Just Saying No

I've been writing a grumpy post in my head for a week or so now. But I realize if I try to voice the grumpiness I'm going to sound like an ungrateful asshole. See, I realize that for the past thirty years I've been working to get my writing noticed, to garner attention, to shout PICK ME louder than everyone else. And now I am suffering from a great case of Be careful what you wish for. These days, my inbox fills regularly with so many requests I just can't handle it anymore. Garreth is suggesting I outsource, hire someone in India to send out form letters saying, "No." Because whenever I get a request, almost always, even if I want to say "no," I think that wouldn't be very nice. Or I wonder how I might fit one more thing in. Or I remember the good turns others have done for me. And then I think maybe I should say "yes."

For now, I'm letting this post be my blanket "no" to all requests for the foreseeable future. I am declaring 2010 the year of utter selfishness. Any good deeds I do I will do on my own, when I feel like it, and they will be of the small-good-deeds variety, where I open doors for people, and try to use good manners, and say nice things to dogs. Beyond that, I am politely requesting no more emails imploring me to read manuscripts, volunteer my time, give copies of my books to silent auctions, or emcee events for groups I've never even heard of. Last week, I got a note from someone who doesn't know me, who heard that maybe I run fashion camps, and asked me to come on out to a junior high school to teach girls not to let their thong panties hang out of their jeans. I am not exaggerating. Yes, an administrator made a thong-related request. I suppose I could've said yes, and gone and shared my secrets of how to dress comfortable, like a seventies lesbian, which is always going to be my favorite style. But I had the good sense to decline.

Along these lines, I also resigned as a theater reviewer for the Austinist. Part of me felt very reluctant to put in my resignation. There's an awful lot of good theater here and I love to spotlight shows worth seeing. I've decided that from now on, I'm going to just see shows I want to see and, if I like them a lot, I'll recommend them here. If I hate them, I won't say a word. Being a reviewer-- a responsible reviewer-- is proving just too tricky. Because I really do believe that, overwhelmingly, the majority of folks who stage a show are truly putting their all into it. I do not want to be one of those gleeful reviewers who looks for opportunities to bash others, to point out the flaws, to get all haughty. Then again, I don't want to recommend a show that I really don't think is worth seeing, no matter how hard folks worked to put it together.

Now, here is something haughty for y'all: something else that made me reluctant to give up that post is that I think there aren't enough good reviewers in this town. Or maybe I should say there are enough bad reviewers-- pompous jackasses so in love with their own words and self-important belief that their own shit doesn't stink-- that I liked to think I was counter-balancing that in my attempts to highlight the good parts I was seeing even in mediocre performances. I read an interview with a local theater reviewer recently in which this guy went on about how great his own performances are and then dismissed, out-of-hand, EVERY performance at a particular venue here. Really, with an attitude like that, he needs to recuse himself from all reviews. Okay, so everything is not everyone's cup of tea, but if you're going to flat out admit that you hate a show in advance of seeing it, by virtue of the physical location in which it's performed, well... just shut your piehole and send another reviewer to those shows, okay?

No really, I do apologize for being so cranky lately. And I am grateful for all of the good words people offer me for my own efforts. But I am really weary of getting dozens of weekly requests to be the publicist/editor/mentor/whatever. I've said yes a million times and it is cutting into my own writing time. And to those of you I'm actually still working with-- you know who you are-- this isn't addressed to you. This is for the rest of you, who want me to do your work for you. I'm sorry, I can't.

And that is all I have to say for today's cranky, selfish, bitchy installment. I wish you all well in your endeavors to banish thongs, sell your manuscripts, and get thousands of people out to see your show. If you have something coming up that would genuinely fit into my JetBlue blog, by all means send me a brief press release and I'll see what I can do. But for the foreseeable future, I'm holing my cranky ass up over here and I'm going to ignore the unsolicited requests, get my ass back on the meditation cushion, and work on my own shit.

Thanks to all six of you for listening.

