In case the message has been missed, I live like a monk. Solitary. Well, I do have a rather large and aging "old lady" cat, but I'm not sure she counts. On cold nights? She's like an electric heating pad. That purrs. And needs her litter box cleaned.

Which reminds me, it's like a coffee shop. A little coffee shop. The furniture doesn't always match. Sometimes the metaphors are strained. Sometimes, too, the help is a little surly.

"Surly to bed, surly to rise, I always say."

There are very places that I go that I'm not known. I was relating tale about what happened the other evening, to my folks, when they were in town. A girl (some woman, actually) was fixing a shot of espresso, offered me a double because she had to draw two instead of one, and I asked her birthday. She looked at me, "You're Kramer, right?"

I never got to finish the rest of the story, so in my parents' minds, it has become a myth.

Which has nothing to do with funky coffee shops, the little, one-off places.

Nicest Leo guy owns/operates the Hideout these days. Or he did. Haven't seen him in weeks. I stopped in one afternoon and I gave him some pat Leo advice, I'd just reread the scopes for the coming week, and it fit his situation perfectly. I like to be right, so do Leos, but that's not part of this discussion I'm having with my keyboard.

In passing, several times, I've learned that he bought the place to learn something about the business end of the business, which, apparently, he has. Much to his chagrin, he's also learned about the depth of depravity, too. Retail is like that. Never underestimate how cruel, vicious, mean-spirited, un-enlightened some people can be. I suppose, though, that those generalities cut right through just about everyone's business. Or even day-to-day human interactions.

I did learn more about coffee from one lad who worked at the Hideout than I've gleaned from most of the others. Taurus. He graduated to a real job, from what I last heard. That happens to some people.

The coffee shop metaphor isn't lost, though. Each place has its own little eccentricities. Even though Halcyon is nothing more than a really cleaned up Ruta Maya, there are days when I miss the shock value alone of a unisex bathroom. I don't think that would fly, not these days. And I'm not taking my funk too funky.

But each place has a signature, a feeling a gentleness of some kind or another. A warm greeting, a particular face manning (or "womanning"?) the espresso machine.

A recent occurrence at Bouldin was telling in this fashion. The proprietor (ess), Aries, was bussing a few tables. That's the way it goes with a small, so-called, "Mom & Pop" store. Which is nice to see. I owned a place once. My similar telling moment was returning from a gala event, dressed in a fancy suit, and having to plunge the toilet in the lady's room. Small business owners understand this. Oh, do we ever.

I streamlined the scopes to the most popular, weighing volume of traffic against time to write the material, and what would be easiest to maintain. I settled on weekly. I even, at one point, held down a regular (part-time) job to help keep this site afloat.

This last year has been good to me. However, on three separate occasions, I made more money at the casino, in a few hours' time, than I made meeting with clients all weekend. I'm not about to abandon what I enjoy doing, though, and run off to become a professional gambler. Some days, I don't win. Never take more than you're willing to lose.

I'd love to hit it big, and then, I'd just run this site for free. Scopes for free. All I would need then is a measly 4 million dollar lottery ticket. Unfortunately, I don't have one of those right now. Therefore, there has to be some way to pay for it all.

I've worked my way along, and more and more of the free web is starting to charge, or beg for bandwidth. There's an animated cartoon site I like. I looked into helping with hosting, but when I got to the fine print, I found out what the volume of bandwidth was, and I couldn't do that much, not without compromising my own site. Ever seen the "user has exceeded allotted bandwidth" messages? Yes sir, can't have that here.

I nipped, tucked, and sewed up as many loose ends as I could, and I'm loathe to run ads, but if I get paid for it, and if that money goes to defray the cost of running the site, then I'm going to do it. More than one email has suggested, "Run all the ads you want! Won't bother me! I don't pay attention to them anyway...."

That's the problem. Or part of the problem. No clicks means no revenue for the advertisers and that means no revenue for the site.

I got one the other day, "I wouldn't want to pay for your stupid horoscopes anyway." Yes, I feel your pain. It hurts to think, doesn't it?

Rather sanctimonious of me, now isn't it? Must be me, then.

But that's what this is all about. A few egregious errors always make it through the editing process. No matter how many proofreaders proof the material, there's always one, two, maybe three that sneak through, right up until it's all live on Thursday morning at 12:00 AM (Mountain Time - where the server is.)

That's kind of like the mouse (computer mouse) with a the bathroom key attached at the Hideout. It's like the innkeeper at Boudlin bussing tables. It's like the rickety chairs at Little City with their canvas covers. It's that special touch. Means it's not homogenized or recycled from some other source, either.

It also means, when the plumbing is backed up? Only one person gets the joy of fixing it. That's me.

12/5
St. Barbara's Day
Lest we forget, the patroness of brewers.

Unrelated coffee notes:
I was going to do a review of each coffee shop's version of Egg Nog (whatever) but when I asked at Halcyon, they were out. Had a shot of espresso. Little City? No such thing, there, just a shot to go. Hideout? Again, no luck, one more for the road. But that was three shots of espresso, so I figured I could emulate regular media and just make up reviews. Isn't that how it works?

But the deal is, most of the places, in fact as far as I know, all of the places but Starbucks use straight nog in the mix. Makes for a rich, creamy variation on a theme, but it's still the same thing, and to my unrefined and decidedly unsophisticated palate, the straight nog mix is too rich. Has enough empty calories to fuel a person for a whole day, too.

But at the ubiquitous Starbucks, the mix is part skim milk, part nog. Makes a difference - not too rich.

Unrelated fishes:
I was supposed to meet a Pisces in the afternoon, but she called and begged off to take a nap or something, so I wandered home and put the last of the worms on a hook. I had a little perch playing with the worm for a while and then, the bobber went under and didn't come back. I reeled this little girl in:
(on live nightcrawler, no less)
It's not the best picture, but she was flopping around pretty good. Plus, I was trying to include the pole's brand, it's a crappie rig, which meant the little girl almost broke it. That was fun - not much is better on winter afternoon than a feisty fish on a really light set-up.

Best of 2004?
Time for a best of 2004 list? Not like this is anywhere near objective. And it's not like I care. Instead of a top ten list, how about three? Kind of like Thursday's Three-meat platter?

Best books:
Best novel is going to have to be the Quicksilver trilogy, Quicksilver, Confusion and System of the World, which, all in all, as I was reading the last 100 pages of the final book in the series, I got to thinking about how tightly woven the entire tale was, combining history, myth and a little hard science plus some "stuff blowing up" - always integral in a good bit of action fiction.

Related to book notes, I got meet author Tim Dorsey at a book signing, while he was on tour. I've grown rather found of one of his main characters, in my mind, a typical manic Gemini, just picture perfect. What disturbed me, and still disturbs me, even to this day, Tim Dorsey looked so normal. "He seemed like such a nice guy, you know." But his novels are brilliant. Even fun. Weird, Tim Dorsey is an Aquarius. And he never did explain about waking up in Miami on couch, wearing nothing but a Viking helmet.

