Monday, October 31, 2011

Monday Meanderings -10.31.2011

I got my first Halloween fright the other night. The first political TV commercial of the season.  Scary.

So after Barb saying she could live with a St Louis Series win, she decided in retrospect that she was wrong about that.

A couple of blogs back, I visited some improbable obituaries. My daughter, for some reason I cannot fathom, commented that she thought I might be making some of that up. Now I ask you - do you take me for the sort of person that would fabricate... oh, never mind. But here, here is a made-up obituary:
Waldo, 36, is missing and presumed dead. “We Gave up looking for him years ago.” Said a spokesman for a local search team. “In the past we’d scour the earth, but every time we’d find him he’d take off again. Finally, we put his picture on a mild carton and said the hell with it.” Other reactions were mixed.” It was a case of sibling rivalry,” said Carmen Sandiego a half-sister. “Waldo tried to outdo me by hiding in shopping malls and outdoor rock concerts. These had no educational value, so it’s no wonder people stopped caring.” “The little deadbeat owed us for 20,000 tasseled caps, said a spokesman for the Acme Headgear Co. “Now we’re filing for bankruptcy, thanks to him.” A memorial service for Waldo will be held at 11 a.m. tomorrow at an unspecified location. Those wishing to attend will have to find it for themselves.

Article in the paper the other day about a Bastrop resident who lost her home in the fires trying to cancel her satellite TV service, since she obviously didn't need it at the moment. The service rep was insistent that the customer must return the satellite, converter box and cable to the company. The customer kept asking "What part of the house burned down do you not understand." I could make a fortune and benefit mankind in general if I could write an app for your phone that would bop stupid people in the head at the press of a button. Of course, it would only work in one direction. Of course.

Every time I see one of those big TxDot highway signs that says "Missing Elderly" I check the license plate to make sure I'm not the guy who wandered off. You never know.

You know I likes me some coffee on the patio of a morning, but I am to the point that the evening is just not complete without that wonderful cup of decaf. Here's an unpaid plug for Community Coffee out of Louisiana (unpaid, but if some corporate social media VP at Community wants to reward me... Just saying...). Try the Cafe Special, available in both decaf and leaded at most major grocers. Use a little more coffee than you might be used too. Oh, and their tea is superb as well.

And a very scary Halloween to you.

Friday, October 28, 2011

Serve Out

Why yes, it is the end of another month and things have indeed piled up around here again, as usual, so let's pull out some of those things lurking in the dark.

 Need a Halloween costume suggestion for your dog?



Or your phone?


Good. Punctuation is important.



An OCD snake!



Hmmm.



Never thought about the view from the Canadian side, did you?

Well, perhaps just snippy!


And some days nothing goes right.

Have a pleasant Friday.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

A few last words

I don't want to make too big a deal about this, okay, but I've been thinking about my obituary, so I decided to see what others have said. You know, kinda looking for inspiration. I probably won't go with something like this -


But there are other choices:
Dolores Aguilar, born in 1929 in New Mexico, left us on August 7, 2008.

Dolores had no hobbies, made no contribution to society and rarely shared a kind word or deed in her life. I speak for the majority of her family when I say her presence will not be missed by many, very few tears will be shed and there will be no lamenting over her passing.

Her family will remember Dolores and amongst ourselves we will remember her in our own way, which were mostly sad and troubling times throughout the years. We may have some fond memories of her and perhaps we will think of those times too. But I truly believe at the end of the day ALL of us will really only miss what we never had, a good and kind mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. I hope she is finally at peace with herself. As for the rest of us left behind, I hope this is the beginning of a time of healing and learning to be a family again.

There will be no service, no prayers and no closure for the family she spent a lifetime tearing apart. We cannot come together in the end to see to it that her grandchildren and great-grandchildren can say their goodbyes. So I say here for all of us, GOOD BYE, MOM.

Or this:
Frederic Arthur (Fred) Clark, who had tired of reading obituaries noting other’s courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle as a result of an automobile accident on June 18, 2006. True to Fred’s personal style, his final hours were spent joking with medical personnel while he whimpered, cussed, begged for narcotics and bargained with God to look over his wife and kids. During his life he excelled at mediocrity. He loved to hear and tell jokes, especially short ones due to his limited attention span.

