Imagine That...

November Notes

I wish I didn't have to wait until unexpectedly given half a day off before the holiday weekend to have blog time, but alas, such is life. Here are some long awaited tidbits from the happenings of Ben.

Kym Loves George

Indeed she does ladies and gentleman. And before that, it was George's turn on the billboard down the street from my house. I don't remember when this new outward expression of their love was unveiled (October? September, perhaps), but all that matters is that their love be chronicled. They have been going at it with a semi-aquatic theme since February this year with the scuba divers. Before dolphins there was a heart etched into the sandy beach somewhere. It had a poem superimposed that begged the question, "What did you do to make the world better today?" I long for a day when I too can answer that question by expressing my love for someone else. I hope that George and Kym keep it up. The daily reminder of their love certainly makes my world a better place.

Around America Project

Sometime in Mid-October, I received a message via CouchSurfing from a guy named Matt Danzico, a Brooklyn transplant from Scranton, PA (of Office fame). He had only recently discovered the wonders of CouchSurfing, which was really too bad considering the adventure he had set forth upon. He was conducting an experiment; one I would guess has never been tried before, which is why I agreed to participate, despite the fact that he seemed to be abusing the CouchSurfing system. He was attempting to travel from Brooklyn across the US to Portland, down California and across the Sunbelt, up Appalachia and return to Brooklyn in 80 days, and without spending any of his own money on necessities: food, transportation, and housing. He calls it Around America Project 2.0 – and you can totally watch his follies across these United States because he is filming the whole escapade and uploading short videos about each stop regularly.

Anyway, he really wasn't asking for much more than the normal CouchSurfers who generally require that you put them up and show them around. Matt also requested of his hosts that they provide for him a few meals which can be inexpensive, show him a couple of quirky things about your particular city, and also to perhaps drive him an hour or two to his next destination. It really wasn't much to ask considering the fact that I would be forever illuminated on the internet and I would be a part of something that hasn't ever been done before.

The only problem was that Matt had a hell of a time trying to get a ride out of El Paso. West Texas is BIG and VAST and desolate and poor Matt couldn't get a break. He even tried hitchhiking, but when he almost got abducted by a trucker, he called his El Paso host to pick him up, and that very generous man bought Matt a plane ticket to San Antone.

I picked Matt up at the airport on Saturday, November 3^rd, and brought him back to the roof terrace just in time for sunset. There, he conducted an interview of me which can be seen on the site (edited). That night, we rode bikes downtown and I treated him to an authentic Mexican patio dinner at Cascabel. Then, met up with friends at La Tuna and he bought me a few beers. Apparently the limits of his experiment exclude the purchase of what he calls vices – beer and cigarettes. Food is one thing, but I saw his point about asking strangers to buy him cigarettes. In any case, the next morning I shared with him the beauty of breakfast tacos (a sequence of wonderment that was sadly edited out of his video), and then we went to Keith's house…

You might remember Keith. I hosted him as a CouchSurfer back in May and showed him such a good time that by mid-June, Keith had moved to San Antonio and was living in the basement of my friend Caleb's loft at Blue Star. He is now a math teacher at a public high school in a town nearby. In a crazy coincidence, Keith's first place on his own happens to be in the same house (which is subdivided into three apartments) that my dear friend Elizabeth Graff and her husband and daughter were living in and stayed with when I first wandered into town well over two years ago. Is that clear? Keith stayed with me when he first visited town. I stayed with Elizabeth when I first came to town. By random happenstance, now Keith lives in that same building. San Antonio is crazy like that.

Anyway, Keith and Matt enjoyed the trampoline in Keith's backyard. But the real reason we went to Keith's in the first place was because he had been hosting a CouchSurfer of his own that weekend – a girl named Rachel from Austin. Having only recently moved to Austin from Brooklyn, she had never been to the Alamo and since we were headed there anyway, she joined us for the tour as well as the ride to Austin where I would be unloading Matt.

Rachel and Matt – downtown.

I showed them the Birthplace of Texas Independence and then we strolled around the Riverwalk. I have to say that Matt is a very fortuitous soul. Just as his ride to Houston bailed at the last minute, it worked out that I was going to Austin anyway to hang out with my friend Hale AND Hale was going to Houston that week anyway.

In Austin Hale (pictured above) and I showed Matt and Rachel many of our capitol city's treasures. We had coffee at the San Jose Hotel, wandered about hipster central S. Congress a bit, went to the impressive Cathedral of Junk, picked up snacks and provisions at Wheatsville Co-op, went Cardboard Sledding, and watched the sunset over the Congress Street Bridge as the famous bat migration fluttered beneath.

Cardboard Sledding speaks for itself folks – watch the hilarious video!

I was so glad to be involved it Matt's journey. May he make it home safe to Brooklyn where the blatant and contrived use of cowboy hats are far less of a problem.

Chili Bowl

Last Friday, Marc emailed me at work and told me that we should totally check out the Chili Bowl that night. What, you ask, is the Chili Bowl? I asked Marc the same question, desperately hoping it did not involve actually eating chili. (Who's not from Texas? yeah, it's me!) Apparently, it was a high school football game between two rival schools – Jefferson vs. Edison played at the legendary Alamo Stadium which is so beautifully carved out of an old limestone quarry not far from my home. Unfortunately, that game was the previous weekend. The game Marc had duped Jeremy and I into attending was just some lame ass football game between Edison and Fox Tech. Regardless, all three of us having been big band nerds in high school, were in for some good nostalgic fun.

Jeremy and Marc lock up the bikes.

Oh the half time shows were a huge disappointment. We wanted to see marching formations, but these bands did none of it! One of them simply stood in a big block and played for their dance team (and actually, the dance team was amazing. And by amazing I mean in a group nine dancers, to which the rest were skinny girls, one lone fat dude showed off his kick line skills. Seriously, you can kind of make him out in the above photo standing in a line at the front of the field with the odd colored shirt possibly because they couldn't find one that matched in his size? Poor guy… but, damn. I have never seen a guy do a kick line like that. Ever.) The second school's band just did some cheesy Veteran's Day crap. We were totally bummed.

Anyway, we enjoyed watching the horrendously bad football, singing to the familiar stand tunes, and shamefully telling band stories of lame high school glory. I definitely feel like I never have to go to another high school football game in my entire life. I'm really glad I got that out of my system.

Lost Maples

A few weeks back, my friends Sky and Kristen suggested a camping trip. The idea was to go up to Enchanted Rock – a state park about an hour and a half away featuring a large exposed granite dome - with a group of friends and explore said geological oddity, and commune with nature the best way we city folk know how. But nothing is ever easy, especially in midst of Fall camping season. It turns out that the campgrounds at ERock were all booked over Veteran's Day weekend and all our other friends had made other plans or had to work. I recommended a hearty day trip, but Sky and Kristen had their hearts set on camping and could not be deterred. Thus, Kristen made a reservation for primitive camping at Lost Maples State Natural Area.

I was seriously skeptical of this "primitive camping" idea. First of all, there were no open fires allowed in the primitive camping areas and that seemed a bit antithetical to the camping experience. How would we keep warm? And more importantly – how would we make s'mores? Secondly, looking at the map of the park, I noticed that you couldn't drive up to the primitive camping areas, you had to hike there. And depending upon where in the park you were assigned to camp, this could require a rather long hike up steep terrain. None of us had brought backpacks, and we had a cooler chilling our food and alcoholic provisions – would we have to carry our beer all that way? Or would we <gasp> have to leave our beer in my car's trunk? S'mores were one thing…

I couldn't help but feel as though we were vastly unprepared as we arrived to the park check-in area. We pretty much lucked out and there happened to be one camping-with-amenities spot open. Or perhaps the park ranger took pity on us and assigned us a little camp spot on a rocky patch of earth adjacent to the sewage treatment plant. We were stoked!

Sky and Kristen, pictured above figuring out the new tent.

Sky decided to drape himself with the rain-fly.

He proceeded to act like a kindly, poor, old gypsy woman for at least the next 45 minutes.

Before dusk, we got an hour of hiking in. Lost Maples is a unique spot an hour or so due west of San Antonio. Texas isn't known for colorful fall foliage, but there is a rare sub-species of maple tree that only grows along the streambed in this particular state park, hence the name "Lost Maples". As you can imagine, it is quite breath-taking this time of year and hundreds flock each day to take in its autumn resplendence which peaks this time of year. Usually, that is. Unlike the rest of the country, central Texas received an abnormal amount of rainfall this year. Apparently all the unexpected excess watering caused the maples leaves to turn yellow and abruptly die before we arrived.

We made the best of it – nature is always beautiful soI did some runway action through the dead maples.

That night, we sat at our picnic table in the dark, eating away at some vegetarian pot stickers Whole Foods prepared for our trip. Our camping neighbors took pity on our sad, little camping effort. They had an overabundance of beer, s'mores, and room by their campfire to share with us. And we graciously accepted. In another strange San Antonio coincidence, it turned out that they were hosting an Afghan exchange student. I realize that isn't too crazy, but get this: They were part of the same group of volunteers hosting Afghani teenagers that my friends Betsy and Luke (also of SATX) were among, as I learned they too, had an Afghani in their home. Apparently there were 9 families total in San Antonio hosting. And we happened to befriend one of them by random happenstance, as they had adopted an additional three pathetic campers that evening. Wild.

Speaking of wild - We made sure to behave by not feeding the animals. If you do, you know, you might spread bubonic plague. Right.

The next morning we made use of our very generous neighbors, who shared with us their fantastic coffee machine, and the three of us set off on an inspired (meaning caffeinated) five mile hike.

Despite the lack of extreme fall color, there was an awful lot to get excited about on our hike. There were creeks and streams, waterfalls, steep cliffs, large boulders, and a rather impressive bluff view.

