How I Spent My Summer-- Part II: FOOD!

The Official Health Drink of New Jersey!

I’m always roughly 200% certain that when I go traveling my brain will rationalize that, this being a special occasion and all, it is entirely appropriate to eat with abandon. Unfortunately— or perhaps very fortunately— residing inside of that very same brain is the brain that has read 5,000 books about not eating crap, remembering the importance of local food and blah blah blah fucking blah.

Other voices weigh into this ongoing battle of mine. Having been born in Jersey across the river from Philly, I am genetically and culturally a Carbovore and a Sugarholic. And I am – literally not metaphorically— an addict, which is a very special kind of personality that comes with its own built-in Bullshit Justification System.

To wit—at the end of June I really truly quit smoking. (Aside: just typing those words makes me feel like I’ve jinxed myself and will immediately go buy a pack after I post this. But I swear to you and me both I won’t.) When I quit smoking— which I had been trying to do ever since I resumed smoking five years ago, after a six year break and during my Uber Traumatic Divorce— I told myself to be nice to myself, don’t be hard on myself, reward myself!!

This reward system manifested in a tri-Pavlovian setup, with the setting sun playing the role of the ringing bell. Every night at dusk I hopped into bed with four dogs, a pint of frozen Greek yogurt and at least two (usually three) episodes of Big Love. See, I buy into that theory that you can’t just quit a habit, you need to replace it with another. Well, the replacement theory worked this time but not without drawbacks. Let’s just say that I am definitely one of the legions of smoke-quitters that almost instantly experience IFB (inflatable butt syndrome).

When one suffers IFB, I find that one can go two directions: a) embrace the cushion as one might on a crashing airplane and just float along a sea of resignation or b) freak out and self-flagellate, an exercise which, sadly, doesn’t seem to burn many calories.

This was my mindset at Road Trip dawned. Could I fend off the hoagies and soft pretzels I knew awaited me in South Jersey? Could I convince my Warren, a man nicknamed the Good Eater-- not always for the quality of food on his plate but rather the quantity-- to embark on a journey of salad hunting throughout Canada?

I could not. So essentially I said fuck it, let’s just go for the donuts, be glad for the absence of smokes, and figure out WWMMW (What Would the Michelin Man Wear?) when I got back.

Happy to report that, since I’ve returned and save for the fourteen baskets of bread and Chicago-sized slab of coconut cake we had at Texas French Bread to celebrate our anniversary, I am back on track with dinosaur kale smoothies morning, noon and night. I refuse to regret the absolute glut of gluttony in which I indulged over the course of 22 days and 5,000 miles but, at least until I map out the next monster trip, I swear I swear I swear: Never Again.

Here, then, visual proof of my culinary insanity: 

We begin at exit 353 on I-35 North. Henry and I stop at the Czech Stop. He doesn't even eat kolaches anymore, I don't think, but this is an accidental tradition we started many, many years ago. Driving up to Dallas to visit the Morning News, for which I wrote a column, this became such a regular stop that once we spent a whole day there "researching" for an article which, for many years, hung over the register. A highlight of my journalism career!

Southern Fried Breakfast in Knoxville.

Egg sandwich, also Knoxville. For part of my pregnancy I lived in Knoxville and during this time I ate an egg sandwich almost every morning. 

I didn't actually buy these, but just spotting local-focus junk food amuses me. As you can likely guess, we found these at a gas station in Maryland.

Life imitates hyperbolic joke... So, okay, at the top of the post I named this as the Official Health Drink of NJ. In truth, I spotted this item in Maryland, too. But for years and years, long before such a thing existed, I used to tell people that in NJ the definition of a smoothie is cake batter with a straw in it. Well dang, look what I manifested. 

My mother's refrigerator-- she's got 9 kids and 26 grandkids and everyone likes to hydrate differently.

