I'm dreaming of a [green] Christmas.

I'm going to keep this brief tonight because it's 10:09pm and I'm sleepy.

So here it is, three things I love about Austin:

1) Trails. Running trails. Biking trails. Awesome trails. I ran on one today. Three whole miles. It's day one of 1/2 Marathon training. I shouldn't tell you that because maybe I won't stick with it, and you'll all be disappointed in me and stop reading my blog and stop being my friends and then I'll end up being sad and alone.

Aww. Don't do that to me! I'll stick with it, I promise.


2) Wine bars. Vino Vino in particular, with its walls and walls of wine:

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I only had one glass, I promise. I chose the Palagetto. ("well balanced with edgy acidity, soft and creamy with long, honey filled finish"). It was delightful. I went with a friend of mine from back home, though we weren't really friends back home. We happened to meet when she rode with me from Northern Michigan to Indianapolis one Christmas, set up by mutual acquaintances. Then we were Facebook friends. Then we both came to Austin. Yes, the world is just that small.

I told her the secrets of Texas. Like where you can find cowboys and how Blue Bell is the best ice cream ever.


3) I should have a number three, right? Good things come in threes...so, um...I've got nothing. OH! How about this? It just cracks me up. Christmas decorations and events WITHOUT SNOW. Since it's almost December, things are popping up all over the place.

This is my second winter south of the Mason-Dixon, and it's still super bizarre to me. This is what Christmas SHOULD look like:

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And this is Christmas in Texas:

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People. Polar bears don't belong on green grass. They need ice and snow and cold things. That just looks all kinds of not natural.

Nonetheless, this Saturday is the lighting of the Capitol Christmas Tree. Cheesy? Yes. Odd? Absolutely. Going? You better believe it.

Want to come? You should. You know you want to.



Crud. Now it's 10:43 and Bennet wants to go out and I'm still not in bed. Fail.

Oh yes, they’ll sell liberty for a quieter life.

I slept terribly last night. It took me ages just to fall asleep. Then, as soon as I did, Bennet woke me up by growling at nothing and then I had very strange dreams which I don't remember, but I do know I woke up thinking, "What the deuce?" while feeling very vulnerable and a wee bit scared to go back to sleep.

I blame A Clockwork Orange. After a whirlwind tour of the book, apparently those images (and carryovers from seeing the movie a couple of months ago) seeped in further than I expected. So thank you, Anthony Burgess, for robbing me of my much-needed good night's sleep.

I'm going to need a lot of sunshine and lollipops to get over this one.

Oh wait, I have lollipops.

Compliments of my friend Jeff, who wanted me to take some dumb survey for his grad school class, to which I agreed, but only if I would be given a lollipop for my trouble. I never actually expect people to take me seriously, but when they do...well, I have a lollipop, don't I? I'd call that a good day.

So anyway, back to A Clockwork Orange.

I believe the term used most often and most vehemently at book club last night was, "disturbing."  As bizarre as it is for me to say, all things considered, this is one instance in which I was glad to have seen the movie prior to reading the book. Stanley Kubrick actually closely followed the American version of the text, and successfully gave me the willies with his movie, so that now the words on the page seemed almost...mild.

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Comparative evaluations mean little, though, when the difference is between reading about very graphic, violent, sexual acts or seeing them on the telly. It's all twisted and disturbing and frightening, and these actions land our Humble and Faithful Narrator, a 15-year-old boy named Alex, in prison to serve a 16-year sentence for murder.

The really mind-boggling portion of the book is just beginning. Because after just two years in jail, Alex is chosen for a brand new experimental program - the Ludovico technique - that promises to completely recondition him to return to society within two weeks' time.

This reconditioning is purely a game of associations. Until now, Alex has gained joy from his acts of violence. Now, the doctors build an intolerance in him so that even the tiniest thought of cruelty makes his stomach turn. They manipulate his mind and body so that he cannot physically endure any violent thought or act against another man or being.

He became good, in the most basic sense. But they robbed him of the will to do good in the meantime, while also taking away much of the joy he derived from even non-violent acts, like music. Alex was a great lover of classical music. They took that away, and made it painful for him to endure.

And then they set him loose. Which (shockingly) goes poorly.

And the government feels just terrible, because here they used this controversial technique and they couldn't possibly have their little experiment go awry. So they fix it all up and make it better. And Alex lives on happy and free, eventually abandoning his wicked ways for more acceptable pursuits like marriage and parenthood. The end.

I'm still not sure how I feel about the book (and the fact that I'm even on the fence sets me apart from my co-clubbers, who pretty much hated it). I don't like the violence and the horror of it, and I'm not in love with the 21st chapter that Burgess fought so hard against the removal of for the American release (the end is rather cliche). I did, however, find the philosophy of the text to be brilliant. The question is simple, but profound: is it better to live freely, with risk of violence and fear as well as joy, or to control ourselves and those around us so that things are "right"? And if you are good not because you choose goodness, but because you are forced into it, is it still good?

My favorite application of this point from last night's discussion: what do we do with hyperactive kids? Medicate! Is that not controlling their minds to make them more "socially acceptable?" I'm still very young, and yet even I remember when hyper kids were told to go play outside, not handed a pill. Seriously, what is that?