The Dogs on Main Street Howl 'Cause They Understand

Hey Y'all,
A month or so ago I got to see PROMISED LAND: A Radical Queer Revival, written and performed by the amazing and delightful Rudy Ramirez. Those of you who've seen the Dick Monologues know who I'm talking about. You might recall Rudy's Mix CD piece or any of the other great pieces he performed. Some of those got trimmed and honed and polished and have become part of PROMISED LAND, which, as Rudy explains, is: One boy's search for love, liberation and a working toilet in the Appalachian woods.
I had SUCH a great time at the show. And I'm so happy to announce that Rudy's bringing it back this weekend to the Vortex. Please make time to check it out. Details below:

PROMISED LAND: A Radical Queer Revival
Written and Performed by Rudy Ramirez
Directed by Bree Perlman
Technical Direction and Stage Management by Marcella Garcia
Jan 29th and 30th @10pm
immediately following LAY OF THE LAND by Tim Miller at 8PM
The Vortex: 2307 Manor Rd

Dog Days: Innovative Fundraiser for Haiti

My friends Kris and Kirsten Schultz-- the same geniuses who brought you the Ping-Pong-a-Thon fundraisers-- are both pet care professionals. Kris emailed me recently and said, "Kirsten and I thought we'd try to put that to use in an effort to help relief efforts in Haiti. So next week, Jan. 25-29, we're accepting appointments for special dog walks, with all proceeds going to the Red Cross."

So here's a way to treat your (unintentionally) neglected pooches to a much-needed walk while simultaneously helping out the folks in Haiti who have been hit so devastatingly hard. All you need to do is email Kris to set up an appointment. One of the sisters will show up to love on your pup. And you can make out a check to "The American Red Cross", with "International Disaster Relief Fund" in the memo line.

And, this just in from the double-your-money department: An anonymous donor has offered to match all donations raised through the dog walks. Here's how to reach Kris: kris@fitpupaustin.com

Free Sex and More! Coming Right Up!

Hello You Six!

Pardon my absence. Despite all vows to the contrary, I have already allowed a packed calendar dominate my world in 2010. Along those lines, I have two events coming right up, one regarding what happens between the sheets, the other to what happens on top of them.

First things first, I've got a reading at BookWoman on Tuesday, January 26th, at 7 pm. This is to celebrate Quilting Art, which I woefully neglected to promote last year when it came out, as I was under a shit-ton of pressure to finish up another quilt-related book. I have to say that Quilting Art is just gorgeous, a fact I attribute to a) the designers at Voyageur Press and b) the many, many photos that Warren shot for the book. (I will attempt to drag his behind to the reading so he can talk about the thrills of traveling the country with me to work on the book, pre-hysterectomy, when I was so on edge from fibroid pain I would hiss at him for "sleeping too loudly.") I ask that you please help me get the word out about this reading, which will actually be more of a discussion. I invite all comers to bring along their own quilts to show off. BookWoman is at 5501 N. Lamar, north of North Loop on the East side of the street.

Second-- this year, I did not hold the KickAss Awards, as I needed a break from all that planning. This is sort of like how, for the past two years, I stopped hosting Free Sex in Public with Spike Gillespie and Friends, a show I put on for I-don't-know-how-many-years at BookPeople. I started it, I think, during the Seven Year Break, when I dated no one. The tongue-in-cheek idea was that this way I would for sure have plans for Valentine's Day, and not be subjected to... well whatever bullshit pressure imposed by self and society this occasion sparks. To be frank, my divorce in 2007, the last year I hosted the event, pretty much ruined everything. I allowed my estranged husband to perform at that show anyway, despite the fact he'd walked out on me, and he arrived, got loaded, and talked loudly through the whole event. Total bummer. So I just lost my enthusiasm.

But now, my enthusiasm has returned! I am reviving Free Sex in Public with Spike Gillespie and Friends, and we'll be returning to BookPeople, on Sunday, February 14th, at 7pm. You can't get tickets-- it's a free show-- but it will "sell out" so to speak, as we typically have a spillover crowd. There will be readings and performances by many of Austin's best, brightest, bitterest, etc. Among them more than a few of my comrades from The Dick Monologues. Southpaw Jones and Paul Klemperer will be providing music for your ears. And if I can get my shit together, maybe I'll kick in for wine and chocolate for everyone. Unless one of you six wants to volunteer to cover this part.