There were also strange antlered creatures atop said bluff.

Pack-man Rock.

Thanksgiving

So it's Thanksgiving weekend, and for the umpteenth time since I can't even remember (it's been that long), I am not with my family. Back when my parents were still together and my grandparents were alive, I remember it being something resembling a traditional holiday. Mom would have the food catered, and we would set out the fine plastic-ware on the picnic table on our dock overlooking the lake. It was nice, and all our extended family friends would be there too, which undoubtedly meant that Sami and I would re-enact the entire Wizard of Oz movie. She would play Dorothy, and I every other character. But that was so very long ago, and the last Thanksgiving I remember spending in Hollywood was with my mom at a sushi restaurant. And maybe Grandma was there too. The pilgrims were all about the tuna tataki.

In any case, it's been so fascinating to witness how this pivotal expression of The American Ideal translates through the various families I have spent Thanksgiving with over the past several years. This was my third Turkey Day since moving to Texas and I was delighted to spend it in Austin with my friend Jonathan Smith, his parents, sister Emily, and girlfriend Cameron. I had never met Jonathan's family before, and since meeting parent of my friends has become a favorite pastime of mine, I was rather looking forward to it. They are really nice folks. Jonathan's mom made a delectable feast which was augmented slightly by the beets I prepared that morning. His dad, I learned, is an amateur fossil hunter and showed me his prized collection before unloading half of it into my car! I also got a kick out of learning more about Jonathan's childhood. There was nothing unexpected – he was an eagle scout after all, and nothing fell short of the that level of over achievement. After dinner we reviewed his wealth of wheat pennies, and rummaged through a trunk of pure boyhood: binders full of baseball cards organized by volume and subdivided into National and American leagues, model cars, shadowboxes full of merit badges, and my personal favorite – two kits sent to him by the 1992 Clinton/Gore Presidential Campaign to be a "Rapid Response Team Captain" full of stickers, buttons, and VHS tapes. I love how the campaign was perfectly comfortable by the idea of an 11 year old rapidly responding to crises on the campaign trail. But then again, Bill Clinton did win…

Pictured above – Jonathan and Cameron circa my SanAntoniversary.

All this is a long winded way of expressing my thanks to all of my San Antonio friends who have opened their homes and hearts to me over the last several years since I have been a Texan. I will miss you most of all scarecrow.

 

 

Halloween En Masse

ZOMBIFIED

Last Saturday was San Antonio's First Annual Zombie Walk. Has anyone heard about these unusual culminations of the masses? Apparently it's a national phenomenon; an epidemic if you will.

The concept is horrifyingly simple. Choose one or more landmarks in your city's bustling downtown. Select a time. Spread the word. Dress up your friends and self in zombie attire, make-up, and gear. Accumulate at rendezvous point. March a la un-dead with hundreds of fellow zombies along designated route. Easy breezy.

My friends and I were totally stoked as you can imagine. Unfortunately, there were a whole host of problems – the biggest being that the guy in charge of this sordid affair did not have our confidence. Through his Myspace page, we concluded that the decisions being made to bring the zombies of San Antone (and beyond) together were poorly thought through. First, we were supposed to meet at 5 o'clock and begin stalking the passers-by en masse at the stroke of six. This seemed way too early. It wouldn't even be dark yet! Secondly, the route seemed WAY too short. With no doubt the two biggest landmarks downtown are Tower of the Americas and of course that little limestone mission with the funny roofline. But a walk between these two features is at most four blocks. Four blocks didn't seem worth the trouble. Then the big kicker was that the after party was planned for a venue in Loop Land. We inner-loop snobs can't deal with spending a Saturday night in some crappy club way out. No thank you.

And then there was that little issue of the scheduling conflict. Apparently there was to be Ale Fest at the Hemis-Fair park, which is where the Tower is located. Oops. Turns out that event organizers can work together on occasion and the good people of Ale Fest agreed to allow zombies in for a 75% discount, which was really sweet of them. Phew! Crisis averted.

Despite the lack of our approval regarding various facets of the event, I think we all agreed that this was going to be a scream no matter what. And thus we marched on toward the abyss.

Melissa and I were particularly excited, as we had assigned ourselves the task of zombification. There are few things that I can say with over-abundant confidence, but I am a rather skillful zombie make-up artist. When I was a lad, my father was involved in a volunteer organization that benefitted local charities. For several years they built a haunted house to raise money for Diabetes Cure? Helping the Homeless? Saving the Rain Forest? Take your pick, I can't remember. For the most part, presumably because I was like twelve, I was relegated to mere zombie roles as part of the Haunted House cast. And every night, some make-up professional would do me up. I watched and learned and then proceeded to do my own zombie make-up for practically every Halloween that followed. Then in college, during my Resident Assistant days, I made up countless zombies for our special Kellum Hall Haunted House fundraiser. That was fun, but I hadn't made any zombies in a really long time, so like I said, was pretty excited by the opportunity.

Melissa and I bought our supplies on Friday. We were set to go. But there was that little problem of this event being at that super awkward early evening time. This meant we had to convene super early at like 3pm on Saturday. Melissa learned the art of zombie during a stage make-up course she took in college and I was eager to see her academic approach in practice. Contrary to my paper bag technique, she employed and was more partial to using tissue paper. The effects are staggeringly different. Coarsely-ripped, brown paper bags can provide the illusion of deep, mangled gashes, while tissue paper can produce a sculpted peeling effect. Either way, it would take quite some time to do everyone's zombie make-up. And our friends were sure taking their time to get their asses to Melissa's apartment for grotesque abrasions and appletinis.

Eventually, our crew of zombies-to-be arrived and there was a fierce scramble to get ready. We were seriously running late, but regardless, I managed to make some good looking zombies. My masterpiece of the day was a rather large gash on Libby's (a.k.a. Prom Queen Zombie) back which featured an eyeball protruding from the wound that even matched her turquoise prom dress.

At about a quarter to 6 – we were SO late – our zombie crew hustled over toward the Tower. I dived into the backseat of Melissa's VW Golf and thanked the heavens that she volunteered to drive as I watched our carefully applied zombie make-up fake blood rub off all over her car's black interior.

Libby – Prom Queen Zombie, and Melissa – Swimmer Zombie. We bolted over to the meeting spot in a very un-zombie-like fashion and then had to cope with the fact that everyone had already left. Luckily zombies move slowly, and because a herd of one hundred and fifty zombies does not go unnoticed, people we able to point us in the right direction.

We caught up with the group…you can see me in there somewhere. I should mention that I did not have my camera with me so a lot of these photos were snatched from Google searching "San Antonio Zombie Walk photos," in addition to some from Mark Jones and my friend Penny (below) - I totally did her make-up.

I think this is my favorite photo of Libby, Kristen, and Melissa taken by Mark Jones who was a spectator.

Policeman Zombie.

Thriller?

These kids were so good!

Ok. I should come clean. This, in fact was, a rather well-planned affair. The Ale Fest conflict worked out, zombies were actually let in for free. The short route was actually quite long because walking like a zombie forces you to stumble about slowly and very deliberate. Thus, walking to the Alamo actually took about a half hour. And the fact that it was just before dusk was perfect, because it ensured there to be a lot of spectators and also that they could see us. And more importantly that cars could see us.

Daddy and daughter zombies. (Check out the menace behind them!)

Dr. Zombie.

Baby Zombie!

Zombies at the Alamo…

You're probably wondering, how the hell did the people of San Antonio react to such mayhem? Well, there was a definitely the expected hooting and hollering. There was the unexpected delight of some folks who stopped as though watching a parade, which they kind of were watching – a zombie parade! Then there were the people who surprised me by actually exhibiting uninhibited terror. There were half a dozen people who were genuinely frightened. This amazed me because even though some people made very convincing zombies, there was a rather evident spectrum of stayng in character. It was harder than you would think, especially since we got there so late, and we didn't get to see everyone's costumes before the walk.

Anyway, we arrived at the Alamo.

The guards (because, you know, it's always guarded) would not let us onto the sidewalk in front of the Alamo. They explained that the ground was sacred. I'm not kidding.

Lots of people, some zombie, some prey.

Zombies attack!

Our zombie group….mmmmmm…brains.

And the fun didn't stop there. We went in just our small group down to the River walk where we continued to freak the crap out of everyone around us. We had drinks at a bar which was fun. Then we went to the DIY Fest at a club near downtown. We were still in our zombie costumes which were totally DIY so we fit right in. Although, we tried to keep our fake blood-laden paws off the hand stitched bags for sale. Later we went to a party at Penny's house. Still. Dressed. Like. Zombies.

Libby and Brent express their evident discomfort.

BIKE GANG SUMMIT II: THE RECLAMATION

We all knew it was coming. Ever since the last one brought us more fun than anyone should have on a Saturday night, we have been anticipating its arrival. And because of this, you would have thought we'd have had a few bike gang ideas saved up for the occasion. But noooo, the Halloween Bike Summit was going to be as much as scramble as all the other ones. Brian and Alison with Vicki and I only started brainstorming two weeks ago! We wanted to do something easy and outwardly offensive. And the best thing we came up with to fit that criteria was "Bloody Tampons," but Brian refused because he wants to go to law school someday and thinks that he won't get in if people find unsavory photos of him on the internet. As if I would ever do that! And besides, if we did it right no one would recognize him. So we kinda threw around a few other ideas eventually settling on a Bladerunner theme. Or in the style of, rather.

But controversy was to be had! As I started collecting additional Bladerunners and Replicants for our gang, Brian made other plans. He wanted to somehow have us be connected with pantyhose and call us "Siamese Bikers" a concept that would be virtually impossible to execute which is why I wondered why he settled on it without any discussion. Meanwhile, I was stuck with his Bladerunner idea; a movie I don't even like all that much.

