Sra. Crema

The only thing missing from this visit is La Primera Crazy Lady. Our Lady of CC. Seniorita - como los ojos azules de la noche ocupada, mi amor es mas o menos el mismo que mi amor por las enchiladas. Mi corazon, rojo y fuerte es el fuego de chimichangas. Querida, querida.

I will kneel to you. Until it becomes too uncomfortable. At which point, I will stand.

If It Makes You Happy, It Can't Be That Bad

The radio stations in Austin seems to be specifically designed to make you feel good. I always tell people I don't know any current bands because I don't listen to the radio, and I don't, because for some reason in my mind "the radio" means "Good Charlotte 24-7," and I don't even know if that's accurate, but I kind of don't want to find out.

But the radio stations here are the superfantastic! Pink Floyd! Tom Petty! Culture Club! Sheryl Crow! Songs you can sing along to, all the time! The Adrienne and the Nora, they do much of the singing in the car with the radio!

***

I told Adrienne I'm not leaving until I get tired of Tex-Mex. That may not be in the foreseeable future. Let's just say, we had it today for lunch, and I'm already fantasizing about the next time I can have it.

Prolific

I've become an increasingly prolific writer on the label maker I bought at a garage sale last weekend:

'Faint.'

'Victim.'

'I really like to ride the train especially when I forget where I'm going.'

'Pippo and Addie Best Friends Forever.'

'Chateau Crazy Lady.'

'That's What You Call a Homphobe Troupe.'

'Bridget has a long drive home.'

'I've got a bad feeling.'

'Your boyfriend isn't worth the wait.'

and also the entire first verse and chorus of Peaches' pop hit 'Fuck the Pain Away.' Which I won't repeat because. You know. Kids probably read this. And they have to look up to me. Especially the short ones.
* * * * *
Time is running out! We've got to squeeze in at least three more writing days this week (Go on a do a Rewrite!) which will give us more coffeeshops to explore (Dandelion Cafe. Flightpath. Something South perchance?). Then there's Innerspace Caverns, a few house/birthday parties, two plays to see, Donn's Depot, ACL Fest, Thievery Corporation, Longbranch Inn, etc, etc.

I sound like I have a very active social life. And . . . when have a built-in entourage of one. I do.
* * * * * *
I hope to return to NYC in May. Noradrienne 2006. Methinks a European Noradrienne should be for 2007. Noradrienne Barcelona (baRTHelona). Noradrienne Paris II, Noradrienne Athens. Hmm. Noradrienne London. Expensive but I'd really like to see the UK sometime. Y'know how it goes.
* * * * * *
Pippo and Addie really are best friends forever. Addie commands the kitchen - specifically the dining room table and chairs. Pippo has the entire run of the house. We filmed one of their first confrontations in the kitchen. They just sort of stare and hiss a little bit. Then Pippo walks it off. Or Addie ignores her.
* * * * * *
ps: I also bought an Amy Grant cassette tape for only Fiddy Cent. Baby, baby.

Crazy Lady

[as sung by Tom Jones and/or a Barry White zombie]
Crazy Lady!
That Crazy Lady!
Doo doo doo
Doo doo doo
Doo doo doo [trombone gesture as this is the part where the horns kick in]
Craaaaazy Lady.

A wooden fence divides our backyard and a titty bar. Nora said she saw one of the dancers smoking outside and she was "not cute."
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Sorry I'm not so good at the blogging these days. I'm not so good at the 'forming complete sentences" either. Since my unemployment tour began August 31st my brain has also been on its own tour. Of inconsistant blabber. Half jokes. Ums. Uhhs. Hmms?

Tomorrow we've planned a day of writing. I am going to slap down some discipline and leave my wifi card at home so I can't check my email. Enough already. Just do the rewrites.

Like after a big house party, when there's sangria stuck to the countertops, the gutter hanging from the roof and beer bottles littered all over the yard . . . you just have to open Final Draft, hold your nose and clean up!

* * * * * * * * *

and lest we forget - The Alamo.

The Spider House Rules

Another day spent wandering, this time I headed down to Congress Ave. and slipped in and out of shops, galleries, and cafes, as they caught my eye, pausing in between to scribble postcards and drop them into boxes. I'm not sure what it is with me and postcards, I just love them, love sending them more than receiving them, and it made me happy to think of all my little missives dropped casually around the city and then spread out across the country. Because of Labor Day they won't be posted until Tuesday, and will probably arrive around Friday, halfway through my trip, a completely reasonable amount of time for a postcard, the long weekend disguising the fact that I started writing some the first full day I was here.