As with the book reading, I ask that you help spread the word. Hope to see you there. I'm thinking I'll do a series of haiku about The Great Refrigerator Magnet Spat of 2010. Sexy, I know.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Spike

A couple of months ago, I did a little post mentioning that my friend, Chris MacDougall, was in town to give a reading from his new, bestselling book Born To Run, which is not, as you might judge from the title, an analysis of Springsteen lyrics. Instead, he tells the tale of the Tarahumara Indians, who live in Mexico's Copper Canyons, and these folks can run far (hundreds of miles) and long (into their 90s). (You can see a clip of him being interviewed by Jon Stewart on the Daily Show here.) Unlike most American runners, the Tarahumara don't suffer tons of foot related injuries. In fact, they seem to not suffer at all. And, check it, they wear sort of low-end flip-flops.

Chris also tells of his own running-- from some serious pain to some serious success, which he chalks up to running right and running either barefoot or in Vibram Five Fingers, which are sort of gloves for your feet, with no support, so that wearing them is very much like being barefoot, except you do get a little layer between your foot and, say, a sharp pebble.. The idea is that our feet get messed up from shoes with too much support and they "forget" stuff they're supposed to do. If you switch to no support, then your feet start to remember and, voila, your problems go away.

I had lunch with Chris when he was in town, and I told him about my own foot troubles. In 2005, after spending more than a dozen years walking anywhere from 4 to 10 miles daily, my right foot gave out. I was in constant agony, reduced to using a cane, and even scored a handicapped parking tag (which is less fun than it sounds, if you consider the tradeoff). I was devastated, since my long walks had been a crucial part of my stay fit plan-- I'd lost fifty pounds walking back in 1993, and also I found that distance walking helped me fend off my cyclical depression.

I was lucky enough to have a kind surgeon in Chicago restructure my foot as a gift (a long story I've detailed numerous times, so I'll spare the six of you a repeat). Still, the surgeon told me that there's a good chance my foot-- which suffered from a structural problem plus a loss of cartilage-- might likely wear out again. So I shifted down to walking only 1 - 2 miles a day, and I got pretty sloppy about it, sometimes not sticking to a daily routine for months at a time.

I also told Chris that I'd been fascinated by the Vibram Five Fingers, but hadn't committed to getting a pair. I was a little put off by the price -- they run around a hundred bucks, which with my feet, is the low-average price I pay for good shoes. Still, not knowing how good they'd be (or not) I waffled. Also, they are utterly ridiculous looking. I'd tried on a pair at REI and a) it took about a half hour for me to get the things on and b) once I did, I had to laugh at how silly they look.

Chris, who was wearing a pair at the time, swears by the shoes, and told me I should try them out. So I contacted the company, told them I was up for writing an ongoing review if they were up for sending me a pair. They arrived right before I left for France, and even though I knew I could make a pretty exciting fashion statement in Paris wearing them, they don't provide warmth, and it's effing freezing in Paris right now. So I gave them a quick test run around the house, and then set them aside for my return.

Now I'm back, and I've been wearing them for a couple of days. These shoes are really, really wild. I'm not sure yet if they are making life better or worse or neither, but my initial sense is that they are improving things. Also, I am improving at getting them on, and can now get through the process without having to use my hands. This suggests that my toes are getting the hang of spreading out on demand. Which is not something my toes knew how to do before, despite practicing toe-spreading (that sounds pornographic) in yoga class for years. (Which reminds me, my awesome yoga teacher was an early adopter of the VFF and she LOVES hers.)

To be totally honest, my left pinky toe has had a little bit of a tough time adjusting, and I feel a blister starting up on the back of my right foot. But I think the former might be a case of getting-used-to and I'm sure the latter has to do with not wearing socks which, no matter what shoes I'm breaking in, if there aren't socks involved, there are usually blisters to deal with.

Last night, I wore them out to meet up with my son, The Amazing Henry, and he about spit out his teeth when he saw them. He announced that I look like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. I have also worn them on a couple of long walks now, but sadly, no one has stopped to demand to know what the hell is that on my feet. Which is too bad since I think that actually, the goofy look has been at least as appealing to me as not. Recall I drive a 2005 Scion-- those are the super-duper ugly ones, totally rectangular, fondly referred to in my house as The Japanese Ambulance. When I first bought it, people stopped me all the time: What the hell is that? they wanted to know. I came to love my Scion thanks to its ugliness, not in spite of it. I also love that it's one big box into which I can pack heaps 0'shit.