Never the less, the day arrived, and I had all us North-Siders meet on the roof terrace for cocktails.

Kristen and Sky arrive.

Kristen, after I adorned her with our Bladrunner-esque Post-Apocalyptic retro futuristic motif. The make-up was really goopy, but glowed in the blacklight that came with it.

Sky as terrorist Cat Stevens.

Terrorist Sky, Flapper Victoria, Replicant Kristen, Harrison Ford-ish Marc, and Nico, who really had a sorry excuse for a costume.

Not Harrison Ford. Marc and I invited his long time friend Hale from Austin to come on the ride. Hale was to borrow my bike which ended up being a huge fiasco when he arrived rather late, but we don't need to get into that now. It all worked out rather splendidly anyhow.

Onward to the rendezvous point!

Under the highway.

The group expands.

So does Jeremy, seen right with Desiree and Utah.

Kristen, Victoria, and Libby – as Never Ending Story Princess.

Mark Jones – our fearless leader, who spent many months in preparation to wear a denim jacket.

Heather as Rosie "We CAN do it!" and creepy cross-country coach Jeremy.

Humans or replicants? Hint: Humans wouldn't be caught dead in a Hanson shirt.

Oh look – it's the Lame Gang. Brian and Alison and Simon were the Skeletons. Like that's never been done before…

WE RIDE!

And then… my bike broke. Yes, 'tis true. Someone decided that it would look especially "Post-apocalyptic" for his bike to be donned in fake rusted barbed wire. Let's just say that was a really stupid idea.

Eventually, I barely made it in time to hang out in the old town cemetery.

Dictator Matt Fleeger, and Vicki – who also ditched the Bladerunner costume despite it being her idea, for the SARS victim costume. Oh! And Krystal Fleeger had the greatest wig on ever!

Jennifer Lloyd as the murdered bride's maids gang.

Kristen in full Black Light make-up.

And I.

Nico, who joined the one-eared bunny gang.

We stopped at a Valero station for treats.

Vicki.

Desiree.

Libby and Matt.

Nico, Hale, and Marc – who finally met back up with us after the aforementioned fiasco of leaving a cell phone in Austin and then missing us but then miraculously finding the bike we left for him then us. Anyway, we met up with him and Marc at a house party.

Jonathan as SNAKES ON A PLANE!

Again, Jeremy.

Hale, newly inducted into our Bladerunner Gang.

As with Keith.

The ride continued and rode around quite a lot before coming to our final destination in a field by the river.

Cameron – also a SOAP! With Vicki an Jonathan

Me & Des.

Marc – wearing the awesome dread wig I bought for him.

Me and Melissa and Justin Parr – whose camera took these very professional looking photos…

Me and Mel.

Kristen and Sky.

Dread Jones.

Nico and Marc.

Nico and Libby.

Keith.

Hale and his marshmellow shot-gun.

Finally holding a gun like a true Texan,

Alison gives it a whirl.

Brian and Simon.

Back of Hale.

Dready Brad.

Beery Brad.

A devilish Beto Gonzalez and his lady friend.

Later we tried to go to some after party at Blue Star but that didn't work out, so we went to an ice house down the street.

Dread Jonathan.

And Jones.

Fun, but oh-so tiring. Too tiring for worthwhile reflection or insight.

Happy Belated Halloween! Or Happy All Saints Day! And Happy premature Dia de Los Muertos.

A Texas-Sized Birthday

28. Hot damn, that number's really getting big. I can't believe that I became legal ten years ago and it seems simultaneously so long ago and also not really all that long ago. Time is a strange phenomenon; a pair of opposites that contradict one another. The past is left intact to linger while the future shifts perpetually. It's so weird that you can only go forward in time. You are continually left to make the best of wherever and whatever you are in the Universe. The more I swirl around this heaping expanse, the clearer it becomes that I better just hang on and enjoy this moment. The present can be an exciting place to discover surprises. And the present sure had a few hiding in its coattails.

Speaking of presents – have I mentioned that I got a new car for my birthday? I hate to sound so materialistic after the sense of enlightenment I just projected in the previous paragraph, but there really isn't a grander sense of pleasure than darting around in your dream mobile. That said, one week in it was time to take it out on tour, test the hybrid's ability to limit my personal carbon footprint, and determine its personality so I can finally give it a name it so deserves.

And And wouldn't you know, there just so happened to be a music festival – El Cosmico in my favorite little West Texas dot through my birthday weekend. This would be my third time making the 6+ hour trip to Marfa, and I was unbelievably excited by the prospect of driving there for the first time in my beautiful new car with my good friends Vicki and Matt. The last two years Vicki and I went with varying groups of friends for the Chinati Open House when the unsuspecting railroad depot turned ephemeral art village is bombarded with 2,000 hipsters for the free weekend of art, food, and some legendary rock band like perhaps Sonic Youth. However, Vicki and I were aching to renew our Marfa experience, and thus opted for the more low-key El Cosmico this year. We weren't 100% sure what this event was all about, but here is what we did know:

El Cosmico is the pet project of Liz Lambert a hip developer out of Austin with the touch of gold. She worked with Lake|Flato on a number of projects including the San Jose Hotel in Austin and the Thunderbird Motel in Marfa. Both are retrofits of old motor-inns which are places that I wish I could afford to stay at whenever I visit either location.

El Cosmico is a timeshare concept. A flat expanse of desert scrub just south of downtown Marfa (which is basically a stoplight) that will one day become a kind of art commune made up of restored vintage Jetstream trailers and will one day host a variety of facilities including silkscreen workshops, pottery studios, a dark room, and a swimming pool. But for now, visitors camp and indulge in wood-fired hot tubs arranged into a masterplan also designed by Lake|Flato.

The Marfa Pizza Foundation would be open this year during El Cosmico weekend which might help me finally get over the fact that they were closed during Open House last year, citing "too many hipsters to handle." Considering that this was deemed likely the greatest pizza I had ever tasted the year prior, I was left wrecked and devastated, yet eternally hopeful.

Our friends Jonathan and Cameron went to ground-breaking festival last year. Aside from informing us that they got pizza, they also mentioned that they had a really great time.

I I hadn't heard of any of the bands, but how bad can a music festival be anyhow?

It goes without saying that I was anticipating this to be a really great weekend. 

Our excitement was further augmented by the fact that I landed a place to stay in Marfa for the weekend. My former co-worker Beto had recently completed a house there on a property which he shares with his friend Candid, another architect who low and behold built a complementary little house on the site. Vicki was thrilled by the idea of not having to camp. Plus, it was going to be cool to be able to play house as we sometimes do when she housesits for her boss. And we would get to stay there for free in lieu of paying the camping fee at the festival.

Yep, we were pretty stoked, which is why I guess that it came as such an appalling blow that ALL OF A SUDDEN the week of our trip Vicki had a deadline for work, which would delay our getting onto the road at lunchtime Friday like we had planned. Then, the next day Matt divulged that he had a meeting for work in Austin Friday afternoon that he couldn't reschedule. Even though it's slightly unfair to get on their cases about it for work-related issues, I was super pissed at both Matt and Vicki and proceeded to throw a rather embarrassing tantrum. Afterall, we've had these plans for weeks, and it's a six plus hour drive and its scenic and we don't want to do it at night and I'd be driving my new car and how dare they put me in the imposition of using it as a potential-deer-carcass magnet. And we would miss almost the entirety of the Friday night bands if we left at 5 o'clock instead of noon. I mean, how inconsiderate right?

Clearly I was upset and decided to call my friend and recent Seattle transplant Julie to complain. But what was she supposed to say, exactly? She tried her best with a reassuring, "Ben, you're going to have soooo much fun this weekend!" Which, oddly enough, was the exact same thing that my friend Heather Weiler said when I had whined to her about it earlier Wednesday night.

Then on Thursday night after our regular community garden potluck/meeting, Marc Toppel was also given the imposition of consoling me about my inability to cope with such an insignificant thing as leaving a little later to get out of town. However, he smirked and said, "Don't worry. You're in for a really BIG surprise this weekend!"

I glared at him with my patented, "thanks for putting me on notice" scowl and then explored in my mind what possible big surprises lay in store, because how can you not when someone says something to you like that. Maybe my L|F friends had all pulled together to get me a bike rack for my new car, or maybe they were going to throw me an ice cream party. After all, this was my birthday weekend!

So Friday I was feeling a little more upbeat. So what if we were getting a late start. I have a new car for God sake! Why would let anything ruin my mood? I called Julie that morning before leaving the office to tell her what an asshole I had been and to apologize for being such a whiny bitch on the phone the other night, but strangely her phone was off… I wondered why, and vaguely remembered her saying something about going on a long hike that day. Oh well, I guess I would have to tell her after the weekend.

I used the afternoon to finalize my car loan paperwork and run a few errands. After I finished packing, I loaded the car and drove to Vicki's house where we had planned to meet. She explained that we didn't have to wait for Matt – he would be driving separately and didn't want us to have to wait. I suppose this was a nice way of him not wanting to hear me bitch anymore. I thought it was a little silly that he should have to drive all that way by his lonesome, and Vicki made some snide remark about how she doubted he would put forth the effort to actually drive all that way anyhow.

And with that, we were off at circa 3:30pm.

Unfortunately, just outside of Loop 1604 traffic had stopped due to a rather nasty accident ahead. It took us another 45 minutes to get going again.

In the meantime, Vicki took a little nap.

When she woke up we indulged ourselves with several episodes of Dan Savage's Savage Love podcast which kept us more than amused by his snarky sex advice and filthy mouth. After a few hours on the road, we pulled off I-10 for a bathroom break, to get snacks, and to prematurely fill the hybrid with gas.