I was looking for a third book note to fill in the three here, and when I glanced through this last year's reading list, I realized that there were two books that had a lot to do with both my education and spiritual background, as well as connecting me with that Quicksilver trilogy: The Clerkenwell Tales and Thunder God. I picked both of them up overseas, and while I can't specifically say they are that good, they are the other books that I really remember from the last year. Thunder God (Norse myths) might have something to do with the Viking helmet, though.

Best Theatre:
Shakespeare's Measure for Measure. And, of course, a little ham.

Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, personally, my favorite charity in the world, usually does a pretty good job with Shakespeare plays. Other than adding ambient lighting, fireproofing the thatch, and making the fire exits a little more modern, the theatre recreates - to the best of our scholarship - what the theatre experience was like 400 years ago. Before landing in the UK, I already had tickets to just about every one of the plays available last summer. Notable amongst them was Measure for Measure, which is either a comedy, a farce, or even a little bit of tragedy. It's a problem play. The Globe's version was straight-up Elizabethan in staging, direction, interpretation, and delivery. The Scottish lad playing one of the main roles, by the end of the play, if I hadn't been upstairs, I would've wanted to run on stage and slap the boy, "Oh just tell her you're sorry, dammit, it's all she wants!" Sheesh, some guys are so stupid.

Sister went on and on about Theatre Complicité, and that company had a production of the same play, on stage at the National. We had last-minute, front-row seats to that one, too. In and of its own, it was a very, very powerful production. This was further enhanced by seeing a more traditional version of the same play back-to-back. One was modern, one wasn't. Same play, as in the same text was used, but the way the material was presented was very different. Minimalist - (post) modern approach with multimedia tacked on top. One of the best experiences I've ever had, seeing the same play, done so differently, and yet, similar, too.

There was a final theatre experience that was remarkable: Hamlet at the Old Vic. Or New Vic, I don't know, it's that one across the street from that station, easy to get to. The Hamlet on stage there was one of the very best I've ever seen. The actor playing Hamlet carried the performance but that doesn't mean that the rest of the crew was shabby. It's just that he had Hamlet's feigned madness down so real, so evocative, that nothing else mattered. It did matter, but it was all over-shadowed by the most definitive Hamlet I've seen thus far. That one will be hard to beat. He looked like his character, on stage, the 24-year-old actor looked about 14.

Best movies:
I can only think of one major studio release that I saw, that I thought was worthwhile, Troy. Don't gag, or swoon, if what's-his-name evokes such a reaction. The movie played fast and loose with the myth, but in some respects, it did bring the story to the masses, in movie form. The opening shot of the sea, with all the boats, the glyphs or symbols for the various signs (and deities)? That tickled my little "archetypal symbologist" heart.

Ah, but best movies that I saw? For a remarkable movie experience, nothing, but nothing, beats the Alamo Draft House downtown. Just plain weird stuff. Good food. And rather strange programs. Still a "best of" mention. With the Alamo downtown, though, it's less about the product showing and lot more about the process - the experience.

The Serge Leone Spaghetti Western trilogy was re-cut and re-released, and I got to see it on the big screen. That was a definitive movie experience in my lifetime, and I wound up with the soundtrack, in one form. I even started putting one of the cuts on most of my mixed CDs.

Best Music:
Best new music I encountered, it all started when I hopped in Bubba's 'bu to head over to Sandy's for a Thursday special (burger, fries, drink, $2.59 plus tax). He spooled up a CD, and the opening sample was about "long haired freaky types..." Norman Cook's Fatboy Slim new CD.

Linked, but not in a direct way, other than falling in the same classification as "music," Hank III's show at Stubb's was the best show I saw, must've been, even though it was almost a year ago. Hank III is the most amazing performer. From pure (just like his granddaddy) country to Hank III's "second set" (death metal, punk), he is really worth the price of admission. A must.

Spurred by interaction with the staff at one coffee shop, I wound up with a Dead Kennedys' recent live release. It has a 2004 copyright notice on it; therefore, I can include it in the 2004 list. Probably should make the "definitive" list, too.

Which needs a fourth graph for a best place to shop for music: this one's odd. Executive Surf Club, a Corpus Christi venue, has a little kiosk of a record store nearby.

Best fish:
There were three fishing experiences that were like no other. One was "the big one" last spring, right here, with Bubba in attendance.

The second, another big fish, that was worthy of note, an old cow of a bass, lives in the lake right by me. I tossed a worm out one fall evening, and I had that fish within three minutes. Big fish, too. Impressed a neighbor mightily. Impressed me, too. What it's all about.

Finally, it was, perhaps, one of the most remarkable experiences ever, fishing with a weird rig called a "Launcher," (plus a tiny spoon on light leader), and cloudy day at the lake in September, when the fish were schooling - I caught 19 Large Mouth Bass in one day. Plus, there's personal, favorite picture, me with the smallest of the lot. Danged ole fish. Tried to eat me - it wasn't much longer than my finger.


12/4
Deus Ex Machina
(Feel free to pronounce it any way you like, Latin's a dead language anyway.)

The literary term, "Deus Ex Machina" refers to a plot device employed by the author where something unrelated pops out of the sky and saves the day, resulting in a neatly tied up story line.

The origin of the term comes from classical Greek Theater when the gods were lowered from the heavens to save the day, theatrical divine intervention.

I'd love a little "deus (or dea, not particular about the deity's gender) ex machina" action. But in books? I think it's a cheap shot. Which is what disappointed me about Santa Fe Rules, a nice thriller, a suspense tale. But the resolution depends on a device that neatly wraps up all the loose ends.

What was missing from the text? That sense of place. If I'm reading about New Mexico, I want the sights, sounds and smells of the area. I think that was missed. And some corrupt politicians, too. It's only right.

The plot's interesting enough to move right along, but the ending, not like there wasn’t a clue on the way, but the ending was a little over the top. Up until then it was almost believable.

To that end, I sure could use a little dues ex machina these days.

12/3
Holiday season
Finally! (Oi.)

Best headline?
And here I thought alien abduction was a localized phenomena, not according to the BBC. I think I'll use aliens in next week's Leo scope.

Inbound mail
> thanks for keeping it real in your entertaining and well
> written scopes.

Unrelated weight issues:
I was doing laundry the other evening, waiting on the scopes to roll over, hoping I'd caught the last of the typos ahead of time. So I didn't. At least I tried.

After I'd loaded the washing machine, I pulled a dozen black t-shirts off the closet shelf and folded them up again, undoing my chaotic closet's look. I found swimming suits, shorts, t-shirts I hadn't seen in years. All from just taking a few moments to straighten up a little mess. Then I found "the jeans." They are one inch smaller in the waist - one inch - not even a dress size - than what I normally wear these days. But my current size is starting to get a little loose.

I wasn't brave enough to test the jeans, see if I could wriggle in, not yet. But that's part of the cosmic humor, the way I see it, I'm hitting my ideal summer weight, right in the middle of the winter. Lot of good that does me now. I'm sure he holidays will make me leave those jeans up on the shelf. But it was a pleasant thought. Just goes to prove something. (I'm not sure what.)

Unrelated food item:
Diet Dr. Pepper from a fountain tastes better than from a can.

