I'm Just Being Frank

My earliest memories of getting a haircut were going to one of the two barbershops in my neighborhood.  Lamar Park Barber Shop was located next to Model Market and Hamlin Barber Shop was adjacent to Handy Andy Supermarket.  They were both old school affairs with red, white and blue barber poles out front announcing their intentions and mostly the same in terms of size and decor; four or five barber chairs and as many chairs to sit in while you waited.  There was usually a small black and white television broadcasting a sporting event if you went on a Saturday and it shared a formica end table in the corner with an ashtray and six month old copies of Sports Illustrated and Field and Stream.  The fluorescent lighting was dreadful, in fact I’m sure my 10 year old self used that very adjective to describe it at the time, and all of the barbers were nondescript older white men who wore smocks.  Honestly, I can’t say that I have a lasting memory of a single one of them, but I do have one lasting memory of all of them.  I still remember that after they finished cutting your hair they would take a wooden handled horse hair brush, dust it with talc, then sweep the back of your neck to get rid of all the tiny loose hairs.  To this day I can still  feel that brush and smell that talcum powder.

When I first came to Austin in the mid-seventies to go to school I set about learning the lay of the land and gathering important intel like places to park where you had the least likelihood of getting towed, who had the longest check float (you kids and your ATM cards; amateurs!) and of course where to find the cheapest pitcher of margaritas.  Also on that list was where to get my hair cut.  I don’t recall exactly how or why, but I ended up at a place called the Scarlet Angel Barbering Company. It was located in an old two story wooden house just north of campus on Guadalupe near 34th street.  Other than the barber pole out front it bore little resemblance to the barber shops of my childhood. The house, which sadly has since burned down, was painted lavender, had a beer tap in the waiting area and The Andrea True Connection may or may not have been playing on the sound system when I walked through the door for the first time.  But if there was any doubt that I had found my barber shop, it was quickly put to rest after I met my barber, Charlotte.  Charlotte was the first out lesbian I had ever encountered and she was without a filter (Note to self: “Lesbian Without a Filter” would be a great title for a future post.) Charlotte would regale me with tales of her exploits at a notorious lesbian bar at the time, The Hollywood.  She said that one night when she was there someone pulled out a pistol and started firing it into the air.  I’d like to think Loudon Wainwright III was in attendance and drew the inspiration for his song, “I Wish I Were a Lesbian” that evening.  I know I would have. 

I had been going to Charlotte for probably a year or so when she left somewhat abruptly. I don’t recall whether a U-Haul trailer was involved, but the upshot was that I needed to find someone new to cut my hair.  That was when I began my first long term barber relationship with Nancy.  Nancy worked alongside Charlotte and is everything Charlotte was not; gentle, soft spoken and I’m pretty sure has an aversion to any place where firearms and alcohol mix.  Nancy was a poet who just happened to cut hair.  I followed her from the Scarlet Angel to a salon in Brykerwoods and finally to 4001 Duval.  4001 Duval was originally a grocery store that served Hyde Park and is now a hair salon.  It’s a lovely space that combined with the time spent in Nancy’s chair provided an escape from the outside world if only for 45 minutes.  I would estimate that Nancy cut my hair for 15 years.  And while I’m not 100% certain, I think she may have been responsible for that amazing coif pictured above. Time and distance took its toll when I started a new job in the nineties and ultimately we broke up (I think I ghosted her, actually).  I’m happy to say, however, that we have kept in touch, have coffee together as time and pandemics allow and just recently ran into one another while having our cars serviced at the same time.  Her poetry is still very much a part of my life all these years later. 

As I began looking for a new barber/stylist located near my work I ended up at Supercuts a couple of times which is pretty much the one night stand of haircuts.  Leave the money next to the cosmetology license taped to the mirror and don’t forget to tip.  I did have a brief fling with a stylist who was the husband of a woman I worked with at the time.  His name was Herve and his parents owned a nearby salon.  He was also a train wreck.  After one particularly memorable incident in which Herve was a no show for my appointment and his mother had to call and tell him to get to the salon tout de suite,  I decided it was time to move on.  

