Sculptures, senses, and self-promotion.

First of all: look, Ma, another byline!

http://blog.awcaustin.org/2011/09/29/suggested-september-tips-and-tools-for-writers/

Second of all, if this spate of posts is overwhelming, well then, friendos, you now have a decent sense of what it’s like to live in Austin! Complete sensory overload! And I haven’t even finished the South First Street series yet!

But “More, more, more” cried the overloaded senses, who have grown accustomed to and acquired quite a liking for their overloaded state.

“You spend too much time holed up in your room, glued to a computer screen,” they said, and there was no arguing with that.

Which is how I found myself earlier today at the Umlauf Sculpture Garden (when I could have been holed up in my room, glued to a computer screen, accomplishing ten billion—hyperbolic!—productive things, although I suppose it’s arguable that Living Life is productive as well, maybe if I put it on a list, sick, sick), a true urban oasis. Apparently sculptures and nature are what people had to look at before there was The Internet!

Fine by me. I passed a lovely couple hours ducking between poems etched in bronze and stone (among other materials) and trees swaying to the wind’s sibilant sighs. Talk about idyllic—there were even butterflies, for crying out loud!

It was a truly perfect day for an outdoor adventure (being only in the eighties!), and there haven’t been many of which I could say that since I arrived here.

And now here I am, holed up in my room, glued to a computer screen.

Ah well, baby steps. 

South First Street, Austin, Nighttime, Volume IV.

As you can see, after a long hiatus, ol' Shutter Island is getting quite a workout.

South First Street, Austin, Nighttime, Volume III.

South First Street, Austin, Nighttime, Volume II.

South First Street, Austin, Texas, Nighttime, Volume I.

Meanwhile, in a blog far, far away....

I don't have much to say for myself today, so I'm going to let Dysphoria Jones have the floor.

Adulthood, here I am, kicking and screaming!

Yesterday ended up being very Productive and Responsible after all, which I guess is proof that I am in fact thirty-two and not five (except of course for when I am five and not thirty-two, but at least I can now truthfully claim that I was thirty-two on the day I turned thirty-two).

I spent the evening watching my first Texas thunderstorm (Oh, The Sky, with your electric choreography, beam me up and take me with you!) and sipping the finest five-dollar Cabernet of my life (I say this un-ironically).

And now I am thirty-two, feeling remarkably like I did when I was thirty-one. Which felt remarkably like thirty. And so on.

I HAVE THIS MANY YEARS!!!

I’m thirty-two today, which means I intend to spend the day as if were five: doing exactly as I please and indulging every single whim* (Maybe I’ll even throw a temper tantrum at the grocery store!). Like that’s ssssoooooooooo different from every other day—but on my birthday I get to pretend I’ve achieved the maturity level that should be commensurate with my advancing age.

For starters, I bought things: this, this, and this.

Now, time to go be counterproductive—on a Monday, no less!

Yee haw! 

*Among said whims is the nearly overpowering desire to vacuum today. Is this pathological?

The bleach can stay on the shelf: a recommendation.

For those bleach-quaffing days (the ones that make you want to), you could do a lot worse than to listen to Dale Watson's "Longhorn Suburban" over and over and over. Hard not to be cheered up by this and to suspect (however slightly) that maybe, just maybe Life is Good. And hell, if it's not a bleach-drinking day, then just imagine the mood-elevating potential!

Duh dah dah duh!

That is the Imperial Margarine Theme Song, in case this is not obvious.

What, pray tell, merits the Imperial Margarine Theme Song?

Well, since you asked—this!

http://eatdrinkbesolitary.tumblr.com/

Up, up, and away, or down, down, and here, as the case may be: the new cooking blog (wo)manned by my sinister (satirical!) shadow self, Dysphoria Jones.

Remember So I Married an Axe Murderer? Remember Harriet’s sister Rose? Ever wonder what her cooking blog would be like? Maybe a little bit like this.

And yes, this is what I'm doing with my Saturday night because 1.) I am depraved and 2.) I was mimosaed!

Stay tuned—if only to feel slightly better about yourself afterward.

Mimosaed!

I ventured back to the WriteByNight headquarters this afternoon to meet with other writers to determine how best to stage a writerly coup and take over Austin (more or less).

Mimosa-fueled writer meetings = Best Idea Ever, even if this did render me useless for the rest of the day (and this is unusual how? I know).

Brian Allen Carr was there and I picked up a copy of his short story collection Short Bus—signed and everything!

On the way back home, I somehow found myself at Central Market, head brimming with rationalizations about how Monday is my birthday, so I was allowed to shop there today. That's the thing about my birthday—even though I'll be thirty-two, I'm still like a five-year-old, thrusting my fingers outward to proclaim "See??? I have THIS MANY years!!!" and making a big old stink about it for the week surrounding it.

I have so much I want to do right now, but sadly, it all requires brain cells and something resembling a stable blood sugar level. Surely I am not the first victim felled by the mimosa-sword?

Ah, well. I always get a second wind—and it's usually a Category 5.

Cooking up new schemes.

Today I lost a column contest, folks, which is actually good news because it is the green light to proceed with that which I was gingerly waiting for news of its acceptance or rejection elsewhere to proceed with.

You see, while I am having a mighty fine time doing this personal blog, and will continue to attempt to pull sparkly lint from my navel and turn it into sparkly navel lint scarves (and awkward metaphors), I have been feeling the desire of late to do something more project-based. With any luck, I should have something to that end up and running sometime this weekend.

In other news, heading into the library today I passed a woman seated on a bench outside who wished out loud that there was a salad bar nearby.

"That would be nice," I said obligingly, even though I have no truck with salads.

I realized shortly thereafter that she was on one of those hands-free headset phones (or whatever you dreadful sort who fiddle with such things call them). It's so hard to tell these days! 

Also, also, last night marked another Texas milestone because it was the first time I traipsed about in the night air lamenting a little bit that I hadn't brought a cardigan.

I guess fall has to get here sooner or later!

Okay, Texas, we get it--you're hot. Now simmer down, will you? And other Deep Thoughts.

As anyone of a writerly persuasion trying to make a career out of it in today's media landscape is aware, you can write like Shakespeare (of whom I am admittedly not a fan, but let's go with this broadly known frame of reference), and it is irrelevant, because unless you were mastering SEO (Search Engine Optimization on the off, off-chance there's a bigger Luddite than I am reading this, in which case, I suppose s/he wouldn't be reading this, because why would s/he be in possession of a computer, much less on the internet) whilst still a zygote, you are functionally useless. In light of this, and in the interest of providing a valuable public service, I would like to call to the attention of this readership (wait, doesn't that imply plurality?) some useful SEO tags (or whatever you dreadful sort who specialize in this kind of thing call them) to employ when attempting to draw attention to your site (based on the traffic patterns of visitors to this blog):

blogosphere like
dead roach on my kitchen floor

Good to know!

In other news:

Coconut oil =  the Meaning of Life (for popcorn, at least)

I am wearing a ladylike dress and a jewel-encrusted raccoon skull around my neck, which leads me to:

New Fashion Mission Statement: You needs must always juxtapose the macabre with the demure.

Looking forward to speaking some Spanish with some amigable folks tonight and a Corona with my name on it.

Further chronicles of a crazy cat lady.

The mooshies had a grand old time getting into a stack of coupons I brought home from the store, stalking, pouncing, and scattering them all over the floor.

Does this make them bargain hunters?