Unrelated musical notation:
Wednesday afternoon? The song that was stuck in my head, actually, just a title, a lyrical refrain?

"California uber alles!"

But by Thursday afternoon?

"Losing weight without speed, eating sunflower seeds...."

Unrelated eyeballs:
I was fetching a cup of coffee from a fetching Gemini, and she had on new blue contacts, covering up her exquisite brown eyes, which prompted me to ask the question, "Hey, you streaked your hair, didn't you?"

I never can seem to say the right thing - not that it bothers me.

Unrelated literary note:
In an exchange of quick e-mail with Christopher Moore - I like him, he's twisted - and a Virgo - I asked where he came up with a particular passage for a character, one of those rules, "Never date anyone crazier than yourself."

It's oft repeated, and I couldn't find an original source for the quote. However, as I was meandering along, I did realize that trying to reason with a crazy person is about the same. I was thinking about this because a local headline was about what Iraq looked like from an insurgent's point of view.

Never try to reason with a madman. Doesn't work.

If you deal with the devil, you lose your soul. Except, of course, in one Charlie Daniels' song.

12/2
I'll bet and other stories
That's the starting point. A certain barista handed me a specially-drawn espresso, topped with a tiny dollop of foam.

"I'll bet you get free food and drinks, like, all over town, don't you?"

No, but it's a nice thought.

She wasn't buying my protestations, which, in this case, really are true. I'll occasionally get a free cup of coffee, but I don't expect it. Which is one of the reasons why I switched to straight espresso instead of the more expensive triple something with foam and milk and flavors. Those things run about five bucks - more than a monthly subscription here.

Can't pay for that sort luxury on my salary. No five-dollar cups of coffee these days. Well, one, but that's just to stay awake long enough to check the scopes on Wednesday night (Thursday morning to some).

Unrelated musical note:
"I'm just a cool young brother who looks kind of old."
("Because I got it like that" - On the Floor at the Big Beat Boutique)

I loped downtown, sat around with a Leo, ambled homeward, ran into an Aries, and fetched a piece of returned mail out of the PO Box. Mercury Mayhem is starting! Yee-haw!

Fright - attributed to Mercury's position
Since I'm aware that the planets are moving in a way that's not conducive to my normal work, like anything I do is normal, I was working on hammering out the framework for next year. What's really scary?

52 weeks. 52 blank page holders. 52 links with no content. 52 empty spaces. 52 empty shell casing that need to be filled with useful, valuable horoscopes. A whole year, in a framwork, all done. Now, if I can just add content.

I looked out the trailer's window, and I could see small fish breaking the still surface of the creek's backwater eddy. I clicked through to the weather page. Austin's temp was 30 degrees.

52 blank pages. Mercury in apparent retrograde motion - in Sagittarius. 52 weekly spots that need to be filled. Fish, breaking the surface, and I've still got a couple of nightcrawlers, wiggling in the icebox. Usually good for, at the very least, feeding the fish.

My normal reaction to pressure? Go fish. Yessir, 52 blank spots that need content. Too bad it was too cold when the fish were stirring the top of the lake.

12/1
BTW
(shorthand for By The Way)
This is not a "blog" - it's a web journal.

Happy December?
Better be. Which included a two-meat platter. On a Tuesday. Who'd a thunk it?

On the daily sojourn into the cold, cruel world, I happened upon a car, truck, some vehicle with an engaging sticker in the window. The low, winter sun was at my back so the image washed out. But faded glory is always better than nothing.

"Have you hugged a goat today"

Which made me think about the Mirror Project as I had a submission there, years ago.

Which then made me think about pictures that show a reflection of the picture-taker, something I do quite a bit. Reminded me of a (non-blog, non-written comment by a certain Sagittarius lad), as he was commenting about these entries, "Kramer, you're so enigmatic."

"Huh?"

"No man, it's not what you say, it's what you don't say. Enigmatic."

Or, as a certain Gemini has noted, "or maybe you're just a walking mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a hawaiian shirt and tevas."

(For the record, it was a long coat and boots just back from the Golden Slipper who did, indeed repair the un-repairable.)

Reading list notes:
Take a tiny portion from Lamb, add some characters and bits from disparate favorites like the Lust Lizards of Melancholy Cove, the Island of the Sequined Love Nun, and that all-time favorite, Practical Demon Keeping, plus the holiday, and don't miss out that author's weird sense of humor... add zombies, break-ups, relationship trauma, a stupid angel? Yeah, it's no wonder I don't live in CA. I laughed out loud in more than one spot. I was surprised, too, to find certain elements so eerily familiar.

Unrelated (via TFG):
Gambling hedge fund? Maybe I didn't read that correctly. Wry smile.

Unrelated:
Need to go back and reread Cryptinomicon again.

12/31
Favorite images
Just few, from the last year. My personal favorite images from the last year:

1/1
Piss in your shoe
It's a riff on an old term from marching days, the command was, "Pass in review," and it was suitably modified in the barracks to something a little different.

But it's time for the look backwards so I can look ahead. There are two parts, and it's a twofold process, and like a lot of my life these days, it centers around a fishing trip. Last boat trip of the year, cold and yet not bad at all. Not much in the way of fish, but a good trip, nonetheless.

When my buddy dropped me off, it was a comment he made about how it had been a good year for fishing. Yes, it was. At least twice in the last year, on the same day, I caught the same fish. Same fish twice. Not very bright fish. Full of fight, and they were safely released back into their native environment, and the fact that I caught two twice, was reason to stop and ponder.

In both cases, I was doing something different when I caught those fish a second time. Not a lot different, but different enough to fool them. Besides, what those fish lacked in brilliance, they more than made up for it with attitude. Plenty of vigor. Fight the good fight and don't fall for the same trick worm twice.

While we'd been out on the lake, early that winter's morn, the air temperature vis-à-vis with the lake water's temperature produced a thick layer of fog. That fog was up to thirty feet high in places, a little less in others. Because I overslept that one morning, I'm claiming Mercury Retrograde as the excuse, we weren't the first boat on the lake. We puttered, and I mean, in that thick fog, with a Virgo at the helm, we puttered off to a little cove that usually yields fish.

Not much luck, but the camaraderie was agreeable, I was more than forgiven for my tardiness, and seeing as how the fish weren't hitting anything, no time was lost.

So we're sitting in a boat on the very foggy lake, tucked back up in tiny cove without a lot of luck, but we're right around the corner from a boat launch ramp. There's the roar of big outboard, and the dull thunder of a mighty two-stroke peeling out once it passed the "no wake" buoy. Visibility on the lake's surface, I'm not talking whether the water was clear or not, but on the surface of the lake? Could see about twenty feet. Now, in my life, I've certainly done a few stupid things, along the lines of, "Hey, watch me do this!"

But blasting a hole shot at 50 knots when skipper can't see the horizon, much less anything in front of him? It's not a good idea. Judging by the number of trailers on the ramp? Must've been a dozen boats in the water. A little less than a thousand acres of water surface. That's one boat ever hundred acres. I never read anything about a crash, but who knows what close calls there might have been.

