They wouldn't print it in the paper if it wasn't true

Springtime in Austin

I often talk about the two times a year when you know why you live in Austin - and this is one of the times.

It dawned on me that I've been enjoying springtime in Austin for more than 50 years, starting my Freshman year in high school. In Texas, all extracurricular school activity (except football) ultimately ends up in Austin. It's all lumped under the UIL - University (of Texas) Interscholastic League - and there's an almost endless list of competitions, playoffs, contests, meets, etc. in academics, athletics, music and more. Since 1910, school students have been coming to the University of Texas - and Austin - in the Spring. Sometimes multiple times a year, if you were lucky.

My Freshman year, we took a one-act play to the state finals, but failed to win. My first exposure to oral interpretation was at a UIL completion in Austin; I was a last-second replacement for somebody who couldn't make the trip. I read James Weldon Johnson's The Creation and placed 3rd. Every year, the Junior Historical Society held it's award banquet in Austin. I frankly can't remember what you did in JHS that was award-worthy, but hey, it was another trip to Austin.

And then, during my junior and senior years, there was the year-book conference. At that time, Steck Publishing printed most of the school yearbooks in the state, and the company sponsored a big conference and workshop every year. It was downtown in the Driscoll Hotel, already legendary. The State Capitol was just a short stroll up the street, and back then, the building and grounds were open all night. I know that for a fact.

Even after high school, Austin beckoned. My sophomore year at ACU, I got in trouble in Dr Treet's French class. He had it on good authority that I was with a group that had gone to New Orleans to Mardis Gras, missing his class. I had not. My roommate,  future brother-in-law and I went to Austin, instead.

There's just something about springtime in Austin.

Monday Meanderings - 3.26.2012

Last week one of the books I was reading at the Learning Ally studio was on selling. One section I read covered the good impression you try to establish in those first few moments of greeting a new contact. It suggested that you take a quick look around the prospect's office and see if there is something that you might use to set a good tone, such as photos, or plaques of commendation etc. The book did caution that you wanted to do this carefully; it cited a real-life instance where the sales person said, "Wow. That's a great picture! How did you become friends with John Madden?" Whereupon the ex-prospect said, "Sir, that's my wife."

Well, the news from the NFL is that Sean Payton has been tossed out of the game, as it were. I wonder if he will - like the coach we saw tossed in youth league play in Morgantown - sit way, way, away from the field and call in instructions by phone to his assistants?

The carpet cleaning saga is almost - but not quite - in the books. The guy was to show up between one and three Thursday afternoon, and about noon the company called and said they were "running really, really late." "Uhhh, how late, because I'm not going to be happy about moving this furniture back and then out of the way again?" "Well, I really can't say but it will be after three." But he came not too terribly long after 3 and did a good job. However. The agreement was that during this process I was also to receive a cleaning kit, for dealing with those messy spills, etc. between cleanings. Home Depot said I would get a kit. The extended warranty go-between gave me a number that I would need for the kit. The Chem Dry people said "What kit?"

Of all the people I've dealt with in this snafu, Chem Dry is the only one that has made half an effort to work with me. The manager said he would drop off some stuff to use at no charge, and that it would be far better than what they have in Home Depot. I go on record as being a Chem Dry fan.

Big hackberry in the back yard did what they do best. Died. Only this one was leaning way over into the neighbor's yard. Going.

Going.

Gone.

 

And here's a picture I stole from John Acuff - a sign on a church van.

Dancing with the Devil

From the ACU Optimist, March 21, 2012...

First campus dance considered success

ACU’s first on-campus dance had students swaying to the music Tuesday night in the Bob and Shirley Hunter Welcome Center. “Dance in Disguise” was the first implementation of  recent changes in the university’s dance policy.

Tom Craig, director of student productions, was thrilled about the first official dance on campus. Craig said they hoped to create an atmosphere celebrating who we are as Christians through this event and new opportunity.

“It’s exciting because we’re kind of breaking new ground,” Craig said. “We’d never had this opportunity in a formal setting before.”

ACU’s Board of Trustees recently approved a new dance policy, allowing campus organizations to request that student’s be allowed to dance at social events.