No room for packing anything into these shoes except my toes. But I'm thinking that, as with the Scion, they are going to grow on me to the point I forget their bizarre appearance. I'm also curious to see what'll happen when I switch back to regular shoes-- for now, as much as possible, I'm only wearing these to see if I can gauge a genuine difference. (Oh, another thing-- my toes, particularly my "bad" big right toe-- or should I say my Big Bad Right Toe-- is cracking a little, which I also like and I'm also wondering if maybe this is due to the forced toe-flexing VFF's require.

So there you go, a totally non-scientific report on my new shoes. I'll post more updates here and there. Meanwhile, since I'm doing shoe shout-outs, let me say that for the France trip, I wanted to get good walking shoes that I could wear casually and with a dress. This was after Chris gave me his advice, so I went to Whole Earth Provision Co. and tried on a bunch of different brands from Keens (which I love) to Merrell's (which got me all over the place in Japan). I wound up with a pair of Patagonia's that hardly have any support at all and I instantly, instantly fell in love with them. You can check them out here. I wore them every single day and there were days we walked up to eight miles, and my feet did great. A little pain, yes, but I chalk that up to the foot itself, not the shoes.

And finally, for now, here is a picture in which the resident Shoe Fetishist, Rebound (aka Dum-Dum) licks her approval of the VFF's.

Joyeaux No(way in h)EL(L)!

Bon Jour Mon Amis!

I had vowed not to blog at all while in France, just to try really hard to have an actual vacation. But I cannot resist the urge to share with you the miracle of Christmas Eve. Broken record: I can't stand Christmas. Yesterday, though, on the eve of, we tromped through Paris in the cold, cold, wet, wet, rain for THIRTEEN HOURS. At the Village d'Noel in front of the Eiffel Tower, I was accosted and groped by Pere Noel, who was very nice and spoke perfect English. It was actually a power hug. Warren (a Jew, just like Baby Jesus!) captured the whole thing with his camera. Later, we tromped up the Champs Elysees and on to Notre Dame where we heard the French Children's Choir sing Silent Night to a massive, SRO crowd. Today I am far too exhausted to whip myself into my usual annual holiday disdain. I'm just gonna sit and knit and eat.

Oh, and I was delighted to see that, after role modeling for the world for the past twenty Christmases or so, some of the world is catching on to my suggestion of non-celebration. Check out this article in the Times-- bonus points, my friend Hank Stuever, author of Tinsel, his new book about the insanity of Christmas in Frisco, TX, is quoted heavily in the story.

Joyeaux Noel Y'all,

Spiqueline

One of These Years...

Bubbles is going to stop putting up with my amusement at her expense. I think she's been plotting revenge for years. Get a load of at that pissed off look on her face. But she let me get away with it

at least one more time. And despite my usual holiday gloom-- or more likely courtesy of a plane ticket that's taking me out of here very soon (thank you Warren!), or possibly just that this damn holiday is so pervasive, I find myself doing odd things. Just one example: yesterday, as I was preparing my fix of caffeine, running the coffee grinder, I realized that I was stopping and starting it to the tune of Jingle Bells. It went like this:

Grind grind grind

Grind grind grind

Grind grind

Grind grind grind.

This reminded me of the year Kat strong armed a bunch of us, present company included, into going caroling with her. I must've been on Vicodin or still drinking back then, because I went along. With us, a number of foreigners. I hung back with the Bulgarians, the Italian, and a Frenchman named Ree-shard, a man who loved me to teach him American idioms like this:

It's as hot as two rats fucking in a wool sock.

The foreigners either had a hard time keeping up with the lyric sheets (written in English) or possibly just were flummoxed by the the whole activity. All I know is, at some point Ree-shard muttered, with a perfect French sneer:

Zheeeeengle bells? What is zees Zheeeeengle bells?

Yes, Ree-shard. I wonder the same thing. Grind grind grind, y'all. And Joie Noel. I'm outta here.

Feliz ano nuevo!