As the sun set across West Texas, I couldn't help but feel total bliss driving my new car and enjoying the ride with one of my favorite people. Though I had already apologized, I still felt silly about having given Vicki such a hard time about leaving several hours after I had wanted to. I even felt a little remorse about leaving Matt in our wake. It seemed ludicrous that he should drive all that way alone.

A few miles west of Ft. Stockton, we pulled off the highway and took State Road 67 south toward Alpine. We still had about an hour and a half still to go and that's why I was chagrined when my phone rang. From his wife Heather's phone, Jeremy Fields asked, "where are you guys? You're missing the show…"

"Thanks for rubbing it in, asshole," I spouted. "We're still on the far side of Alpine."

"Are you feeling better," he asked?" (Clearly referencing the bitchy grumblings I subjected his wife to earlier in the week.)

"Well, I don't think it's possible to feel bad when you're having such a good time driving your new car, you know…"

"That and," he interrupted, "sharing the ride with one of your best friends from Seattle who surprised you for your birthday?"

"WHAT?" I exclaimed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Ugh," he moaned, "I gotta go!"

The phone immediately clicked, leaving me with a dial tone and the undeniable question: DID JULIE FLY TO TEXAS TO SURPRISE ME FOR MY BIRTHDAY? This must be the big surprise Marc had suggested. And what a fool I had been – she was obviously coming with Matt. He and Vicki had tried and failed to delay me! What a jerk I had been! Oh well. I took a moment and absorbed the fact that Jeremy clearly just spoiled the effort.

"Who was that," Vicki asked?

"Jeremy…I think he just said something he wasn't supposed to."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing," I pouted. I tried to forget about it, leaving the remaining shards of my birthday surprise intact for later.

At some point, we rolled into Marfa. It was dark and we were looking for a series of back roads to take us to our home for the weekend. Eventually we found Candid and Beto's pair of modernist boxes. We fiddled around with the combination lock on the large, rolling door which formed the east wall of Beto's house. Finally we got it to work, and we got a look at where we would be staying. There was a living room that opened directly into the gravel courtyard when the door was opened. It had a small kitchenette with a little bathroom adjacent to it. There was a fixed ladder which led to the sleeping area upstairs where there was a series of bunks and one queen-sized bed. We swept the floors as per our instructions, checked for spiders, and sheeted up the mattresses. I couldn't help but be reminded of my Taliesin West experience and living in tents and shelters similar to these (without the electricity and plumbing).

We threw our bags in the house before heading over to El Cosmico for whatever was left of that evening's revelry. We couldn't wait to find our archi-geek friends staying in tents so we could gloat about the prime accommodations. We stopped at a convenience store to buy beer on our walk across town to the festival.

Luckily, we did arrive at the top of the set for that evening's last act. I don't remember their names but they rocked out well enough.

There were several hundred people around –not too many; a wholesome crowd for the most part.

There was a bar (above) serving Lonestar and Shiner (so Texas) and crappy wines, but get this – the Topo Chico was free!

Sure enough, we ran into friends. Miriam, Jeremy, with Vicki hanging out near the bar. Jeremy was being a particularly obnoxious drunk, despite his feeling guilty. Apparently Vicki gave him a well-warranted hard time for tuning me in. I on the other hand, was working hard to forget about it even though I kept getting asked what time they would be arriving whenever Matt would call to update us on their estimated time of arrival. Whoops – he slipped up too.

Meanwhile, I made more friends. Ladies and Gents – I am pleased to introduce Gabriel. I found him hanging out on a fellow festival-attendee's forearm. I had never held a real tarantula before. It feels really weird and unnatural to have a critter that big scampering all over you. The guy behind me in the green shirt was Jeff – the bass player for the El Cosmico headlining band Lil Cap'n Travis from Austin.

Near Full Moon and the backside of the stage (also known as the men's room).

At some point after midnight, the festival wound down and dripping with anticipation (I wonder why…) I suggested to Vicki that we meet up with Matt back at the house. Surely he had arrived by now.

He had indeed. But who should come enthusiastically teetering out of the darkness???

SURPRISE!!!

And I really was, by the way. Maybe it would have been more dramatic if Marc hadn't tipped me off and Jeremy hadn't have blown it. But still! JULIE TOTALLY ROCKS! And she really played it off so well, what with all the whining and bitching I did, and all the explaining of how though she'd like to make it down for my birthday, it just didn't seem practical or feasible having just moved to Seattle and not having an income yet and all. Matt and Vicki did a super job as well of keeping their little clandestine operation from me. Way to go guys.

Before we arrived, Matt and Julie had been hanging out at the boxes with Candid who had also arrived for the weekend.

Candid went to bed, and the four of us took off on a little adventure to seek out the Marfa Mystery Lights. We drove up to the roadside observatory, but tragically the lights were not galvanized by our presence. Other than a few things that looked suspiciously like blinking radio towers and headlights in the distance, we could not make anything out of the otherwise blackened horizon. Leaving 20 minutes later, we held out hope for witnessing inexplicable illuminated swamp gases or the ghosts of conquistadors searching for gold another time.

We returned to our box and got ready for bed.

Vicki flosses her teeth. She does have nice teeth.

We all went upstairs and collapsed onto one of the mattresses. Even though the entire east wall is clad in translucent polycarbonate, they aren't operable like the rolling doors (clad in the same material) downstairs. Ho-hum, the desert night air was soothing and cool – reminiscent of sleeping in shelters back at TWest.

Morning struck all too early. The heat of morning bottled up inside our sleeping box. One by one we piled onto the couch downstairs, but it was no use. The intense desert sunshine was impossible to hide from in our starck, white, illuminated oven.

Check out that morning glare!

Matt tries to escape…

Despite forcing our all too early rise, the sun allowed us to get a better look at our weekend getaway.

The swivel gate between two boxes.

Candid and his rusted, corrugated metal abode.

An exercise in saving space, his dwelling also features a sleeping loft.

However, the loft is not only ventilated, but shields the morning blaze form thine eyes.

Underneath the cantilevered loft.

Give up Matt!

Candid's small shelter – courtyard view.

Thru view.

We dusted ourselves off, wiped the crispies from our eyes, and headed to the Brown Recluse to settle the morning coffee fix. This breakfast retreat has amazing omelets and desperately strong coffee.

Bee in the jelly.

After breakfast Vicki headed out with Candid, and her friends Leyla and Miriam to the hot springs up in the Chinati Mountains. Since it was a little on the warm side, Matt, Julie and I opted instead for the cooler waters at Balmorhea Springs State Park. But first, a quick jaunt to the Chinati Foundation for a minimalist art attack.

Apparently when it's not Open House, you can't just wander around the grounds without supervision. We were told that we would have to come back on Sunday to see the artwork because Saturday's four hour tour was booked. Despite their silly rules, we chartered a self-guided walking tour of Donald Judd's concrete monoliths:

We gave a good ogling of DJ's milled aluminum sculptures from outside the former hanger gallery.

Tiring of minimalist art for one day, we drove back downtown to scope out the bookstore, which is really quite an anomaly considering the abundance of glossy-paged, high caliber art & architecture books.

There, we ran into Jonathan…

And Cameron.

Marfa turns even the geekiest into to-cool-for-school hipsters. Thus, it was time to change into our unfashionable board shorts and venture out of Marfa to the springs!

But first, we had to swing by the El Cosmico grounds to pick up Heather and Jeremy.

It was great to see it in daylight – a makeshift, whimsical spirit abounding.

Inside the one of the refurbished airstreams, for sale likely or rent.

There were fantastic clouds out!

The wood-fired Dutch Tubs.

Inside one of the tents.

Inside someone's Yurt homebase.

The hour drive to Balmorhea was a lot of fun – overtly scenic with its numerous sharp turns through mountainous desert passes.

Patterns of light and shadow form outside the men's changing room at the park.

The spring pool was vast and meandered in a large arc across the grounds. It was teeming with all kinds of life – large catfish, little minnows, and turtles. It varied in depth between a manageable four feet and about twenty feet deep, which meant the pool had a couple of high diving boards. The water remains a crisp mid-70 degree temperature year round.

Matt and Julie rented snorkeling gear to better observe the underwater wonderland.

There were a dozen or so scuba divers taking advantage of the unusually clear and lively large relatively large body of water in the middle of a large expanse of desert about as far from an ocean as you can get.

Anyway, at some point we grew very hungry and remembered that there was an open pizza establishment awaiting us back in Marfa.

A "Julie Appreciation Moment" at the Marfa Pizza Foundation. I split one of their fresh and decadent "bread and tomato salads" with Julie and shared a most anticipated veggie-topped pizza with Jeremy. Mmmmm. Totally worth the drive.

We went back to our pad to have a few beers, shower, and relax a while.

The early evening light was far more pleasant than the morning was, so a short nap was not out of the question. I even remember a hammock being involved.

But alas, we bid adieu to our boxes and headed over to El Cosmico, where a BBQ dinner was just ending ad the evening's festivities unraveled.

We indulged in the complementary El Cosmico photos taken by a professional photographer and distributed free of charge. So much is free in Marfa.

We sat at a table close by the fire and listened to the first band whose name I can't remember.

Tift Merritt – a talented lady singer/songwriter from North Carolina. She totally rocked my world. And she had a drummer that was clearly having a good time. Seriously, I could not take my eyes off the guy.

Although photographic evidence was limited, following was this incredible blues band fronted by Barbara Lynn who did a spirited rendition of several classics including one by Ray Charles that really brought the house down.