There is no food on earth finer than a hoagie on Philly hoagie rolls. I go for the cheese hoagie. Utterly sublime. You will note in this photo series no TastyKakes, which might seem blasphemous. I didn't eat any TastyKakes this time NOT as a futile nod toward healthfulness but because-- and I'm being serious-- TK is no longer allowed to use transfats so they don't taste as good. Yes, if it doesn't have transfats, I ain't eating it, not in Jersey anyway.

Behold, the Philly Soft Pretzel. These were still warm from the oven. OMG.

Secular Holy Communion. 

Secular Holy Communion Unveiled. 

Pizza for the kids. We adults ate something more mature. See below.

I believe my sister identified this as a panzoratti.  I had forgotten the definition and agreed when she said I should get one. So what is a panzoratti? Why it's DEEP FRIED FUCKING PIZZA. The word panzoratti translates from the Italian roughly as follows: I like big butts and I cannot lie. 

Forget Texas Salsa. These Italian style hot peppers will blow your nuts off. They blew my nuts off.

I got eggplant wrapped around ricotta. Because if cheese isn't involved, it's a cardinal sin.

Nick got the soft-shelled crabs. Fried. Natch. 

Warren got the scallops. I had a nightmare about scallops once. WTF are scallops anyway?

Tira-so-sue-me.

The above grub was ingested at this joint in Atlantic City, right before I blew around sixty bucks in the slot machines. Stay tuned for those pictures soon.

My East Coast peeps won't need any help identifying what this is, but for the rest of you let me explain. This is SCRAPPLE. Unlike the board game SCRABBLE, which involves the living human brain, SCRAPPLE involves the dead cow brain. Fried. Of course. And no, I did not eat this shit. Warren did.

I swear I did not partake in any of this boardwalk cuisine, but I took this picture to illustrate how Jerseyeans  have really gotten behind Governor Chris Christie's mandate that outlaws all vegetables except tomatoes for pizza and pasta sauce and any vegetable that can be turned into an oil for frying things like fucking OREO's for god's sake.

I call those things jimmies. Warren thinks this is hilarious. He calls them sprinkles. I'm right, right? 

After passing our nine billionth FRIENDLY'S, which Warren had (luckily) never indulged in, I finally agreed to stop so he could test out the "cuisine." 

Warren was able to identify all but one item on his plate at FRIENDLY'S.

I live a vegetarian lifestyle about 98% of the time, but make exceptions for the garlic shrimp sandwich at Tam Deli in Austin (cue the food porn bass guitar) and some seafood on the east coast. At FRIENDLY'S I had some spectacular from-a-can clam chowder (clam singular-- there was just one piece in the soup). I upgraded for a mere 99c, to a bread bowl, which Warren thought was hilarious. He also ate half of my bowl. I mean, the actual bowl. 

Finally we got to Canada where vegetables are legal. I had a Vege Burger!  It was tres magnifique.  It also unstopped my bowels, which were clogged from all that cheese in Jersey.

I can't even remember what Warren had that night, but I think he is coloring in this picture.

Some of my wedding clients highly recommended a number of food items in Montreal, including deli food, bagels and Tim Horton donuts. These were all great suggestions. Here, Warren and I start out our first full day in Montreal with latkes (me) and a massive chopped liver sandwich (him).

One sesame ball filled with red bean paste, acquired in Montreal's tiny Chinatown. I love sesame balls because they taste good, and they are fried and also because they remind me of Japan. More on that another day.

Warren purchased me a Biscuit d'epouse, aka Wife Cake. It was good and I also acquired a new nickname.

Don't knock a Best Western until you've looked at every sleazy un-airconditioned option before agreeing to pay extra for a cookie cutter hotel room. I was so psyched that they had these little coffee bags which I just love. They are like a cross between a ravioli and a tampon, don't you think?

St. Viateur Bagels was one of the highly recommended places and it was SO SO SO good. So good. 

I got bagels with eggs fried right into the holes.  

Warren got delish Jewish food and lovely garnish. 

This is bread from a chi-chi place where we ate in Quebec City, which is a super super cool city. 

