Sunday, November 28, 2010

In Loving Memory of My Amazing Friend Isabel


I first met Isabel in September 2009, on Monhegan Island, Maine. I knew instantly she was one of those incredibly rare people we are lucky to meet-- someone entirely different from the others, someone with a telltale otherworldly aura. In the space of just a few days, Isabel changed my life with her gentle nature, encouraging words, and the gleeful way she greeted each day (literally, greeted the sunrise). We became pen pals.

When I was planning to return to Monhegan this past September, I let her know. My heart soared when she wrote to say that she would definitely be able to join me. We only had a couple of days together but, again, those days were so uplifting for me. Isabel was truly one of those Magic People that can put everyone they encounter right at ease. Her life story, what I knew of it, was fascinating. She was also working on a book about Mary Baker Eddy that I was eager to read.

Most recently, I emailed her to ask her about a book she'd recommended to me. She wrote back to say my timing was excellent, that she'd actually just packed up a copy of the book to put in the mail to me. That's how Isabel worked-- intuitively. I got the news last night that she died suddenly last week, the day before Thanksgiving. Though in reality we only spent, perhaps, eight days of our lives together, I feel as if I've lost a lifetime friend. I am so bummed. I can hear her voice in my head, with its faint English accent, suggesting that I channel my grief toward enjoying life's little details. And I will. But first I mourn.

Here is an excerpt of a column I wrote last year about meeting Isabel. I called her Bella in the piece. That first meeting came when I was wrestling with some internal demons.

Then something happened. I was in Maine to attend a knitting retreat and one night, during group knit, I happened to sit beside an older woman. Bella was not part of the retreat, but she was staying in our rooming house, and she knits, so she joined us. Did you ever meet someone who so instantly strikes you as the personification of calm that you wish to carry that person with you in your pocket the rest of your life?

Bella told me, in a lovely English accent, that she’s been visiting the island for over forty years. She detailed, in such a delicious manner, the sunrises she always seeks out, making them sound like the best experience anyone could have ever. Better than any meal you’ve eaten, any love affair you’ve had, any passionate physical exchange you’ve engaged in. Such were her marketing skills that I hauled my ass out of bed the next morning before dawn, hiked up to a little summit, and then, in the clearing, I stood still for a moment.

Bella sat atop a cliff, the picture of serenity, gazing across a glassy ocean. I made a little noise to let her know I was there and she beckoned me over. The clouds precluded precisely the spectacular show she’d described the night before, but it was no less wonderful. Because as Bella spoke in her calming voice, and passed along her binoculars, and noted the different birds - “Listen! That’s a chickadee!”— I thought to myself, on the heels of so much self-created ugly, just how much beauty there is in this world. A ridiculous abundance of it. So much so that, should we choose to, were we able, we could skip nearly all the ugly and just wrap ourselves in the beauty.

As we prepared to head back, Bella extracted what appeared to be a whistle from her pocket. She swung it open and revealed it for what it was—a jeweler’s loupe. Carefully she’d bend down to the tiniest flower, peer through her loupe, and then offer me a turn. “Isn’t that MAGNIFICENT?!” she would proclaim, as an intricate, detailed world came into focus.

A couple of days later at breakfast, I heard some of Bella’s story. By then, I was not at all surprised to learn that she is a Healer with a capital H. That is her job. She spoke of it softly, answered my questions, didn’t make a fuss over it. Sort of like she just knew her role in the universe and she played it, just the same way our waitress did hers, ferrying out plates of eggs and toast.

I flew back to Austin carrying images of Bella in my heart.

Friday, November 26, 2010

I Clean My Gun and Dream of Galveston

Warren and I ran away to the beach for a few days, my goal being to escape the start of the godforsaken holiday season. It's my least favorite time of the year though I make exceptions for my boy's December birthday and plates of latkes, both of which are, thankfully, in my immediate future.

My Galveston friends have talked for years about converting the space above their garage into a little apartment which I like to refer to as Spike's Writing Garret (they humor me and go along with this). They started the project earlier this year and just finished it. It is my new favorite place in the world and if I could retire down there tomorrow I'd do it. Don't get me wrong, I HEART AUSTIN. But my failure to live at the beach full time confuses me. I am, in the presence of a large body of salt water (yes, even the Gulf of Mexico), about the cheeriest human you could run into. Countless lifetime grudges are forgotten. Pesky deadlines don't get to me. I sleep better. I eat like a damn king (courtesy of the culinary genius of my friends). I take super long walks with the dogs on the beach. And sometimes-- like yesterday-- I ride my stunning beach cruiser to the Bolivar Peninsula Ferry and take that boat across and back watching for dolphins. (We saw several yesterday.)

