On the same day, I learn that glitterkitten.uk and toot.community will soon be shutting down operations, for legitimate reasons. It feels, to me, like a dark day for the #fediverse, but really it’s an example of how human systems change and evolve. I shouldn’t be so despondent. Change is part of the recipe, eh? This fledgling network will survive. We have juice.
Agonists
This year I discovered that my allergy to Aspirin and its derivatives is absolute bollocks. I’ve been carrying this belief since my asthmatic childhood, spawned by doctors asking my mother about a list of known triggers in my environment. We’ve heard that everything from Aspirin to pets to feather pillows could trigger asthma attacks. So, naturally, I had limited exposure to any of those throughout my life.
I’ve told every medical provider that I’m allergic to the ol’ ASA for this reason. But last year I took a trip to the ER where as part of the protocol they gave me two baby Aspirin — nothing worse happened! I was fine!
What I’ve learned in hindsight is that the primary agonist to my childhood asthma was the incessant indoor smoking by the adults in my life. Did I age out of my adolescent asthma, or did I just move away and live smoke-free?
PARENT [puffing a cigarette]: Doctor, why does junior have asthma?
DOCTOR [lighting a cigarette]: Ma’am, we’re not too sure. It is a medical mystery. Oh, here, please use this ashtray.
So what this all means is that, as of now, I can take Ibuprofen and Aspirin. Hell, I can probably even sleep on a feather pillow with a down comforter and be alright. Which is great because with my age also comes aches and inflammation; access to NSAIDs is a godsend. And, of course, down is comfy.
Wins
Tonight, at the cafe and the bar, I posted a handful of W’s. I find my role in this world to be similar to Tyrion Lannister in GOT, in that my job in this society is that I drink and I know things. My purpose, generally, is to be a talk show host and to guide the conversation into good times, to elevate it into something better. I feel that. I found myself passing along info to several people, asking good questions, and steering the convo in group chat to something better.
Sure, sometimes I feel like I’m a useful idiot, but at least I’m useful. That’s something.
Really, though, if I can be a matador waving the red cape at a herd of bulls hell-bent on turning the arena into a down-mouthed amphitheater for solipsism, reigning them in and improving the group vibe, then I feel like I’ve made the world a better place, even if it’s on the micro level. Fine by me. ¡Olé!
Twenty-Six
Austin, Texas. 26 YEARS. It’s a minor anniversary, but I have to celebrate something, right?
Taking the day off. Slept in (set alarm for 10). Went to The Omelettry for breakfast, because it’s been forever and I can’t stand weekend brunch crowds. It’s still funky, and I recognize some of the crayon egg drawings pinned to the walls, yellowed by the years. Wow. Weekday staff isn’t as frantic, but they’re friendly. The house special omelet and gingerbread pancakes sent me and my blood sugar to heaven. Best decision.
Trying to do things that are “Uniquely Austin” today, simply because I’ve been here this long and haven’t gone to these places ever or in a very long time. It’s hard to feel out a plan while I’m in it, and most of these places are out of the running because, y’all, have you seen the temperature today? It’s fukken hot out. I’m too out of shape for it to be this hot.
Went to Mayfield Park, because I’ve never been there. Go past it all the time when I drive up Mount Bonnell and have never stopped. The old homestead is beautiful, and is surrounded by a stone fence. Inside is the big house, a few out-buildings, garage, a stone tower which, the gardener informed me, was where they kept carrier pigeons for communication. The rest of the space is an amazing garden, a set of stone koi ponds, and a native flock of pea-fowl (woah, peacocks!). The property outside the fence is 23 acres of trails between Camp Mabry and Laguna Gloria on the river. I should come back in October and take a hike.
I left when my body complained about the heat and went home to chill.
Drove a circuitous path out past West Lake to the strip mall on the side of FM 2244 where my first dotcom did business. On the far end opposite the gas station was the main office; my office space was in the basement immediately below, down the hall from our callcenter. It gives me great satisfaction to see the old office, where I was fired, has become a Double Dave’s Pizza. I don’t think it lasted more than a few years after the dotcom bust. Fine, that.
But at least that job was useful to me, in that it got me here long enough to plant my roots.
So now I’m at Epoch (uniquely Austin, but I’m here all the time…) having an Americano, thinking about what to do tonight.
Alamo Drafthouse Village? That’s the first franchise location. Original Alamo is long gone. That’s a possibility. Haven’t seen a theater movie since before the pando. But now that Drafthouse is owned by Sony, can we really say it’s “uniquely Austin”? I’m not so sure.
I’ll figure it out.
This has been a weird, normal, hopeful, hopeless, exciting, boring ride. 26 years. I still need to take more advantage of what Austin has to offer, because lord knows Austin has taken advantage of me.
My love for this town is still unrequited.
Die Kraft
Remembering the time in junior high, in the middle of the “Satanic Panic” of the 80’s, when my mother came into my room and earnestly asked to inspect my cassettes. She pulled out my Kraftwerk “The Man Machine” tape and said, “Kraftwerk, huh? That’s not about witchcraft is it?”
I was amazed, floored even, that my own mother could make that leap (or lapse) in logic. I confirmed to her that they were indeed German and not about witchcraft or Satanism at all. That two things are homophones does not mean that they mean the same.
We won’t even get into the Deutschophone festivals of Hexennacht (Witch’s Night) or Sankt Walpurgisnacht (St. Walpurgis Night), which feature in German folklore and literature. Doubtful my mother had those in mind.
Shortly after putting the tape back down, she left comforted that her virginal, voluntarily-goes-to-church son was still an untarnished good kid.
I still sometimes laugh about it.