Another Wild Weekend/ Not Begging

I got hennaed at an India wedding.

It was another wild weekend of vow exchanges, beginning with a rehearsal Thursday evening and stretching through four weddings, a commitment ceremony plus a couple of more rehearsals tossed in. I stayed busy til Sunday night, put about 400 miles on the car, met people from around the world, and got more than a couple of reminders of just how beautiful the Texas countryside is.

In the midst of all that, I squeezed in time to attend the Forklift Danceworks disco fundraiser, where I got a big snuggy wuggy huggy from my heroine, Miss Rebecca Havemeyer. I also got to witness my new all time favorite pickup line-- a woman with a camera approached Warren on the dance floor and, noting his tiny shorts, said, "Can I get a detail shot of your zipper?" He agreed and she instantly dropped to the floor to shoot, all of this to a pulsating disco beat. The only thing missing was poppers.

At some point, I got an email from an old friend that took me off-guard. I'm not going to go into the details of the exchange (at her request) but the gist of it goes like this: I'd posted a picture of my just-pedicured toes. The question my friend put to me regarded how I present myself to the public. I'd just posted a note asking for contributions to support this blog. So, she wondered, was it a good idea for me to post images of (what I think she perceived of as) frivolous expenses?

This brought up a lot of things for me and, yes, it pushed some buttons. They don't call me Spike "Take the Bait" Gillespie for nothing. I'll just touch briefly on two of the many points I made in my reply. First-- yes, I get pedicures and yes I could live without them. But it's also true that my work as an officiant often finds me out under some tree in the triple digit heat, and wearing tights in the very long Austin summer just doesn't cut it. So I invest in nice foot grooming as part of my uniform.

Much more importantly though-- it seemed to me that maybe she thought I'd get grief for asking for money and then "blowing it" on trivial things and then flaunting this on my Facebook page.

Let me try to clear this up one more time. When I put up my tip jar, I do not put it up because I am in imminent danger of my electricity being cut off. Yes, there were times like that in the old days, when I was first struggling to find my way as a professional writer. But hard work, good fortune, and some nice timing did help me to reach a nice place, where I was able to find my place in that world. Then the Internet came along, and paid writing gigs fell out of fashion as more and more people who fancied themselves writers began offering to write for free in exchange for exposure.

So I found another line of work-- wedding officiating-- which I love very much. But I do continue to write, and most of that writing appears here. And I strive for a balance that includes a good mix of pictures of Rebound, theatre reviews, restaurant reviews, and-- as I deem necessary-- Irish Buddhism in the form of enlightening assholes by (metaphorically) punching them in the face.

As I've said before and am saying again, I do not put out my tip jar with any expectations. I do not lay upon you a guilt trip. I just say, Hey-- tip jar is here, and if you want to kick in to help defray expenses and support my writing, that would be lovely. The suggested donation of $12 per year breaks down to about 25c per week. In exchange, you get my insights (oh boy!), you get a chance to make fun of me when I lose my shit and start ranting about mommy bloggers, you get a chance to find out what's going on, and, of course, you get pictures of Rebound.

There. I hope that's all cleared up now. If you want to kick in, you can click here to access my evil PayPal account. If you don't want to kick in, a pox on your house. JUST KIDDING.