Excuse me? Excuse me? You can dance at ACU now? Where was this liberal Board of Trustees when I was in school? Oh, yeah. They were in school with me. Or in school after me.

You have to have some kind of understanding just how conservative ACU, and the churches that supported the school, were in those days. Succinctly put, dancing was a sin. Based on what I see on television today, it still is. Back then, people spoke out in the strongest terms about dancing. Sermons were preached about dancing, speakers at youth programs assailed it as the Devil's highway, and it was even against the law in nearby Anson, Texas (the town that may have been the inspiration for the movie Footloose.) Why?

Dancing leads to sex.

Well, yeah. And so does parking out on on country roads, and if the Cialis commercials are to be believed, so do smiles and gentle touches, and sudden rainstorms and any number of other things. Plus, might I suggest that couples that skip the dance and head straight to the parking spots have significantly longer to get in trouble than those who come straggling in later, but that's another story.

We had dances in my hometown; official school-sponsored dances, and at teen canteen every Friday night (except during football season), and often at private parties. I want to go on record as saying I attended many of those activities, but I never danced. I guess that's the terpsichorean equivalent of not inhaling. Simply put, I could never master the process.  I didn’t have two left feet, I had no feet when it came to dancing. Dancing was the recipe for making me more awkward than I already was, not the recipe for … you know.

Since there were no school sponsored dances at ACU, and participating in a dance (or more accurately getting caught participating at a dance) was grounds for dismissal from school - even the boot-scootin' kind - that activity sort of disappeared from the radar, except for my disk-jockey days. I have previously mentioned the evening that I was broadcasting from a sock hop at the Dyess AFB Youth Center, and there was a live band there as well as the records I was playing. You may recall that at one point I thought it was a good idea to interview the members of the band and they all identified themselves as John Smith. Imagine the odds - five guys in a band all named John Smith! Of course, all of them were enrolled at ACU (one was an instructor) and certainly didn't want their participation in a dance made public. I on the other hand, was using my real name!

So, since I couldn't actually dance, what did I do at these activities? Like many of my classmates, I was one of the guys standing around the perimeter, trying to look like Joe Cool. And I submit to you that nothing has changed in 50 plus years. Take a look at this picture from the pages of the Optimist (yes, I see that it's a copyrighted picture. If they give me any grief I won't send my annual donation to the school).

See any guys? Me neither. Oh, if you blow it up real big, you can see a couple of guys standing around the periphery, trying to look like Joe Cool.

Monday Meanderings - 3.19.2012

Really enjoyed Spring Break last week - slept as late as I wanted, coffee on the patio most mornings, ate out with my wife at some of our favorite restaurants, watched some sports on TV of an evening...oh, wait. That's what I do every week!

Though my generation has no room to talk (Moby Grape, Iron Butterfly, Strawberry Alarm Clock), it is amusing to look over names of bands currently appearing at SXSW; animal-related names seem very popular this year:

• Bear in Heaven
• Prizehog
• Dinosaur Jr
• Takling to Turtles
• Duck Fight Goose
• The Iguanas
• Electrics Eel Shock

And my favorite, Two Cow Garage

At a friend's house the other evening it was obvious that they collect clocks that strike the Westminster chime on the hour (over about a 5 minute period; not too together). It reminded me of the clock in my parent's bedroom when I was growing up. It, too, struck the Westminster chime on the hour - and increasingly longer segments of the chime on the quarter-hour. Folks who spent the night at our house used to tell us how many times it chimed overnight. The interesting thing about that clock was that for years I could still hear the chimes - while living in Abilene. And usually, I heard them exactly on time.

And speaking of hearing things, don't you hate wandering around the house, stopping and listening to see if it is the nearest smoke detector making the low battery beep - only to hear the beep elsewhere? This happened for hours the other night; I finally figured out it was the phone in the kitchen. Wasn't set on the charging stand.

Saw, on one of those new LED signs, what was obviously the last part of  the message. It said colorfully, "Best Happy Hour in town." Then the next panel was "Mattress Store." Well, yes, I can understand how that would be a popular happy hour.