When his family was asked what they remembered about Fred, they fondly recalled how Fred never peed in the shower – on purpose. He died at MCV Hospital and sadly was deprived of his final wish which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a double date to include his wife, Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter to crash an ACLU cocktail party. In lieu of flowers, Fred asks that you make a sizable purchase at your local ABC store or Virginia winery (please, nothing French – the *censored*) and get rip roaring drunk at home with someone you love or hope to make love to. Additionally, all of Fred’s friend (sic) will be asked to gather in a phone booth, to be designated in the future, to have a drink and wonder, “Fred who?”

GRAHAM MASON, the journalist who has died aged 59, was in the 1980s the drunkest man in the Coach and Horses, the pub in Soho where, in the half century after the Second World War, a tragicomedy was played out nightly by its regulars. Unlike his friend Jeffrey Bernard, though, Graham Mason did not make himself the hero of his own tragedy. His speciality was the extreme. In one drinking binge he went for nine days without food. On one cold day he complained of the noise that the snow made as it landed on his bald head.

His practice of “boozer’s economics” meant dressing in the shabbiest of clothes, many of them inherited from the late husband of the woman with whom he lived. He wore a threadbare duffel coat with broken toggles. One day it was inexplicably stolen from the pub coathook. After Marsh Dunbar’s death in 2001, with almost all his friends dead, he sat imprisoned by emphysema in his flat, with a cylinder of oxygen by his armchair and bottles of white wine by his elbow, looking out over the Thames, still very angry.


Louis J. Casimir Jr. bought the farm Thursday, Feb. 5, 2004, having lived more than twice as long as he had expected and probably three or four times as long as he deserved. Although he was born into an impecunious family, in a backward and benighted part of the country at the beginning of the Great Depression, he never in his life suffered any real hardships. Many of his childhood friends who weren’t killed or maimed in various wars became petty criminals, prostitutes, and/or Republicans. Lou was a daredevil: his last words were “Watch this!”

And is this guy related to Frederic Arthur (Fred) Clark (above)? It's almost the same obit.
A celebration of life for James William "Jim" Adams, 53, will be held at a later date. He died Tuesday, Sept. 9, 2008 at Memorial Hospital of Converse County in Douglas. Jim, who had tired of reading obituaries noting other's courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle. It was primarily as a result of being stubborn and not following doctor's orders or maybe for just living life a little too hard for better than five decades.

He was sadly deprived of his final wish, which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a date. True to his personal style, he spent his final hours joking with medical personnel, cussing and begging for narcotics and bargaining with God to look over his loving dog, Biscuit, and his family.

During his life, he excelled at anything he put his mind to. He loved to hear and tell jokes and spin tales of grand adventures he may or may not have had. In lieu of flowers, he asks that you make a sizeable purchase at your favorite watering hole, get rip roaring drunk and tell the stories he no longer can.


Robert James (Bob) Smith, 69, of Wilmington, North Carolina, surprised and annoyed his wife by dying in his sleep in the early hours of January 6, 2005.

In the middle of nearly any conversation, he loved to toss out the fact that he had ten children. He did this often, and generally for the sheer entertainment value of watching peoples' expressions. He would want it noted that these children hold nearly twenty degrees, from bachelors to doctorates. Since he celebrated his 42nd birthday for eight years in a row, many folks, including at least one of his kids, had no idea how old he really was.

Bob survived Cathedral Latin High School in Cleveland, and then graduated from the University of Dayton with a Bachelor of Science degree in Mechanical Engineering: he is now at Duke University's medical research facility, awaiting an incoming class of first-year med students with shiny new scalpels. He surely hopes to get credit for attendance, so Duke University is officially added to his resume, albeit posthumously.

After college, Bob served in the United States Army as an Intelligence Officer at the National Security Agency, attaining the rank of Captain. Fed up with the Army, he landed as a civilian at Wright Patterson Air Force Base, where he stayed for years and years. He really liked planes. He also liked blowing things up. He also loved his chainsaw.


Bob is survived by his wife. Other mourners include Libertarians, Unitarians, artists, beach-walkers, and an enormous extended family of friends, colleagues, and admirers. Please come to a celebration service for Bob.  Or, just put on a silly hat and a comfortable t-shirt, grab your beverage of choice, and think about him.