So what's the message? What does this have to do with the end of the year and the beginning of a new cycle? Before opening that throttle Wide Full Open? Maybe try to figure out where the other watercrafts are?

While we were in that cove, we were discussing the wake-up process. My buddy, he's got a trick. If he's supposed to pick me up at 5, he gets up at 4. Right before the alarm goes off. He was talking about a fishing trip and the other guys didn't bother with an alarm because my buddy is better - he just wakes up when he's supposed to.

Which then led to a discussion about "intent." What's his intent? To wake up at the right time. Works like magic. Sets it in his mind and it happens. In December of 2003, I purchased a case of cassettes, the special, cheap, 30-minute tapes I use for quick readings. I set my intent to run through all of those tapes in the year. I've still got half a case left over. However, I did do that may readings. At one venue, they supply the tapes. At another place, I use longer tapes. And at this point, I've started to master the audio track onto a CD. I don't have all the kinks worked out, but it's a start. So I did that many readings, I just didn't use all the tapes. My goal was that number of readings, not necessarily to run through all the tapes.

It's about intent. Goals, specific goals, and making those goals happen. Like waking up at 4 in the morning to fish. Or doing a specific number of readings in a year. (Gratuitous business plug: It's how I pay the bills, and I'm open for business.)

I don't have specific goals for the coming year. 2004 was good. While I didn't make a lot of money, I did manage further hone my priorities. What's really important? Family, friends, companionship. When I looked over the material from last year, pulled my favorites into a book format, there was one essay about how to measure success. Fish caught (and released)? Or just fishing? To paraphrase that sage Virgo, "A good day fishing is a day when I fish. An excellent day is when I catch something."


11/30
Today's the day.
And in honor of the Mercury Mayhem about to unfold, carefully documented research: the quest for the tortilla.
The Tortilla.
Is it, a miracle, the Virgin, the icon for Mary on the plate?
Unrelated:
The Coffee Pot in San Marcos. Wireless, coffee, smoking section. Civilization, at its finest.

Unrelated b-day gifts (to myself):
Someplace, buried in some corporate headquarters, there's a computer file for a company/corporate (astrofish.net) credit card, as a trends analyst tries to track purchases. Web hosting, software, hardware, that sort of material is on that one card. Plus a couple of personal items. A new Chris Moore book, and two musical CDs. One is rather obscure, and I don't know how it can be resolved, from a point of taste and genre, with the other.

I just hope this adds a little glitch in the "recommendations" algorithms. Just doing my bit to make sure no two are alike.

11/29
"Hey, watch me do this!"
You ain;t gonna believe what I done did. Fact is, I might not tell. Damn, that was fun.

"It’s your birthday? How old are you?"

"I'm 29."

"Right, and I'm 33."

"Works for me."

Last comment? A certain sign in a BBQ place in Leon Springs, "Youth is a gift of nature, age is a work of art."


The birthday espresso.

11/28
The road goes on forever.
No wonder: it's trendy. I'll have to go back 8-track & cassettes.

As technology marches forward, I shold note, that I do have an Apple iSight, and it's possible to do live readings, like, maybe better than really being here.

11/27
B-day cake & so on.
The birthday cake? In its official splendor? As only a true, tree-hugging, Democrat liberal would like it?

Yes, Blackberry Pie. No eggs, no milk, honey-sweetened. What's that Fatboy slim song? Star 69?
(Arcane musical allusion, just for fun.)

Unrelated:
The folly of youth, which is just disturbing.

There's a whole "birthday thang" subtext that's getting omitted. Just easier. To say the least, there's a piquant poignancy about spending time around one's parental units.

It brings back reconciliation memories from years ago.

(Yes, I picked up the tab for breakfast)
11/26
Birthday wishes.
For a certain length of time, I did all my personal consultations in certain restaurant. It was just easier. As I've changed, and after a few failed attempts, I've moved locations, shifting and changing venues, hopefully meeting the criteria of specific charts. And what's easy for me.

For some time, I was writing a book in my head, about astrology delineations and chicken-friend steak, obviously a Threadgill's reference. "Afternoons at the dinner: (then something about astrology)." Never worked it out, and then, I shifted venues. Although, it's nice, when there's a wait, I get a nod of notice and appreciation from a head manager, and I know that the seating hostess usually works Sunday nights, and she's an Aquarius.

Or that our server was a Virgo, as Threadgill's was one of the only places open for T-Day feast. In keeping with tradition, Pa Wetzel had proper turkey plus a story about an aunt of his, where he always had T-Day.

The flip side, though, I was thinking about that book title again. Book's not done- won't be - not at this pace - but the world continues to unfold. T-day was a delightful afternoon at Threadgill's then a spin out to the wildflower place, which was closed, then back to the hotel for a nap, then out for a quick dash to find out nothing was open. Some surprise there.

Watched the last portion of a Cowboy's game.

I pointed out that the cowboy's win was an indication of a future economic trends.

I had to explain the theory to Pa Wetzel, and I did point out, it was just as valid as, say, my astrology.

Black Friday Bitterness.
Only, I'm not bitter, not this time.

The other evening, my folks were trying really hard not to talk about a mutual friend. Which, it became abundantly obvious to me, might be that I spend so much time in personal consultations, but I could tell that there was something that needed saying that wasn't getting said. Something wasn't getting said to me.

"Oh, just spit it out. You can't hide it for long; it'll eat you up inside."

"She's getting married. In February."

"Excellent!" (My reply, heartfelt enthusiasm. No, really. She wanted to be married.)

Which naturally wasn't the expected response. But flip it over, and look from my side of the coin, former lover is happy, getting what she wants, or, I suspect, what she deserves. Me? I can only wish her the best. From the bottom of my heart. Which is cold and black, if you believe what some folks say. But I would suggest that it's not germane to this discussion.

I smiled. Life is good to me. Be good to others and see what happens.

11/25
T-Day
More book notes:
From the the chapter, titled, "My Scrotum Flew Tourist," Kinky writes:

"The Kayans don't give a flying Canadian whether they catch any fish of not. They claim to just be 'visiting the fish.' This quaint and primitively poetic little notion, unfortunately for them, does not culturally compute." (page 28)

N.B.: That why this man, the author of that text, should be the next governor of Texas. Vote Kinky.

Besides, I like visiting the fish. Do it often. They look at me, and I look at them, and sometimes, that's the way it is.

Anyway, back at the ranch:
Carole King's Tapestry? 1971? That sound right?

And up on eBuy:
Some folks have all the luck.

Unrelated geography notation:
Spiritually, I've always considered eastern New Mexico to be part of Texas - since it was at one time, north and east of the Rio Grande. Part of Colorado, too. But, on my part, that's just me being Texist.

The parents have landed.
Got them ensconced in one of those high-end places, a fur piece from my abode. Works better. It's absolutely wonderful.

There's one troubling aspect, I suppose, and being 200 miles removed is painful, in a way, because I don't see them every day.