The beauty of novels is that they allow us to ask those questions. Most of the books that have been made "classics" were met with controversy because they forced questions, and some folks just don't like that.

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Burgess' writing also fascinated me. A page in, I texted a friend of mine to ask if he'd ever read the book. "I feel like I'm reading The Jabberwocky," I said, "Except it's 200 pages long."

I love The Jabberwocky. I love that it makes absolutely no sense, and yet it does.

In the same way, Burgess created his own language for the novel, supposedly to help distance us from the world he'd created because it was too harsh, too violent to be set in the current age. He made these words, that sounded like other words, and had no real meaning, and gave them meaning.


Turns out, the dialect of the "nadsats" (teens) is a mixture of schoolboy slang, personal invention, and a whole lot of Russian.

Think about it: Russia. 1961. Soviet Union. Socialism. Control. Lemmings. Got it? Makes sense, right? Guess somebody ate their Wheaties this morning.

And, for the record, book clubs are pretty great. It was fun to not just decipher this pile o' pages on my own. Their thoughts sparked my thoughts, and their research gave more depth to my own. Next month is Animal Farm. I'll be there.

Mmmkay, I'm now going to go put on happy music, lick a lollipop, and not think about scary things that go bump in the night.

What's it going to be then, eh?

Fun fact: I write most of my blog posts in my kitchen.

It's true. I'm standing there right now, with my computer on the counter, directly above my dishwasher, and in front of the cactus cookie jar that holds treats not for me, but for Fuzzybottom.

Sometimes, when I don't want to stand, I sit on the stool that I keep in the kitchen with my laptop in my, well, lap. I have a stool here at all times because there's only so many cupboards one can reach from a stunning height of five feet tall.

Tonight, however, my legs feel a bit like they might either fall off or simply cease to hold my weight, so I'm moving this party to my bed, where we can get a little more comfortable.

Scandalous, I know. But please, people, let's keep things proper. My mother reads this blog.

(I'm absolutely certain there's going to be a shocked "Carolyn Jo!" issued for that comment. Or at least an eye roll.)

My legs hurt because I biked to church this morning. And, as I am prone to do, I underestimated the distance between the hall and my apartment ("Oh, it's only a couple of miles.") -- it's three point three miles if you take the route Google Maps suggests. If you tend to get veered off course, like I do, it's quite a bit further. Something like four miles. With lots of hills.

I managed to make it closer to six on the way back. I know, I'm special. I blame the trail. It winds around.

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But before I embarked on my return voyage, I walked around downtown, window shopping at the boutiques I can't afford and grabbing lunch. Then I ran into someone I met at church a couple of weeks ago, and I got coffee while she ate lunch and we chatted. For both my lunch and hers, we went to Austin Java at City Hall on 2nd Street. Not bad. The veggie burger wasn't life-changing (potentially out of a box), but they have iced Vietnamese coffee, which is my current favorite and not everyone serves. Plus, the staff was super pleasant, and there's a lot of outdoor seating, which was lovely until the wind kicked up and tried to blow my salad away. The cupcakes looked yummy too, though I didn't indulge. It was bad enough that I was spending money to eat out when I stocked my cupboards just last week.

It was almost four by the time I got home, and Miss Bennet met me at the door all excited and antsy and wanting attention like whoa. So I parked my bike and we went to the dog park.

Mmmkay, remember that post I wrote Miss Bennet wrote a couple weeks ago, about the aggressive doggies? Summary: If your dog is aggressive, don't bring it to the park.

Well let's chat about that again. Today there was not one, but two major fights, involving some of the same dogs both times. One lady whose pet was in the midst of it decided to respond by standing close to the mess and screaming (thanks, honey, that's very effective). Bennet's response to all this craziness was to jump into my lap and watch from a safe distance.

People, she's not very big, but neither am I. My lap is definitely not well-sized for a Bennet. Nonetheless, there she sat until I finally shoved her off to go play, and I put down my book to be on my guard. Some of the bad doggy owners left with their pets, but not all. I should have left too.

Because then one of the dogs (who may or may not have been a fighter) decided to approach Miss Bennet, who was leaning against my legs, and, unprovoked, start snapping and growling at her. It's a big dog, so I'm not sure what to do. I'm hesitant to touch an aggressive dog at all, and though I considered picking B. up to get her out of harm's way, I was afraid the dog would have jumped at both of us. So the owner finally takes notice, starts casually calling Mean Doggy from her chair over yonder, but this dog is hell-bent on making B's life miserable.

Then it snaps at Bennet and catches my knee.

OH HELL NO.

I jump to my feet, furious, and see one of Mean Dog's owners finally strolling to the scene. I start yelling at him to get his dog away from my dog because it just bit me. Some other guy asks if we should call the police, since I was bit, but it didn't really break the skin and all I really want to do is get out of there, so I call Ben-Ben and storm out to the double-gated entrance. She's more than happy to leave, but we stand there for a moment, glaring across the park at the owner who didn't say a word to me. Though I just want to go, I'm shaking so hard I'm hesitant to drive until I calm down.

Jolly good time, eh?

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When we get home, I have approximately one hour to finish reading A Clockwork Orange, which I started yesterday, in order to participate in the I Read Banned Books club at BookPeople.

70 pages. One hour. Go.

I did it. I finished the book at 6:32pm, got ready, and arrived at the store with 5 minutes to spare.