About that time a new shopping center opened near my office and one of the tenants was a salon called Keith Kristoffer.  I figured, what the heck, I’m kind of desperate, I’ll give it a shot.  When I walked in there were two women standing behind the desk who looked like they were watching paint dry.  I asked if I could get a haircut and one of them, Kris, who I found out was the owner, said she would cut my hair.  Looking back I’m surprised that she wasn’t smoking a cigarette before flicking it onto the floor, crushing the butt with the heel of her shoe, then blowing smoke in my face and telling me, “Sure, I got nothin’ better to do.”  Kris cut my hair for the better part of 15 years.  I watched her children grow up and catered her oldest son’s and his wife’s rehearsal dinner right there in the salon.  We enjoyed a bond that comes from seeing someone you connect with if only for an hour once a month.  I can still remember the time I went to get my haircut after my mother’s passing and Kris asked me how she was doing.  The look on her face in the mirror as I tried to keep my composure is one that is burned into my memory.  We shared a lot of moments; happy, sad, pissed off, until one day I sat in her chair and she said she had something to tell me; she was breaking up with me.  I got the standard “It’s-not-you-it’s-me” line but I was devastated nonetheless.  She assured me that she wasn’t going to leave me hanging and had someone new already lined up to cut my hair: her daughter, Madison, the little girl who used to come in after school and help out around the salon absorbing everything there was to know about cutting hair and ultimately running a successful business.  Madison has been cutting my hair for about three years now.  She has all of her mother’s talent (and then some) as well as a good bit of the same attitude. 

One of the things that I find interesting about the relationships we have with the people who cut our hair is how we communicate with one another – we talk to each other in front of a mirror for the majority of the time we are together, not really face to face.  While it seems kind of strange it also allows for an openness that can be difficult to achieve when looking someone directly in the eye.  What other setting can you think of in which you do that?  Note that standing in front of the bathroom mirror in the morning and telling yourself out loud, “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!” does not count.

I hope to have another long term barber relationship with Madison until I only have ten hairs left on my head, half of which will be in my ears. Though I can’t rule out the possibility I might break up with her.  Current Google search: Breck Guy+Wig.

11.09.19

To quote Bananarama, which I do quite often, it was a cruel cruel summer. Also, I heard a rumor, but that’s a topic for another post. The summer-that-wouldn’t-die finally did and it would appear that autumn has breezed right past us and we are headed straight into winter as we’re expecting our second freeze in as many weeks in just a couple of days. No matter, the earth’s crust has cooled, the rains have returned, and it has set the stage for seasonal planting.

This will be my second attempt at a fall/winter garden. I’m a bit more organized this year and have the beds grouped by cruciferous vegetables, leaf vegetables, and herbs. Some of the solid performers from last year; broccoli, cauliflower, chard, arugula and various types of lettuce, return. Against my better judgement I’m planting Brussels sprouts again (they were the size of marbles last year) because I really like them and want to be able to tell people, “These are MY Brussels sprouts Momofuko!” Kale didn’t make the cut this year (sorry, Karen). First time entries include Chinese cabbage, spinach, kohlrabi (mostly because I like saying it) and the one I’m most excited about, celery. Yes, I’m excited about CELERY.

I have extolled the virtues of gardening before. It isn’t just about growing your own food or even better, sharing your bountiful harvest with others. It’s a great lesson in managing the things we can control (types of plants, soil, fertilizer) and rolling with the things we can’t (weather, pests, critters). And if it results in the perfect garnish for a Bloody Mary then I’ll drink to that. Just make mine a virgin.

09.15.19

For an avid gardener like myself losing a plant, especially a tree, is both frustrating and a little sad. I find myself asking, “What did I do wrong? How did I fail you?” Putting aside for the moment that that probably says more about me than I care to own up to, it also reaffirms that some things are just out of our control.

I had a little olive tree that was planted by the builder who built my house three years ago. I say “little” but it was actually a pretty nice-sized tree at the time. The landscape designer who I work with estimated that it would retail for around $700. It was healthy and had a beautiful shape (not all olive trees do). It stood proudly by my front door and grew rapidly. It even produced a fair amount of olives though I never did realize my dream of pressing my own olive oil.

Then this past Spring something happened. Even though it bloomed and put on fruit, half the leaves began turning yellow and falling off. It did put on some new growth, but it was sparse. As summer set it in it began to lose the rest of its leaves making it easier for the mocking birds and opossums to eat the fruit that was still hanging on. Now it is, by all appearances, at death’s door. It’s worth noting that olive trees thrive in harsh climates so Austin Summers (which is my new dating profile name btw) are what they are used to unlike their human counterparts. I still hold out a smidgen of hope that once the weather cools down and we get some much needed rain it might be revived, but even if it does I fear it would never be the show piece that it was on the way to becoming.