We dined with a friend of the family, and then I'd suggested, half as a lark, half serious, that there was a movie at the Alamo Draft House that I had a little interest in seeing: Moog. It was about the development, sort of a pseudo-documentary about synthesizer pioneer Robert Moog, and his instruments. What caught my eye, in the liner notes, was the mention of Rick Wakeman and Keith Emerson, both pioneers in "art rock," stuff I liked, once upon a time.

Robert Moog is an engineer - that much was obvious from the film. And rock stars are rock stars, no matter what the medium. Jazz, fusion, and trying to remember, classical? I think so. My hastily scribbled notes included a point that the Moog Synthesizer is analog, not digital. Curious.

Pa Wetzel, was, at one time an engineer. Ma & Pa Wetzel dozed at moments during the show. Not that I blame them, either. Some of it was sort of boring, like it was 45 minutes of really good material with an extra half hour or so of unnecessary filler. Or necessary filler, all depends.

Ma Wetzel was aghast that I paid for the tickets, and sought out the "handicapped" elevator for Pa Wetzel. But the stairs at the Alamo (downtown) are just way too long and tortuous for him. Glad there was an elevator.

I pointed out that the various loops I employ for the weekly audio file are similar in concept, albeit, entirely stock and digital, but the concept is familiar from what Engineer Moog was talking about.

What was the rude awakening for me at the end of the night was helping my father out to the car. He took a slightly longer route to avoid stairs. That's just not a good sign. I didn't realize that getting around was starting to be such a problem. He's taken to using two canes.

What are you going to do?

During the film, Ma Wetzel did help herself to an Amy's dish of chocolate ice cream. In part, internally, I was going to recoil, but then, I smiled, in the dark. At this point in her life? If she wants a tub of ice cream? You go, girl.

A good time was had by all.

11/24
Disjointed.
Yes, Mercury is slowing down. Still makes me wonder if I wasted money getting a deer license this year.

Mercury is easy to blame for rambling, disconnected entries. Plus any typographical errors that occur.

Notes on books:
Finally finished the last of the trilogy, which, in my mind, is more like five books, which begs the question, is there going to be another part of the story's cycle?

Quicksliver, Confusion, and finally System of the World are the three. But in my mind, they tie to Cryptinomicon (recurring characters - although it has an earlier publication date), and The Diamond Age.

I rather enjoyed the series, as whole, and before Quicksliver ever came out, I'd gone back and reread The Diamond Age. Guess I'm funny like that.

It's odd to figure out which novels make the biggest impact. Check the shipping weights on the series, and by sheer volume alone, but never mind that now. Me and that one character, we share one common trait; the Imp of the Perverse.



More book notes:
From the first chapter, titled, "Outlaws," Kinky writes:

"Everybody you know thinks you've got it made and suddenly you find you're a jet-set gypsy cryin' on the shoulder of the highway."

Boat shoes:
Rain. More rain. I strapped on my "boat shoes" (sport sandals) and headed out to hit the post office, nipping a piece of rosemary as I crossed the pedestrian bridge while the weather drizzled.

Got rained on. Went home. Dried out. Slipped into regular sandals and peeled out of the shirt, grabbing a more summer-like shirt, as the sun popped out and warmed things up nicely.

I still wish someone would buy the damn phone, but other than that. I've done a brisk bit of business on eBay,

So I headed back to the post office to drop another package in the mail, and as I approached the door, I noticed a service-industry attired gentleman. We bother tried to open the door for the other. He looked at me, "It's not that hot. Can't be."

"Hey, I broke a sweat coming up here, it's that hot to me."

And it was.

But after a final reading and visiting clients over BBQ, "Here Kramer I brought you a tart," the wind shifted, and cold weather arrived. Not a good time to be in shorts.

A few days before Thanksgiving, and I'm finally getting around to winterizing some things?

Unrelated:
I did pour through a newspaper, freely given up at the restaurant. I mean, I was there, something like 4 hours or more, and I snipped one article. It was in my pocket when I got home. Two notes: oldest bank robber was a Sagittarius and R. L. Burnside is a Sagittarius.

11/23
Made in the USA
A nice, compact article about how we work.

Tangent 1:
I got the oddest internal reaction going, too. In part, I was working with certain web design elements, a highly fluid medium. But in part, my content, I struggle with the craftsmanship therein.

Tangent 2:
Part of that column's point, though, I've seen before. Echo of the opening bit, still one of my favorites in lit, of Snow Crash.

Tangent 3:
The first book I got out has a half-dozen typographical errors. It's that "fast and loose with deadlines" influence. Get it out fast, and worry about revision later. The "Made in America" way.

Originally, when I was first working on the idea, I was using Wal-Mart as an example. At the time, Sam Walton's spirit was still in charge, and it was low prices on products that were all made in America. These days? Little different story. The last quote I'd read, currently undocumented, is that Wal-Mart consumed 10% of China's export. One retailer.

Because the drive and my internal sensibilities changed, at the last minute, I dropped the "shopping at Wal-Mart after midnight" examples and changed it up a little. It's the continually changing face of our republic?

Back to that other tangent:
Hammer it out, but halfway through the process, like in a movie, or according to the article, writing software, or, according to me, writing horoscopes, or writing anything, part of the process is the let it take control. Don't interfere with the muse, wherever that bimbo wants to run. It's a process of discovery. It's a process.

Tangent 4:
The author of the article talks about his experience of buying an iPod. Elsewhere, there's a whole range of accolades about the packaging of the iPod. When I got my second iPod, I wasn't the least bit concerned with the packaging - that material was recycled within minutes of arrival. What I like is the experience - how easy is it to load music, how long the battery lasts, what the sound is like. The experience of using the hardware, not how the thing is packed. Packaged. Marketed. Whatever.

Quite unrelated:
I sent a cousin a news link about archeology and so forth in his area. Me? I was just curious.
>> You wrote:
>> Seattle Times
>I used to pull wood from a "green chain" on that property when it was M & R Timber.

Which means, I'm related to a logger? (He's actually more erudite than that, but it doesn't make as good copy - an advanced degree in Math or something, if I recall.)

Two-Meat Monday:
Which was a pair of girl for chart readings. Plus some live bait. River's been running something like - like? A lot?

2004-11-22 07:30:32.000 35344 CFS

"This flow tends to level off as the water moves downstream, with summer flow rates ranging from 1,500 to 2,000 cfs."

(LCRA site)

I seem to remember, might be completely wrong, but what I recall was that the river here is usually 10,000 CFS, whereas it looks like that peak, just over 35,000 CFS is more than three times the average. Makes sense to me.

Which has nothing to do with the worms I left in that girl's car. Dang.

The other side of midnight:
It's dark and lonely. The river is either flowing by the bucketful or not. I was listening to an Aries on the speaker phone, trying to sort out details for January in El Paso, and idly surfing the web in the background - multi-tasking. I stumbled across this article, for the second time. It's all about copyright and other pitfalls (more like pratfalls) in publishing.

But one of the page's links led me to a completely different chain of thought. In between someplace last night, I was on the radio again. I looked at a half-dozen charts, made a few prognostications and observations, and then rung off the phone.

I dealt with individuals. Not groups. While I do deal with groups, as in groups of signs, I tend to deal with individuals. Not groups as a whole.