Oh well, we're back to reality now. But now that I've got my own writing garret I'm heading back down as soon as I can. Galveston is full of inspiration for writers, like these lyrics from Glen Campbell:

Galveston, oh Galveston, I still hear your sea waves crashing
While I watch the cannons flashing
I clean my gun and dream of Galveston

(rebound waits at the bottom of the stairs to the writer's garret. those are steep steps and she is a fat girl. what a combo.)

(not eating turkey is never a problem when paula's cooking. there's chipoltle peppers in them thar sweet potatoes. OMG. they yam what they yam.)

(me supervising the making of dinner whilst knitting.)

(my writer's garret features a baby 4-foot clawfoot tub in a spacious bathroom with hardwood floors. this room is also known as the canine suite.)

(i cannot reveal my source but let me just say my austin hatch chilie pepper dealer hooked me up. these went into the apple pie. really.)

(the team of chefs that toiled for my pleasure.)

(this is a fridge magnet at my friend's house. it's made from a picture of henry when he was around 2. one of my favorite hen pics.)

(another picture on the fridge-- that's me at around age 32 when i was pretending to be a badass leaning on the hood of my '67 chevy pickup.)

(this is bemba, sort of like peanut butter cheetohs. you get them in israel. you eat them at the beach. we brought some back and saved them for this trip.)

(we'll just let this picture speak 1,000 words on its own.)

(the long ride home-- note the look of martydom on rebound's face (left) and pissed offedness on bubbles.)

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

An Eye for an Eye? How About a Book for an Eye?

(i can't see clearly now that spain is gone. i can't see all obstacles in my way.)

Good lord, look at the time. Another day hath raced past. How does it happen? I had the intent of writing a very long post tonight that somehow incorporated an update on my latest Vibrams, tales of my adventures-of-late in sewing (really!), news of my messed up eyeball, and, possibly, about 70 pictures I've been meaning to share since, oh, around August. Alas, I have this in-bed-by-midnight rule I try to adhere to lest I get cranky (well, crankier than usual). Thus I will stick with a note about the Vibrams and my eyeball and we'll pick up the rest later.

So, Vibrams (which, I had no idea, are pronounced VEE-brams, not VI-brams!)-- after all that bragging I did in my last post, instant karma or some other mustn't-get-too-excited rule kicked in. After wearing the new woolies for a day, my big toenails felt like they were going to fall off and I was in screaming pain. Being a stubborn Capricorn, I thought I could break the shoes. Wrong. The shoes broke me. Cutting to chase, I did a little research and chatted with a customer service rep and discovered the woolies run a little small since they are made with heavier, recycled rubber. I have since shipped mine back and have been promised another pair is on the way and I CAN'T WAIT. Meanwhile, if you order some, be sure to go a little big. They have good charts at their website. And if it helps, know that I'm a size 8.5 US so I usually order 40EU in the Vibrams. I'm just bumping up to a 41 and hoping that was the right choice. If not, I'll let you know.

Now, about that eyeball. Well, I went to see Steven Dell yesterday, who is, yes, related to that other Dell. SD is reputed to be the best eye guy in our city, and also is, I think, pretty well-known in bigger circles. He's a pretty no nonsense guy and didn't really fall for my ongoing, anxiety driven attempts to make medical types laugh. That's cool. I don't care if he's a Republican frankly. I just want my eyeball fixed.

The good news is: I don't have a cataract. The bad news is: I have two cataracts. Yep, one in each eye. I haven't even noticed the left one yet, either because it's very small or because the right one is so fucking miserable that I can't even be bothered with the left one. As I am an uninsured American, I have to pony up cash to get the right cataract removed. Then I will save up and hopefully get the left one taken care of in 2011. A bionic lens (which would restore perfect vision sans glasses) runs around $6k. Fortunately, I like wearing glasses. As I was saying to a friend recently, my glasses are like Wonder Woman's Invisible Airplane. I sort of feel protected with a little layer between me and the world. So I'm going for the basic $3000 replacement which, since I'm paying cash, comes with a no-extra-charge astigmatism correction. (Done with a diamond! That's the closest I'll ever get to a diamond. Wait, a joke: the Other Dell Diamond. I think I'll try that out on SD next time I see him.)