We've been saving up episodes of the Mentalist for quite some time. Probably had 10 unseen episodes - so many that sitting down to start watching them was becoming problematic. Time-Warner to the rescue - we had to swap out our cable box this week. We might miss them after basketball is over. Or not.

Busy week: in addition to the visit to Home Depot about carpet cleaning, there were three "Please Hold" conversations with the cable company tech support, one visit to the cable offices to swap the set-top box and one visit from a company technician (problem recurred 10 minutes after he walked out the door); a trip to the respiration therapy store to get Barb's "pressure" increased (I am so not going there); a guy came out to make some needed repairs to the sprinkler system; the exterminator made his quarterly visit; Home Depot called to tell me they found my records in the system, the cleaning company itself called and we are actually on the schedule; and the tree company came Friday morning and removed a very large hackberry tree that was leaning precipitously over the neighbor's yard. I'm going to take next week off.

Bumper sticker: "I am one bad relationship from owning thirty cats!"

And yes, that is a camel in downtown Austin. Why not?

Traveling in comfort - Stories for my grandchildren

The other evening I was sitting in one of those restaurants with all the old antiques and assorted junk up on the walls and hanging from the rafters. You know the kind of place. Across from our table was a canvas bag on display, and I realized that I knew what that bag was for, and in fact, growing up, my family utilized several such bags for their intended purpose. It was a canvas water bag (much older and more faded than these in this picture).

The bags are indeed made of a heavy canvas and they are intended to transport water. You fill them up. hang them on the car bumper (well, that may be a problem today) or from a tree at your campsite where it can catch the breeze; water wicks through the canvas and evaporates, cooling the bag and its contents. Simple and elegant, and judging from the photo I found, you can still purchase them!

My family made a trip to southern California in the early 1950's to meet my brother, who was returning to the States after a tour of duty in the Navy. We caravaned the family car and my brother's car, with my sister-in-law Jo, who was rejoining her husband in California after his overseas tour. We hung at least one - perhaps more - canvas water bags on the exterior of the car to help us journey across New Mexico, Arizona and the arid portions of southern California. But that was not our only creature comfort.

This is a picture of an evaporative air conditioner for an automobile. Right. A swamp cooler for a car. We had one of those devices (I can't remember which car) and it operated on a very simple principle. The forward motion of the car caused air to be scooped up by the front opening, passing over porous water-soaked pads, bringing about evaporation, which cooled air that was then directed into the interior of the car. Pretty neat.

But the best part was re-soaking the pads, which were arranged around a cylindrical cage, which rotated through a shallow tray of water in the bottom of the unit. You just reached up and pulled a cord which rotated the cage and reloaded the pads with water. The best part was that the excess water was blown off the pads and into the car, both refreshing the occupants with a spray of cool water, and eliminating the need for a shower when you stopped that evening! A wonderful device!

In the restaurant, I was excitedly reciting my recollections of these wonderful old inventions, when Barb gently reminded me that if I were not careful, they might want to hang another old antique on the wall.

On getting one's carpets cleaned...

A year and some months ago we replaced the living room and master bedroom carpet. As part of the negotiations, we signed up for "extended care" which means that once a year someone comes and cleans the carpet. "You don't have to do anything; in a year someone will call and set up the appointment."

A year and some months later, we still had not received the call, so I dropped by the Home Depot where all this took place and inquired as to the status of my carpet cleaning.

Young man at the desk: "Oh, you need to call and set this up."

Older man at the desk: "No, you need to make that call. Look 'em up. (To me) Here, have a doughnut."

Woman clerk who made the original sale: "Yes, you were supposed to call."

Me: "No, you told me they would call. I don't know who to call."

Woman: "Here, I've got the number. Call this number."

Older man: "You should make that call. Just pick up that phone and call them. Sure you won't have a doughnut?"

Woman: "Hello, Chem Clean? This is Home Depot, I have a customer with CCEP and we need to set up the 1st cleaning. I need to call who? Do you have that number? Okay, I'll look it up."

Older man: "Are you watching your weight? I've got the solution to that problem. Cinnamon Tablets!