Where was I going with this?

"You kids, stay off my lawn!"

11/22
The frontside of morning
I really should be cleaning.

Sunday was punctuated with two naps. Nice naps. One in the morning, one in the afternoon. With the rain beating a gentle tattoo on the tin roof, it was relaxing.

I did dream about a big, white (or striped) bass. In the dream, I was wrestling the fish to see if there were any "teeth" on the back of its tongue. It's a minor way of identifying different species. Just one of those fish dreams.

Dinner was "seafood over crispy noodles," and dessert was Krispy Kreme. I've been so good for so long that I just had to snag a half-dozen doughnuts.

"These any good?" I asked the guy behind the counter.

"Nah, too sweet."

"What doesn't have too much sugar in here?" I asked.

"The coffee?"

I got a cup to go.

Around 5:22 PM, CST, according to one piece of software, the Sun entered Sagittarius. Life is good again, for a little while. Like, maybe the next few days. Until Mercury goes backwards.

Unrelated musical link:
More than a teen spirit?

11/21
The backside of midnight
Flip that coin, and each flip, the odds are the same. It's a 50/50 chance of heads or tails. Six flips, tails, six times. On the next flip, what are the odds it will be tails?

Unrelated to much of anything:
All about writer's block. As if that was ever a problem around here.

Unrelated musical note:
"Walk without rhythm and you won't attract the worm." (Answer?)

Unrelated: the few, the faithful:
Just a note about the new Apple store over yonder. (At my last visit to an Apple store, I asked the rep a question, and she replied I should look at getting a job at an Apple store.)

Unrelated to much of anything:
A Leo made a request for a special Leo - happy - play list. A CD with a collection of happy songs on it. From the overture to "A Fistful of Dollars" to "Gilligan's Island theme song" to Fatboy Slim to Asleep at the Wheel, Hank III, ZZ, and Bob Dylan, plus an odd assortment of other stuff.

One Jimmy Buffett encore, I think it was a Houston show, he did Lyle Lovett's "If I had a Boat," and I've already got a couple of Texas Gulf Coast music-themes going, but that one song just made the perfect introduction. Which means I'll want to rearrange a play-list again. I'm wondering if that Lyle song is available on one of Buffett's numerous live albums.

Which then trailed over to this Church Of Buffett, Orthodox.

Related to that music thingy:
I clicked through on the friggin' Apple iTunes, to "publish a play list," and when I hit the publish button, only about a third of the songs showed up. Less than that. A quarter? The play lists make no sense, now. Version 1 and astrofish road mix v2.

Two-thirds to three-quarters of my recommendations are not available via that storefront. It's just too difficult for me to be mainstream. 5 out of two dozen songs?

Unrelated:
Call it cabin fever, I'm sure. Cold rain. Not into this stuff at all. As Steve Fromholz sings on the LJT album, Summer Days, "You know, Larry Joe Taylor, I've sure had my fill of this cold weather!"

Which is related:
I was rolling down north on South First Street, headed towards the river, after doing readings at Bouldin (again), and the night sky threatened rain. I watched the skyline. Such as it is. It's not like Austin has much of a skyline. But the tops of two or three buildings were eerily covered in fog.

It’s the first unoccupied Saturday night in a long time. Business, my business, usually has two peaks, January through the March, a sputter in April, then a small surge May-June, then it drops off until I pick back up in August, normally, through the end of October. Usually grinds to halt in November and December. But I keep getting work. I'd complain, but I can use the income - need to get caught up on paying rent and all.

What isn't related?
Three Leos. All with the same first name. that's just a trip.

11/20
Calendar thumbnails



Details and source files. Thumbnails, anyway.

Stardust Motel Sign, west of Marfa, TX.

Fish Pass, Mustang Island, TX.

Gonzales Flag, storefront, Gonzales, TX.

Star Motel sign. South Texas highway.

Feed Store sign, Goliad, TX.

State Hwy 77 (hurricane evacuation route) sign.

Urania: muse of astrology (Queen's Walk, UK)

Welcome to Nowhere (TX)

Cadillac Ranch, west of Amaralillo, TX

Mission Door, Goliad, TX.

Marfa Lights rest area, Marfa-Alpine hwy, TX.

Oscar Wilde quote, train station, UK.

That Friday flava.
Cool and gray, no, sunny, no clouds, no, might rain. Might not. Weather forecasting, the last home of fiction? Something's right in the world, my world, anyway, when I'm barefoot, shirtless and feeding worms to the fish.

Which was what I did while I waited for an image to finish processing, Who'd a thunk that these fast processors aren't fast enough for "camera-ready" art images?

While I was waiting on images to process, or do whatever they were supposed to do, I tried a different lure, a black (blue metal-flake) thing and reeled this little feller in:
What nice about this one? I mean, maybe he looks like all the other fish, but he's not. It's a different fish! New fish in the pool! It's not like one the others I've caught several times.

All those images? Sampled and re-sampled, tweaked, enlarged, shrunk and finally done?



Done deal. 2005 Calendar with Mercury, Venus and Mars Retrogrades duly noted. Plus pictures. Of me.

I came slipping into the old homestead, such as it is, after late Friday night reading, just before the rain started. Been a busy week, considering how little I seem to have done. And there's still a full schedule, on through the weekend. I wonder if I'll ever get this place cleaned up before parental unit arrive.

Or buy my old cell phone (the hotline).

11/19
The other side of the morning?
When I am strolling about, trudging, or striding purposefully towards specific destinations, I tend not to pay attention to my own feet. I like observing the minutiae of nature, as well as the foibles of human behavior.

But twice this week, I've happened upon a penny, face up. Supposed to be good luck. I can't wait.

Wednesday night, just as I was riding herd on the horoscopes, trying to corral the stray electrons in the wide-world-web thing, I noticed a sudden stillness. I looked outside, and deep fog blanketed the environment. Lovely stuff, but it brings a dripping, moist sense, and that stillness was from all vehicular traffic, grinding to a halt.

That, and the phone became disconnected. Don't know how that happened.

So Thursday morning was bright. Cheery, even, with a cool, clear sky.

And I had to be on the phone - stuck inside. At least the readings were challenging.

I did take a break and go for a quick dash to the post office. Which led to the first Egg Nog Latte of the season, and booking up the remainder of the weekend - with paying work.

Suitably fortified, I peeled out of my shirt, and cruised alongside the swollen river. Lots of rain, lots of moisture means that the water is running fast and deep, spilling over the accepted boundaries for the shoreline. Standing waves? I was noting where I cold see standing waves, trying to imagine the underwater structures, looking for those fish, for next spring. Earlier, the carp had been roiling in the debris, and I was tempted to pull out the catfish pole, and try foor one of those big nasty fellers. Couldn't do it, though, not this time.

Looking at the standing waves, though, that got me thinking, wasn't there a band called the Standing Waves?

Did a lecture. Or a workshop. Or taught a class, I'm not sure which one, and the class was engaging and actually quite fun.

Unrelated:
Do Not Call registry?