Where was I? Oh, so yeah, I scheduled surgery for December 22nd, which means I'll have an excellent excuse to skip Christmas. Not that I need an excuse, but sometimes well-meaning friends think they'll be the ones to finally break through and make me enjoy Jesus's birthday. People? It ain't gonna happen. If you want to give me a bejeweled pirate eyepatch, so be it. But beyond that, I'm holing up over here and ignoring the 25th.

(all i want for christmas. well, that and $3000)

I have some good news, which I haven't been talking about much lately. I got a day job. It's just a short term, three-month gig, covering for someone on maternity leave. I'm not discussing where I'm working, in part because I signed a NDA and in part because I want to keep my Office Girl life separate from my Loudmouth Life. Because I really, really like this job, you know? Pity it doesn't give me fodder for cynical posts about office work, but really, that's not so bad. The steady paycheck means that I can apply all of my side-gig money directly to getting my eye fixed.

So, that's where you come in. I have had several friends offer to throw me a benefit. That is so nice it makes me want to cry. On the other hand, I have, with all gratitude, gently declined. Couple of reasons for this. First, back in 2005, Chris & Co. threw a benefit to get my foot fixed. That was SO nice, and the surgeon waived his fee, and all of that made the impossible possible. Without all that help I'd still be walking with a cane. But that was then and this is now. I've been building my various business endeavors, I'm not going to be laid up after surgery so I don't have to worry about missing work. So all I really need is to move some units over here. Since I'm The Product, that means I have to get over my disdain for marketing me.

Wait, I can hear you saying, "But Spike, you have 1500 FB Friends and you know everyone. You're a marketing genius." To which I say, "Well, shucks, I guess maybe I am." However, one thing I HATE doing is doing a hard sell of my books, workshops, etc. I like to believe that people who are interested will find me. I don't want to be like the Girl Scout Cookie peddler, trying to force diabetes on the masses courtesy of a combination of cute-and-guilt.

But it's time for me to trot out cute-and-guilt. First, some visuals to help push you in the right direction...


(think of all the costumes she'll have to forgo if you don't help defray my surgery expenses by buying my books!)

(where you will go if you don't help me!)

If you will all help me get the word out about my workshops, that would be tremendously helpful. There are the Kids' Holiday Craft Workshops. And there are the Winter Writing Workshops for adults.

Beyond that, there are the Take Me Back to Austin, TX (Right Now) t-shirts, available at BookWoman and Hill Country Weavers. And... okay, building up to it... my new quilt book drops on 11/21-- that's just a few days away. Here's what it looks like:

(you actually can judge this book by it's amazing cover. the inside rocks, too!)

While it's true you can pick up a copy on the cheap at Amazon, I happen to have around a dozen here at the house. They retail for $40. If you know a quilting fanatic and would like to gift one of these books, I am asking for a $50 donation which gets you a book, signed and personalized, wrapped real pretty for the holiday, and shipped wherever you want in the U.S. You can email me for more details and/or hit the DONATE button over there to your right. No, not there, up a little... right! There!

Getting back to the cataract itself. So I asked SD why, at my youngish age, I might have developed cataracts, beyond the fact that I am an over-achiever. SD says they don't know for sure, but it could be genetic, or it might be all that smoking I did, and/or it could be related to UV exposure. Bingo. People? I am from NEW JERSEY where it is REQUIRED BY LAW that you spend as much time between Memorial Day and Labor Day lying on the beach, slathered in baby oil, dragging on ciggies. I mean, it's my BIRTHRIGHT. And since I like to think that cigarettes really weren't that bad for me, I must, by default BLAME MY ANCESTORS.

(one of my ancestors)

Good, so we have a reason.

Now, if you will-- please let me know if you want one of the new quilting books. I can also hook y'all up with my first quilting book, Quilty As Charged, for $23, which includes wrapping, postage and handling (and I promise you, I will HANDLE it.)

That's all I got for you tonight.
One Blind Mouse

Friday, November 12, 2010

Vibram Five Fingers: The Insane Love Affair Continues!

Oh yes. Today my THIRD pair of Vibram Five Fingers arrived. I got a pair of the new WOOL VFF's and I'm guessing I might be the only one in Austin with these babies. I LOVE THEM I LOVE THEM I LOVE THEM. I went to lengths to get them.

