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It’s no secret that when I get the sleepy-time bug, it’s sleepy time. Period. It has been ever thus, much to my friends’ consternation, from time to time.

In college, that time when you’re supposed to “stay up all night” my version was to go to sleep at 11 and get up at the crack of dawn: 4am, 5am, to study / do homework / etc.

In my later years of study, I was blessed to live with my friend Brown and his great dog, Bailey. When I would wake up at such an hour I would sit at my desk, the blankets still warm from my slumber, and work away until a single, solid, bonk of wet nose against my door would let me know that Bailey knew I was awake and was wondering, in that ever-so-polite-yet-insistent canine manner, if I wouldn’t please mind opening the door for him.

Invariably I would accompany him out to the front yard, where he would strangulate my New York times and then, bite-kill accomplished, head off to do what dogs do before playing a few fetches with me.

But the year before that, I didn’t live so close to campus. So I would wake up and drive into West Campus and park ( a task that, at that time, could only be accomplished via nepotism, Santería, or Fortune ) before walking to Mojo’s on 29^th-ish.

The baristas never seemed too-surprised to see me, but were still a bit surprised to see new blood so soon after the last of the 2am set shuffled out.

I would get a big coffee, and sit, picking apart Monadology or some such.

Those early mornings were great things. You would see such interesting things at that hour and, in some sense, the world felt selfishly yours. The wet strets, for you. The sprinklers, standing for you.

In Austin, one can do this in shorts and a t-shirt most days of the year, sans any cloak or jacket. A virtue of this climate is the ability to get completely dressed in <10 seconds.

I’ve not done such in quite a while, but today I woke at 530 and got dressed. I took trash to the dumpster and heard two dog-walking ladies discuss a rash that indicated they believed themselves to be alone and unaccustomed to contact.

I opened the dumpster and found an middle-aged fellow dissecting a garbage bag in the dumpster receptacle area. He seemed shocked to see me, like a raccoon stopped in mid dig. I bade him goedemorgen and tossed my bags in.

I looked to the Northwest and saw a moon, nearly waning into nothing, such that it looked like a thin circle with a fat sideways smile against the deep azure blue of the night sky.

I saw the roiling clouds that foretell a scorching hot days’ wrath brewing and pushing hot air out of the Orient.

I then hopped in the car and drove down to Epoch café where, as I stood there ordering my drink, the fresh pastries came in. I took a danish.

And now I write you to tell you that much of the world goes on while much of the world sleeps and if you’ve not seen the dawn lately, maybe you should.

You may see my last post in which I ask, how can it be that here in Austin there is nothing to do on Sunday night?

Well, Lauren and I took a wild stab at a solution and went to the campus area’s venerable “Hole in the Wall” for “shoegaze” night. I figured it couldn’t be all that bad as I always had a bit of a think for My Bloody Valentine.

We headed down and the bar was sparsely populated. Many people were seated out in the hallway alongside and in back of the bar, sitting in the humid night air with sweating bar glasses stacking indefatigably higher.

We played a game of foosball and I got shellacked. Our pool games that came after were much more balanced but I think I ended up losing that series as well.

Eventually the first band came on and sure enough, they were latter–day disciples drunk from the fountain of St. Greenwood.

This morning I got up and watched the ending of “Shine”, the movie that gives you way-too-many opportunities to view Captain Barbaossa’s butt. I thought the pivotal scene of the Rachmaninoff 3 concerto was absolutely astounding. The emotional scenes between young Noah Taylor and Armin Mueller-Stahl are among the most wrenching put to film.

Is it just me or is this town entirely dead after 7pm on Sunday?

This is the n^th time in recent memory that Lauren and I looked at austinist, do512, and the chronicle for something to do besides sit at home, eat more mexican food, or watch netflix on a Sunday night and have come up empty.

Seriously, the only thing that sounds remotely good is Shoegaze night at the hole-in-the-wall.

As bad as it may be, rest you assured that it’s better than Sunnyvale, but still…that’s not setting the bar very high.

Last night we went down to Austin Swing Syndicate’s Thursday night dance at the Fed. At 8:15 we took the introduction to Balboa lesson as given by 4 on the floor directors Matt Jones and Laura Malloy.

Laura has a fantastic way of explaining dances physically. She and Matt did a great bit where she said something like:

“You all know Charleston ( big exaggerated moves ) well, people liked it. But they made the music faster and more people came so the moves got faster, smaller, and closer ( same moves, but just tighter and faster ) and it got faster, and faster, and ( they start dancing Balboa ).”

It’s an interesting dance, it’s a bit more regal than the Lindy Hop’s exaggerated hoppity-hop rhythm. It was also a product of Orange County, CA, just like my favorite dance partner, who knew?

…and they’re doing it to “Sweet Georgia Brown”—pass the ball

This weekend the same talented pair will be teaching a workshop on Balboa at Austin’s Uptown Dance.