11/18
Reinvention
I got off on a tangent, thinking about thinking, and I added a design element from a sadly dated look I wanted for a motorcycle team. Then I got to wondering about doing my weekly audio update as a podcast. Format's there, already, as an mp3.

Tweak up something new for a weekly audio-cast? I spent a portion of the morning "point-and-click" coding. Which is tedious, but it's a lot less tedious than coding by hand. Just another quick-and-dirty website, this one for the family. What was I thinking? Who knew there would be that many images that had to be cropped, resized and optimized for the web?

From the "Only in Texas" files:
Internet hunting? Seriously?

Reinventing musical files:
I was ripping a few CDs I'd missed, or misplaced the files, or whatever, just replicating some files for play lists, and the last two items I had out, Garth Brooks and Frank Zappa. I'm just wondering, is there some kind of hell I can be put in, for having those two items next to each other?

Unrelated (astrology) notation:
D&D as a Pluto/Uranus in Virgo generation?

Reinvention: wires & tech support:
I'd really like my wireless to stretch down to the water's edge. I repositioned the Airport Extreme router, and I added a longer bit of Ethernet cable, so I could get the wireless, down by the lake. Or so I had hoped. Maybe it's just a pipe dream, but sitting at the edge of the lake, wired up to the web-inter-thing?

The cable, the subsequent power off and power by on, plus a software update wiped out the settings. So I was plunged into SBC Tech Support Hell. The first person was no use, whatsoever. Useless. Less than useless, she couldn't understand a word I said, didn't grasp the problem or the simple question I had. I just needed DNS numbers. English was certainly not her first language. From the sound of it, it wasn't her second language, either. While I admire that linguistic ability, trying to solve a technical problem? That sucked big time.

A second call, after I'd gathered my wits again, and the first person sounded like English was a native tongue, and as an asset, that person grasped the concept of the script she was reading. Still took a good deal of interpretation on my part, but I was wired again. Finally. But the SBC help line really sucks. A two-minute phone call took an hour.

I had a sick and twisted thought, during the conversation, "So how's the weather? Terrorism doing okay? At least the religious zealots in my land only barricade themselves with lots of arms, our zealots don’t blow anything up but themselves." But that's not true. Some of our zealots get elected.


Unrelated photo from Wednesday:
(via the cam-phone)
Reinventing that warm, fuzzy feeling:
E-mail cycled through last night, kind of late, a substantial Amazon Honor system amount.






When that popped through, I mean, to get to the donation page on the site, one has to dig through several layers of crap. Damn thing's anonymous, too. Ain't that wondrous?

So, I looked it up on Amazon, and plugged it into the front page of the site, too.

The Libra scope.
I was reminded about this little tale, and I was going to work it into the scopes, but then, I thought about it, and I figure it would severely irritate some folks, so I'll just tag the few extra lines here. Statute of limitations is up on this one, I think.

I dated this girl one time, one of the reasons I live like a monk, and she was "spirited." Perhaps it had something to do with upbringing or issues, or that astrology part of her chart. I'm not sure. Well, I am sure, but I'm not going to say. For the record, I do know the warning signs, and I chose, at that time, to ignore my own, good advice - which was to leave her alone.

So what happened, once upon a time, we had a quarrel. About something I did? No, about something I didn't do, but never let the facts interfere with a woman's ire and scorn. I just kept making matters worse by refusing to engage in the good fight. Eventually, she popped me one. It was a glancing blow, and I just gathered myself up and left the premises. I do believe that a piece of furniture, or hardware, followed me out. She was, at least at that time, what us guys call a "thrower." In fact, she used to shop Salvation Army and Goodwill for ammunition - normally, plates and flatware.

So that was like, on a Thursday night. Like last weekend, and the weekend before that, and the weekend before that, I was on the road, and out of town for work. Since I left in huff, she wasn't about to pick me up the airport on my return.

I didn't see her again until about Tuesday or Wednesday, almost week after I got pummeled. Her right arm was in sling. We forgave and forgot, at least I did, and she showed up for dinner, after the next local event, with her arm still in a sling. She'd cracked a bone in her hand, from impact with a rock-hard object (my skull). I wasn't even bruised.

In hindsight, the least I could've done was limp, or bruise myself so that there was some kind of show - matching injuries, hers and his?

So it was at dinner, a Saturday night, and we're all sitting around in a TexMex joint, me and a half-dozen of my psychic friends. One the ladies looked up at my girlfriend, and asks what happened.

"I ran into a door." Which, the way I wanted to remember what the girlfriend said? "He ran into a door."

"Look honey," that matronly friend suggested, "next time you hit him, aim for a soft spot, not his head."

I got one of those looks, the kind that could kill, as the temperature plummeted in the dining area, an icy blast hissed at me, "You told her?"

Before I could refute anything, the matronly psychic spoke up, "First off, you're at a table of psychics, no secrets here. And he didn't say a thing. Not a word. But it's also logical, see, your hand is broken, and there's not a scratch on him. Aim for the soft parts next time, dear, not his head."

True story.

11/17
The flip side of the coin?
I rather enjoy working on the radio, even if it is in the far Midwest, or wherever Indiana is. I haven't a clue. Eastern Time Zone on the charts, all I need to know. I think it's cold there, in that Eastern Time Zone. If I recall, from my geography, Indiana is next to Canada, like Maine and Washington State. And Canada is this mile-wide stretch that ends at the Arctic Circle. And from the Arctic Circle, it's about two miles to the North Pole.

What really does inconvenience me, though, is the fact that I'm missing the usual Monday night fare at the Alamo (Draft House) downtown. However, the radio program does provide two things: traffic and customers, and I suppose, if I have to miss a little fun, that's just the way it is. Monday nights, on the radio. Kind of like an answer to Monday Night Football.

Business & Motivation:
I don't even remember how this started, although, I'm sure I cataloged my experience some place. Yesterday morning, I clicked through on a comic strip I read online and I had dejá-vu experience. Perhaps it was the pre-dawn, pre-coffee buzz. Or lack of buzz. Maybe the neurons weren't firing in sequence. A little later, I realized that I'd read that strip, last week, in a newspaper.

Hint: that's the way the strip's creator, the author, manages it. It's really a good idea, too. Since newsprint, that almost dead medium, is the primary source of income, the website shows material that's one week old. Sound familiar?

Two-meat Tuesday's special:

1. Hot dog in the afternoon.
Apparently, there's an ad running - I wouldn't know - I don't own a TV - that shows a convenience store opening in the morning, and the hot dogs have been on the grill since the night before. That's TV, the land of make-believe. But I did select just such a hot dog for a morning nosh while on dash to hit the postal box. At least it looked like it had been there for days - well done. The hot dog was well-done, not the PO Box.

2. BBQ at night.
I do like some foods well-cooked, like that hot dog. Two-meat platter, a little late in the evening. I was with one client, and I ran into another client, both paid up for readings. That's nice, walked out with more money than I walked in with.

But better than cash, to me, was the line scrawled across the top of the to-go box full of leftover brisket. A snippet from the dinner conversation.