Go me.

And I'm going to tell y'all about it. Really.

However, this post is already far too long, and it's nearly 10:00pm, and I have to return to work tomorrow, so you're just going to have to wait.

Ignore this, please.

Nothing to see here. Move along.

Tender Is The Night (But Thank God it's Over)

Just now, I have FINALLY finished Tender is the night. It's a week overdue at the library, but I sincerely doubt anyone is chomping at the bit to have it returned. If I hadn't committed to finishing it, I would have sent it back two weeks ago.

F. Scott Fitzgerald and his wife Zelda. (via)

Quite frankly, now that I've finished it, my impressions are no different.

The book begins by talking about a girl -- an American actress vacationing with her mother on the French Riviera. At first, it seems that the story is about her, or at least that she is a main character, but we quickly find out that she is merely a static character who weaves her way in and out of the story -- not inconsequentially, yet easily replaced by any other name or face. Through Rosemary, we are introduced to a privileged group of vacationers who share her beach, a group that includes the charismatic doctor Dick Diver and his beautiful wife Nicole.

It is Dick's story that the novel tells, and as the group moves into Paris and ultimately disperses, we learn more about this man and his past. An American, he came to Europe as a doctor for the army, and stayed on to write and to study topics of psychology. On a brief visit to a friend at a clinic in Switzerland, he was introduced to Nicole Warren, daughter of a wealthy businessman from Chicago, sent to the sanitarium to be cured of her psychosis. When he returns to Zurich to work at the clinic, he develops a relationship with the 16-year-old girl that goes beyond doctor and patient; he falls in love with her, and she with him. And then, believing that a closer relationship would allow him to help her more, he marries her.

The rest of the story chronicles the five years following the couple's encounter with Rosemary, and how that one spark of change -- in which Dick found himself falling in love with another woman, though, at the time, fighting to uphold his loyalty to his wife -- proved the catalyst for their eventual ruin. It is a story of love lost in clinical duty, of failures of business and heart, and of vitality and charisma that give way to bitterness and drunkenness.

Simply put, it's a terrible story. There is no happy ending, there is no heroic resolution. It just is.

That alone made the book difficult to get through. Infidelity, conflicts, and sadness permeate every page of the text. Even more, sometimes I found myself completely lost in the story, and having to return one or two pages to get my bearings and figure out what the devil was going on.

The interesting thing about the writing style is that, unlike The Great Gatsby, in which Fitzgerald chose a narrator (Nick), and followed him throughout the tale, this book moves effortlessly between narrators, though the entire tale is told in third person.

First, we see the world, and the Divers, through Rosemary's eyes. Though they are ultimately the heart of the story, we meet them as strangers, not with an immediate intimate knowledge of them, but as mysteries that only unfold through time spent together.

Then, as Rosemary leaves their side, the dialogue rests heavily on Dick - his actions, his past, his motivations, his views. We follow him all around Europe, sometimes with his family, and sometimes without, learning more about Nicole only through his disclosures and experiences.

And then finally, the book ends with Nicole at the helm, and we find ourselves regarding Dick as one regards a distant cousin, with little more than a polite interest in his whereabouts. Yet we can't help but feel sorry for him, knowing how he once was, and knowing that our hero has fallen from grace in a sad modern tragedy.

Even more interesting is Fitzgerald's relationship with his own novel. Every introduction to this work that I have read calls it vaguely autobiographical. For years, Fitzgerald fought beside and for his wife as she battled her own mental illness. Except in their case, I believe, he remained faithful, her fight ended in her death, and his success, found primarily before her decline, was only moderately impaired by his focus on her health. Perhaps, then, this story is a way that Fitzgerald might have wished his own tale to go. For all the bad things that lead to it, Tender is the Night ends with Nicole healthy and strong; if Fitzgerald loved and fought for his wife as hard as those introductions would suggest, it's quite possible he would have traded his own wellness, esteem, and success to that same end for Zelda, had it been possible.

I didn't even SparkNotes that. I'm getting better at this.

And the more I write, the more of an appreciation I'm gaining for the novel as a work of written art. That doesn't mean I like it. But I can appreciate it.

And that's good enough.

Have libraries, will travel.

My older brother is a huge baseball fan, so every once in a while, he and a friend of his will take a road trip to a different Major League ballpark. I have no idea how many they've seen because I don't pay a lot of attention to those details when our mother passes them along to me.

I, personally, have been to three Major League ballparks. Four, if you count Tiger Stadium and Comerica Park. I'm going to. So four.

While I do enjoy a game or two, I'm not exactly checking off a list here. It's not that important to me because I'm not on that level of fan-dom.

However, my nerd came out to play when I saw this list of the 10 Most Beautiful Public Libraries in the United States. Not only am I an epic bibliophile, I also love me some really great architecture. I would totally make a trip to see some of them:

Maybe I'll head out to New England next fall:

The McKim Building of the Boston Public Library

GORGEOUS.

Or, if I didn't have already pre-conceived negative notions of the city based on a summer spent in nearby New Jersey, I could go to Philadelphia:

Parkway Central Library, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

AMAZING.

Or I could honor my ancestors and heed the call to Go West, Young (wo)Man:

Seattle Central Library.