So I’m a bit blue and my thumb is a little less green, but I shall rise up from the compost to garden another day. Plus, I now have a new online opening to try out: “Going out on a limb; Austin Summers seeks experienced arborist.”

02.14.21

I’ve said before that one of the lessons that gardening teaches us is to accept that some things are just flat out beyond our control and boy, Mother Nature is holding the master class on that subject this week. You can water during a drought to the point that you have to double check the decimal point on your utility bill. You can (responsibly) try to eradicate pests. You can build all kinds of elaborate barriers to prevent deer, squirrels, etc. from helping themselves to your precious crops before you do. And you can protect your plants from the cold. But when the temperature drops into single digits, and for extended periods of time, at some point you have to realize that you’ve lost the battle. And make no mistake, the loss this week will be tremendous for everyone.

I feel certain that my Meyer lemon tree will not survive the next few days. I’ve covered it and put a 60 watt light underneath it, but in the face of 6 degrees that is like trying to save a boat from sinking using a soup ladle. But oh, what a glorious finale it had! 85 lemons that not only I enjoyed but others did as well. I gave many (most) of them away that were in turn used to make lemon curd, limonocello, lemon-blueberry cake; all of which came back for me to enjoy. And that is why I love growing things. It brings me joy to grow it, it brings others joy to create with what I’ve grown and that joy then gets returned to me. Circle of Lemons.

I know that I will be back in the Spring to start all over because, well, it’s what you do if you love plants and gardening. I’m already researching citrus trees online. Who has a good key lime pie recipe?

I developed an affinity for automobiles early on as evidenced by the above photo. I don’t know how old I was, but I’m amused by the fact that the car I’m holding is missing a wheel cover. I’m guessing it was taken while I was simultaneously developing my anal retentive tendencies because that would not have been allowed to stand by time I got to first grade. As a kid I had all the toy cars; Matchbox, Hot Wheels and even a few coveted Corgis. When I was cleaning out my mom’s house in preparation for her move I found a small case containing several of them that she had saved. Bless.

Back in the day new car introductions were major events every fall. My dad was not a car guy at all, but he was a great dad and he knew how excited I was to see all the new offerings from Detroit (Japanese cars were pretty much nonexistent then and European cars with the exception of Volkswagens were considered something of a novelty) so he would dutifully take me to the car dealerships on a Saturday morning in September where I would collect all the brochures I could carry and then spend the afternoon in my room poring over them.

I often identified people by the cars they drove; teachers, friends of my parents, neighbors. One of the most notable was a single woman who lived on our street and drove a beautiful buttery yellow 1962 Thunderbird convertible. She was also the neighborhood slut. I remember being mesmerized by that car and vowed that one day I would own one and by golly, 40 years later I did. Though I was NOT the neighborhood slut despite what you may have heard about why I moved a few years ago.

Some of you remember my first car because you rode in it when we went to lunch at Taco Bell at least a couple of times a week during high school.

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It was a 1957 Chevrolet Belair 4 door hardtop that I bought with money I earned from sacking groceries at Handy Andy. Every car enthusiast has that one car they wish they’d kept and I suppose this would be mine. I paid the princely sum of $500 for it in 1973 and a quick search online shows similar models going for around $25,000 these days. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

After the ’57 Chevy I drove a succession of cars that were reflective of the times in which they were purchased and largely forgettable. The only real memorable one in the bunch was an Audi 5000 which I bought new in 1985. It earned that distinction not because it was the first imported car I’d ever owned, but rather because it was the biggest crapwagon ever. I only drove it for a couple of years and took a bath on it when I sold it. As a result of that experience I went straight to the Honda dealer, picked out a new Accord sedan, and kept coming back until about 5 years ago when I drank the Subaru Kool Aid. Sometime in the future if you’re watching the evening news and they air a segment about an elderly gentleman who drove his 2041 Outback through the front of a convenience store because he mistook the accelerator for the brake pedal don’t be surprised if it’s me.

And of course a lot of people remember the classic cars that I once owned.

1960 Buick Electra “Moby”

1956 Chevrolet 210 “Aquanette”

1962 Ford Thunderbird “Swoopy”

It was like having a full size Matchbox car collection though unfortunately they didn’t fit in a case I could keep under the bed or else I might still have them. I always liked to say that Moby was my first love, Aquanette was my true love and Swoopy was the lover who bled me dry but looked fabulous while doing it.

