Jammin' on the one

In the past couple of weeks we went to Austin for Roller Derby. Roller Derby in Austin is one of my favorite things. In fact, it is currently diverting me from writing this post which means this post may go the way of many before it - right into the "drafts" folder.

I am currently trying to set a record for number of blogs written without actually posting anything. I have no idea where you would find number on that, but I'll bet I'd be way up there in the rankings.

We also went to see Tree of Life at the Alamo Drafthouse. The Alamo Drafthouse has delicious popcorn. I'm just saying. And it is one of the cheapest things on the menu. I want to tell you how I liked Tree of Life and how you should go see it but I'm pretty sure you won't like it. As far as I can tell no one has liked it but me so far. Drew liked it, but he likes all Terrence Malicks films. We prepared for Tree of Life by watching The New World a couple of days before. I had seen it when it came out in 2004, however there was a huge chunk in the middle that I didn't recall at all so I think I must have slept through it. Malick just doesn't value the same things other film makers (or other people in general) seem to value. Like continuity. And dialogue. He makes beautiful, painful, sweeping, moving films in which not a lot happens. Plus, he was born in Waco and went to Lake Waco Montessori school right down the street from my house. Tree of life was filmed largely in Waco (accept for the parts that were filmed in space, or are of volcanoes, sharks, or dinosaurs. We don't have those here) and it made me feel warm and fuzzy to see it with Brad Pitt standing in the middle of our antiquated downtown. Waco look's like the 1950's, people. Come film your movies here.

Also, D and I bought a stationary bicycle at goodwill last week for $140 dollars. Then we went to Academy and thought we might have been ripped off a little since they have stationary bicycles for $100. Whatever. We're happy with it. And I've ridden something like 25 miles in the last week.

We went bowling with some friends who we are trying to get to know better. They invited a third couple that they were nervous they wouldn't like, using D and I as a buffer couple. This didn't work. Never mind that we didn't mingle at all, nor that they were a good 10 years younger than us, I'm pretty sure they were bummed that we were there at all, getting in the way of their quality time with the afore mentioned friends. Whatever. Bowling is awesome. During our first game I scored 38 points. That is 38 points in 10 frames. I think I have some magic in me somewhere. D scored 158. I did better in subsequent games, but never broke 100.

Every now and then, usually well into my thirteen thousandth game of spider solitaire, I think to myself, "BOOK! I have book to read! I LIKE TO READ!!" Then I realize that I work in a cubix where anyone who wants to see me can and, in a totally typically universally quixotic way, playing spider solitaire is more allowable because at least it sounds like I am working.

Oh my god. My head hurts. And I left my generic brand migraine headache medicine on the left side of my bed on top of the pile of clothes that I sleep with because I have decided that a bed is a better place to keep clothes than a closet.

I might be a mess.

I really want you to think that I sometimes actually do work.

Yesterday I did a number of interesting things. I went to the monthly nonprofit networking breakfast, which is usually not interesting, but yesterday we had a professional advocate (read: lobbiest) from Austin who explained the Texas state deficit using blocks. Fun! By the end of the workshop I was imagining myself as an emaciated nun, giving moldy bread to the orphans to dip in their very watered down milk. Did I mention I am reading a book about Italians sheltering Jews during the end of the second world war? Fully 55% of our state budget goes to public education. We have a 27 billion dollar estimated deficit. We are all totally screwed. In the words of the immortal Gene Wilder, "Are we in it." (Name the movie. I'll be proud of you.)

Politics astound me. The fact that any group of people can be so totally irresponsible and can be so totally in charge irritates me. And I'm a democrat. Probably. Also, watching many hours of the West Wing has lead me to believe that the people in power should be so much smarter than they seem to be.

I was also introduced to a brand new masterpiece theater mini- series (Thank you, Lauren!) called Downton Abby and had the singular pleasure of passing it on to my best friend who, as she said herself, thought she had watched all the mini-series there are.

The Lodge

Current temperature: 56 degrees
Number of hours of wakefulness: 6.5
Number or hot beverages consumed: 3

I think I have listened to and liked music my entire life. I remember the first small show I ever attended. It changed my interests entirely. I have never been the same. Live music is something I have been very passionate about ever since. However, after nearly thirteen years of going to shows, watching bands, meeting people, being disappointed, I have developed a cynicism that I am not entirely proud of. Shows are rarely fun for me and I think I have figured out the slightly shameful reason why.