I've had, from time to time, ideas for art projects involving postcards, usually postcards addressed anonymously and laid out in a gallery for anyone to come in and read - calling attention to the public nature of them, the idea that many people could read them on the way to their final destination, which, given the highly mechanized nature of the postal system, is actually unlikely, except at colleges, where they are read by student postal workers before being dropped in the box. I guess I treat postcards almost like mini-stories or poetry, happy that they're being "published" by the public eye on the way to a friend.

So anyway today my idea was for postcards, perhaps encased in lucite, and affixed (semi)permanently to different places around the city, so people walking by could pick it up and read what I was doing/thinking in that spot, then leave them for the next person to read. I think it would work at the Fringe Fest, like that guy who tagged everywhere in the city his dog peed, with one to three stars depending on how much pee there was (I think). My friend Max got two stars in front of his house.

Derrida wrote a book called "The Post Card." I, of course, bought it, and, also of course, somewhere around page 4 gave up. I still have it, though, because I keep thinking that one day I will be ready for it. Maybe during grad school.

***

So much orange on the streets. Even during February, when every art fan in the tri-state area went digging around in the backs of their closets for that ugly orange scarf/bag/sweater Aunt Hilda gave them years ago that was never worn except for those two weeks in support of Xto, there wasn't this much orange on the streets of NY. So much Texas pride. I guess the equivalent color for New York would be black. Last week the Times' Sunday Styles' Street Fashion page was about "The Return of Black." I was like, are you kidding me? How can something that was never gone have a return?

Accomplished!

I cooked tofu for the first time today. Ten points for me. It was a meat dish formely known as 'Red Chicken' which is now for the veggies - 'Red Tofu.' It goes a little something like:

Fry tofu (I would do two packages) with about two tablespoons of olive oil until slightly brown. Add in garlic powder, cumin, chili powder (I just dunk it - no real measurements), salt. Then add some cut up red bell pepper (hence RED TOFU), then you dunk two cans of Rotel Tomatoes (go for MILD) on top and turn down the heat. Let that mother absorb that fine, fine juice. Make sure all the goop doesn't evaporate because that bitch is lovely on some garlic couscous.

Next will be: Bean Chimichangas. And possibly a lemon Tofu thang with rosemary and baby potatoes. Ooooh. That sounds good. Having vegetarian roomies is awesome. I'm already eating like a grownup.


PS: Nora. You bitch. I totally posted before you. Ten more points.

It ain't a word, it's short for 'innit,' innit?

You know that thing your dentist puts in your mouth to suck out the saliva while he works? My dentist calls it "Mr. Thirsty." He called it that until I was 18, at which point I stopped going to the dentist because my wisdom teeth were growing in and the horror stories that came back from my friends seemed to indicate that a little impaction is better than days and days of searing mouth pain.

But before you get all "You really SHOULD..." know I HAVE been to the dentist, ok, a different dentist, and I'm allowed to keep my wisdom teeth, because they're not impacted, and that is why I am so smart.

But I digress.

Texas is one big ole' Mr. Thirsty, is what it comes down to.

And I am motherfucking Mrs. Thirsty, or I feel like I am, because I am thirsty all. the. time. If there isn't something liquid within arm's reach I start to get panicky and my mouth immediately gets dry and I can't talk and I'm freaking out because I'm THIRSTY! I need a drink! It's true about dry heat - that it feels more manageable than heat with humidity, at least walking around, but the air also sucks all the moisture right out of you.

So I saw the Capitol, which was surprisingly cool (and I don't just mean air-conditioned, ba-dum bum!) and then I found out there's a TOUR, so I may have to go back. Sans tour, I learned that the Capitol building is made of Texas Red Granite. And everyone who fought in the war was given 640 acres of land in thanks for their service once Texas was pried from the cold, dead hands of Mexico and evil evil Santa Anna. And some of the bigger generals and such had last names like Houston, Austin, etc, so they got the cities names after them, and some had counties named after them.

And O. Henry's name wasn't O. Henry and he went to jail for embezzlement.

And I went to Starbucks, because I am weak.

Today we swam and then got Tex-Mex and I thought this is pretty much the perfect way to spend my unemployment, swimming and then following that up with a quesadilla that puts NY quesadillas to shame. I mean, those sad little cheese folded inside a tortilla jobbies is nothing compared to the mountain of beans, rice, two kinds of salsa and I-don't-know-what-else that I put away. Good times.

Cockroach

This morning I was confronted with the most hideous-looking cockroach in my kitchen. It had this very industrial, neo-modern exoskeleton. And it was translucent so I could see its innards, viscera and what not. Gross. That means this mother fucker probably can live underground as well as above ground. He's like a Mole Cockroach. Maybe Albino?

I don't know. Mother fucker is dead.

ps: I saw through his thick exoskeleton and I can posivitely say that cockroaches don't have hearts.