Cars have evolved quite a bit since I bought my first one nearly fifty years ago and the automotive industry in general is being transformed to a degree that’s on par with the introduction of the Model T. Developments like ride sharing, self-driving capabilities, connectivity and electrification all point to a future where we will view cars differently than we have in the past. And while it might not be the same feeling that this 9 year old had when he first laid eyes on a brand new Toronado on the showroom floor at Menger Oldsmobile, it’s still pretty exciting.

08.14.18

Some days the flowers speak to me in plaintive tones and so it was with these stems yesterday. Alstroemeria, or Peruvian lilies as they’re sometimes called, are the favored flower of locally owned coffee shops, vegan restaurants and bakeries everywhere. Sensing that my options were limited early on a Monday morning, I took their pleas to heart and decided to rescue them from a fate of being placed in generic salt and pepper shakers repurposed as bud vases and having them bear witness to an endless stream of Tinder first dates (“I love that this place serves free trade coffee, don’t you?” “I’m a HUGE Bon Iver fan too!” “You got a real purdy mouth.”)

Alstroemeria are generally considered just one notch above carnations as cut flowers by the floral cognoscente. Why, I’m not really sure. The blooms are attractive, come in a wide variety of colors and are relatively long-lived. They do have a tough time holding their own in an arrangement and since I HAD to go back to the grocery store today (I forgot to buy granola), I picked up some Mardi Gras asters to help them out.

My theory is that some people want their flowers to be expensive, high maintenance, and short lived; a metaphor for bad relationship decisions if there ever was one. My advice? Choose the alstroemeria. Those peonies are just gonna take your money and break your heart.

08.05.18

Sometimes the flowers at the grocery store have nothing to say. Except for the roses of course. They’re always crooning about how every one of them has its thorn. NO SALE, Brett Michaels.

The other day the Asiatic lilies were silent, not a bloom in sight, but beckoned me nonetheless with their tightly held buds and the promise of forthcoming splendor. Call it floral foreplay if you will. Totally worth $4 for the money shot a day later. Just don’t let them get their pollen all over everything.

07.22.18

Sunflowers are not my favorite, but they have their place. That said, these spoke to me at the grocery store today and said, “Yo, it’s hot as balls; what else are you going to find that looks this good?” And after perusing the other options it turned out they were correct. Bonus: I also picked a bunch of greenery to go with them and apparently the cashier thought it was one bouquet so all in this summertime floral magic set me back $4.98. The money I saved should keep me in iced tea through the end of the week.

03.02.18

I remember seeing a Barbara Walters interview years ago (1992 to be exact) with Kirstie Alley when she was relevant, or at least more relevant than she is now which is to say, not at all. She talked at length, and still does apparently, about her past cocaine addiction. But what stuck in my mind (though I had to refresh my memory by enduring the first 5 mins. of the interview on YouTube) was Babs commenting on all the flowers in the house. When Kirstie kicked her habit she vowed that she would spend weekly on flowers what she had blown on blow – $400. Keep in mind that this was the late 80’s so I have no idea what a heavy weekly coke habit would run these days, but if anyone has insight into that feel free to comment.

Anyhow, it got me to thinking about my own vices at the time. I don’t mean to brag, but I could have made the living room of my old duplex look like a florist’s shop if I had decided to buy flowers with what I spent weekly on booze and cigarettes.

I love flowers. I love to grow them. They bring me joy. Beer and cigarettes used to bring me joy or so I thought. And while flowers are usually viewed as an extravagance, the purchase of a six pack of Rolling Rock and pack of Marlboro Lights seemed to me to be essential, like I was covering two of the four basic food groups, the other two being Diet Coke and Altoids.

I thought about all of this recently when I was perusing the floral section at my neighborhood grocery store. It’s a smaller store with a limited selection that caters to a wide variety of tastes. They have daisy chrysanthemums that have been dyed bright blue and glitter bombed along with more subtle offerings like Bells of Ireland and delphinium. I enjoy looking at the $3.98 bunches of a particular type of flower and have now made a habit buying one of these and making a small arrangement each week. This week’s selection was Marticaria, i.e. little white daisies with yellow centers that just kind of spoke to me and said, “Yeah, it’s the first week of March, let’s get this Spring thing going.”