All those years of shows have spoiled me dreadfully. Not only did I attend shows, I also put on shows (with the help of the very best of friends). I didn't just listen to the bands music, I also knew the bands. They stayed at my house. They ate dinner with my family. We kept up after they went back on the road and, in a select few cases, we went to visit them and stayed at their houses. This is not normal but it became normal. Now, when ever I go to a good show, I can't help thinking that, though I love the music, I would much rather be sitting, talking over a pot of soup.

That said, I was given free tickets to see Ray Lamontagne on Saturday. TJ and I drove down to Austin very last minute and caught almost the entirety of his set. It was a strange show with strange attendees, strange seats, and strange sound, but it was also beautiful. The sound was perfect and, because we were sitting in an old theater very far from Ray, it was very much like listening to his records. Mostly, I realized, I would like to sit down with Mr. Lamontagne and talk agriculture, though I was thrilled to get to see him live (the tickets were about $40, a price I find fairly inconceivable). He is a beautiful, complicated, and very talented man.

Afterward, TJ and I decided to walk down 6th street and find a bar that he remembered and have a drink before heading home. We walked and walked and walked and then finally heard a man yelling, "$2 drinks at THE LODGE!"

You may not know this, but The Lodge is one of our favorite places. Not long ago TJ wrote the beginnings of a rap song about going to The Lodge. He figured that a Lodge was the furthest thing from a club and it was about time someone cornered that niche in the market. It goes something like, "Going to the club, gonna crunk you up. Going to the Lodge, gonna sex you up. . ." etc. We aren't quite sure what he means by all this. Nevertheless, it has been amusing us for a while now. Back in the end of August we spent a night in Fredricksburg (ten of us) and stayed in a small motel which we affectionately named "The Lodge". At some point on that trip it was decided that our house could have no other name. Hiewismordinka House or Fun House, neither could compete with The Lodge.

So, back in Austin, this opportunity could not be passed up. We entered The Lodge, ordered our $2 beverages, and stood in awe of the stuffed moose, longhorn, and bison heads which adorned the walls. The antler chandeliers were a personal favorite. It is not, in general, a very impressing place, but the very fact that The Lodge does in fact exist as something other than our small yellow house, makes it worth frequenting. I was briefly (ever so briefly) a little sad that I didn't live in Austin.

On the drive TJ and I discussed our respective futures. I don't much like discussing the future. It makes it hard to see or breathe. However, I have been doing some thinking. I think I might like to farm. I'm not very sure of this statement. Farming is much harder than I would like my life to be. However, I think it might be the most just thing that I could choose to do. A conscious choice to be poor, to work harder than your returns, to care for the neglected bounty of the land. Farming is a dying art. The average age of farmers in America is 50. If young people do not shoulder the hard, often thankless job of agriculture, some day soon we wont have any. As the bumper sticker says, "Where would we be without Agriculture? Naked and hungry." I think there should be a program of worker "adoption" created to address this issue. Farming is hip right now and being brought to more and more peoples (specifically young peoples) attention. If a program which partnered willing young farmers with already established farms and farmers existed, this problem could begin to be addressed. Here is what I propose: A young person such as myself (though more decided and dedicated ideally) is "adopted" on to a farm. They work side by side with the existing farmer, being paid wages, or sharing in the produce, or whatever, until the time when the existing farmer desires to retire (be it five years or twenty five). Then the farm passes on to the well trained, now quite experienced, new farmer. This way existing farms continue to exist, knowledge of the land and crops and all other necessary farming things gets passed down, and there is no need for this willing and probably poor young person to slave away under debt after buying their own land, which is scarce and expensive.

I will leave you with this from Tolstoy:

" To his disciples Jesus says, Choose to be poor; bear all things without resistance to evil, even though you thereby bring upon yourself persecution, suffering, and death.
Prepared to suffer death rather than resist evil, he reproved the resentment of Peter, and died exhorting his followers not to resist and to remain always faithful to his doctrine. The early disciples observed this rule, and passed their lives in misery and persecution, without rendering evil for evil.
It seems, then, that Jesus meant precisely what he said. We may declare the practice of such a rule to be very difficult; we may deny that he who follows it will find happiness; we may say with the unbelievers that Jesus was a dreamer, an idealist who propounded impractical maxims; gut it is impossible not to admit that he expressed in a manner at once clear and precise what he wished to say; that is, that according to his doctrine a man must not resist evil, and, consequently, that whoever adopts his doctrine will not resist evil. And yet neither believers nor unbelievers will admit this simple and clear interpretation of Jesus' words."