Last up were the headliner's from Austin, a jam band by the name of Lil' Cap'n Travis. I really enjoyed their rambling country pop tunes. They had this great moment where they utilized the light up crank-TV seen between the speakers in the above photo. They had a volunteer from the audience come up and crank the roll of images seen through the screen inside the box. The song's lyrics corresponded to the images. It was good silly fun.

Oh, so that's a pedal steel guitar.

I think we left El Cosmico toward the end of their set. The festival was winding down and so were we. It had been a long day and we were nothing short of another ridiculously early rise thanks to the inevitable rise of that mean-spirited, though live-giving fiery orb.

And although we again melted in the morning brightness, we were enticed to wake up by the suggestion of a new breakfast joint.

The Austin Street Café was awesome. Matt and Julie grabbed a quick bite (and a quick etch-a-sketch in Julie's case) because they were headed to the 10am Chinati tour, while Vicki and I lazily hung back to enjoy our morning breakfast of "Green Eggs" – a crust-less spinach quiche.

We ran into Heather and Jeremy and wandered the grounds of this adorable new restaurant, which also serves as the proprietor's home and studio. They had recently moved to Marfa from Santa Fe which is apparently giving Austin a run for its money in the battle to see which city can bolster Marfa's thriving art scene more.

Vicki and I returned with Candid to our boxes where we hung out and napped some more made possible by the sun which had gotten out of the freaking way by now. Matt and Julie finished the morning leg of their tour and joined us in our relaxed daze. At some point, it was time for Matt to hit the road. Unlike the rest of us, Matt hadn't taken Monday off work…though isn't my birthday worth even that?

We said our goodbyes and headed back to the Pizza Foundation to get our fill for another year, before the longing sets in again. There I ran into Liz Lambert, purveyor of all things El Cosmico, who was sharing a pizza with Amy Cook. I introduced myself and thanked her for the wonderful birthday weekend. Turns out it was her birthday too. How auspicious!

After lunch, Vicki opted to hang out in the Marfa bookstore while I took Matt's place on the Chinati tour.

We really just went to check out the Dan Flavin installations, which summon that crazy desire we all have deep inside to take crazy pictures. See below.

There were just a few others on the tour with us, coincidentally two were from Seattle where Julie had just moved. We chatted them up a bit. Then, oddly, the desert sky opened up and rain descended upon us as we left Chinati.

It had been our intention all along to check out the town of Alpine during our Marfa visit. As mentioned earlier Alpine is a town of 5800 people about 30 minutes East of Marfa on Highway 90. It is home to Sul Ross State University which I've always thought was a little strange because of how remote it is out in West Texas. But I guess there are schools in places like Kansas, too, so maybe it's not too strange. Anyway, similarly to Marfa (and maybe even because of Marfa), Alpine has its own art scene and a surprisingly robust thrift store culture. Or so we heard… turns out, nothing is open in Alpine on Sunday afternoon. With one exception – the Museum of the Big Bend!

We enjoyed this playful museum with kitschy mock-ups of Old West dioramas, despite the fact that we were sharing it with a bus load of geriatrics-on-tour who we youngsters had to help push buttons on the interactive displays and what not because they didn't know how to push the perfectly well lit buttons. Yee-haw.

Then we gave up on Alpine and headed back to our small but spry little town of Marfa. It rained thoroughly the whole way, it was one of those mighty desert monsoons you always hear about.

The storm swept by briskly as we watched it blow over our metal box.

At some point we decided to eat again because that is what you do on vacation. We headed over to the Thunder Bird Hotel to ask which restaurants were open in Marfa on Sunday. You know which ones were open? NONE OF THEM. Well, except one, the pricy Jett's Grill in the El Paisano Hotel near the courthouse.

Before we drove over to the restaurant, we lingered by the Thunderbird's photogenic lounge.

My two favorite ladies.

So we moseyed on over to the very European looking patio at the hotel. It was like we were suddenly dining in Antwerp or something. I had a delightfully lime-infused margarita and a corn tortilla-fried chicken breast with mashed potatoes and fancy broccoli. The hotel is famous for hosting James Dean and Elizabeth Taylor when the movie Giant was filmed in Marfa back in the '50's. It's interior had a much more Western aesthetic than the restaurant patio, but had a very strange men's bathroom which I really wish I had photographed. It was a single room bathroom, but had a urinal and two (I said 2) commodes – all on the same wall, but there were no stalls or partitions! WTF?

On our way out, we ran into the couple from Seattle who were on the Chinati tour with us, we started chatting them up and suggested they hit Balmorhea pool on their drive back to El Paso. They were game, but then the girl remembered that they were going to stop by Prada Marfa on the way back and make a contribution.

What, you ask, is Prada Marfa? What it's not is a Prada store in Marfa – that's for sure. It does, however, look just like one. If Marfa ever got a Prada store, we would all know that Marfa had sold out. So, what some artist did two years ago, 40 miles West of Marfa was erect a faux-Prada store along the deserted highway as a self-conscious, anachronistic, guerilla installation. I had never bothered to see this "art" over the past two trips out to Marfa (much to Vicki's chagrin) because the added 40 miles of driving each way just didn't seem worth it for an experience that I could entirely imagine.

The couple explained that they went out of their way to see this thing; its buzz having reached Seattle by now. They came across the lonely artifact and very much enjoyed it. Upon exploring the backside of the edifice, they noticed a ledge full of relics people found on site and intentionally placed in a row upon it as though everyone who visited, was contributing to the piece by leaving a bit of junk behind. They found a cool piece of glass that they wanted to include, which they were going to bring to the ledge on their return journey. But that pool sounded so glorious…and wait, you guys have never been to the Prada Marfa before? Before I knew it, the girls had volunteered to take it there for them. I didn't want to be a stick in the mud, and what the hell else were we gonna do anyway?

So, 40 miles later – guess what we came across?

Yep. Just like I imagined it.

Good thing they got the tempered glass.

And our little art collaboration…

Prada Models.

Vicki was happy.

They say that they (whoever the hell they are anyway) even keep Prada Marfa up to date with the current Prada collection. I don't know if I buy that though since there were some ugly ass bags inside. Unless ugly is the new black?

Upon driving back, we promptly collapsed in our box.

It rained through the night which worked out stupendously because it was overcast, shedding diffused light into our morning coffee. A nice change of pace for the weekend, indeed.

By 9:30 or so, the sun had returned to bid us farewell. We closed up camp one last time and headed into town for one last splendid breakfast at the Brown Recluse. The proprietor gave me a free pancake breakfast. Why – it was my birthday, whoop!

Since it was on our way, we decided to stop in Alpine again and give it another chance. With a few exceptions, Monday mornings it turns out, are a lot like Sunday afternoons in Alpine and much of everything was closed. Unless, perhaps someone was playing a practical joke on us; a thought that crossed our minds when we actually came to a bakery to get some cookies for our long-ass drive ahead that actually had a damn sign on the door that read, "Open 730am to 11am, 11:30am to 4pm." We were there just after 11!

Alas, "The Alps of Texas" came through for us… yes, I bought a cowboy hat at a saddle outfitter store. I am a real cowboy now. Or perhaps more likely a complete poser. Either way, Vicki, Julie and I made out like bandits in the Alpine thrift store – I bought some porcelain bowls, a MmmBop Hanson baseball Tee, and a Halloween costume! For under five bucks!

For the next three hours we meandered through what is possibly the most desolate stretch of road in all the land between Marathon (a hipster ghost town) and Del Rio (possibly the only safe border town in Texas) where we stopped off for a quick lunch to appease Julie's hunger for salsa. Another three hours or so and we were back in good ole San Antone. After passing through countless towns with populations below 100 people throughout the day, it felt refreshing to be back in America's 8^th largest city. Despite the fact that it was my birthday, I opted to reserve Tuesday night to continue the celebration. All of my friends were at the Flaming Lips concert anyway. Julie and I were exhausted, but still managed to do several loads of laundry and save room for ice cream.

Since Julie was staying until Wednesday, I decided to blow off work Tuesday to spend with her. We didn't make it to Austin when she came to Texas for New Years, so it seemed like a good place to waste the day away. Besides, Vicki gave us a super awesome list of things to scope out – some of which I hadn't even seen before.

First up was the inspiring "Cathedral of Junk" – which you can read more about here. Essentially, starting in 1988, a craftsman named Vince started assembling junk he had been collecting in his back yard.

Over the years, it has grown into the ultimate homage to recycling.

It's really more of a Palace of Junk – it even has a throne.

There are several places to climb up into the structure. It towers over his backyard. Its beyond inspiring.

At some point we dragged ourselves away from this man's fantastic creation and headed up to South Congress for a splendid tour of the district.

Low and behold! What's this at Hotel San Jose?! El Cosmico in Austin! Go figure…

Cowboy in a Hanson shirt.

Amy's Ice Cream on S. Congress.

We checked out the Texas State Cemetery, which had an interesting portal to the grounds - another Lake|Flato project.

I figured Julie would like it since it's mostly a landscape architecture project. I really liked this little window.

More Amy's Ice Cream. Julie is a glutton.

Then we went to the Ladybird Johnson Wildflower Center in South Austin – another monument to the wild Texas landscape. It was designed by Overland Partners – another San Antonio-based architecture firm, whose work I admire.

They had a nice display in the exhibit hall of all the native blooms picked that day, very cool!

They had a nice observatory.

It was bloody hot, and Julie and I thought it best to sit admiringly at the formal gardens rather than subjecting ourselves to the blazing heat of the natural trails. This worked out well because we needed to get back to SATX for my birthday dinner which Vicki had spent the day setting up.

I decided I wanted to try the famous Niki's Tokyo Inn – San Antonio's first Japanese restaurant. Marc Toppel, Penny, Melissa, and Keith all came.