And flowers that speak to you, especially if you’re not drunk or high, are a bargain at $4.

04.24.19

Instead of succumbing to the “Hey sailor, like my stamen?” catcalls I usually receive when I pass by the cut flowers whilst shopping at the grocery store, and that inevitably end up being a week long fling at best, I’ve decided to enter a long term floral relationship. Actually, this decision was made for me by some matchmaking friends who gifted me with not one, but two, of my very favorite flowers- orchids.

For something that seems so exotic, orchids are remarkably easy to keep alive and seem to thrive on neglect. When done blooming I put them outside in what I refer to as my “plant infirmary” where they are pretty much subject to the vagaries of temperature, rainfall, etc. Some of them perish, but I have had some come back to bloom another day which is always a pleasant surprise.

The South Texas Botanical Garden, which is located in my hometown of Corpus Christi, is home to the Sam Jones Orchid Conservatory. Mr. Jones, who passed away last year, is the father of my longtime friend, Kathryn Jones. She has posted photos of the many rare and beautiful orchids that he cultivated there and is a tribute to his passion for orchid plants that he continued to pursue into his 90’s. It’s definitely on my list of places to visit next time I’m in Big CC.

While orchids might not be my passion, I do enjoy their company. I look forward to the next 2-3 months of floral bliss though I know it’ll just be a matter of time before I’m once more taken in by the star gazer lilies, alstroemeria, gerbra daisies and who knows what other trollop blossoms turning their $4 tricks next to the mylar balloons.

01.01.19

As I was picking up a few items at the store on New Year’s Eve the flowers spoke to me and said, “Happy New Year! May you BLOSSOM in 2019! HAR! HAR!” Those flowers; what a bunch of pistils.

I can’t say that I’ve blossomed per se, but on balance 2018 was a pretty good year. I lost 20 lbs. I grew a beard. I also grew some of my own food. Had I grown ALL my own food I would have no doubt lost even more weight. I got a tattoo. I planned my first big trip. I practiced the art of saying “No” more often though Spencer considered it folly. I worked on being the most authentic version of me I can be. If I’m loved because of it, or even in spite of it, I’m the richer for it. If I’m not, well, I’m not missing out on much. I tried to live in the moment, not for the moment, and I expect that 2019 will have its fair share of moments that I will be present in, hopefully with many of you who I know and love as well as with those who I have yet to meet and yet to love.

While I’m not big on New Year resolutions I AM big on giving unsolicited advice. So with that in mind I’m going to tell you that I think you should resolve to pick yourself up a $4 bouquet of flowers next time you’re at the grocery store buying a box of Frosted Flakes, a liter bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper, a can of pitted black olives and a shower cap. Will they speak to you? Perhaps. If they tell you you’re being frivolous, challenge them! If they tell you you look like you could use a little self love, listen to them. And if they tell you that you should celebrate life, grab them by their little stems, hold them to your chest and dance around the aisle, especially if “Your Kiss Is on My List” by Hall & Oates is playing over the PA system. Not that I’ve ever known anyone to do that of course. Happy New Year!

Alas, I’m not off to, or returning from, an exotic destination like some of you are this time of year though I dearly wish I was. No, I’m at the airport to get fingerprinted among other things (I was promised no body cavity searches).

Airports fascinate me. I remember as a child my dad would take me to the Corpus Christi International Airport (so called “International” because Aero Mexico used to fly there) just to watch the planes take off and land. The airport in CC was a pretty small operation in the 60’s. I think Braniff was the biggest airline there at the time. Eastern and several others that are also long gone offered service as well. While the terminal was enclosed, the gates, all 4 of them if I recall correctly, were open air affairs with long breezeways that afforded this 6 year old air traffic controller an excellent view of the aircraft coming and going (admittedly there weren’t that many flights back then).

Needless to say, ABIA is pretty far removed from that. When I walked into the terminal building this afternoon the very first thing I saw was an office with the words “US Customs and Border Protection.” Maybe someone can enlighten me, but have the words “border protection” always been part of that title? Given recent events I halfway expected to hear the muffled screams of people getting beaten with rubber hoses as I walked by. And walk by I did, past the baggage carousels until I came upon the imposing figure that is Barbara Jordan. A lot of folks are too young to remember her which is a shame. Her booming oratory was something to behold.