Okay, is anyone surprised that this one is in Seattle?? Okay, I've never been there, but I just have this impression that the city is full of nerds and sci-fi geeks.*

My favorite library ever (that I've been to in-person) didn't make the list, sadly. Probably because it's not a public library. No matter, I'd like to honor it here. 'Cause it's my blog and I can throw out some love anytime I want to.

Hatcher Graduate Library, University of Michigan

Oh, I spent many an hour on those beautiful front steps. And, in case you're wondering, those squares in the sidewalks make pretty awesome outlines for a wicked game of four-square. I know you were wondering.









*This was confirmed by a Seattle-ite who claims that Seattle-ites read more than any other city because of bad weather and big brains. Um, okay. Whatever reason you want to give for it, I'm still right. And we all know that's the important part.




Public Library Photos: via
UofM Grad Library Photo: via

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HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!

May your holiday be joyful, 

may your stomach be full, 

and may you always get the 

long end of the wishbone.

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The Curious Case of Translation to Film

I watched the Curious Case of Benjamin Button last night, and was surprised to learn, in the credits, that it was based on a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I knew it had to be a loose translation, considering that Fitzgerald died right around the time the movie's characters were coming of age.

So I looked it up. They used the title, and the concept.

And that's about it.

I wasn't surprised by this. I typically find movie adaptations of books fairly aggravating, but it blows my mind when Hollywood changes the story entirely.

For example, My Sister's Keeper, which came out last year. The book is one of my favorites, and I was stoked to find out about the movie. I went to see it with two of my friends who also had read the book and thus knew the story. And the movie was pretty good, except for a couple of directional choices (aka...cast) that I wouldn't have gone with.

UNTIL THE END.

All caps is important there, because it's foreboding. So at the end of the movie where {spoiler alert}, the older sister battling with cancer dies, everybody in the theater is crying and we're handing out kleenexes like tootsie rolls at a parade, and I'm NOT crying because I'm shocked and then indignant and then flat-out pissed because that's NOT WHAT HAPPENS IN THE BOOK.

Look, I've read several Jodi Picoult novels, and the woman is brilliant, albeit a little formulaic. There is always, always a twist at the end. Sometimes, even when you're expecting the twist, it comes around and you're still surprised because it's not the twist you were actually expecting.

Long story short, if you make a movie about the family of a girl who has cancer, and the little girl dies at the end, there is no twist. And since My Sister's Keeper is a Jodi Picoult story, and Jodi Picoult's stories all have twists, then the movie formerly referred to as My Sister's Keeper is not actually what it claims to be.

Yeah, that's right. I have a bachelor's degree in Philosophy. Four years and $40,000 to tell y'all that Hollywood missed the boat.

It's just so bizarre to me. I'll never understand the thought process behind changing a book for the screen. Especially when the book is one that has become famous or well-loved because of its story. If you thought it was so good that you wanted to make a movie, why did you change it?

Oh, hello cupcake.

So, a little more than a week ago, I finally tried Hey Cupcake! The exclamation point is not because it's exciting (though, let me tell you, it is...). That's how it's spelled. It's not just "Hey. Cupcake." or even "Hey, cupcake." It's "HEY CUPCAKE!"

You think I'm joking?

I'm not.

(via a really hilarious photo collection of the U.S.'s obsession with all things food and obscenely large)

See?

Anywho, last Saturday (or really, last last Saturday), I was headed to a friend's house to hang out. She was making dinner, and I already wasn't having a great day and I happened to have a stray $10 bill, which bought three cupcakes and left a tiny tip. Which means, yes, I probably got ripped off because really, who spends $2.75 PER CUPCAKE? Well, I do, because let's face it...it was the best cupcake I've had in a long time.

Like I said, I got three, because I wasn't sure what kind my friend would want, so I was determined to have options, and if I was going to blow $10 on cupcakes, I might as well blow the ENTIRE $10.

So I got a Vanilla Dream (just like the one on top of the trailer!), a Double Dose (chocolate on chocolate), and a 24 Carrot (Ha. Get it? Like gold, except DELICIOUS). I ate the Vanilla Dream. It was amazing. Mary ate the 24 Carrot, and seemed quite pleased. And then I ate the Double Dose for breakfast the next day.

You've done it. Don't judge me.

This past Wednesday I ran home from work, let Puppy McPuppypants out to tinkle, then ran back out the door for Happy Hour.

Since my real goal in life is not to write this ridiculous blog, but to save the world, it's important to me that I network with other do-gooders of similar intent.

Thus, I participated in a delightful mixture of libations* and chatter, at the Austin Young Nonprofit Professionals Network's monthly Do-Gooder Happy Hour. This month, it was held at Opal Divine's in Penn Field (off of Congress), where the margaritas were just $3.00, perfect for a girl on a budget.

Saving the world doesn't pay very well, you know.

It was all women this month, except for one for-profit husband who tagged along, and it was a lot of fun. Truth be told, we didn't talk much about strategies for ending world hunger. However, we did discuss the perplexing phenomenon that is Texas pride.

Seriously, people. What is up with it? In Michigan, we're not all, "I love Michigan first, and that country we kind of belong to second." I mean, it's practically Canada. And totally divided from the rest of society by those big lake things. We could totally pull off the "We're going to secede!" thing.  Though I'm not sure anyone would care...economically-speaking, Michigan is a bit of a tumor in the side of our great nation at the moment. I'm sure there are plenty who wouldn't be opposed to just cutting it out. But those people are not my friends. 'Cause I have Michigan pride. 