First, I wrote to VFF CEO Tony Post and asked him to sponsor me. I really did. Because I have worn my Vibrams all over the world and I can even say, "I have monkey feet" in Spanish and Hebrew. I honestly cannot tell you how many hours of my life I have dedicated to telling strangers about these shoes. If you need to make friends and influence people, forget Dale Carnegie and get some VFFs. I've touted them to anyone who stops and asks me, and people stop and ask me constantly. Last week at the International Quilt Fest in Houston I probably convinced ten people or more to buy some.

Anyway, Tony wrote me a nice letter back but so far, no sponsorship. I told him thanks anyway and that I would continue to be an unofficial spokesmonkey for the company. How can I not?

I blew through my first pair after wearing them pretty much 24/7 for months and months, including 3 mile daily walks with the dogs on dirt trails, concrete sidewalks, and asphalt roads. Before those wore out, I picked up a second pair so that I could always have one pair on my feet and one in the washer (yes, you can wash them). This amused Warren who acted as if I were some royal snob keeping two sets of silver on hand because the servants weren't keeping the first set polished fast enough to please me.

The second pair is winding down-- they maybe have a couple of hundred miles left in them. So I started looking at the VFF website the way some people surf for Internet porn. And then I spotted them: WOOL VIBRAMS! OMG OMG OMG. Wool and Vibrams, two of my favorite things together-- it's like that old Reese's Peanut Butter Cup ad: You got your wool in my toe shoes! No, no! You got your toe shoes in my wool! Talk about two great tastes that go great together.

I noted that I could not order the woolies directly from VFF, that I had to get them in a store. Well Whole Earth didn't have 'em and neither did REI. But I could order them from the REI website and have them shipped to my local store. Which I did. And I waited. And waited. And today they got here. When I went to pick them up, I wound up in a twenty minute conversation with a woman considering buying another style VFF. I sealed the deal for Larry the shoe salesguy. A very nice REI employee begged to see them-- he's a zealot like me but hadn't seen the wool ones yet. That took another fifteen minutes-- every one of them most enjoyable. It's like we both had taken the same excellent acid at the precise same moment and we stood there tripping together over how much we love these shoes.

So, okay, they look goofy. But people, let me tell you-- if you have not gotten a pair yet, you should order some now. Just make sure you get the right size. I can't wait to order ten more pairs. And I'll let you know when Vibram realizes that sponsoring me is going to be the move that pushes their company into the Fortune 500.

Mwa mwa mwa-- I kiss you new shoes!! I love you!!

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Holiday Craft Workshops for Kids!

Hey Y'all,

Would you kindly help me get the word out about my upcoming workshops by posting this info wherever you see fit: FB, neighborhood listservs, etc? Thanks a million.



Spike Gillespie, craft goddess, will be hosting two Holiday Craft Workshops for Kids 7 - 13 (inclusive) on December 11 and December 18, 2010. Each workshop runs from 10 am til 4 pm and will be held at the Universalist Unitarian Church in Central Austin. Cost is $80 per child and includes supplies and snacks. (You provide a bag lunch). Kids will be able to make up to 10 gifts per session, which they will also have an opportunity to wrap and tag. The workshop will be super fun and emphasize creativity and the power of found object art. Spike will be assisted by her incredibly crafty friends-- the whiz seamstresses Samantha and Geneva (of Fashion Camp fame) and, hopefully, CeCi the Duct Tape Art Genius. For more details or to sign up, email

Monday, November 8, 2010

Review: Strange Powers (The Magnetic Fields Documentary)

Since I imagine this post might be a pretty good ramble, let me say up front that if you love the Magnetic Fields, you should go see the movie Strange Powers: Stephin Merritt & Magnetic Fields. It's co-directed by Kerthy Fix and Gail O'Hara and I just loved it. By the time I post this, it'll be too late for you to see the 7 pm Monday show, which means you'll have only one chance to see it before it's gone-- Wednesday night at 9 at Alamo Ritz. Here's a link-- get your tickets now because I'm betting it'll sell out. (Soon, you can also buy the DVD.)

I want to tell you that Kerthy is an old friend of mine, and Austin lost a true talent when she decided to move to NY, and anytime she's ready to come back WE ARE READY!! (Do you hear me Kerthy?) But I'm not recommending the film as a favor to a friend. I'm recommending it because it is truly wonderful, a portrait of a man, a band, a platonic couple, and an intimate glimpse into artistic process.

