in stinks

The day continues. The plan was to go see some of the art in the East Austin Studio Tour, starting at M6*'s house, which was #111 on the E.A.S.T. map. She and J7 hosted Stacked Studios on their land, a series of stacked storage containers with different film industry artists' personal work. It's a pretty cool thing to behold. Feeling the way I did this morning I wasn't sure I wanted to do anything, but did want to see P2, so I went. J7 is in Dubai for the month working on a project for a sheik's museum... J8 was there, and after I looked at the art and played with P2, then accidentally dropped her on her head, we left P2 with her grandma and went to lunch and planned to hit some other studios after that. I had half a dozen or so studios circled that I wanted to see.

We ate at East Side Cafe, which is expensive and serves mediocre food (M6's ravioli was the best that any of us got, and we split the bill, each paying $25). While we ate lunch, I was entertaining the two of them with family stories (I guess), and M6 told me that when I finish my novel, and I send it around to get published, if nobody says yes, that I should take out some of the made-up stuff and put in more of the real stuff from my life and send it around, "because then it would sell!" It was a joke, but after J8 commented that M6 sure didn't have any faith in my ability as a writer, I felt a little insulted. Oh, well, M6 is a shoot-from-the-hip kinda gal. (In some ways, she's a lot like my family is and always has been, in the sense that she isn't really interested in reading my work...)

We went to Salvage Vanguard Theater -- where I spent the past month of weekends -- to see the show that opened this weekend. The artist is an amazing woodworker; he had a Virtual Minister kiosk which was a computer screen where you could fill in your name and other info and get a certificate. The kiosk was beautiful, shaped like a little cathedral, and had a padded board to kneel on for filling in your info. There was also a place to get a faux marriage certificate, another kneeling place in front of a tiny wooden frame with a live image of a blank billboard. In the middle of the room, a large knitting spool, in which the artist stood and knitted a deep red tube around him. He wasn't in it when we got there, but the SVT artistic director was there, he recognized me, shook my hand heartily, then found the artist and told him to show us the piece. That was nice of him. We weren't there long, but M6 had to get back home, so back we went.

I still wanted to see more -- particularly the Assistant Stage Manager's studio at his girlfriend's house in what I accidentally called the Lower East Side, which is just about opposite on the map from the Stacked Studios. It seemed like such a long drive for one studio, so I stopped at Flatbed Press on Manor Road, which had some cool paintings, installations and photographs in it, then found my way to the Museum of Natural & Artificial Ephemerata, which was the coolest thing I saw. But I was rushed, and had a hard time finding it. While I was snaking through the neighborhood, a spray-painted car with a couple of what I subconsciously labeled "hoodlums" in it turned around and started following me. I turned a couple of times, and they turned, too. At a stop sign, they honked and pulled up beside me (on the left side of the street), all gold teeth showing, one of them holding bills in his hand. "Man, we were trying to catch you!" the passenger said. The other said, "Yeah, they real." They were referring to the pennies glued on the side of my truck. One of them pointed out that there were pennies glued randomly onto sprayed dots on top of their car. We exchanged a few pleasantries, then one said, "Let's let him get on with his business," and they got on with their business.

I ran into a couple of M6's old neighbors who remembered me from a New Year's Eve party because of something I said (I think it was "cock-tail") and an accompanying move, and just about every time they see me, they want me to repeat it for them. {My god, we were doing shots of tequila and were high. I'm not a puppet!}

I tried to make it to the assistant stage manager's studio, but it was just after closing time for E.A.S.T., and I had a hard time finding the house, and I gave up. That seems to be a pattern for me lately. On my birthday, C4 was having a party that I didn't feel up to going to, and when I couldn't remember exactly where his house was, I said fuck it and stopped looking; he hasn't called me since (I haven't called him either).

I got home and peed and S1 and I had a moment to say hello. He asked if I was going to eat with him, but I had to go to J2 & A2's to fill up J2's prescription baggies, so I told him I wasn't sure of my plans.

I was at J2 & A2's for two hours. At first they were there and we chatted a while, then they went to dinner. A2 invited me to go with them, but I thought I might get home in time to eat with S1 (seems to be lately that's the only time we really have to converse). While I was in their house alone, I heard a female voice outside say my name. Or I thought I did. It stopped, then repeated. Sounded like maybe she was standing at A2 & J2's front gate. I thought maybe somebody I knew saw my truck and didn't know where I was -- though most people who know me whom I think would do such a thing as wondering through a neighborhood calling my name, would know A2 & J2 as well. I went outside. The streets were empty. I thought if it happened again, I might have a panic attack. It didn't.

I stopped by Wheatsville for a few things on the way home and saw a woman from the Dance and a good friend of G1's. I felt so self-conscious in both conversations. When I got home, while I was in the bathroom, P1 called to "check in"; obviously she read my previous blog. For some reason, she isn't allowed (by some computer glitch) to comment on my blog entries. She wanted to respond to G2's comment about my recent fiction submission "I'm not a prude, but what's with all the masturbation?" (P1 wanted to write: I'll explain it to G2!")

S1 had already eaten, but I wasn't hungry just yet. I went out to the porch for a nicotine high and he made a phone call to his creative partner T1 (with whom he's working on a rock opera based on the Lizzie Borden story). After the cigarette (and the poop), I was hungry.

S1 just got off the phone and offered to cook my half of the greens that he had alone earlier. He is studying Pulp Fiction at school and needs to watch the film and never has, so I'm gonna go get it, he's gonna cook for me and we're gonna watch it together. That sounds like a nice way to finish off the day. Perhaps.