(As a side note, my friend Whitney does have a Michigan tattoo on her wrist. That's some unprecedented Great Lakes pride right there. And I say, right on, friend.)

This weekend I had big plans to go (finally) see those dinosaurs at the Botanical Gardens. But unfortunately, I'm coming down with a virus, and so I was more sleepy than ambitious this weekend. Nonetheless, I did manage to take Bennet to two different dog parks, at one of which she met her twin, a slightly tanner, shorter-haired version of herself named Francis. And I got almost-registered for classes at ACC. And I made potato-parsley-corn soup. And stocked up on yummy foods for my cabinets. And waged war on the weevils who had previously inhabited my cabinets.

And yet still didn't finish that dumb book I'm working through. You know, the one about the guy and the girl, written by that one dude.

Okay, okay, it's called Tender is the Night. By F. Scott Fitzgerald. And I'm ALMOST finished, I promise. As long as 80 pages to go can be considered almost.

Okay, fine. Why don't I just get off of here and go read. Would that make you happy?




*Libations is a favorite word of mine, thanks to my high school English teacher. We used to have "coffee shop readings" in class, and she'd tell us to bring libations. Generally, it infers alcohol. We were 17. We thought it was scandalous when we looked it up and found that out. Yet caffeine was enough of a drug. At least for me, but then again I'm the girl who didn't have her first sip of liquor until four months AFTER turning 21. I know, I'm such a rebel.

I like these things.

I have nothing particularly interesting to say tonight. I'm still reading Tender is the Night....it's due on Saturday, so I have to finish it pretty quickly now. I will say that it's just starting to get scandalous. I'm amazed by what these old novels got away with; this is not the quaint, innocent age of old we like to think of. There's a high dosage of innuendo in every chapter, and a lot of other heavy topics besides.

In any case, I thought that tonight I'd pass along a few interesting things I've seen and bookmarked lately:

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I don't know whether to love or hate this. Part of me, the little tradition-loving, old-things-adoring part, says "YOU DESTROYED A BOOK?!? HOW COULD YOU?!?" And the other part says, "A-MA-ZING. DO IT AGAIN!"

And since I have no respect for math books whatsoever, I kind of love this one:

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Best use of a math book I've ever seen. Ever. See more from the artist at the Hokey Stokes! blog.

And while you're out there browsing the web, check out this list of 10 Unfinished Novels written by famous authors.

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I love and hate the publication of unfinished novels in the same way that I love and hate book art: I'm intrigued by it, and it can be beautiful, but in the same token it seems to almost discredit the authors to publish these works. As a sometimes-writer-who-doesn't-have-the-patience-to-actually-write-books, I know that there is an INSANE amount of work that goes into writing, re-writing, editing, and preparing a manuscript. It is painstaking work, and for most of the authors on that list, the task was done without the modern conveniences of computers or even typewriters (No wonder so many books were unfinished at the time of their deaths; can you imagine churning out a 600-page novel out by hand?).


Putting these incomplete works out into the world is like displaying a half-iced cake in the window of the bakery after the baker's sudden and untimely death. It just doesn't seem right.

I found both of these articles on the blog at Out of Print Clothing, a mission-based clothing company that donates a book to a community in need for every shirt purchased. Most of the shirts are printed with original cover art from classic novels, like these for The Catcher in the Rye and On the Road:

Recently, they collaborated with an artist to add some inspired new designs, like these for The Great Gatsby and The Outsiders:

Not surprisingly, my two favorite tees are for my two favorite books ever:

Love them. Love love love.


(all pics via)

From her, to you, with licks and wiggles.

As a dog owner, I love how canine-friendly Austin is. Miss Bennet and I visit one of the many dog parks in the city at least once a week. Normally, we have a great time, but tonight Bennet had a traumatizing experience and she asked my permission to compose an open letter to all the other dogs and their people. Not surprisingly, she's no less long-winded than I am.



Dear Fellow Dog-Parkians,

I've always thought I was a pretty smart pup, and now Carolyn is letting me show you all how smart I am by writing this letter on her blog.

Tonight Carolyn took me to my favorite dog park. It's the big one down by the river, and I got excited as soon as I saw Carolyn put on her shoes. She has a lot of shoes, but she wears a different pair to the dog park than anywhere else. My tail started wagging right away, and then she picked up my leash and oh boy was I excited!

Usually when we go to the park I don't see any dogs I know. I guess there are a lot of dogs in this city. I used to see the same dogs all the time, but now I'm always having to make new friends. I don't think I'm very good at it; I'm never sure what to say or do. Sometimes I just stay close to Carolyn and watch the other dogs run around.

Tonight, though, there was a dog I had met before. She's a little bigger than me, and mostly black. She's not very nice. Last time I saw her, she wasn't very nice, and she wasn't nice this time either. She kept running up to me and growling. I don't like to play when other dogs growl, so I laid down in the dirt and hoped she'd go away. She didn't. She bit me, and I yelped. Carolyn called to me, and the other dog went away for a while, but she came back. I couldn't even get to Carolyn when she called this time, and when I finally did, the other dog still tried to get me. A nice man pulled her away and then finally her people came and took her home.