So did Jeremy and Heather.

As did Matt and Karen.

Vicki totally rocks for making all the arrangements.

Whoa – loads of sushi!

Oooooh – eating all those big fish eggs all at once was one squishy challenge. What a weird thing to eat!

After dinner, we retired to Beethoven's for several pitchers of fine German cerveza. And yes, because it was my birthday, Matt actually pretended to like Texas just for one night.

As I was taking Julie to the airport the next day, having driven my new car over 1500 miles, my new car's name came to me… The hybrid is all about reducing my personal carbon footprint and who reminds me more of this fact more than former Vice-President, Academy Award winner, and Nobel Laureate Al Gore? I can't name my car after him because my car is obviously a girl, and that's why I opted for Tipper instead.

So, I am a little silly. Maybe a lot actually. But so what! Someone loves me enough to have given me the best birthday ever. Thanks Julie for all the love – Tipper and I greatly appreciate your support.

Ain’t Nothing Like That New Car Smell

Where have I been, I wonder? The glimmering shards of this blog's discarded existence must surely have led you to ponder that question. If it makes you feel any better, I have been asking that of myself recently. This summer has simply flown by like a runaway freight train going light speed and I am hanging onto the caboose by a hair with my arms and legs flailing off the back, leaving my trials and tribulations in its wake with no documentation to prove that they actually occurred. And now all of a sudden it's mid-September – barely summer (except that it's 90 degrees outside) and you know, it's damn time I muster up the urge to whip this online scrapbook into action again.

Every day is a new day so let's start with this one. This morning I woke up for the first time in my entire life to a brand NEW CAR waiting in my driveway. Oh halleluiah, Lordy lord have you ever seen such a beautiful sight? She is splendid – a 2007 Honda Civic Hybrid. Color: Galaxy Gray, which is a very sexy not-quite-gray, not-quite-dark tan, but instead a resplendent amalgam of taupe-like wonderment that seamlessly blurs the distinction between gray and tan. The car features a high caliber sound system with iPod port and steering wheel controls, a light, roomy interior to fit the whole carpool, cruise control, a working air conditioning which I am always thankful for after surviving five consecutive summers in the sweltering sub-tropical Floridian soup without it, even though my last car had an environmental control system that worked just fine. It goes without saying that the gas mileage savings of this vehicle is insurmountable (surpassed only by its chief competitor – the Toyota Prius, just without that wacky bar in the hatch-back that everyone complains about.) So now I can (and will) say to a world of ubiquitous SUV's that I am proudly part of the new revolution. Hazzah!

I'm a little excited about my new car…can you tell? I should mention that the whole car-buying experience was fascinating. Car salesmen (and women) pose a curious sociological inquiry and should be studied in order to determine if they are in fact real. Their abject phoniness makes me suspect. Nevertheless, I had no choice but to work with those "people" and hope they would not totally screw me. And I am confident that they didn't totally screw me, leaving me only a little screwed. For example, I didn't get as much for my trade-in Mitsubishi Diamante station wagon, despite trying to up its appeal by advocating its obvious chick-magnet potential. Didn't you know, station wagons = chicks!

For some reason they weren't convinced.

Speaking of the wagon or Jivanananda as she was more lovingly referred to, meaning "the Bliss of Wind" in Sanskrit – turning her over before her time rather saddened me. I am a sentimental guy, and she had served me well. Together, we travelled from South Florida to Central Arizona before finding our way home to San Antone a mere 2 ½ years ago. Settling a deal on a new car and turning her over to the dealership felt awfully sudden. Not much time to say farewell to a good and mostly reliable pal. Though she is 12 years old, and struggling with chronic transmission and oil leakage issues, I know that she will make some lucky driver out there incredibly happy. Cheers, Jivanananda! You're a glistening gem, don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

Where was I?

Oh, yes that's right!

Waking up with a new car in the driveway really provides a hankering for adventure. Luckily, I had one planned. My friends Adrienne Cole and Tyler Applegate from Madison, WI were in Austin for the Austin City Limits Music Festival and I took a quick jaunt up to Capitol City to take them for a spin before their festival day of activities began. I know Adrienne and Tyler from my Taliesin days. Back then, Adrienne and Tyler were part of the Spring Green folk/pop quartet Box Elder, the indisputable local favorite whom we all adored. Last week they got hitched and came to Austin for their honeymoon. In case you were paying attention, since leaving Taliesin and starting this blog, I have been blessed to see my favorite Wisconsin band twice – once last summer during the aptly-named Frank Lloyd Wright All-Star Tour, and again further back for New Years 2005. Anyway,sometime between my last two visits to Wisco, the band regrouped as Dear August. They just released a new CD and they were kind enough to provide me with an autographed copy.

I picked up Adrienne and Tyler and we went for a Mexican brunch at El Chile, a restaurant just east of downtown. We caught each other up on gossip, speculated the merits of the upcoming Led Zeppelin reunion which the world can't be more excited about, and discussed the overwhelming similarities between Austin and Madison as capitol cities in mid-American states with highly active local music scenes, political intrigue, and home to their respective state's largest and finest universities.

The newlyweds with my new car!

At some point we said our good-byes. They had a festival to attend, after all. I drove around Austin for a while until I found a nice coffee shop to camp out in for a while. Later, I drove to New Braunfels – a town about a half hour outside of San Antonio, to meet up with Vicki and all our friends to celebrate her birthday. We had dinner at a restaurant we've wanted to try called the Huisache Grill located in their historic and picturesque downtown.

It was a nice place – I bought Vicki the necklace in the photo and made her an origami box to keep it in.

This was supposed to be an angry face group photo, but not everyone in our gang got the memo.

I understand. It's tough to justify even contrived anger when there is so much to be happy about in this world.

Start Spreading the News – I Went To NYC 3 Weeks Ago

Whether it's the lack of dual elongated rectangles along the downtown skyline, the invasion of Starbucks on every street corner, or my inevitable transition into adulthood - a lot has changed since the last time I visited New York City.

It had been since the summer of 1996, when I last co-mingled with my roots. Both my parents were born in Brooklyn, my dad having spent his life there prior to moving to South Florida. Throughout my childhood he and I would visit frequently and I have many memories of exploring the city together and getting a feel for why it's the epicenter of American culture. But these trips ceased 11 years ago, and I had been ridiculously overdue for a visit. Especially considering how many friends I have living there, most of who endlessly bombard me with guilt for not coming to visit ever. This notion deepened when my sister Sami had a baby. Even though I saw them in March, I felt compelled to visit little nephew Cody Babar on his home turf. I made the arrangements for a summertime jaunt to The Big Apple, The Great Melting Pot, the City that Never Sleeps or all of the above. I couldn't wait to visit my friends – a lot of whom I haven't seen in years. I couldn't wait to see the sights through the eyes of a well educated adult. But mostly, I couldn't wait to walk around endlessly and absorb what is likely the most energetic place in America.

My plane touched down a good three hours late to La Guardia airport due to severe weather earlier in the day throughout the Northeast. This blew my plan for an afternoon architecture tour around mid-town (thankfully!) so instead I decided to hang out with Sami and baby Cody, who were more than delighted to have me there in Astoria where they live.

After Sami finished up her workday (she works from home) she took me on a brisk walking tour of her neighborhood.

The largest public swimming pool in NYC lives in Astoria Park along the East River and nestled between the Tri-borough and Hell's Gate (love that name) bridges. Sami mentioned that swimming in the pool is a refreshing way of catching Tuberculosis.

Sami, Cody, and the upper Upper East Side – which is being filtered through smoke from a steam pipe explosion a few hours earlier though we didn't know it at the time.

Underneath the Hell's Gate Bridge.

Astoria turned out to be a rather nice area, with row houses affronting the streets on both sides with one neighbor attempting to do up the other in their tiny garden plots abutting the sidewalk. Sami and I had a nice sushi dinner, before returning home to greet her husband.

Cody with his dad – Silas, and puppy Harpo.

The next day, I took the train from Queens to Lower Manhattan where I laid out an intricate architectural walking tour – having inquired of all my friends, co-workers, and local architects as to what I should put on my "MUST SEE" list. Interestingly enough the one thing everyone agreed I MUST SEE was the one thing I definitely did not want to see – what remains of the World Trade Center. I cherish the memory of having visited the WTC in all its glory in both 1993 and 1996. On each occasion, my father and I went to the observation deck on the 110^th floor. There was no better way to feel like you were on top of the world, because you were, very literally. And then this sensation was subsequently juxtaposed upon returning to the plaza where you would stand between the two towers and feel utterly insignificant. It's similar to being in the Grand Canyon – overwhelmed by the power of nature. Except the Twin Towers were, of course created using the ingenuity of mankind, as opposed to the slow erosion of sandstone over millions of years.

Having on more than one occasion absorbed the presence of those monumental structures, it was hard to cope with their absence. I guess it always was. But to actually see the space they occupied so empty is all the more unnerving and distressing.

Luckily, I found solace across the street at St. Paul's Chapel – the oldest building in Manhattan and where George Washington prayed after he was inaugurated president.

There I met up with my friend Lauren Birriel who was one of my roommates my senior year of college at FSU. It was particularly moving to sit on a bench facing Ground Zero and recount our memory of having spent September 11^th together.

Soon enough we were off on our walking tour, which basically took Broadway up toward Midtown with many, many deviations along the way.

Woolworth Building – beautiful neo-gothic lobby, which we were not allowed into due to their strict NO SIGHTSEEING policy.

Municipal Center – looking back from Brooklyn Bridge entrance.

The oldest bridge in NYC – and the world's first vehicular bridge.

Lauren, basking in Brooklyn Bridge glory.