Now you'd think, given how much I worship Merritt's writing, that of course I'd recommend the film even before seeing it, the way that some fans collect bootlegs, snapping them up without knowing in advance if they are any good. But my "relationship" with Merritt is tricky. First of all, it is on one level utterly imaginary. I don't know the guy from Adam, though I like to think I know him a teeny bit now that I've seen the movie. On the other hand, his lyrics-- in particular the masterpiece that is 69 Love Songs-- have moved me so much, for so many years, that in a way, I do have a relationship with him, even if he doesn't have one with me.

Merritt lands on a very short list I have of All Time Favorite Songwriters. Though I'm sure I'll forget a few, here's most of the list: Southpaw Jones, (old) Springsteen, (old) Elvis Costello, Franklin Bruno (look him up), and Jill Sobule. (There should be, and probably are, more women on that list, but let's leave it at that for now so I can focus on Merritt.) Actually, it's not just his clever words, but his amazing composition that gets me every time. And then there is the sentiment-- playful, flip, nostalgic, thoughtful... pick a descriptive that has a positive connotation and probably it, too, belongs in the definition of what Merritt does with his songs.

And yet... Well, I've seen the Magnetic Fields play twice, once at Hogg Auditorium years ago, and once, more recently at the Paramount. My memories of these shows aren't particularly great. I nearly fell asleep several times at the Hogg show (which Kerthy shot for her film). Later, I ran into my friend Vince, who also attended, and he said something like the performance had been the most deliberate act of lethargy he'd ever seen executed. He was understating the matter. It was like the band was purposefully fucking with the audience. They also sustained a private banter, exclusive of the audience-- well, Stephin and Claudia Gonson did, while the guitarist and cellist sat between them stoically, like they were ancient animatronic characters. I will admit that the S & C exchanges were quite witty and amusing, but overall the show was soooo slow. (On the other hand, Henry did attend with me-- he had just turned 14 and we shared (and still share) a passion for MF that is one of our special bonding thingies. So that was nice.)

At the Paramount show, Merritt was flat out rude to the audience and this statement is not just another instance of me being hypersensitive-- other friends who were there concurred. Now, I have seen a million concerts in my life. And I have grown up at least enough to know that brilliant songwriters don't "owe" any of us anything, though I find it ironic that folks like James McMurtry and Ray LaMontagne are so incredibly gifted with musical talents and yet seem really squirmy onstage. It's like the gods fucked with them and said, "Here, have a talent, an exceptional talent, but for people to know about it you're going to have to drag your introverted ass out on stage over and over." And yet I know by now that if I want to hear a musician perform, and if that musician is anti-banter or fails to be particularly warm and fuzzy, then my job is to get around that and enjoy the main reason I showed up, which is the music itself, and the opportunity to be in the same room with a voice I love.

But then, I am the President of the Office of Good Deeds, and as such, a huge fan of kindness. So despite my attempts to keep irritation in check when a performer doesn't offer the love freely, I admit I can come away from a grumpily performed show with a bad taste in my mouth. Can't these people be a little appreciative? I should say here that I am NOT referring to the shy LaMontagne and the laconic McMurtry-- I've witnessed both express their thanks to the audience, acknowledge that we're part of what keeps them in the business of doing what they're best at. But Merritt? Good lord, what a grouch. To the point that he passes the whole lovable curmudgeon stage and enters into the realm of borderline ick.

There's another reason this attitude bugged me about SM. It had nothing to do with wishing performers recognized the importance of fans. Oh no. What it was, was that I had fallen so in love with SM's music, and believed that anyone capable of such sentiments, such sweeping romance, such incredible insight, must surely be as sensitive in person as on the disc. Seeing him live threatened to move him over to the Fallen Heroes category, and frankly, I don't have that many heroes left.

So while I went to see Strange Powers simply thrilled that Kerthy's labor of love was finally in the can and on the screen, I wondered what I'd think watching the tale of Merritt. And this is why I am so glad-- so so so glad-- I went. Kudos abound, but one area that really stands out is that the directors use a decent amount of black and white imagery, which lend Merritt a very man-out-of-time sensibility, like he's from the very old school-- think the Beats, think Hemingway. There is a part of my heart that will always embrace the romantic notion of the 20th century poets and ex-pat writers and I'm mostly convinced those days are long behind us. Except...