Now you see why it's important that I write my own obituary. You just can't trust others to say the right things.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Monday Meanderings -10.24.2011

On the way to Port A we go through the community of Ingleside, a lovely little town that includes the largest Dairy Queen we have ever been in. You wouldn't think that a quiet little town like this would have a lot of political strife, but evidently they do, because posted beside the TV in the DQ is a large sign that says "CNN on Mondays, Fox on Tuesdays, CNN on Wednesdays, Fox..."

In the play-offs leading up to the World Series, the Rangers played at Detroit in Comerica Park, a relatively new stadium. Barb noticed that there was a dirt path from home plate to the pitcher's mound and asked if that was normal. We did a little research and found that Comerica Park is one of only two current stadia that have this feature, considered old fashioned. What interested me even more was the fact that I could Google "stadiums with dirt path to pitchers mound" and learn which two they are. BTW, where is the other "dirt path" stadium?

Big doings in Austin this past weekend. Nine - count 'em - nine major events downtown. A good weekend to stay far, far away.

And speaking of Weird City, Texas, I saw an item the other day about a guy in Idaho Falls, Idaho, who was warned by the police that he had to stop wearing his large, black bunny suit in public. Not only that, he sometimes wore a tu-tu with his bunny suit. Excuse me? This guy got a warning for wearing a bunny suit with a tu-tu? In Austin he could run for mayor! In Austin, he wouldn't even be noticed unless he hopped down the middle of Congress Avenue, and then he would only be cautioned that he needed a permit to protest/parade/hold a race! I love this town!

Strange meteorological phenomena going on these past few days. First Lubbock has a haboob (no, I'm not going there) and then San Antonio has an Earth Quake! I think it all is a reaction to Governor Goodhair's political debates.

And there is an epidemic of...

Friday, October 21, 2011

Rooting for the Rangers - with a small caveat

Make no mistake about it. Barb and I are rooting for the Texas Rangers in the World Series. In fact, I think the whole family is cheering on the Rangers - with the possible exception of Rob, who was somehow seduced by the pin-striped dark side years ago.

But there is a small caveat. Barb's family has cheered for the Cardinals for many, many years. She was a staunch Cardinal fan when I married her, her dad was a life-long St. Louis fan, and his father before him. The only pro baseball game that I have seen in person was between the Cards and the Astros; this was back in the Astrodome days, with the exploding scoreboard. We saw the scoreboard light up three times that evening - three Astro single-run homers. The Cardinals won 4 - 3.

While we were waiting around for the imminent birth of our 2nd child, we watched the Cardinals and the Tigers play game 7 of the 1968 World Series (at that point in time the Rangers were still the Washington Senators). Barb had been having labor pains all afternoon, but this was game 7! This was important! Bob Gibson was pitching but the Tigers were ahead 4 - 0 in the bottom of the 9th. Mike Shannon hit a two-out solo home run to provide a glimmer of hope, but Tim McCarver - currently announcing this series with Joe Buck - popped out with a foul ball and that was that. We grabbed our bags and headed for the hospital, Julie was delivered almost immediately and I was home by supper!

I asked Barb if she was conflicted about who to support in this series. She said the Rangers, but she could live with any outcome.

Let’s Go Rangers! (clap, clap, clap, clap, clap)
Let’s Go Rangers! (clap, clap, clap, clap, clap)

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Chronicle's "Best of Austin" issue

Austin has two newspapers; the ultra-conservative Statesman, and the decidedly off-beat, far to the left of left-wing Chronicle. There are many, many differences in the two papers - daily + Sunday vs. weekly; it costs more than $200 a year to subscribe to the Statesman vs the Chronicle is free; one endorsed Bush, the other endorsed Leslie. I think you get the picture.