Afterwards was the main dance, it was one of my favorite co-student’s birthday, so I even dashed into the birthday circle to give her a birthday twirl. The other fun game that was played was called “Snowball”. You start with 2 people at the center of a circle, they dance until “Snowball” is called and then they each get 2 partners from the circle. Well, it gets bigger and bigger, and partners get harder and harder to come by, so it winds up becoming a mad dash for free partners.

Lauren and I booked out at 11:30, got home and a few snacks down the gullet, slept like the dead.

It’s summer in Austin and that can mean only one thing.

Texas Roller-Girl Action

Last night was Bout 5 of the season featuring the Hell Mary’s versus visiting Northwest Arkansas Hellbillies. It was a shellacking, the Mary’s owned them left and right.

After that the Honky-Tonk Heartbreakers took on the Hotrod Honeys including my favorite, jammer, “Rice Rocket” who helped make sure her team got a spot in the playoffs bracket. It was a good, physical bout with a lot of speed on both sides’ jammers. Very good match.

The Texas girls continued beating the snot out of Arkansas one more time, but by that time we’d seen all the wheels and vengeance we could handle, so we headed home.

Further I think we’d been toxically poisoned by PlayLand skate’s concessions. Between Salt (with popcorn) for Ryan, cardboard pretzel for Jamie, Lauren, and I, and red-playdo with ice masquerading as a slurpee, we didn’t feel well by the time we reached home.

The real up-side was meeting the *Steans clan there ( as they sojourned to that strange world known as “North of the River” ). All in all, I was very glad to have seen them for the first since our return from Canada.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the Heartbreakers are in the finals, they looked really good team-wise, but I’m still pulling for the Honeys.

This 4^th of July in our firs real one in Austin. Why? You may ask? Well, it’s because this is the first year that the Austin Symphony played the 4^th spectacular along the banks of Lady Bird Lake on the Auditorium Shores.

The symphony puts on a “Pops”-based production in a lead-up to The Grand Finale Tchaikovksy’s 1812 Overture played to its dramatic crescendo accompanied by a 45-mm howitzer carted in from nearby Camp Mabry. That’s how we roll in the Lone Star State, yo.

Lauren, still suffering from her Canadian cold, was a bit touch-and-go throughout the day, but assented to make the pilgrimage that evening. My mom had bought us a great picnic backpack a few years ago ( knives, forks, cloth napkins, the whole 9 ) and so we packed it up with cokes, crackers, cheese, and headed down.

We found a parking lot on 5^th and Rio Grande and had a short walk across the 1^st street bridge to the Shores.

There were many concessions and artisan vendors surrounding the area, but we found a comfy spot, spread my outdoor blanket and sat down to enjoy the show.

The evening was surprisingly comfortable and mosquito-free. The air was humid enough to keep us warm, but not so much to be oppressive ( as has been the case in other years ). Also, the rain element played along and neither muddied the grounds prior to the show, nor did it menace during.

Lauren is not innately refulgent, it’s the Off!

The music was great and after the final cannon-blast the fireworks began. It was a wonderful, light display and we had a great time.

After, we walked back to Little Woodrow’s and had a drink while we waited out the traffic. We then packed up and went home. ‘Twas a good 4^th.

As mentioned earlier, Lauren and I volunteered at Urban Roots’ acre at the Helping Hands farm in East Austin, right under the take-off path of AUS.

We woke up around eight and headed out to East Austin. The acre is on the east side of the highway right near a bit of a heavy interchange, as such we passed it. A few miles later it seemed like we had gone too far, so we doubled back. We found the entry street and missed the second turn (agh); but, at last we found the right path and the acre.

We were greeted by some of the energetic youth interns and, after signing in and getting a name sticker, we were guided out to a section of the field headed by our crew boss, Vivian. Lauren and I were initially tasked to help trellis tomatoes. Trellis fabrication is pretty easy. You take a long spool of twine and tie it to an anchored metal post. You then weave the twine through the plants and then then pull it taut; do it backwards with a counter-weave and tie it off.

In so doing this you encourage tomatoes, a vine, and encourage them to hang or dangle off / over the supporting twine. Do this a few more times and violà, you have created a rope trellis. I was then paired up for some more trellising with one of the youth interns, Anthony and we had a great time discussing guitars and amps and we wove through the trellis. At the end the inter-row paths were clear of tomatoes and the plants were looking healthy.

After that we headed over to another row and did some pruning, removing dead branches and pest-destroyed tomatoes. It was sad to have to see animal-destroyed vegetation be be destroyed, but that is simply part of the game when it comes to an organically / sustainably run farm. Although as I tossed them aside I had to think that at least I knew that it wasn’t salmonella-laced. But all was not for waste, for a third row was ready for harvest so I and another volunteer, Rob, searched for stealth beauties ( buried at the bottom of the vine ), plucked winners, and tossed a few mushy losers aside.