Woman: "Hello, this is Home Depot. I need to set up a cleaning for a customer with CCEP. What registration number? I don't have a registration number - all I have is the order number. No, you didn't give me a registration number. You've never given me a registration number for any of these."

Older Man: "Two cinnamon tablets after every meal. It oxidizes the nutrients and fremulates the gastricity."

Woman: "Of course I'm sure. I've been doing this for years and I've never received a registration number. I know what the agreement says, I have to sell it, so I read it word for word!"

Young Man: "Ya'll don't need me do you?"

 Woman: "I can't  look that up! It's been more than a year and that file has been purged."

Older Man: "It is a crying shame that no one wants to do a good job any more! This country is going to the dogs!"

Woman: "Well, what do you want me to do? The customer purchased this service; he wants his carpets cleaned! Wait, the customer brought his copy of the order. I can fax it to you."

Older Man: "You know what it says on our money? It says 'In God we trust.' They just ought to wipe that right off!:

Woman: "After you receive the copy, are you going to call the customer? It's on the order I'm going to fax you! Okay, then call me!

Young Man: "Are you going to eat that doughnut?"

Woman: "It will be how long? Three days? Then what? You'll give me a registration number and then I call the cleaning crew?" Unintelligible muttering follows.

Older Man: "George, over in paint started taking cinnamon tablets and he lost 40 pounds in 40 days."

Woman (to me): "I'm going to take this up front to fax it and I'll be right back."

Older Man (leaving): "Good luck."

Young man (coming back after several minutes have passed): "Are there any doughnuts left?"

Me (much later): "Hello? Anyone? Anyone?"

Monday Meanderings - 3.12.2012

Best word for today - SXSW (Okay, that's not really a word. Go with the popular "Southby" tag)
Best two words for today - March Madness (Finally, decent sports on TV)
Best three words for today - Daylight Savings Time (Booo!!)
Best four words for today - Didn't it rain, children?
Best five words for today - Lots and lots of bluebonnets!

Our Care Group met in a different home last evening, a place where dwelleth two cats and a seeing-eye dog. It took me 45 minutes before I stood up to interrupt our guest speaker and headed out the door, wheezing. Fortunately we had been forewarned about the animals and Barb reminded me to take an inhaler, otherwise it would have been another mad dash across the city to reach one.  I remember my brother and his family coming by right after Rob was born; poor Laurie wasn't in the house but minutes before she began showing adverse reactions to our cat. It's a long-standing family tradition.

We all have neighbors who dally well into the new year before taking down Christmas lights. Some even keep their lights up all year. But keep up their natural Christmas trees? This past week a large, very brown Christmas tree showed up on a neighbor's curb on trash day. I just wonder where has it been all this time?

SXSW is underway, as is high school boy's UIL basketball tournament. Austin runneth over. With an extra 30,000 people in town one shouldn't venture further south than Highway 183. Wonder what it will be like if the Formula 1 races actually happen and we have an extra 120,000!

I found out that my hearing aids have loudness limits; crank the stereo beyond a certain volume and you start hearing sharp little "snaps" as the circuits kick off. Hmm. Maybe that says something about why I need hearing aids today. You think?

You know Austin is weird when the mayor launches his re-election campaign with a video based on Ferris Beuller's Day Off - and the mayor is playing the role of Ferris. And when the City Council bans single use bags city-wide. Bring your bags or pay dearly. How European.

Not sure we can continue to feed the Goldfinches in the manner to which they have become accustomed. Dozens of them hanging on the feeder most any time you check.

Leslie Cochran, described as "Austin's flesh-flashing, cross-dressing, attention-loving, frequently homeless mascot, unofficial ambassador and sometimes mayoral candidate" died Thursday after a slow decline following a brain injury several months ago. There has been an interesting outpouring of sympathy from various segments of the community, including City Hall. The mayor proclaimed March 8 "Leslie Day" at Thursday's City Council meeting. Those at a memorial march Thursday were encouraged to wear boas and tiaras. There's talk of a statue.