Annually the Chronicle publishes their Best of Austin list and it promotes those places the readers say best represent what's good about Austin - you know, Best Hotel, Best Park, Best Man. I made that last one up. And I think the Chronicle made up some of them too. Get a load of the some of Bests this year:
  • Best Tolls for Thee (David Chapel Baptist church bells)
  • Best Library Name (Ana Sisnett Library, UT Gender and Sexuality Center)
  • Best Old School South of the River (Fulmore Jr. High)
  • Best Jukebox (Casino el Camino)
  • Best Dive Bar without a Sign (Bernadette's)
  • Best Local Food Blog (not this one)
  • Most Underrated Breakfast Tacos (Julio's)
  • Best Bacon (Full English)
  • Best Chip Shop Currey Sauce (Bits and Druthers)
And the list goes on for another 40 pages. I've lived in Austin 40 years, and the only name listed above that I recognize is Fulmore. And that remains true for most of the bests listed in the rest of the issue. How is that possible? Simple. There are actually three Austins; the one I live in and the one that holds events like SXSW, Pecan Street Festival, Republic of Texas Motorcycle Rally, ACL Fest, packs 6th street every Halloween (200,000 on a good year) and crawls the Pub District every weekend. The third one? South of the River.
Oh, wait! There's the University of Austin and the Domain of Austin, and the Barton Springs of Austin. and the West Lake Hills of Austin.

I am a pilgrim in a strange land.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Monday Meanderings - 10.17.2011

Barb has been after me for quite some time to take a trip to Port A. I kept telling her it was too hot, but we decided to go this past weekend. Guess what? Okay, it's not that hot, but you can work up a good sweat walking the beach.

Needed gas on the trip and finally stopped at the HEB in Lockhart, where it was $3.25. I thought that was pretty good until I got to Lulling, where every station in town had gas for $3.07 (and $2.95 if you used MasterCard!)

I've commented before about the Rain Lilly phenomenon - how they magically appear in what seems like only a few hours after a rain. But the phenomenon on this trip was acres of Rain Lillies; medians and right-of-ways and pastures covered in white flowers, mile-after-mile! But timing is everything. On the return trip Sunday there NO flowers to be seen. None.

When we we passed through Nixon there were signs everywhere for the wild hog cook off and goat slapping competition. Now the wild hog cook off I understand - but Dear Hearts - what in the world is a goat slapping competition? Do the goats mind? Do they get to slap back? Should the SPCA be involved? Inquiring minds want to know.

There are some snazzy new ferry boats in service.

The bridge spans the "road" instead of sticking up in the middle. Pretty cool.

As is our custom, we stayed at the Sand Castle. They've added a new annex this year.


And I have blogged before about the things one can see from the balcony. Last trip it was kites and a "Snow Bird Happy Hour," where all the visitors from up north gathered each afternoon at a specific spot at the Motel across the street and celebrated the absence of snow and sleet.

This trip we got to watch a wedding on the beach. I had noticed several rows of white plastic chairs set up in the sand, facing a small portable cabana when we were on our afternoon walk, but there weren't any people present. Later, from our balcony we noticed that a small crowd had assembled and there were bridesmaids in matching dresses and groomsmen in white guayaberas and khaki shorts.

And in a bit, the brides-maids and groomsmen strolled together to the cabana, then someone we think was the "ring beller" (see Julie's blog if you don't know about the "ring-beller") and then what might have been a flower girl, but since you can't litter on the beach we wondered what she was distributing. Sea weed maybe? Then we spotted the bride, in the traditional white gown. If you look closely, right in the middle of this long-distance picture, you can see her on the way down the... uh, sandy path.


Evidently you do not have long, drawn-out ceremonies when one weds on the beach. This one was over in less than 10 minutes. We kept watching to see if they were going to have the reception there too, but I guess they figured a wedding cake and hungry sea gulls were not a good match and in a little while, someone drove a vehicle down to the chairs, loaded them and the cabana and that was that.

And for those of you who didn't think I got up early enough to see one - here's another sight from our balcony.


Have a good Monday.

Friday, October 14, 2011

More old jokes about being old

1. I'm the life of the party..... even if it lasts until 8 p.m.
2. I'm very good at opening childproof caps.... with a hammer.
3. I'm usually interested in going home before I get to where I am going.
4. I'm awake many hours before my body allows me to get up.
5. I'm smiling all the time because I can't hear a thing the Mrs is saying.
6. I'm very good at telling stories; over and over and over and over.
7. I'm so cared for -- long term care, eye care, private care, dental care.
8. I'm not really grouchy, I just don't like traffic, crowds, unruly kids,  barking dogs, long lines, liberal politicians and a few other things I can't seem to remember right now.
9. I'm sure everything I can't find is in a safe secure place, somewhere.
10. I'm wrinkled, saggy, lumpy, and that's just my left leg.
11. I'm having trouble remembering simple words like......?
12. I'm beginning to realize that aging is not for sissies.
13. I'm wondering, if you're only as old as you feel, how could I be alive at 150?
14. I'm a walking storeroom of facts... I've just lost the key to the storeroom door.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

