Oh, Austin’s Fox affiliate, how do I loathe thee...

In a city where Tom DeLay is slightly less popular than genital warts, your news division is skewed somewhere to the right of Joe McCarthy, but for that I can forgive you, because it is expected.

What I can not forgive you for is your twice, in the last two weeks, choosing not to air Fox’s Baseball Game of the Week when it features my beloved New York Yankees playing both the Mets and the Red Sox. I am not a cable subscriber, so I can’t access the Yankee games via a pay package. I’m dependent on the national televison gods to bring me my boys in pinstripes. And, when I see commercials during 24 that lead me to believe that I should tune in on Saturday afternoon, I arrange my schedule so that I might watch. Yes, I subscribe to MLB.com’s audio feed of Yankee games, but this season I haven’t seen the mighty swing of Gary Shefield or the new double play combination of old friend Derek Jeter and youngster Robinson Cano. I haven’t had the chance to watch Randy Johnson’s ugly mug hurl fastballs that strike fear into the heart of left handed hitting heathens from Red Sox nation. And, so I make my plans accordingly. I arrange for beer to be on hand and for pizza to be delivered.

And, twice, you’ve given me crappy Kevin Costner vehicles instead of my baseball game and I am angry with you.

But, I’m thrilled that a google search for “Park Slope Sex Club” has sent someone to this site.

Today’s Difference Between Austin, TX and Brooklyn, NY

My New York Times habit remains intact, but they do tend to pile up when I’m a bit busy. So I didn’t notice this story until today.

Now, my feelings about the gentrification of Park Slope are complex and conflicted. Because, truth be told, I loved the changes that I lived through once Asia and I moved below the 5th Avenue line. I loved having bars and restaurants and a record store I could walk to. All those tiny boutiques that sold things I’m sure some people must buy I could have done without, but starting with Great Lakes and moving forward to Al Di La, Convivium, and even Moutarde, I was happy with the expanding food and drink options. When Southpaw opened and the Key Food started devoting more space to foodie lovelies than Goya products, I was tickled.

But I was guilty about being tickled (and I never embraced those annoying, arrogant over priced twats at Beercraft) because I understood that a vibrant community was being displaced to make way for the things that made me happy.

But, the thing is, the first wave of new businesses that came to Fifth Ave. weren’t really displacing much of anything. Those storefronts were vacant; that’s why the leases the first wave signed were both long term and cheap. Those of you still there are about to see what happens when the market corrects: Great Lakes, for example, has a ten year lease. It’s about up.

But, it took a while for the Fifth Avenue Expansion to make its way above Ninth Street. My old employer is connected with this trend, but one of the fantastic things about the Slope below Ninth Street is that most of the storefronts don’t have enough square footage to interest chain stores. The glaring exceptions to that are, of course, the Barnes and Ignoble and Starfucks on Seventh Ave. and a drugstore or two.

But there were options. You could get your books at the Community Bookstore. And, if you wanted bad coffee, Ozzie’s was there instead of Starfucks. Then, when Gorilla opened, you could actually get good coffee to go with your ideals. It all felt good.

Above Ninth, particularly on Fifth, there’s some serious square footage available, and I suspect the arrival of Dunkin’ Donuts is just a start, but it is portentous. D&D is pretty much the caffeinated expression of suburbia. I spent countless hours between the ages of 14 and 18 sucking down D&D coffee and cigarettes while bemoaning my small town (lack of) life. It is everything that moving to New York was supposed to erase.

Dee Dee Donuts, on the other hand, is New York to its core. A little gritty, a little shady and the person sitting next to you at the counter might be a genius or fucking crazy. The bacon, egg and cheese sandwich is the second best in Park Slope (after the minuscule place next to Besso, which by the way, is a front for a totally insane sex club in the basement).

Anyway, I was talking to someone about the whole issue tonight over dinner and I realized I haven’t really been in a chain store in a long time.