Leslie first came to our families attention when he was hanging out on North Lamar and Braker, on the Randall's parking lot corner. The manager of the store ran afoul of the law when he tried to chase Leslie off the premises with a power washer, but Leslie took the hint and moved his show downtown to the corner of 6th and Congress, where he eventually ascended to the highest rank of celebrity status, joining the few known by but one name.

RIP, Leslie.

World Fair, Fireworks and Fate - Stories for my grandchildren

Something in a current TV commercial jogged a faint memory of something that happened in 1964, and it occurred to me that I need to record for posterity the story of my trip to the New York World's Fair. But which story to tell? The one about driving cross country non-stop in a Ford Econoline loaded with photographic equipment, with the side door tied open to scoop air to blow away the acid fumes from a battery that boiled the entire trip? Or driving that same van through rush-hour Manhattan traffic on an equipment run? Or the 10,000 pictures I took of the Statue of Liberty from the Staten Island Ferry? Or the run-in we had with the Teamsters Union entering the Fairgrounds? Or... so many stories! I may have to revisit this topic often.

We did all of our filming at the fairgrounds late at night (see above about unions for the reason) so that left our days free, for the most part, to take in the Fair. We had photo-id badges that identified us as exhibitors to gain access to the fairgrounds, but we soon learned that they also gave us access to exhibits and restaurants without standing in long lines. Sort of professional courtesy. So we took in everything, and it was a grand experience!

One evening we had planned on doing some exterior filming, catching the spectacle of the brightly-lighted exhibits, the colorful pedestrian walkways, the vivid fountains and the like, but a thunderstorm brought that to a halt. We took refuge at the IBM exhibit which had a broad canopy of "trees," made of plastic sky-lights, supported by steel trunks. These sheltered the folks in line as they moved up a series of risers to gain access to the exhibit itself, the idea being that this was a covered garden. The line was short, so we decided this was an ideal time to visit the very popular IBM display.

The only problem was, like real trees, water could leak through and pretty soon we were standing in wet puddles on steel walkways, surrounded by wet steel trunks and railings, and as we progressed up the risers, waiting our turn,  a host of people seeking to get out of the weather crowded in behind us, blocking us in. At this point, the storm was right on top of us and the lightning was frighteningly close; every few seconds there was a blinding flash and an immediate BOOOOOM and the hair on your arms and neck would stand up a little higher.

You know the common wisdom about not seeking shelter under a tree during a lightning storm? How about a couple of hundred trees? Metal trees. While standing on wet risers, trying not to touch the wet rails surrounding you. FLASH! BOOOOM! Gasp!

But there's more. Every night at 10pm, the Fair provided a spectacular fireworks display! You know, rockets red glare, giant aerial bombs, incredible pyrotechnics! All bursting up from hidden housing in the middle of the lagoon immediately across the walkway from the IBM site! Every loudspeaker on the fairgrounds would begin booming Sousa's Stars and Stripes Forever - and there were a lout of loudspeakers.

So the lightning is crashing, the pyrotechnics are flashing, the walls are shaking, the hair is standing and I am thinking - If I'm going to go, this will be the most spectacular send-off in history!

To the great relief of my grandchildren, I survived that experience, so they are around to read about it. But it really would have been a send-off!

The Three Little Pigs and Social Media

This is admittedly way off my usual type of post, but I found it interesting. This in an advertisement for the British Tabloid The Guardian.  It portrays how the story of the three little pigs might be addressed today in print and online. Follow the story from the paper's front page headline, through a social media discussion and finally to an unexpected conclusion. It's more impressive if you make it full screen.

Monday Meanderings - 03.05.2012

Road trip this past weekend, to Port A, of course. Tried to get there earlier, but everything was booked for some fest or another. We were afraid that Spring Breakers would be arriving by now, but Barb checked with the condo people and they assured us that this was the weekend before the storm, so... here's the report.


Wildflower Report - one or two clusters of bluebonnets showed up in Austin this past week, and while we didn't see many on the trip, we were treated to a plethora of little white flowers, and carpets of yellow blooms. A few patches of Indian Paintbrush and just a smattering of bluebonnets, mostly in the Beeville area. It's significantly greener in South Texas than in the Austin area. Obviously a lot more rainfall down there.