In the same restaurant we ordered "fondue" for an appetizer, imagining something from the seventies involving a pot in the middle of the table with a bunsen burner beneath it and long pointy sticks we could use to skewer bits of bread and plunge them into liquidy cheese with a white wine overtone. Instead we got fried cheese cubes. C'est la vie!

Let's just say I musseled my way through Canada. 

And now, a closeup of my mussels. 

Aside-- I got that striped sweater for seventeen bucks at an H&M. I think H&M is coming to Austin. YAY! So I'm eating in this pic a maple frosted donut from Tim Hortons Donuts. This place was recommended but not realizing it was as common as Dunkin' Donuts, I felt a sense of urgency when I spotted my first one, insisting we stop. That wasn't a great idea since I immediately became addicted and had to stop at all the rest, which are about 3/4th of a mile apart from each other.  

Even the snack food is more exciting in Canada! 

More mussels. These were in St. Andrews, New Brunswick, Canada, where we went to whale watch. 

Warren got lobster, the ultimate trafe experience. He didn't know how to eat a lobster so our waitress, Lori, the nicest waitress on the planet, showed him how. I myself don't eat lobster, which is a funny example of weird food rules. So, like, crab and mussels? Fine. Lobster? Too big. Too easy to anthropomorphize.

I think, during a trip of wonderful food, this was my very favorite. It contains all four New Jersey Food Groups: Starch, Sugar, Fat and a non-vegetable. It's a blueberry bread pudding topped with Creme Fraiche and slathered with real maple syrup. I am still dreaming of this. I mean really. Amazing.  

St. Andrews seems to draw a lot of well-off retirees, which in turn inspires the sort of restaurants these folks like. Thus we found ourselves in a rather chi-chi joint for lunch. 

Warren had the Lobster BLT. 

I had the crab cakes which could also be a fitting nickname for me during certain points of the journey.  

Fresh blueberries in Maine.  

We made it to DAYS TAKEOUT in Yarmouth Maine with literally two minutes to go before closing time. This is one of my favorite restaurants in the universe. I took Warren here last year on our trip to Maine, so now, with a second visit, it's a tradition. They have lobster rolls and crab rolls-- basically the meat of those creatures mixed up with a little may and served on a grilled hotdog bun. So tasty.  

Warren had two lobster rolls. 

We were in Maine for less than 24 hours, and to fuel ourselves for the drive to PA we stopped at the STANDARD BAKERY in Portland, which is a fantastic bakery but not for the gluten-averse. 

Among other delicacies, I got one of these pretzely asiago cheese thingies. 

Driving to PA, Warren pulled into Danbury, CT to find a bathroom and a bite to eat. Who could've predicted that in the heart of Danbury we'd find an authentic Brasilian restaurant?  

Warren got a plateful of meat to go, plus some fried plantains and sweet potatoes. He shared some of the non-meat with me, but at one point offered up something smeared in meat juice and I nearly blew chunks on the spot. 

At this point we were in PA and I knew (seriously I did) that it was time to stop with all the donuts. But goldang it, we were in Pennsylvania Dutchland and my friend Chris, who's a local there and friends with the Amish, said we just HAD to try their donuts. Okay, what the hell, why not build up the built-in airbags some more, Spike?  

Still more pretzels. Can you even get real good soft pretzels  south of the Mason-Dixon line and/or west of the Mississippi?  

Next stop: St. Louis, home of Imo's Pizza. Like many non-locals, when I first moved to St. Louis and tried Imo's, my attitude was BULLSHIT, this is NOT PIZZA. But I learned, oh boy, did I. I even worked at Imo's eventually. And I spent the last trimester of my pregnancy in St. Louis, woking at Imo's right up until a few days before Henry arrived.  As with the Knoxville egg sandwiches, eating a personal pizza just about every day became ritual when I was pregnant. 

Not surprisingly, then, Imo's pizza was Henry's first solid food.  

In St. Louis we stayed with my friend Sue, whom I met when we both worked at Riddles Penultimate restaurant in the Loop in U. City Missouri. Sue took us to ROOSTER for breakfast-- they do a lot of locally sourced menu items. Warren had biscuits and gravy. 