State Fair of Texas - Stories for my grandchildren

In 1953, when I was 12 years old, much to my mother's dismay, my father took me out of school one Monday and he and I went to the Fair.
When first my way to fair I took
Few pence in purse had I,
And long I used to stand and look
At things I could not buy.
This would be the State Fair of Texas, held annually since 1886, the largest state fair in the US, by attendance. Home of Big Tex and the Cotton Bowl and Fletcher's Corney Dogs. We drove to Dallas and left the car at the home of Mrs. Burns, mother of my new sister-in-law, and rode the trolley to the fairgrounds (a grand adventure in itself). I have been to the fair many times since, but most of the memories of those trips have blurred. I remember clearly, even in my dotage, that day with my father.

My father did not know that the 2nd Monday of the Fair, the day we attended, was Negro Appreciation Day.  This was in the '50s, in the South and desegregation was very much part of the fabric of the times. One day and one day only was set aside for "the coloreds," so there we were, two white faces in a sea of more than 100,000 visitors of a darker hue. I had a wonderful time.

I didn't ride a single ride - whites were not allowed on any of the rides. I learned this when I was turned away. Sort of discriminated against, you might say. I remember the experience to this day, so I think it was a lesson well learned.

So we went to all the exhibits; the Auto Show, the Agricultural Building (where I saw Bordon's Elsie the cow), the Reddy Kilowatt Electric show, the Hall of State, the Pan American Pavilion, The Centennial Building,  the Livestock barns, the Women's Exhibits (free food), The Natural Sciences building, and of course the Midway, where I learned valuable lessons about games of chance, sampled State Fair Saltwater Taffy, and ate my fill of Corney Dogs.

We toured the Aquarium,  which is on the fairgrounds. I remember a smallish turtle in a very big tank, that would get a gulp of air and swim to the bottom to feed, only to have to go right back up for another breath of air and start all over again. I also remember seeing electric eels brush against metal rods and power up some type of light.

We went to the Ice Capades; my father loved the graceful skaters, I was awed by the spectacle of the show itself.

And we saw a brand new exhibit that had been imported from Germany and was appearing for the first time in the US - The Dancing Waters. Miles of pipe, dozens of nozzles and hundreds of lights, all mixed together in what was probably a pretty small pool. One man played an organ and another man worked the valves and an incredible display of music, water and light resulted. Neither of us had ever seen anything so spectacular.  We saw the show three times. Many years later, I sat on the balcony of my hotel room at Disneyland and watched an automated version of the Dancing Waters that was probably 5 times as large, with water jetting a hundred feet in the air and grand music booming from the speakers.

It didn't hold a candle to what we saw that afternoon in a dark tent at the State Fair, on Negro Appreciation Day.
Now times are altered: if I care
To buy a thing, I can;
The pence are here and here's the fair,
But where's the lost young man?

Monday, October 10, 2011

Monday Meanderings - 10.10.2011

As noted, Chuy's North Lamar location (the one closest to us) celebrated 25 years of business at that location. I confess that we didn't start eating there until it had been open a couple of years. Rob insisted we try it and order the Chuychanga with queso sauce and a multi-decade tradition was born. Thanks, Bro.

One of the retro dishes offered during the anniversary celebration was Rajas con queso y crema. It's a low-calorie appetizer consisting of a steaming bowl of chiles, onions, Oaxaco cheese and heavy cream. Dip tortillas in it, or pour it on your tacos al carbon.  Thought it was pretty good last Monday night. Thought it was even better on Wednesday. Considered enjoying it again on Thursday, along with the free dulce de leche anniversary cake.

Driving through an industrial park on the way to the Post Office the other morning, a good-sized coyote trotted across the street in front of us. We have heard coyotes howling for as long as we have lived here - the Pioneer Farm and an undeveloped wooded area is less than half a mile east of us - but we've never seen one strolling across a busy street.

In recent months, two acquaintances from Fran's have passed away. I'm sure it's not the food.