Beach Report - the beach was clear and clean this weekend; no seaweed or jelly fish to speak of. Brisk winds Saturday morning made for very chilly conditions, but by the afternoon, if you stayed in the sun, it was pleasant. Sunday morning was quite nice.

Sea Food Report - We managed to hit all of our favorites, Castaways, Virginia's on the Bay, Trout Street Grill. Virginia's is one of our favorites, right on the water, open-air dining, large portions of crisp fried fish and sides served in 2 oz plastic cups! A pile of fish and french fries and a tiny cup of beans and a tiny cup of slaw! I flubbed the picture, but a 2 oz cup is about the size of self-serv catchup containers. Go figure. I always look forward to the gumbo at Trout Street, but to my dismay, they have changed the recipe and the roux is now a vinegary red substance. Very disappointing.

Room Decor Report - I've wondered in other blogs about where one finds kitschy beach-type items for decor. Like, a bead-work pelican. Seriously!

Working on the Railroad Report - Between Ingleside and Taft there are a number of railroad spurs that cross the highway, serving the large chemical plants on the coast. We often have to stop while they shuttle tank cars back and forth. This trip, the crossing guard arms came down and the lights flashed, and the train tootled his horn, but it wasn't a train - it was a truck! Look closely and you'll see the rail wheels on this truck loaded with cross ties.

Oil Patch Report - The oil bidness is booming in South Texas. "Fracking" is good for business, based on the number of well-service outfits that have scraped some ground and set up operations. Tanker trucks dominate the highway (loved getting stuck behind several of them) and travel trailers are parked everywhere (accommodations for hoards of workers that have gathered). If you are a truck driver or have a trailer park (or dry ground to park a few) times are good in South Texas.

Happy marriages and the password conundrum

You don't have to be heavily invested in the Cyber world to come up against the password conundrum; every application requires a "strong" password and the security gurus insist it should not be the same word for every application and it should have upper case letters and special characters, and numbers, and it should not be a password you have used in the previous 27 years, and soon the care and feeding of proliferating passwords takes on a life of its own.

I was reminded of the password conundrum the other morning, when Barb hesitantly asked me for some technical assistance when her iPhone Gmail account barfed and asked her for a password and then turned up its nose at any and all passwords offered. I say hesitantly, because I confess I'm less than patient when it comes to technical support at home, and we've had... how shall I put this... "issues" over passwords in the past. So much so, that she would rather ignore the fact that she has 22 AppStore updates pending than ask me to help her figure out what her Apple password is. Okay, another confession: she has two Apple accounts and two Apple passwords as a result of my technical support on a prior occasion.

 And the Gmail account? She knew her Gmail password in times past. It was the same password she used for everything else and all was well until Google notified her that it appeared someone was trying to hack into her account and it might be best if she changed her password. I cooked up a doozy, changed her password, told her what it was, and promptly forgot it. She used it successfully for a while, until the other morning, when Google decided she should re-enter it. At that point the discussion around the breakfast table went something like this:

She said: "Dear, Gmail won't accept any of the passwords I know. Could you take a look at it?"
He said: "Why certainly, dear. I look forward to this opportunity to use my technical background and knowledge to assist you with this problem. Do you remember what your password used to be?"
She said: "It used to be ********, until you changed it. I really regret to say that I'm unsure what you changed it to. It could have been ******* or *******, but I'm not sure."
He said: "Not a problem, dear. I'm sure you stored it in your password vault app. Didn't you?"
She said: "Of course, sweety, and I did try that one, but that mean old Gmail just won't take anything I try."
He said: "Don't fret, my love. I'll have this set right in no time."
She said: "You're so good to me."

Well, perhaps that was not the exact conversation, word for word, but it was something very close to the above, I'm sure. I'll get back to you on that whenever Barb speaks to me again. Which may not be soon.

So let me pass on some hard-earned advice to those of you men who find yourself in a similar situation: the key to a happy marriage and the password conundrum is to recognize that she has no interest whatsoever in the formation, storage and use of good, strong passwords, and when they get messed up - as they will, from time to time, our role is to shut up and fix them.