After the not-nice dog left, I stayed next to Carolyn and wouldn't play. I was scared of the other dogs. I thought they might be mean too, and I didn't want to find out.

I wish other dogs would be nicer at the park. It makes me sad when they're mean. I'm a very nice pup. I snuggle and lick and love on my people and I always play nice with other dogs. Well, sometimes I bark at the other dogs when they play fetch in the river. Carolyn doesn't like that. But I almost always play nice.

I think if a dog can't be nice, they shouldn't get to come to the park. Sure, we're just dogs, but that doesn't mean we should get away with everything. Carolyn taught me that. She used to send me to my kennel whenever I had any fun. But now I know not to do those things. I don't make her upset, and I don't have to go to my kennel. Even at the park, she's always watching me. I know because whenever I do anything wrong, she yells my name.

I hear there are schools for puppies where they can learn how to be good. I was so smart that I didn't have to go to one of those; Carolyn taught me at home. But maybe some dogs' people need a little help, and that might be a good place to go.

Carolyn probably won't take me to the park again for several days. She says it gets dark too early, and she doesn't get home from work in time to take me. I hope the mean dog isn't there the next time I go. I really do love going to the park.

What I don't love is having a bath afterwards. Carolyn just started the water running, and I know she's coming to get me. I'm going to go hide under the bed, and maybe then she won't be able to find me.

Licks and tail wiggles,

Miss Bennet


Update from Carolyn: She's clean! Contrary to her own belief, baths are not torture and she did not die. Though she did actually hide under the bed as soon as I turned on the water.

 

Calling all writers.

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The Austin Chronicle, along with BookPeople and local radio station 93.3 KGSR, is sponsoring its annual short story contest.

2500 word maximum, and submissions must be postmarked by December 15, 2010.

Open to anyone...not just Austinites or Texans.

(Perhaps an opportunity to use that NaNoWriMo novel that didn't quite happen?)

Details here!

Hello Friday.

It has been a long week. I've had a lot to do, a lot on my mind, and not nearly enough time or mental capacity to handle it all. To make it all worse, we went into Daylight Savings Time. I'm not sure what we're saving because now it's dark when it should be light. Stupid Puppy (also known as my loving sidekick Miss Bennet) is all sorts of hyper because the sun goes down not long after I get home from work, and I won't take her to the dog park in the dark.

Anywho, I got an email this week from the Ann Arbor District Library, telling me that my library card is about to expire.

Huh.

I haven't lived in Ann Arbor in nearly two years, but apparently I renewed my card just before I moved away, and it's just now expiring. Go figure.

It made me think about all the library cards I figuratively have in my wallet at the moment. I actually went through it not too long ago and got rid of everything I didn't need anymore. But theoretically, if I still had the physical cards, I would have access to five different libraries in five different counties and two states.

I believe this says two things about me:

1) I need to stop moving so often (um, yeah).
2) I'm a complete and total nerd. Who gets a library card when you only live in a town for six months? That's right...me. Nerd.

I guess you knew the second thing, since you're reading this.

So let's chat about my nerdiness.

I already told you that I finished The Sun Also Rises. The Hemingway Party, as I have chosen to call our wine bar night, was scheduled for yesterday. However, I wasn't feeling well as the afternoon at work dragged on, so I canceled it at the last minute. Or rather postponed it. There will be wine, and it will be soon.

Instead of going out on the town for the nectar of the elite, I came home, put on sweats, and watched this:

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And then I intended to read a little of this:

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But I must admit that I was a terrible little bookworm, and I went to bed instead.

Though I've read just a few chapters of it this week (along with the introduction) I'm really looking forward to it. I like Fitzgerald's own prompting, inscribed in a friend's copy:

"If you liked The Great Gatsby, for God's sake read this. Gatsby was a tour de force but this is a confession of faith."

Why yes, I actually quite enjoyed The Great Gatsby and I'm intrigued by this other, very different, novel that took nearly a decade of Fitzgerald's life to write. So I'll let you know how it goes.

On a more Austin note, I'll be focusing in the next couple of months on the fun free things Austin has to offer. In part because the holidays are coming, and in part because I'm an hourly employee with a two-week break and no holiday pay, it's a great time to be conserving some cash.

Tomorrow, while the weather is still good, I want to visit the Zilker Botanical Gardens. Especially because I just did an image search and found this:

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Dinosaurs? Yes please.

Prehistoric statues aside, I drive by the garden every day and always want to stop in. Except, as previously discussed, it gets dark 2.5 seconds after I walk out the door of work. Damn daylight savings time.

I also need to go pick up a couple more books from the library, including the copy of A Handful of Dust I reserved two weeks ago as well as A Clockwork Orange. There's a banned books club that meets monthly at BookPeople. I thought I'd read this first novel and see what it's like. I've never actually been in a book club before. And I'm not sure this is the book to start with (I saw the movie for the first time a few weeks back...freaky), but oh well. Jump in feet first, right?



P.S. BookPeople is having a 40th Anniversary celebration tomorrow starting at 11:30am. Apparently there will be a magician. Love it. Might go.

P.P.S. Did you know the Ann Arbor District Library is home to one of the city's fairy doors?