Seeing her likeness in the middle of what has become yet another battleground in a country with far too many of them and remembering that she fought the good fight for as long as her body allowed, was a much needed reminder that there were good people who worked tirelessly for those without a voice, that there are good people who are doing so today and that there will be a future generation of good people who will be called upon to work for those who are most in need of being heard.

But Barbara, the shoes. Can we talk?

Lavender is a fairly common addition to gardens and landscapes here in Central Texas. In fact, there are several commercial lavender farms located nearby in the hill country. Just Google “lavender farms texas” for some eye-popping images.

It wasn’t until last year that I became better acquainted with lavender. It was part of the prescribed landscape design at the new place and quite frankly, I wasn’t very impressed at first. Some of the plants looked half-dead and it seemed like for the better part of the last year they just sort of sat there not doing much of anything though on the plus side they proved they could tolerate sub-freezing temperatures for extended periods.

Fast forward a year and it has now taken off. The plants are beginning to fill out and are covered with buds and blooms. The detail in a lavender bloom is so intricate. I wish I could get a close up of one, but alas I’m no Paul Schliesing (If you enjoy nature photography up close and personal you should follow him on Instagram – paulpablo; ah-mazing). Each bloom head appears to be a series of tiny flowers in columns that are perfectly spaced and the deep purple and lavender color contrast beautifully with the delicate gray-green foliage. I am now solidly on board with lavender.

Prior to that my most recent experience with lavender outside of purchasing Mrs. Meyer’s liquid hand soap or Lysol Tuscan lavender scented toilet bowl cleaner (yes, there is such a thing) had been serving lavender lemonade at catering gigs, much to the dismay of Chef Chris. Every time I would tell him I needed 5 gallons of it for a wedding reception he would roll his eyes and say, “Why would you want to drink something that smells like your grandmother’s underwear drawer?” Well, when you put it like that.

But I have an even earlier memory of lavender dating back to the mid-80’s when I strolled into a little shop located adjacent to the Tavern at 12th and Lamar called Crystal Works (http://www.crystalworksaustin.com/). It seemed back then there were all sorts of fun little places like that to check out. Does anyone remember Rainbow Works and later St. Charles on East 6th or Unicorn Gallery in Dobie Mall? And of course there was the Cadeau on the Drag. All of those are no more, but Crystal Works is still operating in roughly the same spot.

When I walked into the store I was approached by a woman with flowing blond hair, wearing a dark blue kimono with red detailing and holding a wicker basket. Instead of of the usual retail greeting of “Hello, how are you today?” or “May I help you?” she asked me in a dulcet voice, “Have you been given lavender?” And while not expecting that line of questioning I could truthfully and without hesitation answer that no, I had not. She then handed me one of the packets from her basket which I did not want to refuse for fear of offending her. She didn’t tell me what it was for or offer any suggestions as to what to do with it and I guess it didn’t really matter, I had been given lavender; mission accomplished. And while I’m sure it will surprise absolutely no one, when I was preparing to move and cleaning out drawers I found that packet some 30 years later.

I will admit that I’m not an adherent to homeopathic self-care and things such as healing crystals, oils, etc. evoke much the same combination of skepticism and wonderment that I experience when I go to Harbor Freight Tools and see the rows and rows of tools that I have no idea as to their use and then have to stop myself before acting on the urge to purchase a food dehydrator. I will say that the odds of meeting one’s future ex-husband at HFT are exponentially greater than they are at Crystal Works so they’ve got that in their favor.

Since it looks like it’s shaping up to be a bumper crop of lavender this year here at Euclid Cottage I’ll need to read up on how to harvest and process it. And the next time when you come to visit expect me to greet you at the door with, “Have you been given lavender?” Though I will not be wearing a dark blue kimono. Unless of course you’re a future ex-husband.

At the beginning of this century I had the good fortune to work for a small software company called Winternals. I’m sure it will come as no great surprise that I became the de facto social director while I was there. My crowning achievement every year was planning the annual holiday party, but what I really enjoyed was composing the passive/aggressive companywide email with details about the event. I think this one was my favorite. Hard to believe it was 16 years ago though I’m sure some of the techno jargon is dated by now.