I had crepes.  

We also ate in in St. Louis, which was great because Sue is an amazing cook. This was breakfast, featuring her homemade brown bread, some strawberry-rhubarb jam I got from the Amish, and her peach soup which is a dish best served cold.  

Then Sue and I went to the Farmers Market in Tower Grove Park and this guy told me all about his cheese, made local and award winning. 

Across the park from the Farmers Market was International Fest with food and craft tents set up representing pretty much every country in the world. It was such a diverse crowd it was like someone called central casting and said, "Send us several thousand people and make them look, as a whole, the complete oppositie of the blinding white ACL throngs." I got the above pumpkin/nut fillo dough thingie at the Bulgarian tent. 

Back at home, we had homemade kale chips from local organic kale. 

And Sue put out the sort of spread that would get her kicked out of New Jersey.

This included the amazing local cheese.

Then, because we didn't want to get too bogged down in healthy eating, Warren demanded a trip to White Castle. I watched, I did not eat. Our friend Thomas had the fish sandwich. Warren had four disgusting sliders. This was the primo WC, at Grand and Gravois, where you spend the entire meal fending off panhandlers. We actually got hit up on the way in by a small child whose parental unit sent her to beg from us. It was really unsettling actually, but no more unsettling than what those sliders did wo Warren's innards. 

Thomas and me.  

Knowing we were heading home to the Organic Green Bubble that is Austin, a place where people are more inclined to use frying oil to power their Willie Nelson inspired bio-diesel-engined vehicle than to use it as god intended it (to fry Snickers bars)... well knowing that, Warren took one last opportunity to buy a styro container packed with crap-fried-crap at a truckstop on the way south.  

I saw him and raised him one, pulling into the Sonic across the street from the truckstop, and ordering a grilled cheese sandwich, which I enhanced with ketchup and tater tots. 

And then I concluded as I had begun, back at the Czech Stop, for one last kolache before returning to Austin and my all kale all the time diet. 

How I Spent My Summer: Part I- HENRY!

Monday night Warren and I arrived back in Austin. For me it was a 22-day, 5,000 mile journey. For Warren it was a bit less. The short version of the itinerary looked like this:

• Spike & Henry drive a Scion xb full of Henry's stuff to NJ.
• Henry ditches Spike in NJ to visit her people.
• Henry boldly drives to Brooklyn alone to empty the car of his stuff.
• Warren flies to Philly to meet Spike.
• Henry returns car.
• Spike and Warren take off for the Great White North, etc.

Let's see, where did we go? Well, to borrow a metaphor and a quote from Joe, the protagonist in Ian McEwan's Enduring Love, "These were the stations of my cross." I didn't make a super conscious effort to revisit so many old haunts, but there was definitely a subconscious undercurrent pushing us along. When Henry was little there were many summers when I threw him in the back of a car-- sometimes without a/c-- and drove a route that either took us through St. Louis (to see his paternal people) or through Knoxville (the first place I got a job after college). Then we'd go on to Jersey.

This time around, because Henry was eager to start his new life in NYC, he and I made a beeline. Night One: Memphis. Night Two: Knoxville. Day Three: Jersey. To those of you we didn't not stop and say hello to, please forgive me. This trip was about so many things, and the internal landscape I needed to cover was at least as vast as the physical journey. I was trying, with only limited success, to gracefully let go of Henry, as he takes a next very big step in his life. He's lived independently for many years, yes-- for this I am proud and grateful and it was always my stated goal to raise an independent human. But now he no longer lives four blocks away, which was a lot to wrap my head around during the process of getting from point A(ustin) to point B(rooklyn).

This past summer, knowing he was preparing to leave, I'd find myself bursting into tears without warning. Driving home from Wheatsville, for example, where he and I have been going since we moved here when he was ten months old (21 years ago next week). I am so happy for him, so excited about the record, so thrilled at his amazing driving skills, so grateful for our road trip. Because covering a couple of thousand miles in the car with him, seeing and feeling that distance, was oddly comforting.