Which is odd. Because Austin is an auto dependent city, ringed by the strip mall hell that is America. But if you live sort of centrally, you don’t much notice. Books? I go to BookPeople (recently voted the best indie bookstore in the country). Music? Waterloo Records, a truly mesmerizing record store that managed to put a Tower out of business. Clothes? When do I buy clothes? But if I did, the nice boys who run Eco-Wise would be happy to outfit me quite stylishly. Food? Well, okay, with groceries we’re looking at chains, but they’re chains like Whole Foods.

But the great part is that Austin’s unofficial slogan is “Keep Austin Weird.” The slogan itself is annoying. But it grew out of a grassroots effort to stop a Border’s store from being built within blocks of the existing BookPeople and Waterloo. It’s underlying philosophy has been to support local business in the face of national chains. And it’s become part of the city’s official economic development plan. Any “big boxes” that want to come here go to the already existing concrete and asphalt sprawl that rings the town. That Borders? It got built north of town, in the land of sprawl. The city government is committed to maintaining a unique, locally run commercial district and that’s, frankly, stunning.

My nearly ten years in New York saw a lot of that city’s character stripped away in the name of economic growth. Times Square, to cite one over cited example, became Disney: NYC; SoHo became the World’s Largest Mall For Rich People. But, one of the things I loved about Park Slope was that even as the cost of housing went into the stratosphere, a place like Snooky’s still had a customer base and we didn’t have a Gap. That kind of energy is part of what drew me to Austin in the first place. And while I’m sure there’s a D&D or Krispy Kreme out one of the highways, I can pretend they don’t exist, because they’re just not opening next door to Mi Madres where I get my café con leche and breakfast tacos.

Come on. Throw the ball. Throw the ball. I'll get it. Throw the ball. Please. Just the throw the ball. I'm waiting. Throw the damn ball. THROW. BALL.

You talking to me?

Marry Poppins' Garage?

Like Africa Hot

I’ve been walking around today quoting Biloxi Blues, under my breath because it totally did not get this hot in Brooklyn.

It’s, I don’t know, something like 93 degrees. Which isn’t really all that bad, in theory. And the humidity isn’t all that high. It is, dare I say it, a dry heat. I’ve been led to understand that this will change.

But for those of you who’ve ever had the pleasure of working in the food service industry, particularly in rather busy or not quite upscale places where food is plated and put under heat lamps where it awaits the rest of the order or the waiter to return from smoking out back, that’s pretty much what the sun feels like.

For about two seconds you get to feel like a lizard on a sun drenched stone wall. Basking, you think, I’m actually basking. And then basking is suddenly roasting.

You know that whole Southern thing? The drawl? The slower pace? It’s because people’s brains are slowly being fried by the giant ball of heat in the sky.

I am, however, gleefully anticipating the prospect of shaving the dog.

And I’m completely jealous that someone on Briar’s blog used the word embouchure in the comments. That is, really, an excellent word.

This needs to be read. It's part of the transcript from a White House press briefing following the evacuation of the Capitol and White House last week.

Now, I've always dismissed the rants of many who say Bush is a figurehead for, well, a vast right wing conspiracy headed by Cheney, Rummy et al. But damn. No one told the President the White House was being evacuated. No one told him his wife was being evacuated. No one told him that fighter jets and a Blackhawk helicopter where in the air to intercept a plane in the "no fly zone" over D.C. No one told him that members of Congress and his administration were being whisked away in those ominous, black SUVs.

Well, they did tell him. After it was over and he finished his bike ride.

Today’s Thing I DO NOT Love About Austin

Austin is a much greener city than any I’ve lived in for an extended period. Generally, I quite like that. I like the trees and the abundant water and swimming holes. I like the grass and the flowers.

I do not like the bugs. My house is old. Very old. The foundation is cracked, the asbestos (I assume) shingles crumbling away in places. It’s a rental; not my problem.