Me – contemplative…did you know that during the Brooklyn Bridge's construction, traffic to NYC's ports remained uninterrupted?

• 

Back on the island – the Gustavino tile ceilings at the transit station entry beneath the Municipal Building.

Chinatown – Starbucks.

Lauren - beside some crazy Chinese imports.

Chinatown seafood market.

Crabs.

After a visit to the Buddhist Temple, and pitstop for some shrimp dumplings, Lauren and I crossed into SoHo.

After ducking into more hip shoppes than I can recount, we ran into the widely acclaimed Moss Store. Probably the most pretentious store I'd ever been in, it featured employees who wouldn't make eye contact, $300 forks and exquisitely designed furniture and things that no one can afford. Ever. My favorite piece was a loveseat fabricated using nothing but panda bear stuffed animals.

Lauren and I wandered into Greenwich Village and there I experienced NYC's cupcake phenomenon. At my friend Vicki's request we made way to Magnolia Bakery. They were well worth the walk.

A family of Swedes enjoys their cupcakes in the park across the street.

Lauren took me to a Mexican restaurant nearby so that I could meet her boyfriend Rudy, who I found more than suitable for such a delightful person as Lauren.

Shortly thereafter, she returned home and left me to explore Manhattan on my own.

I made a pilgrimage to the Integral Yoga Center in the West Village, where Swami Satchidananda assembled his posse.

And speaking of Indian Spiritual Masters – did you know that there is a Gandhi Memorial in Union Square?

Then I met up with Broadway again, passed the Flatiron Building, and followed it where it met Fifth Avenue.

A man who thought highly of himself – Sen. William Sewell in Madison Square Park. Actually, upon reading Sara Vowell's Assassination Vacation, I learned that the entire park is basically an homage to people associated with the assassination of President Garfield.

Weird tree-like sculpture in Madison Square Park.

Light glistens upon the magnificent Empire State Building.

Favorite fact about the ESB: Before it had a spire, it's top served as a dirigible docking port. They only tried it once.

I like the ESB because unlike its slightly older brother the Chrysler Building just up the street, it doesn't pile on the glitz and glam. It's a simpler expression of art deco form; reserved and elegant.

The main entrance lobby.

From Empire, I walked (or limped rather, my feet were killing me!) to Harold Square and down past Penn Station and Madison Square Garden to Chelsea where I had arranged to meet Jon Autry, a friend, at a Jamaican Bar & Grill. Jon is an incredibly talented musician who recently had some of his songs featured on the This American Life TV Series on Showtime, which is so amazing to me because I am such a big fan of the radio show.

He brought me back to his apartment in Williamsburg and showed me his studio.

Then we went to a bar in Williamsburg which features karaoke on Thursday nights. The bar was great too. I don't quite understand their financial plan, because every time you order a beer , you get a ticket for a free, fresh, brick oven, personal pizza.

Then we flocked back into the city with all our hipster friends, and headed to the Meat Packing District.

Jon did some exquisite name dropping at the door of Hiro Ballroom which is a scene draped in Japanese pastiche. I don't remember much about being there, it was a real frenzy. We ended up eating tacos back in Brooklyn before I passed out on his futon.

It's about this time that I should mention how I became fortunate enough to meet Jon Autry. While I was at the Frank Lloyd Wright School of Architecture, my friend Fred set up a Friendster account for Mr. Wright as sort of part gag/part homage, our architectural hero. He performed a search of people's interest in FLLW amidst the online network. There he found Jon Autry and contacted him. As it turned out, Jon is somewhat of a Wright scholar, and shares an enthusiasm for all things Wright that can only be rivaled by those who would attend the FLLWSA. He and Fred corresponded for months and sometime after we migrated to Wisconsin, Fred invited Jon and his then girlfriend Joan to stay a few days and perform a few songs in the Hillside Theater which was more than a dream come true for FLLW-obsessed Jon. I really enjoyed Jon and Joan, and even though they aren't together anymore I knew upon going to New York for the first time in forever that I would need to make my Frank Lloyd Wright pilgrimage of the trip with him.

The Gugg – FLLW's only New York building is in the process of having its concrete shell refurbished.

But the inside is unbelievably glorious with its iconic art ramp and atrium skylight.

Every nook and cranny possesses a grace and elegance rarely seen elsewhere amidst the angled boxes that liter the rest of the city.

The ramp worked surprising well to display the contemporary art exhibit rounding the atrium, despite the popular criticism of it upstaging the artwork.

Jon and I had fun geeking out with one another over the bathrooms or of the little Wright nuances prevalent throughout the buildings many levels.

Disco Floor was a nice touch too there Mr. Wright. (Only kidding, it was an art installation).

Though I tried to keep him from going, Jon made his way to work and I entered Central Park. I enjoyed seeing the kids playing kickball.

I made my second pilgrimage of the day at Strawberry Fields – the John Lennon Garden for World Peace.

The peace sign made out of strawberries was a nice touch.

The Dakota Building – where Yoko still lives.

The Bethesda Fountain in Central Park complete with guerilla hip-hop street performers.

I had planned on hitting up MoMA from there for their free Friday afternoons, but there was a line around the corner and opted to come back when it wasn't as crowded later in the weekend. Thus a brisk jog around Midtown ensued…

Neo-Gothic St. Patrick's Cathedral.

Post-Modern MetLife Building.

Grand Central Station at rush hour.

Oyster Bar with Gustavino tile ceiling in the GCS basement.

The main terminal constellation ceiling.

The ostentatiously art deco Chrysler Building.

Crystler and Grand Central angel cornice.

Main Reading room in the New York Public Library – fabulous Beaux Arts interior.

After a minor shopping spree at the world's largest Banana Republic on Fifth Avenue, I met my long time friend Vanessa Cohen. She happens to work as a paralegal at a law firm in 30 Rock (where Tina and Alec work) right at Rockafeller Center.

I waited for Vanessa in the Lobby hoping to have a celebrity sighting, but instead I enjoyed the mural that now covers Diego Rivera's all-too-Communist mural masterpiece.

When she came down, I requested a tour of her office on the 40^th floor. Sure, it was a pleasure to see Nessie's windowless desk – but what the hell - I really just wanted to scope out the Conference Room view.

Then the two of us headed back to Astoria to meet up with Sami and have a little reunion.

Back in the day – Vanessa, Sami, with Randy Rainbow, and I – forged an impenetrable friendship that lasted years. We would hang out every weekend after acting class at the Hollywood Playhouse. Sami I have known since birth, Randy and I have been friends for 5 years and Vanessa and I have been friends about 12 years. HOWEVER – I haven't seen Vanessa or Randy since 2002 AND because of a rift between Vanessa and Sami - the four of us haven't hung out all together since 1996! Crazy.

Well, it was totally time for a reunion. Randy, Vanessa, and Sami all live in Astoria, so it's kinda ridiculous that they don't hang out more often. And since I was visiting for a limited time only, the notion seemed all the more urgent.

Thus the gang was reunited. We spent Friday night watching our old videos and reminiscing about our similar childhoods – all four of us are Jewish, only children with divorced parents (except Randy's parents who should have been) and had unparalleled talents for giving each other a hard time.

It was magical…

The next day, Sami, Salas, Baby Cody and I headed out for a morning of yoga. It was a freakishly nice day out considering that it was late July in New York City with zero humitiy, moderate tempertures, and a partly cloudy sky.

Silas was more than happy to join me on my adventure to Coney Island for the afternoon. I sure am glad he did because the friends I was supposed to meet there couldn't make it.

Coney Island was packed because it was the day of the Siren Festival, a free concert put on by the Village Voice each year. This year, more people were expected than ever because Coney Island is slated for demolision to build luxury condos, which is really a complete shame considering what a unique place its remained for the better part of a century.

Silas insisted we see the Freak Show, which was good fun, despite having to sit though a juggling act.

My favorite was unquestionably the Fire Eater.

Upon walking around Coney Island, it wasn't hard to see why developers would have their eye on it. Its beachfront with scattered semi-condemned buildings and many MANY easily dismantable carnival rides abounding.

Which, actually, it turns out is the makings for creating a very photogenic environment – especially with a heaving mass of hipsters all over the place.

Of course there was trash too…

But mostly people.

And kitchy splendor.

And fabulous fair fare.

The NY Aquarium – though we didn't go in, I've been told the Walrus's are definitely worth the price of admission.

Furries.

Ok - two questions arise from this image. First of all, how in the world do they all get out of there? Secondly, where are they going to keep these school buses when this lot becomes a condo?

No visit to the famous Boardwalk would be complete without a cracked-out churros vendor. (She gave us about seventeen stale-ass Mexican pastries for three dollars.)

Silas and the parachute drop – that's a churro, not a cigar by the way.

Me and the parachute drop!

And then there was the CYCLONE.

The Cyclone is an 80 year old roller coaster which I have been on before when it was in its late '60's. I remember going on it with my Dad then and being seriously concerned for my safety. You see, (lets see how delicately I can put this) my Dad has a protruding gutline and when we got in the car together and they secured the bar above what should have been our laps, it snapped shut at my father's belly, leaving a gap the size of Manhattan between it and my body. Fear for my life ensued…

I wasn't as worried this time because Silas, though tall, is of trimmer stature.

The sun was setting as we were hoisted to the top of the coaster's highest point, just as the New York Dolls took the stage and began their set.

UNREAL.

More unreal: 1) I didn't loose my camera. 2) Due to the ridiculous amount of people waiting in line, Silas and I were in the last car to get a $4 re-ride! I shoved the camera in my pocket so that I could better enjoy myself not having to worry about it's possible demise.

The New York Dolls – 1970's punk pioneers, play at Siren Fest.