PRESS RELEASE

Winternals Holiday Party 5.1 Provides Greater Sociability for Enterprise-wide Employees. Holiday Party Seen as Yearend Solution for Company-wide Holiday Cheer

(Austin, TX ­ December 10, 2003)

Winternals, a leading provider of Microsoft systems infrastructure availability and performance solutions, today announced that Truluck’s will be the site of the release of its Holiday Party version 5.1, an enterprise-level holiday celebration solution that now provides greater sociability in specifically targeted medium-sized yuletide environments. This new version offers a bug fix for version 5.0 that inadvertently deleted spouses, dates and significant others, causing the entire office to shut down while employees whined about their perceived sense of entitlement.

“The new features in version 5.1 of the Holiday Party will represent a vast improvement in the way in which our employees ring in the holidays,” said Edwin Brasch, President and CEO of Winternals. “While last year’s HolidayParty version 4.0 offered unlimited access to the bar while it was running, it also resulted in a few corrupted employees almost being deleted. In fact one employee was temporarily deleted, but we were able to recover him several months later.

“Holiday Party version 5.1 begins when the end users arrive at Truluck’s located at 4th and Colorado (complimentary valet parking provided). Upon entering the site the user will gain access to the program by descending a flight of stairs located to the left of the entrance that leads to the Naples Room.

Holiday Party version 5.1 takes a “phased-in” approach to celebrating. The first phase, the cocktail hour, begins at 6:00. During this time the end user is offered the option of no more than two refreshing beverages of their choice plus an array of appetizers including Spinach Artichoke Dip, Hot & Crunchy Chicken Brochette, and of course, Stone Crab Claws. At 7:00 the cocktail hour shuts down and the bar automatically closes.

Phase two consists of dinner. “While Holiday Party version 4.0 offered a FABULOUS buffet, we wanted to offer our employees a more seamless experience while maintaining the granularity necessary for those of us who are on a diet and like to talk about it incessantly,” stated Brasch. “To that end we will offer a ROBUST seated dinner consisting of three courses and served with a predetermined number of bottles of both red and white wine,” he added.Upon being seated end-users will be presented with a menu that allows them to select from several options including Sonoma Greens Salad, Spinach Salad, Jalapeno Salmon Bearnaise, 8 0z. Tenderloin Filet, North African Spiced Chicken and a dessert sampler featuring Chocolate Malt Cake, Carrot Cake, and Cheesecake.

As the dinner phase is finishing (approximately 9:00) the “Remarks form the Company Owners” phase initiates. This program usually takes no more than 20-30 minutes to run after which a backup will be done in the form of a group photo of all the end users. Note that the photographer (same as inversion 4.0) will be available throughout the evening while the program is running to capture recovery points on film (like right before you spill your drink on your date) for future reference. This is a no-cost feature of Holiday Party version 5.1 that greatly enhances the overall user experience.

Holiday Party v 5.1 shuts down completely at approximately 10:00 at which time you are free to take your hard drive and corrupt it with whatever files you choose to. Numerous options for doing so are located immediately outside the site.

One additional note: A help file is available. The most common query revolves around appropriate attire while the program is running. Searches involving key words such as “dressy” and “business attire ” usually give the best results. “Blue jeans” and “sweatshirts” will result in “no matches found”.

About Winternals

Founded in 1996, Winternals is a leading provider of parties and celebrations and counts among its employees fifty-four of the Fortunate 55. Winternals party solutions empower its employees and remind them that their ability and determination to rapidly resolve the daily emergencies that arise when developing and executing strategy are one of the core dependencies of a growing software company.For more information or to RSVP (and indicate if you will be bringing a guest) NO LATER THAN FRIDAY, DECEMBER 12th, please contact: Miss L. Toe, Director, Strategic Celebrations Winternals Software LP

Traveling on foot has become something of a way of life for me in the last year. If you’ve ever wondered what your neighborhood’s “walk score” is you can check it at walkscore.com. Mine is 81, which is not bad for Austin. As mentioned before, I walk to the grocery store (sometimes with a shopping cart, sometimes without), my bank is located across the street as is the laundry and dry cleaners. A kick ass nursery, The Great Outdoors (fall veggies are here!) is situated under the majestic oak trees at the other end of the block and restaurants, bars, and coffee shops are thick on the ground. Otoko, which is arguably the pinnacle of fine dining in Austin at the moment is less than a mile from my front door which is also the same distance as the nearest Taco Bell (that was not me in the drive-thru lane yelling that I wanted extra sour cream on my quesadillas… maybe). Throw in a few bodegas to scratch my occasional lottery ticket itch, a hipster-mart for kombucha purchases (“Later, bro!”), a nail salon (deluxe pedicure – $22) and I find reliance on my car to be considerably diminished.