The Austin chapter of the Wall Street protesters staged their own demonstration at City Hall last Thursday. When we moved here, protests and demonstrations were the order of the day; Vietnam War, boycott table grapes, anti-busing, you name it. And through the years protests have been part of the fabric of this city. Just as this town is very adept when it comes to staging street celebrations or marathons or craft fairs, they also know how to stage a little protest or two.

Last week, a small group of protesters actually went down to City Hall early to rehearse and to touch base with the Chief of Police about where they were going to stand, or not stand, and what they were going to do and not do. Seems inordinately civil for a civil disturbance, but the Occupy Austin group got their protest on TV and nobody had their head cracked or got hauled off to jail. I do wonder, however, what would have happened if the streets in Austin were paved in those really-handy-to-pick-up-and-throw stones that the streets in Europe are paved with.

On the news the other night there was one of those stories about a huge hive of bees that had settled in some poor soul's house, but the local apiarist saved the day and took the bees away to "be rehabilitated." Which got me to wondering what "bee rehabilitation" consists of. "All right you bees, fall in and listen up! Buzzy! Drop and give me 2,000! I can't hear you!"

Friday, October 7, 2011

Confessions of a waffle-challenged breakfast cook

Ya'll, I can cook breakfast. Eggs (how would you like them?), bacon, sausage of any type, pancakes, breakfast tacos, biscuits (oven-ready) - you name it. For a number of years the Anderson family cooked Saturday breakfast for about 250 people at church retreat. I can do breakfast!

But the lowly waffle has, once again, brought me to my knees. Let me start at the beginning.

When our daughter Julie was nine or ten, she had some friends over for a birthday slumber party; movies, popcorn, giggle all night, and Dad was going to cook waffles in the morning. The movies, popcorn and giggling went just fine. And breakfast turned out okay, because after destroying the waffle iron and covering the kitchen counter and floor with oozing, excess waffle juice, I gathered everybody up and took them to McDonalds. It took me the rest of the day to clean the waffle iron and kitchen. Really. And I made a vow, then and there, borrowed from Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce Indians, who, standing thigh deep in snow waffle batter, said "I will make war with the white man waffles no more forever." Amen.

I blame what happened next on Rozanne, the family member who was in charge of Monday breakfast at the Lake Cabin on Labor Day. She served, among other wonderful breakfast goodies, sweet potato pancakes. I thought they were delicious, so recently we got a box of sweet potato pancake mix, and I made some, and they were also delicious. And I saw, on the back of the box, the recipe for sweet potato pancake waffles.

Barb orders waffles regularly at Fran's, and they are crisp and golden and perfectly formed and delicious, and I'm thinking as I stand there and look at the sweet potato pancake waffle recipe, "How hard can that be?" So instead of saying, "Hello, my name is Bob and I can't make waffles," I cast away my solemn vow like a Saturday night sinner, turned my back on who-knows how many years of sobriety and said,

"I'll make us some sweet potato pancake waffles for breakfast this morning."

Let me just say that Barb enjoyed breakfast, though if I were a true traditionalist we would have gone to McDonalds instead.

Yes, I ended up with a concrete-encased waffle iron and batter all over everywhere. Again. But I had half of the batter left, so I determined that I was going to keep trying until I got it right. I sand-blasted the original attempt off of the waffle plate thingys, cleaned them scrupulously, set the iron to its hottest setting and waited until a drop of water sizzled on the iron. I administered a liberal dose of cooking oil on the plates and brushed it thoroughly over all the little waffle hills and valleys. Yea, my waffle iron runneth over. Then I carefully poured out just the right amount of batter, closed the lid carefully and waited for the indicator light to go off.

Let me show you a picture:


You may not think it, but I count this a giant step forward. At least half the the waffle came off of the plates and it is golden brown! Okay, in some places. It is unfortunate that this batch literally dripped cooking oil, but that way I didn't have to butter them.

I've since done a great deal of research on the subject, and I have some tips that I'm going to use on my next batch. Just as soon as I clean the kitchen floor and Barb tells me where she hid the sweet potato waffle mix.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Does anyone remember Sadie Hawkins?

A few days ago Julie posted about the school rules for a Sadie Hawkins dance. Mind you, I am not uninterested in the rules, but what really caught my attention was the phrase "Sadie Hawkins dance."