"Not monogamous, not committed, not a relationship," which was what a male was saying to a female, but what that female was hearing? Like ever other word?

"Monogamous. Committed. A relationship." And her counter to his comment?

"Oh! We're engaged now!"

11/16
The other side of silliness.
One pair of cowboy boots that I own is starting to wear thin. There's a tiny hole, in each side of the pair, just about right for my little toe to eventually work its way out. A couple of out-of-town cobblers looked and said, "No way." But at the Golden Slipper, on S. First, a kindly gentleman said he could fix them. We'll see what happens. I first noticed the cool breeze from the inadvertent air-conditioning, last winter. Been that long since I've thought about footwear.

I stopped in Bouldin Creek for a morning cup of go, and while I was there, a familiar Leo greeted me. She was just finishing breakfast so we sat on the back patio for a few minutes and shot the breeze.

"I don't get this: Texans, no really, I don't get it all. When the weather's like this? Get outside! Enjoy the day! It's cool enough to move and breath! I'll tell you what I don't get, see, when it's 100 degrees, you guys all get out and sweat. You move around. And when it's like this? What do you do? Stay inside?"

(Cool and gray out, the faintest hint of precipitation, and yes, I'd rather be home.)

On the wander home route, I was thinking about Scorpio and then thinking about Texas Music. The difference between Texas Music and, oh, say, Nashville Country? How about Lyle Lovett, bless his wry and dry Scorpio heart, a couple of years ago, he was squashed by a bull. Smashed up. For real. Ranching accident. This isn't a song. Saw him on stage, almost year after the incident, and he was still walking with a bad limp. Music was as a good as ever. But that's not the point, see, in Texas, our singers and songwriters, the real stars, they do have encounters with ranch critters. It's not some made-up song.

"Rehab? Rehab is for quitters!"

Unrelated:
While digging around, I found Atlantis.

As promised, silliness:
Renaming an Interstate?

News to me:
> PLEASE NOTE: Due to last minute family circumstances, Linda Drake and Kramer
> Wetzel are switching places.

I wonder if this is okay with her husband.

11/15
The other side of midnight.
There's more to the backbeat than a 4/4 rhythm. There's also some stealth. Sunday morning was cold and wet.

I met a friend at Magnolia, on my way out of town, basically a "first meeting of the day," and the chart? Saturn (Capricorn) lined up with her Sun. As I walked into Magnolia, the former cook, now manager was there. In shorts. Capricorn. Waitress? That cute little Capricorn from the other evening.

I screwed up on my timing, and got to SA an hour early. Did I mention the shopkeeper? She's a Capricorn.

I stopped in Buda, or San Marcos, or some place. There was a new Starbucks. I unplugged from the music and wandered in, "How long has this place been here?"

"Two months!"

It's like, one day, there was this field, and the next, a helicopter just air-lifted a complete Starbucks, like, almost overnight. Plopped it right down.

Musica:
In my mind, and on my iPod, Crystal Method's Vegas, Chemical Brothers' Surrender, and both Fatboy Slim's
Halfway Between the Gutter and the Stars & the new Palookaville make excellent headphone music. There's one other, classic Floyd, as in Pink. Pink Floyd. Instellar Overdrive. Timeless.

But it has to have a good bookend, right?

"I'm a man of the road, the highway is my home." (Wayne Hancock, "A Man of the Road" on A-Town Blues)

Most important thing I learned this time, in San Antonio?
If you leave your purse (I suppose, for some folks, this might be a little gender specific), on the floor, money drains out of it. Therefore, the secret is to make sure that the purse isn't resting on the floor.

"That's just an old Mexican wives' tale."

Not making any money, or rather, not showing any profit on Sunday didn't deter my basically sunny outlook in the bad weather. There's still a sense of being on the road and traveling, same route, for years and years. New places, old places, new faces, old faces.

I'm a little in the hole for the weekend, but that's the way it goes. That extra hour was spent wandering in the big sporting goods store, just up the street. I found some of them "yeller" worms I like. None of the places in Austin seem to have them. Plus, I was running a little low on the "cotton-candy" colored wiggly bits.

Unrelated:
It's a theme, to me, and one that excited me early on. Nice to see it revitalized. I still recall one lad commenting about the sorry lack of plot. Not that that's ever interfered with my work.

Unrelated:
The weekly audio will be up in a few minutes. After I retrun the car and meet a client for a reading.

11/14
Friend of the devil?
(Grateful Dead version)

"If I get home before daylight, I just might get some sleep tonight."

For some reason, perhaps it touches me? I like that one lyric. Couple of more licks came up on the drive, too:

"When the sun comes up on a sleepy little town, down around San Antone...."

China Grove? Uno: folks in San Antonio rather dislike the name "San Antone." Dos: San Antonio is the subject of a lot of songs.

Saw this one, then couldn't get a decent picture, one of those RV type of truck/mobile home deals, with two surfboards tied on the back. I wonder where they were going?

A little later:
"Oh no Kramer, I've heard about you. Mac's told me stories."

(Mac, the other aura camera dude.)

Even later:
Stopped off in San Marcos, on the way home. The Coffee Pot. Free wireless, coffee. A smoking section. Civilization.

I'd called Bubba Sean as I was leaving SA, northbound on the Interstate, and I asked him what he and the little woman were up to, like, "Dude, meet me for pizza in San Marcos."

He calls, as I'm almost getting into San Marcos, and suggests a different venue because he can't abide tomato, bacon and ranch dressing pizza (a San Marcos/Valentino's staple - very worth the trip). So while I was soaking up some bandwidth, waiting on Bubba and the little woman, I actually dealt with one problem, and I looked up from my coffee long enough to notice a young man with, basically, well, to me, it looked like he had a green Mohawk. Yeah. Perfectly normal.

A little later, over ribs, fish & chips, I noted that there were two young men walking out of the same bar, dressed in woodland camo outfits.

I pointed them out, Sean looks over his shoulder, and I asked, "Deer Season?"

"Yeah, deer season or members of a militia," he dryly observed then gave a little shrug, balancing his empty palms.

Saturday night in Central Texas.

Or, as Bubba Sean is fond of saying, "Welcome to my world."

Pat Green, Cory Morrow, doing Waylon Jennings:

"The same old tune, fiddle and guitar where do we take from here?"

Or, my favorite bit, in spirit, anyway:

"Ten years on the road, making one night stands, speeding my young life away, tell me one more time, just so I'll understand, you sure Hank did it this way?"

"I've seen the world with a five piece band looking at the backside of me...."

No rhinestone boot and big fancy cars. But that road does go on, like, forever.

11/13
Hit the road, Jack.
I think I'm covered. Got my coffee mug. Got my mini iPod with all kinds of weird flavors on it. Phone, computer, ready to roll.

The commute to San Antonio, from South Austin to North San Antonio is right at an hour, depending on traffic. Perhaps one of the most notorious stretches of highway.

Unrelated:
Make your own holograms?

Musical note:
"You don't have to be something you're not, down in Austin." (Brendon Jenkins, Austin)

Unrelated (fishing):
That's more like it, 2nd cast, pulled in a little bass:

Never hurts