Analogy time: Anyone can go and buy a factory-made, machine-knitted scarf for four bucks at Target. It'll keep you warm and maybe even be pretty. A hand-knitted scarf is a project that, if you use the kind of yarn I do and knit as slowly as I do, can cost a lot, take a very long time and so- on at least the time/cost levels-- not be terribly efficient. And yet there's something about touching every single stitch. This is what it was like traversing all those miles in the car with my son. Yes, he could've flown up. But this was so much better.

Once Warren arrived we alternated between visiting super ancient haunts of my youth-- I'm talking to you, Wildwood, NJ-- and places we'd never been before. Or maybe that one of us had been to, but not the other. Or at least not together. Canada was stupendous and if you missed my FB post, here's something amazing about that place: people drive well and they drive nice and they USE THEIR TURN SIGNALS. It's like being in another country! Oh wait...

We had four arguments of note. I rarely if ever dissect relationship stuff publicly anymore but I just want to throw that out there, that yes, despite our individual and collective fabulousness, Warren and I, when we go on these monster trips, are a living, breathing, huffing, puffing example of why two people should never, ever spend 24/7 together for extended periods of time, and why it is so important to plan breaks along the way.

And yet. And yet we got through the hollering and-- I don't mean this in a Hallmarky way-- I think we might just be better off for it, though it's going to take a long time before I forget that part where, after I said (ala Thelma and Louise) that under no circumstances did I want to drive in New York, Warren navigated us into the heart of the Bronx at rush hour.

When I travel sometimes I journal and sometimes I don't. This was one of those times when I consciously did not take notes. I'll never really truly relax in my lifetime, but I'm getting slightly better at  easing up my death grip on certain "must dos" when traveling. Warren laughs recalling a week of beach camping we did where I had to tick X number of "relaxation activities" off my list every day in order to be satisfied, which of course is never actually as satisfying as one might hope.

I did take a lot of pictures. And as we went along I began to imagine a series of posts called How I Spent My Summer: X. The X might be Food or Architecture or People or Animals or -- of course-- YARN YARN AND MORE YARN!! So I think that's what I'll attempt to do here over the next week or so. Rather than present a chronology, I'll classify as I see fit.

That said, the first leg of the journey was all about Henry, and so for today's opening post, chronology and subject intersect. I spent a lot of time when Henry was little writing about his life. At a certain point, maybe when he was around 13, he asked me to stop. I have mostly honored that, with a few slip ups that he's forgiven me after the fact or even given me upfront permission to post when I asked. Today is one of those days where I hope he'll overlook my need to gush about him in public.  And so, herewith, a few shots. Stay tuned for How I Spent My Summer: Part II-- FOOD!

packing the Scion

Saying bye to Tatum, who is 13+ now, and who has been with us since Henry was 8 years old and she was a few months old.

Stopping by Big Red's house to say good-bye. 

Henry and Big Red -- the apple didn't fall far from the tree. Thank god he got his father's hips.

I bragged about Henry to an Elvis fan at Graceland. She insisted on his autograph. He embarrassingly obliged and did an elaborate signature. He confessed afterward, "Mom, I never signed my name like that before in my life."

Playing for a bit at the Heartbreak Hotel.

With Elvis. 

In Knoxville with Ollie and Charlie.

In Jersey with Mom-Mom.

I love my boy. 

Our First E-Anthology-- HEALING-- Available Now

A few months ago I hosted a weekend writing retreat. We met up on Friday night for dinner and to discuss a possible theme for the weekend. By the end of dinner we'd settled on HEALING, a favorite topic of mine. Then over the course of the next two days attendees wrote and wrote and revised and shared and wrote some more. In the end we came up with a collection of nine pieces on the subject. And now, this collection has been published (by yours truly). These essays cover a broad spectrum of healing experiences, and include stories about healing mentally, physically, emotionally.

You can buy the collection for your Kindle at Amazon right here. 

Or, if you prefer, you can buy it for your Nook right here. 