Except here is this portrayal of Merritt, who pursues his passion and doesn't get anywhere near the recognition I wish he did. He is from another planet-- I'd call him an angel but that's not right. I don't even know how to capture him. If you know his work, you know what I mean. If you don't, I hope you'll check him out.

I especially appreciated the examination of Merritt's collaboration with Gonson, a self-described fag-hag, though she seems to have eyes only for one fag, the Amazing Mr. Merritt. Their relationship began in the '80s, another huge hook for me in the documentary as I recalled my own wild youth during that time, running around with my own music fanatic gay platonic boyfriend Jonny. We had such a bond, something so deep, and he was the first PERSON in my life (not the first man) to ever say, "I love you," to me-- and I count in this observation members of my own family (we were not a family that expressed our love verbally). The intimacy S & C have shared for nearly 30 years is palpable and totally resonated.

I understand, really I do, that I have no right to try to lay claim to Stephin Merritt, or his band, or any part of his life. I got to see 82 minutes of footage, culled from who can even guess how many hundreds of hours, that-- I understand intellectually-- can't even begin to scratch the surface of the songwriter's true depth and motives. But I was grateful for what I was offered, which felt like a whole lot, and I left the theater thinking I would really like to catch him live again sometime and that, no really, this time, whatever he wants to dish out to the audience, I won't let it get to me.

Because in the end, his music is such an incredible gift to those of us who've had the chance to know it, that that is more than sufficient. It stirs me every time my iPod pulls up MF on shuffle. And I cannot hear The Book of Love without instantly being transported, usually to a very cold night, late December, 2007, when Warren and I stood under the brilliant stars in Real de Catorce, Mexico, and danced to that very tune, each of us with one earbud, immersed in a fantastically intimate moment, right there, not looking forward or looking back, just taking in the massive sky and the poetic brilliance of one of the greatest songwriters who ever put pen to paper. This is what makes Stephin Merritt soar above the rest. I hope you'll go to the movie and see and hear for yourself.

Friday, November 5, 2010

SHREK... In Haste!

Tis time for another Hasty Theatre Review. Actually, this one might break a record, that's how great my haste is. But I want to at least let you know Shrek the Musical is playing at Bass Concert Hall through the weekend. Warren and I saw it Wednesday night and it is SO FUN. Usually I like to overanalyze plot, see if I can find a connection to Edward Albee, and figure out how a show is destined to change my life. But this is one of those shows that is just PURE FUN. Super silly, clever lyrics, and some extremely hilarious special effects, particularly regarding Lord Farquaad.

I did a wee bit o'analysis lite and here's what I came up with: Shrek, the movie(s) poked a lot of fun at Hollywood studios and America's obsessions with name brand shopping. Shrek the musical skips the make-fun-of-Hollywood stuff, but more than a few of the song-and-dance numbers are gentle send-ups of Ye Olde Tyme Broadway. I could've sworn I caught a whiff of Ethel Merman in there. For sure there are some splashy dance routines-- like the Three Blind Mice number-- that recall a long gone yesteryear and tap-happy shuffle-ball-change. Oh, and Pinocchio leads an ensemble scene that is nothing if not a thinly-veiled homage to homos. I just LOVED that.

Something else to look for-- a show this clever, with such amazing makeup, sets, and special effects-- begs a musical whore like me to contemplate the mechanics. How in the hell does Shrek even live through two hours in that heavy mask, let alone manage to sing and appear cheerful the whole time? This show offers a whole lot to think about, something I could easily do while keeping track of the wonderful witty lyrics, great acting, and corny jokes. Like I said-- not a heavy show, not at all. And sometimes that's what I love best.

Here are details for the show:

WHO: Broadway Across America and Texas Performing Arts

WHAT: Based on the Oscar®-winning DreamWorks film that started it all, Broadway’sSHREK THE MUSICAL brings the hilarious story of everyone’s favorite ogre to life on stage

WHEN: November 2–7, 2010

Tuesday–Friday at 8 p.m.; Saturday at 2 p.m. & 8 p.m.; Sunday at 2 p.m. & 7:30 p.m.

WHERE: Bass Concert Hall | 2350 Robert Dedman Drive | Austin, TX

TICKETS: Start at $23. Tickets are on sale now at the Bass Concert Hall box office, all Texas Box Office Outlets, by phone at (512) 477-6060 or online Groups of 15 or more are available by calling toll free at 1 -877-275-3804, or e-mail