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I've never actually seen it myself. Apparently the little fairy house was under construction when I lived there, and I hardly ever went to that particular branch anyway. But alas, I may seek it out on my next visit north.

One of those things.

Does anybody remember those "Bad Idea, Good Idea" segments of Animaniacs? You know, like this one:



I had one of those moments today. Not kissing a total stranger, but a bad idea.

Good idea: Taking my camera to the park.

Bad idea: Taking my camera to the park in my back pocket.

I heard the screen pop as I was getting out of the car to check my mail. So that's no good.

In other news, I have a sale pending on my bike. Rock on.

The Sun Also Rises

As promised, I looked up the SparkNotes for The Sun Also Rises after finishing it on Thursday evening.

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There are a lot of nuances that I didn't pick up on.

Like the evolution in perceived masculinity that resulted from the experience of World War I, or the aimlessness of the younger generations. Or the fact that our narrator was rendered impotent as a result of his war injuries, and that is why his love won't actually be with him.

Had I read this novel in 1926 when it was published, I might have been a little more shocked by it.

In 2010, I wasn't surprised by weak male characters and strong female, nor by the accepted promiscuity of the token lady of the group. It didn't strike me as odd that a group of 30-somethings spent their days drinking, rather than doing.

The interesting thing about this novel, 85 years later, is actually its normalcy. It's a story that, with a change of wardrobe, could be successful on any prime-time network.

At 24, I'm somewhat younger than the characters in the novel (who were in their mid-thirties). And yet I see an aimlessness and dissatisfaction among my generation not-so-different from that observed by Hemingway. I see a large number of women with strong -- even forceful -- personalities, and a lot of men without.

I remember a conversation I had in college with another student and a professor, in which I pointed out the dynamics of the class. In this particular business course, with a fairly even ratio of genders, the women always led. What I observed then, at 21, had resulted from years of watching the girls encouraged and the boys silenced (or, at best, simply ignored), as if a boy's intelligence was somehow detrimental to a girl's.

It's an unfortunate backlash of the feminist movement (with roots stretching as far back as WWI, apparently), in which we've become so hypersensitive to treating women equally that we've stopped giving men the same respect. In fact, I would say that the expectations placed on boys at a young age are much lower than on girls (though this is not always true, especially in areas where "traditional" gender roles continue to be the norm), and the boys are often meeting those expectations.

However, the primary difference I see between my generation and the characters of Hemingway's novel is that we want to do something with our lives, but we can't. We poured hours and money and hope into our educations, but now can't find jobs (thank you economy). I know dozens of other 20-somethings beside myself, both male and female, who gained their degrees, spent a year or two volunteering with AmeriCorps or Peace Corps, and now possess massive amounts of debt, but no or low-paying jobs.

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We want to change the world, and we want to do something that matters with our lives. But can we?

I don't actually know. But in the meantime, a small group of us will be taking our cue from Jake, Brett, Robert Cohn, Bill, and Mike by visiting a wine bar this coming Friday. Perhaps we don't know quite what we're doing with our lives, but we, too, can enjoy some of the finding-out. It won't be Paris/Pamplona/Biarritz, but it should be enjoyable nonetheless. And no, Mom, I won't be drinking an entire bottle. One glass or two is more than enough for me.




Side note: While I didn't actually intend for this post to develop into a critique on the failings of society or the current economic situation, I'm not surprised. I firmly believe that the longevity of "classic" literature is due, in part, to its ability to make us ask difficult questions. After all, most of the books that have withstood the test of time are not fairy tales, but critiques.

1st Annual Gypsy Picnic Trailer Food Festival

I'm becoming more Austin-y already.

I bought a bike the other night. I already have a bike (actually, if you count the one at my parents' house, I have three...), but what I have is a beach cruiser. Perfectly suitable for the flat terrain of Galveston and the coastal plains. Not suitable for Hill Country. But don't tell the poor souls who might find it on Craigslist in the next few days.

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Buying a bike wasn't actually my intention on Friday night when I trekked up to the Yellow Bike Project on Webberville Road.

According to their website, Ausin's Yellow Bike Project "is an all-volunteer initiative to put bicycles on the streets of Austin and Central Texas by operating community bike shops, teaching bike mechanics and maintenance, and acting as a local bike advocacy group."

Interesting, right?

Besides using volunteers to fix up bikes for public utilization, YBP also engages in special projects as the opportunities arise. What interested me most was the "Earn-A-Bike" program in which, in exchange for a certain number of volunteer hours logged and projects completed, participants earn the right (and knowledge) to build their own bike for free using the various used parts and frames found in the shop.

That's what I intended to sign up for on Friday night when I walked in. Nathan, one of the shop coordinators (highly skilled volunteers who run the shop's open hours and offer their knowledge to customers and volunteers), was very helpful in telling me more about the project, how things work around the shop, and what the Earn-A-Bike program actually entails.

I ended up deciding to buy an already-complete bike, after test-riding it around the neighborhood. What I walked away with was a ready-to-ride bicycle, a greater appreciation for the work YBP is doing, and plans for the future, when I'll be back at the shop, volunteering to help out and learning more about bikes in the process.