There’s one business located in my neighborhood that I have yet to frequent despite the fact that they have a 5 star rating on Yelp! – Weed-Corely Funeral Home, which is adjacent to my back fence. Now some might think that living so close to a mortuary would be morbid or ghoulish, but I see it as an amenity. If I should keel over while working in my garden, which would be my preferred way to go, then all they’d have to do is pitch me over the fence and wheel me inside thus saving a transport fee or some other egregious charge.

The building is located on a corner fronting Congress Avenue. The side facing the street that leads into my neighborhood has two garage doors that normally remain closed, but when they’re open it always piques my, morbid obviously, curiosity when I walk by. At least once a week there are a couple of men washing the vehicles; the entire fleet is a beautiful shade of dark blue and is always spotless. I’ve seen shrink-wrapped caskets (and presumably urns) being delivered and yes, I’ve seen when “customers” arrive. Everyone who works there is pretty nonchalant about it and quite honestly I’ve sort of become that way as well; you’ve seen one white sheet on a gurney, you’ve seen ’em all.

Something else I’m witness to on a regular basis are funeral processions and I am here to tell you they are just not what they used to be. I’ve never been part of a funeral procession, but I was taught that if you come upon one you should stop what you’re doing while it passes you. When I’m on foot I always stop and remove my hat. Meanwhile I witness people whizzing by on their bikes and cars or just milling about in general. It makes me sad. And a little bit miffed. No, it’s not a state funeral. People aren’t lining the streets. The television crews aren’t filming it for the 6:00 news (or live-stream these days I suppose), but the person whose mortal coil is being transported to its final resting place was no less important. It’s their last ride, you’ve got plenty more left (hopefully). Hit the pause button.

Showing respect for people we know comes naturally or at the very least it’s expected. Showing respect for a complete stranger forces us to extend ourselves a bit more. Start by showing it to someone you don’t know and isn’t able to appreciate it and work your way up. All it requires is that you be conscious even if they’re not.

2021 Update:  Spencer and I just celebrated his 16th Gotchaday and he is still going strong as am I though both of us are older and crankier.  Also, when I originally wrote this Hurricane Harvey had just struck and we naively thought that we were experiencing some of the worst political turmoil of our lifetime.

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12 years ago today I brought this handsome guy home from the Town Lake Animal Center. The vet told me at the time that he thought he was about 2 years old so by my calculations we are now both of a certain age, i.e. cranky old men. Decent food, long naps and a trip to the litter box once a day and we’re good. We “get” one another.

He was with me when I experienced my mother’s passing, a career change, a major move, gaining and losing 20 lbs. (at least twice) and a couple of questionable life decisions. Through it all he has been a constant, giving unconditional love and not judging me though I did detect a bit of side-eye after the last QLD. In return all he asks for is a few cat treats in the evening, to be scratched behind the ears while sitting in my lap (usually when I’m at my computer trying to get work done) and a place at the foot of the bed to curl up and go to sleep at night. It’s a small price to pay.

Animals can bring out the best in us and thankfully they keep their political convictions to themselves. When compassion seems to be in short supply their suffering is a call to arms for many. The famous quote attributed to Ghandi, “The greatness of a nation can be judged by the way its animals are treated” and the outpouring of support for all of God’s creatures in the wake of the events of the last several days makes me think that there’s hope for us yet.

I needed a 9×12 envelope so I went to Office Depot to purchase one on Christmas Eve. A nice looking middle aged fellow walked in the store about the same time I did and we ended up at the same spot as we both needed to purchase the exact same thing (what are the odds?) He then proceeded to the checkout line holding his package of 4 envelopes as I did with mine. Standing there behind him I commented that 9×12 envelopes must be a popular last minute Christmas gift this year. He chuckled and said, “And not a really cheap one either.” (a package of 4 costs $5.49). He then added, “I only need one,” to which I replied, “I only need one, too.” He then asked, “Do you want to split the cost of one package?” I said, “Sure!” With tax it came to $5.94 and it just so happened we each had 3 $1 dollar bills and told the cashier he could keep the change (our gift to him!) We each took two envelopes, wished each other a Merry Christmas and then… he got in his truck and drove off. And that was probably as close as I will ever get to starring in my own Hallmark Christmas movie.