A new round of workshops and another writing retreat are coming up soon. We'll do another anthology and a public reading. For details on how to sign up for these workshops you can go right here: Write With Spike Workshops.

And please do help us get the word out about our anthology. Thanks!

StoryTime @ Cactus Cafe: Me Reading Big Dig on Buddha Mountain

I had a lovely time reading at the Cactus Cafe as part of StoryTime. Thanks to our lovely hostess Angela Maldonado, not only for inviting me, but for telling one of the most beautiful stories ever. Here's vid of my portion of the show. Oh, and StoryTime has an open mic component, so if you want to find out how you can participate, check out KUT.org or watch the events listing calendar for the Cactus Cafe.

Get Thee to Hidden Room Theatre for Rose Rage!

Hey Y'all,
I am on vacation and so not writing full on reviews right now. But I am interrupting my carb-laden downtime, putting down the hoagies and soft pretzels long enough to strongly suggest you cancel any other plans you might have and get tickets to see ROSE RAGE, currently being performed by The Hidden Room Theatre. It closes this weekend so do not delay!

The play is an adaptation of Shakespeare's Henry VI Trilogy, created by Edward Hall and Roger Warren for Propellor. It is presented in two parts and features a cast comprised of both Americans and Brits. Before being united in the same space for realtime rehearsals, the company worked together via Skype. That's not the only new twist on ye olde bard. The performance was also livestreamed recently.

So much to love about this production. Master of Company, Beth Burns, is a tremendous gift to Austin. She puts on Shakespeare using original practices-- all-male casts, house lights up, authentic period costumes, and live music performed as it was back in the day. And she does so in The Hidden Room, which has got to be the coolest venue in Austin, period. Her presentation of The Taming of the Shrew featuring Ryan Crowder remains one of my all-time favorite Shakespeare productions ever, anywhere (and I catch Shakespeare whenever I can, wherever I can including at the Stratford Festival in Ontario).

Ryan Crowder!

Crowder is back in this show, playing young Henry. The entire cast is just lovely-- Austin Shakespeare audience regulars will recognize many of the actors here. How lucky we are to have such a dedicated concentration of Shakespeare players in this town. I always love catching Robert Matney, who in this adaptation does a great turn at Duke Humphrey of Gloucester, charged with protecting the minor king. And new to the Austin scene, arrived as part of the London team, is the delightful Laurence Pears. As the rebellious Jack Cade he's part Alex from Clockwork Orange, part Adam Ant and 100% a wonder to behold.

Watching the show with it's drama, sword fights, shouting, plot twists, fabulous costumes and all the rest of it, I had a funny thought. I wanted to post a note to all parents with kids hooked on video games, tell them to hide the iPads and Xboxes, etc, and take their spawn to see this show. So much more exciting and animated and 3D than anything on a screen. I mean thoroughly brilliant.

The show closes this weekend so don't hesitate and do hurry to get your tickets. Thanks so much, Ms. Burns & Company, for another spectacular show.

Announcing Fall Writing Workshops and A Retreat

For those of you who missed the post over at Write With Spike, here's info about my upcoming Fall Workshops and also a Weekend Writing Retreat. We've been having a really great time at these workshops. Hope you can join us:

"I would prefer to Write with Spike," Bartleby the Scrivener

I’m taking a wee sabbatical in August to collect my thoughts, recover from watching five seasons of Big Love in five weeks, and check out knitting shops in Montreal. (OMD-- Oh mon dieu!) Then, poor me, it’s time for my annual, back-to-back West Coast/East Coast retreats. And then, hooray! Back to workshops and retreats! Here’s the schedule for Fall. Please email me soon if you’d like to hold a space—newcomers who reserve by August 15, 2012 get a discount (details below). Oh, and if you’re sitting on the fence about whether or not workshop is for you, please check out the testimonials to see what folks are saying about their experience.