I was thankful for my gen-yoo-wine, wide-brimmed, Salvadorean cowboy hat as a protection from the 90-degree sun and humidity. Oddly, though, it wasn’t completely debilitating. There was a nice breeze and as we wound up I felt a definitive sense of pride for having braved the Texas summer to produce great food that I don’t have to worry about feeding my loved ones. Lauren, freshly injected with TEXAS PRIDE ®, opined that the ability to withstand withering heat, while doing the same stuff that everyone else in the world does, but with that freaking burning ball of fury beating on you, gives you an extra inch of height and a hypodermic shot of badassitude-D. Although some people have a glandular disorder that turns an injection of badassitude-D into full-blown delusion.

And even now, ripening on my counter sit two delicious, organic tomatoes ready to go into a Lauren frittata.

I leave you with Guy Clark:

Ain’t nothin’ in the world that I like better
Than bacon & lettuce & homegrown tomatoes
Up in the mornin’ out in the garden
Get you a ripe one don’t get a hard one
Plant `em in the spring eat `em in the summer
All winter with out `em’s a culinary bummer
I forget all about the sweatin’ & diggin’
Everytime I go out & pick me a big one
Homegrown tomatoes homegrown tomatoes
What’d life be without homegrown tomatoes
Only two things that money can’t buy
That’s true love & homegrown tomatoes

What? You don’t know what “223 872245489” means?

Guess what, I didn’t know what this meant either:

The alphabetical phone number must have been a marvel back in the day when Ma Bell leased you a phone, but in the age of cell phones where price and button real-estate is at a premium, I found myself baffled as to how to call. Why? My phone doesn’t put the alphabet on the buttons; nor does the screen simulation have them.

Why would you not make the image hot-clickable to a real number? Or under the FAQ list the phone number as something besides the alphabetical number? I understand on the front you want to keep a consistent “hey we’re easy to call” thing going on — but somewhere, give me the freakin’ digits already. I suspect this is one of those arguments that a design person had to suffer, and lose, to some marketing guy:

DESIGNER: “But it’s not usable. How will people call us if they need to”
MARKETING APPARATCHIK: “They will dial 800-2REVIEW”
D: “Right, but say they need the number”
MA: “They will dial 800-2REVIEW”
D: “Yes but you see there’s no numbers there, you might not be able to dial it on a phone”
MA: “Sure you can, just dial 800-2REVIEW”
D: “But can’t we put the digits there somewhere”
MA: “Why would they need that, they can dial 800-2REVIEW”
D: “Sometimes the people, they like to see the numbers, you know: people with visual impairment, for example, or say their phone doesn’t have the letters on it”
MA: : “Why would a phone not have letters on it”
D: “Dunno, I hear some people use cell phones”
MA: : “Well, we’re not going to let their defective phones ruin our consistent marketing image”
D: “But…”

By the way, here’s what 223 872245489 translates to:

Lauren and I will be volunteering at Urban Gardens this weekend from 0930 - 1200. If you’re interested in coming along ( plus seeing me in a giant genuine Honduran straw hat ), let me know.

“een vrijwilliger?”

Such were the immortal words of my Dutch teacher when prompting us to hazard, more often than not, a guess at what the answer to some question was. The translation would be “a free-will-er”, or a volunteer. My work recently sent out an email letting us know about a volunteer opportunity that I thought was pretty interesting:

Urban Roots, a program of Youth Launch, has a one acre garden in Austin that is worked by 15 middle and high school students in the Austin area. The food that is grown in the garden is donated to five Austin area hunger relief agencies. Left over produce is sold at a farm stand in East Austin, which is operated by the students. The mission of Urban Roots is:

• Making fresh food available to East Austin residents
• Learning the importance of eating locally
• Learning the importance of sustainable agriculture

Three volunteers from Cisco helped out at the Hands of the Earth farm on Saturday morning (May 10). Fortunately, the clouds gave us a much needed break from the hot sun. Upon arrival we were given nametags and then we all formed a circle and did a few team building exercises to break the ice and wake up. Then we divided into four different groups, each with two interns as team leads. We harvested beets, onions, and collards; washed produce at the washing stations; laid onions out in tent to await washing/distribution (lots and lots of onions!); used a hula-hoe (great piece of gear!) to weed in between plant rows; covered rows of squash with material to keep out the squash bugs; hand-weeded; and planted seeds for various new crops. It was work, but the time flew by!

Wow, talk about the nexus of so many Obamanian virtues: team-building, waking-up, sustainable farming, urban development through economic stimulation ( actually, a Reaganite virtue ), thinking of the children, eating locally, local produce, multiplier effect of money in local economies, East Austin, getting outside, etc.

So, my lady and I are going to be out there on June 14th at oh-nine-thirty in the morning.

Weird to think that I think of a certain presidential candidate as representing a set of virtues versus being, himself, and icon of vice. The O-Koolaid is good.