Yesterday afternoon, after acquiring a helmet, I rode my new bike down to Auditorium Shores, the site of Austin's 1st Annual Gypsy Picnic Trailer Food Festival. The ride alternated between terrifying (going downhill) and grueling (heading back to the top). Switching from a beach cruiser to a mountain/road bike takes some getting used to, and I was a little unsure in my riding, which means I wasn't very stable. But the result was even better than I imagined -- I saw an entirely new side of Austin.

Being on a bike forces you to slow down, and to take in the scenery. Like this view from a hilltop school:

Beautiful, right?

So let's talk about the Gypsy Picnic.

When I got there I was hot, sweaty, and in serious need of agua. So I fought through the crowds to the bar tent at the back, where lines were short, grabbed two bottles of water, and walked out of the festival to the river where I could hear the music, but crowds were minimal.


When I was ready, I went back into the festival area to brave the lines.

Oh, the lines.

The Gypsy Picnic website has a running twitter-er of tweets mentioning the picnic. Most are excellent responses. Some are calling it a massive failure.

If the event was a failure, it was only because of their success. No joke. The event itself was fantastic. The atmosphere was fun, the weather was wonderful, the food was great (or so I assume) -- there were just too many people there. I arrived around three, halfway through the festival, and already some vendors were selling out. The lines wound back from each trailer and tent and mingled together so that you were never entirely sure who was in line, or for which trailer.

I found the Izzoz Tacos trailer (which, I am told, will change my life), and got in line. But, as I mentioned, it was past three, and I hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch. I was hungry, and realized something: I can go to any of these place at any time. So I abandoned my post, and was walking out of the festival when I ran into a couple of friends. We walked back through the festival so they could understand just how crowded it was, and then we went to Home Slice.

Best pizza ever. Just saying.

And just like that, I have a social life.

So a friend and I were hanging out at one of the bars downtown about a month ago when I ordered a drink called the "Hemingway." A couple of sips in, I spilled it all over the table, but that incident is of no real consequence to this story. The two of us sat there, considering the sweet flavor of the drink and debating what a cocktail named Hemingway should really be made of.

I believe the consensus was bitterness and misogyny.

I'm reading Ernest Hemingway's debut novel right now -- The Sun Also Rises. And while I'm not finding it particularly bitter or misogynistic (yet), I do find it quite odd. Take, for instance, one of my favorite quotes thus far:

"The road to hell is paved with unbought stuffed dogs."

And then there was a bit of discussion about the cause of the Civil War being related to the fact that Lincoln, Grant, and Davis were all in love with each other -- and Lincoln only freed the slaves because he lost a bet.

Both of those little tidbits were treasures from the tongue of a single character, and oh how lucky we are to have him in the story.

The rest of the book, thus far, has involved an amount of wine that would make even a frat boy blush, various triangles of both love and lust, and a whole lot of upper-class snobbery. I'm certain that there's some magic symbolism in there, so I'll shame my high school English teacher and skim the sparknotes when I'm finished.

The last few days, I've had only my lunch breaks and a few quiet moments in the evenings to read, thanks to a full social schedule and a lot of Tex Mex.

Monday I met up with a an acquaintance I met during ACL weekend; we'd been planning to go get tacos since that day, and though our dinner was short (she had to run off to church to serve with the Interfaith Hospitality Network, a collaborative effort to care for Austin's homeless), we pretty much decided we'd be BFFs. I think I'm also going to be BFFs with Torchy's Tacos, where we ate:

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We went to the permanent structure on S. First, but there are several Torchy's trailers around the city, all of which claim their tacos are "Damn Good." I agree. The fried avocado taco is A-MAZING. Get it. And then go running. I don't even want to think about how many calories are in there.

Then last night I had an awkward blind friend date with someone who knows people I know. It wasn't actually awkward, except for the fact that's she's like 10 inches taller than me. Seriously. Yes, I'm really short. Shut up.

We went here:

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Trudy's Tex Mex. Just East of Guadalupe on 30th. The food is great. The Mexican Margaritas are killer. It was Top-Shelf Tuesday, which means all the top-shelf liquors were discounted. We still split one, and I still felt it. Don't worry, though. I washed it down with an A-MA-ZING portobello quesadilla. Win. It was even amazing as microwaved leftovers today.

Tex-Mex friend-date number three was tonight, with a girl I met when she rode with me from northern Michigan to Indianapolis for a conference a few years ago. Random, I know, but she just moved to Austin, so we got together to for food and (as we found out today) to also celebrate her new job! We went here:

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Chuy's Fine Tex-Mex on Barton Springs. I went to one in Houston a couple of months ago with other friends from Michigan, so that's apparently a new theme for me. It's good though, really good. Like Trudy's, they also boast excellent margaritas (though a little less lethal), and it was happy hour so they were cheap (which DEFINITELY makes me happy). I got the strawberry. And the veggie enchiladas. The atmosphere is really fun too -- it's old-school diner meets ridiculous mish-mash of awesome.

After all that, I'm officially Tex-Mex'd OUT. Next stop...Ethiopian. Oh, and the 1st Ever Gypsy Picnic food festival this weekend at Auditorium Shores. Pretty much every food trailer that matters will be there. I'm super stoked.




Little side note...I'm realizing that I'm giving these places free publicity. But since I have a booming readership of um, one (hi Kyle!), I'm not too concerned about it just yet. When I get up to 10 I'll start asking for royalties.