I texted my grandson - the family member attending the previously-mentioned dance - and asked if he knew who Sadie Hawkins is, or actually, was? Not surprisingly, he did not. After all, it has been nearly 75 years since Al Capp invented the Sadie Hawkins character, in a cartoon series that has not been published since 1977. Here's the story, from Wikipedia:
In Li'l Abner, Sadie Hawkins was the daughter of one of Dogpatch's earliest settlers, Hekzebiah Hawkins. The "homeliest gal in all them hills", she grew frantic waiting for suitors to come a-courtin'. When she reached the age of 35, still a spinster, her father was even more frantic—about Sadie living at home for the rest of his life. In desperation, he called together all the unmarried men of Dogpatch and declared it "Sadie Hawkins Day". Specifically, a foot race was decreed, with Sadie in hot pursuit of the town's eligible bachelors—and matrimony as the consequence.

"When ah fires [my gun], all o' yo' kin start a-runnin! When ah fires agin—after givin' yo' a fair start—Sadie starts a runnin'. Th' one she ketches'll be her husbin." The town spinsters decided that this was such a good idea, they made Sadie Hawkins Day a mandatory yearly event, much to the chagrin of Dogpatch bachelors. In the satirical spirit that drove the strip, many sequences revolved around the dreaded Sadie Hawkins Day race. If a woman caught a bachelor and dragged him, kicking and screaming, across the finish line before sundown—by law he had to marry her!
Capp inked the first Sadie Hawkins event in November, 1927. In less than 2 years, Life magazine reported over 200 colleges holding Sadie Hawkins Day events. It became a woman empowering rite at high schools and college campuses, long before the modern feminist movement gained prominence. I know that there were Sadie Hawkins "events" at ACC, when my brother attended, and I went to one when I attended. Be sure  you note that these were "events," not dances, according to the traditions of our tribe.

And evidently the 75-year-old activity named after a fictitious female endures to the present day, even if no one remembers who she was.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Monday, October 3, 2011

Monday Meanderings - 10.3.2011

Knock! Knock! Knock!

That's the sound of me knocking on wood. Maybe, just maybe, Austin has seen its 90th - and last - day with temperatures in three digits for the year. There was a movie once called "The Long Hot Summer," from the book of the same name by William Faulkner, starring Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. It was a great movie, but I did not enjoy seeing it daily. Every day. For 90 days. Twenty-seven of them consecutively. Then again, it has been more than 100 degrees in Austin as late as October 2nd. And as early as February! Moving to Montana soon.

The other day a large pile of household belongings appeared in the driveway of a house up the street. What looked at first like a garage sale soon took on the appearance of an eviction; evidently not of all the residents - just one. Worthless Husband? Shiftless Son? Deadbeat Border? Hard to tell. Stay tuned.

Good gumbo is back! I told you that our favorite source of good gumbo had gone out of business when the owners, husband and wife, dissolved the partnership and marriage in a murder-suicide. Ugh! The other day we noticed that what had been Mama Roux's is now French Quarter Grill, owned and operated by former employees, as it turns out. I confess that it was a little spooky eating there, knowing the circumstances, and when I asked about the new ownership it was obvious that the waitress was a bit uncomfortable discussing it, but the gumbo there is worth a lot of discomfort. Believe you me!

On the news the other night they were showing this snazzy new BMW motorcycle all decked out with all the gear necessary to make it a mobile EMS unit. Livestrong donated the bike with the idea that it could maneuver in traffic more easily than the big units, thus providing faster response. Barb and I decided that it was a good idea, but when it came to transporting people back to the hospital, she thought she would want to wait for one of the more traditional vehicles. No sense of adventure, I say. When we were in El Salvador we noticed that small Toyota pickups were the EMS vehicles of choice, with patients transported in the open bed of the pickup. A Medical School Director with us saw a wonderful opportunity to cut back on next year's budget.

And speaking of traffic, once again Austin has earned a top spot in another poll; this time for worst traffic in the nation! Yes, for the second year in a row, researchers at Texas A&M University say we have the third worst traffic congestion in THE ENTIRE COUNTRY! Only places worse are Los Angeles and the Washington, D.C. area. Austin is tied with New York City and the San Francisco Bay area. Sorry Dallas and Houston. You lose. However, this is a study by A&M. Could it just be sour grapes because they now get to be Baylor in the SEC?

And while we are on the subject of football -