But bugs get in. I’ve come to terms with the spiders. They generally make their webs high in the corners of my ceilings and when I sweep, I make a half hearted effort at clearing them away. But they also tend to trap the odd mosquito that makes its way inside, so they’re really fine with me.

The tiny black beetles I can live with. They’re not hurting anyone.

No. It’s what people here persist in calling “waterbugs” that give me the willies.

I know better. They are GIANT FUCKING COCKROACHES. Now, I know cockroaches. When Frieda and I moved into our very shady Greenpoint apartment, the one where we had to buy the fridge and light fixtures from the landlord, the place was crawling with them. And we dealt. Cleaned vigorously, bought traps, and bug bombed the shit out of the place. The roaches, of course, were endemic to the building, but they avoided our rooms for the most part if we kept on top of it.

The thing about these “waterbugs” is that (at least according to my landlord and other locals) they don’t generally live inside. When you see one in your house, it doesn’t mean that there are millions of the creepy fuckers in your walls and cabinets. I try to believe this. And, really, it seems to be true. In the five or so months that I’ve been here, I’m averaging about one sighting a month in my house, generally after a good rain.

Oh, my New York based friends will now think, that’s not so bad.

It is so bad. They fly. AND THEY ARE FUCKING ENORMOUS. I beat the living shit out of one in my bathroom over the weekend. It required four or five solid shoe smashes before it succumbed to the pull of death.

And I thought about shellacking the carcass and turning it into a surfboard.

Dear New York and New Jersey,

Sometimes I miss you. Especially the man at the store in Brooklyn who used to give me candy and the table scraps I used to get from Mare.

But, here, I do something like this every single day.




And, people keep telling me I'm pretty and how good I am. I think it's because I'm a little older. I still totally want to tear the garbage apart, but it's really too much trouble. I'd rather spend my time smelling stuff.

Love,

Lucy

Six degrees of...

A couple of winters ago, I went out on a few dates with Corie. It didn’t work out. But Corie is an excellent person with an entertaining blog that I read from time to time. She and I met via Nerve’s personals, but we lived near each other in Park Slope.

Corie’s now engaged to be married to Lex. They seem very happy and he is one hell of a photographer. He lives in Brooklyn, but will soon be spending several months in Texas.

Lex’s site links to Batgirl who writes with great humor and passion about the Minnesota Twins in particular and baseball in general.

The woman behind Batgirl is Anne, a hell of a novelist and a friend of mine, who I first encountered several years ago on Readerville.com’s forums for writers and readers. During the time I’ve known her, she’s lived in several places, none of them Brooklyn or Texas. Anne and I have the same agent, but we’ve been out of touch until I realized tonight her secret identity as Batgirl and sent her a note.

Kevin Bacon has to be in there someplace.

Screech Owl Update:

Sadly, one of the owlets has gone to owlet heaven.

The remaining three however, have left the nest. They are also too cute for words. These images belong to the owner of the screech owl cam.

Today is National No Pants Day.

I thought you should know.

Today's Thing That I Love About Austin

There is a giant tree in the backyard. I realized today that it is a fig tree. And it is bearing fruit. Come to my house in about a month and we will feast on fresh figs.

Dear Wes and Briar,

Have you booked your tickets? Because Woofstock! is coming up.

Love,
Bill

Do you know what I hate?

I hate when your car breaks down and you pay someone to fix it, to find out two days later that it’s still broken. I hate it even more when the aforementioned happens and you get the car “fixed” again, only to have the same problem rear its ugly head shortly thereafter.

I really, really hate it when the problem involves the car just shutting off, all on its own, and not re-starting. I really, really, really hate it when that happens at 40 mph in heavy traffic, with the dog in the back.

That just sucks.

And, those fuckheads who told me they fixed my car twice and took my money? They better be damn obsequious tomorrow or I’m going to take lessons I learned from my mother and apply them.

This could get ugly.

Gross.