Fall Writing Workshops & Retreats with Spike Gillespie

These are memoir-writing workshops delivered two ways—in six-week series and intensive weekends. Everyone has a story to tell, and writing yours down and sharing it aloud (optional) offers freedom, healing, amusement and all sorts of other feelings you might not initially associate with the act of committing your life adventures to the page. This workshop has morphed over the years, shaped very much by participant input and requests, and forgive me for saying so myself, but damn, it is a thing of beauty!

You can expect a lot of sharing/workshopping, some in class writing time, and a few words each week from yours truly about the state of the art. Sign up and you also receive one-on-one coaching over the course of the six weeks on projects you’re tackling in class. (Sorry—I cannot read full length manuscripts as part of this coaching. For that, consider hiring me as a private coach.) Our emphasis is on positive feedback—no one rips anyone a new one, ever.

You’ll also have an opportunity to participate in a public reading—I host these a few times per year for students who wish to share their stories with a larger audience. And this year we’re adding in an option to have your work appear in an e-anthology, sold at Amazon. (I’m in the process of editing the first one now, which should be available soon.)

Dates

Tuesday Series

Six consecutive Tuesdays, September 25^th – October 30^th inclusive. 7- 9 pm. Cost: $300. Sign up before August 15th and it’s $250. Returning attendees from previous workshops get the usual discount. $50 non-refundable deposit holds your space. We meet at 3400 Kerbey Lane in SOL Studio. Email me to reserve your spot.

Thursday Series

Six consecutive Thursdays, September 27^th –Nov. 1^st inclusive. 7-9 pm, except October 4^th class which meets 8 – 10 pm. Cost: $300. Sign up before August 15th and it’s $250. Returning attendees from previous workshops get the usual discount. $50 non-refundable deposit holds your space. We meet at 3400 Kerbey Lane in SOL Studio. Email me to reserve your spot.

December Weekend Retreat

December 14, 15, 16. Don’t tell me that December is too busy with holiday plans. That’s exactly my point—take time for YOURSELF and forget the holiday pressure to do shit you don’t want to do in the first place. This retreat is an excellent way to get ready for the New Year, to make an early commitment to yourself to take care of you. We meet on Friday, December 14^th from 7 – 9 pm for a dinner to discuss our weekend goals. Saturday we meet from 10 – 4:30 for lots of writing and some sharing. Sunday we meet from 11 – 3 for more of the same. Cost is $125. All meals included (meals are vegetarian and I will honor  your dietary restrictions). $50 non-refundable deposit holds your space. Location TBA but it will be central. Email me to reserve your spot.

Xanadu at ZACH-- HILARIOUS!

Photo by Kirk R. Tuck for ZACH

Y'all,
Roll don't walk on over to ZACH to catch XANADU. OMG it is HILARIOUS!! Yes, I am laying on the CAPS pretty heavy here. Big Red and I went to see this musical, which parodies the movie by the same name, and it is a total giggle-fest on wheels. It's packed with '80s music and references, and yes, okay, an extremely vague nod to Greek mythology. There's nothing not to love about it.

And, if I might snark out for just a moment, one thing I especially love is that this is a production that even the most over-zealous and self-congratulatory of Austin critics-- some of whom of late have been really reaching deep into their bag of Lit Crit 101 tricks-- could not possibly afflict it with one of their heavy-handed reviews. (Or could they?) I mean we are talking 200% pure fluff here.

The cast is wonderful-- they sing their hearts out and dance their booties off and emanate pure joy at their happy task. Jill Blackwood as Kira and Matthew Redden as Sonny Malone are especially hilarious. I saw both for the first time in ZACH's production of the Drowsy Chaperone which remains my all-time favorite musical. Blackwood especially has stolen my heart-- I have a massive crush on her comic timing brilliance. She pulls off to perfection that magical thing-- super pretty chick that could pass for a sorority babe but who displays gut-bustingly brilliant antics. And what a set of pipes, too. I might have to rescind my marriage proposal to Martin Burke and see if Jill Blackwood will have me. Or maybe she can be Martin's and my sister-wife. A girl can dream.

Tickets for XANADU can be acquired right here.