As twilight arrived at the amusement park wasteland soon to be known as the luxury condos formerly known as Coney Island, I couldn't help but be reminded that it was the twilight of an American icon.

Though I haven't eaten a hotdog in something close to eight years, I can't help but feel sad that Nathan's will be forever religated to airports and mall food courts as the original becomes a Pilates Studio or another – dare I say, Satrbucks.

I'm glad that I got to encounter New York's playground one last time, before it falls into our national memory forever.

Silas and I made the hour plus train ride back to Astoria in time enough to meet Sami and her friend Chrstian at a fine eatery that served the best Sushi I have ever had. I was totally exhausted and I thought my feet were going to shoot me for all the torment I had inflicted upon their weary souls (no pun intended…well actually it was.) Little did they know, my feet still had one more day of romping about to endure.

In the morning I packed my bags and kissed the Hoover family farewell. I really wanted them to come to MoMA with me but they had made plans to meet friends at Prospect Park in Brooklyn that day. Either way, I had to leave my stuff in Sami's apartment to retreive later while they were out. Then, Silas and the pup walked me to the train.

And then suddenly I had arrived in Manhattan again. I was to meet my friend Kyle Adams at the Museum of Modern Art, but when she finally arrived there, we both decided that it would be more fun to run around Midtown some more since it was another unbelievable day out.

Kyle at Paley Park off Fifth Ave. on 53^rd St. – as per Vicki's recommendation.

Kyle used to be a tourguide at Taliesin in Spring Green. Back in my apprentice days, we used to playfully torment Kyle when she would bring tours through the Hillside Studio. For example, we would all simultaneously put on funny glasses and turn around as though synchronized and then would proceed to oogle the tourists. She would then be forced to explain that we were just doing that for her benefit, the apprentices weren't naturally that creepy. Then later we would laugh about it at the local pub. Good Times.

We discovered this awesomely creepy statue in the modern courtyard across from the Seagrams Building.

It made for a rather indecent frame for the aforementioned Seagram's – Mies Van der Rohe classic.

Pretending not to notice the Colossus of Exposed Pre-natal Anatomy towering above.

Antique window being lifted into the Seagrams building via crane. This was a real nair-biter.

Seagrams and Citicorp.

There was a delightful streetfair along Lexington Ave, where just several days before there had been a crippling explosion. Kyle and I enjoyed falafel pitas and I bought a fair share of I NY t-shirts.

At the 59^th Street bridge we boarded the Roosevelt Island Tramway, a funicular across the East River to the weirdestisland in New York.

You may remember the Tramway from scenes in such movies as the '70's version of King Kong, or more recently Spiderman 2.

The funicular – which is an awesome word, right? – was built in the '60's and adds a really classic feel to the experience of hovering above the East River, while enjoying fantastic views of Midtown and of course, the Queensborough Bridge.

Another great suggestion from the Vickster.

View from Roosevelt Island. United Nations Building – check. Chrystler Building – Check. Body floating toward the harbor – check. (Only joking about that last one…)

Kyle and I continued to stroll about the island. I was warned that it has a decrepit, almost Soviet Bloc character to it. It's certainly different than any other place in New York I had visited – with an alarming dearth of homeless people, street vendors, tourists, and liveliness. Its probably where I would live when I decide someday to move to NY.

We took a quick bus ride through the rest of the island and took a gander at the abandoned small pox infirmary and the former mental institution. And then we got aboard the cable car again back to Manhattan.

We walked toward Central Park – where I was to meet up with my friend Tiffany Baker who I was friends with at Forida State. We were only able to hang out for a half hour or so because I needed to rush back to Queens and catch a plane god dammit. Hanging out in CP with Tiffany and Kyle was surreal because they are from two totally separate places from my past, yet there we were all together as if in some great big melting pot. Or something.

It got me to thinking how the whole trip was kind of a Greatest Hits tour – both of the city, but also of friends from my past. In the past few days I had rekindled friendships that had endured from times spanning from my birth (Sami) to Middle School (Randy), High School (Vanessa), College (Lauren & Tiffany), Grad school (Kyle & Jon Autry), and had I seen Lindsey and Steven Gray, there would have been a Texas component too, but they totally sold me out at Coney Island.

I concluded my trip the same way it started – with a celebrity sighting (did I mention that Tony Parker was in front of me in the security line at the San Antonio airport?) Yes – that's really Elvis and Marilyn Monroe. We shared a subway ride together back to Queens.

To Recycle, or not to Recycle

It was never going to be easy. That was made clear to me on my second day at my new office. I came out of the employee washroom which emptied into a tight kitchenette with colored laminate abounding. There I noticed at once that, while aluminum can recycling bin was provided, there was not one for plastic, glass, or any other recyclable material. Yet – these materials were literally forming a pile atop the adjacent trash heap.

I made my way over to the desk of a co-worker introduced to me as "the office green specialist" merely a day before and proceeded to beg her attention.

"Hi there, I know I'm the new guy and all, but, er, I couldn't help but notice that our office doesn't have as good a recycling program as it, you know, should… I mean, we don't even recycle plastic! Why is that?"

She sighed and explained, "I've worked here for years Ben, and I don't think that will ever happen."

Reacting to the apparent grimace my face exhibited, she continued, "I mean, I'm still trying to get people to change toilet paper when we run out in the bathroom!"

I walked back to my desk sullenly. It got me thinking – why don't people recycle? Other then the fact that it goes into a different bin, the action of recycling is just as simple as throwing it away. It merely requires a slight cognitive adjustment. You have to think about your waste and where it can go. Do you want that aluminum can to spend centuries wasting away in a landfill, or do you want it to be remade into a new one?

Sure, I recognize that recycling – in the grand scheme of issues plaguing our planet – is quaint in terms of its ability to actually enact change. Critics of the process are keen on pointing out that more energy is used recycling materials then making new ones. And as Bill McDonough pointed out in his insightful book on the topic, Cradle to Cradle, the quality of the recycled product is lessened by the recycling process because of impurities such as dyes and coatings adhered to the original product.

However - and my office serves as proof that this does work - the cognitive awareness generated by the act of recycling exponentially increases one's passion to do more. Why don't people recycle, I asked earlier? I believe it is because once you understand the reason to recycle, the bigger picture slowly emerges. And recycling is so easy! If you can get yourself to drag a few empty containers to the curb once a week, you are perpetually challenged to do more and can't help but let environmental activism seep into other aspects of daily life.

It might go something like this: If you begin a practice of washing out containers and sorting them into separate bins, perhaps it dawns on you just how much waste you're diverting from the landfills. Then a new concept penetrates - to reuse. Don't throw that plastic cup into the recycling bin, use it again. But wait, you can go even further. Don't use disposable cups at all. Water tastes better out of a glass anyway. People choose not to recycle because if they do, they know it won't stop there. You will have to amplify your passion for saving the Earth.

When my firm moved into a former warehouse which now serves as our glistening new office striving to meet the criteria for LEED certification, someone had to step up and institute a recycling program. Thus, I got to work. I figured out the logistics. I ordered the appropriate sized bins. I fabricated appropriate signage. But the most important initiative seemed to be the informative emails that started to inundate the inboxes of my co-workers.

The purpose of these was to get the office on board and make the transparent process of designing our recycling program inclusive using a bombardment of positive conditioning. The approach was to make recycling at the office something that would inspire a sense of community in our growing office. Before long with some encouragement, recycling became something that everyone had a stake in. Without guilt, and not forgetting a few ounces of humor, my co-workers didn't just comply with the notion to recycle, they embraced it!

Over the last five months, my firm has adopted an extremely progressive approach to dealing with waste and sorting it properly. We now recycle enough glass, paper, metals, plastics, and cardboard that it overflows out of a pick-up truck flatbed every week! It goes without saying that that is a lot of rubbish diverted from the landfill.

Consequently, my co-workers have dubbed me the "Recycling Guru" and aren't afraid to ask the difference between bond paper and newspaper. But flattering title aside, the principal motivation that I've treasured has been hearing how many of my co-workers have started recycling at home in the last few months. More of my co-workers have taken to riding their bikes to work and some of them carpool. There is even buzz around the kitchen about composting.

Guru or not, I take pride in the fact that an office culture upwards of forty people has taken such leaps forward. All that's required is a "can of enthusiasm", maybe a "bottle of desire for a better tomorrow", and a bin to put them into. You're set to go.

Fischer, Texas

Fischer is a town about an hour North of San Antonio in what is aptly called The Hill Country. There isn't much to the likes of buildings or people in Fischer with the exception of one mighty fine Texas dance hall. Perhaps, I was told, it is the finest of Texas dance halls, and on the night of last Saturday it was certainly filled with people.

My friends and former co-workers Bill and Tenna got hitched about two months ago. What they did was inconceivably perfect. They drove several hours to the town located nearest to the geographical center of the state of Texas and were wed by that town's mayor in the town square and then proceeded to spend the weekend curled up in some lacy B&B enshrouded, for the first time, in holy matrimony.

Their friends and family including myself were elated, but somewhat dismayed by the sudden leap into marriage. After all, they had been living together and working at Lake|Flato together for lord only knows how many years. And to run off and tie the knot without any of their loved ones present. What gives?

Well, actually it's perfect. Bill and Tenna have been fervently in love and exuding a readiness for longer than I've even known them. Luckily for us, they celebrated it all with everyone this weekend at the aforementioned Dance Hall of nowhere Texas. We took a drive up for a little barbecuin' and two-steppin'.

Mark Jones and Vicki – passed out in the back of Caleb's Le Sabre on the way up.

Behold – the greatest Texas Dance Hall in the World!

The magical interior, now dripping with BBQ sauce.

Undoubtedly a masterpiece of regional architecture. Notice that there are a lot of fans. No A/C, just good old fashioned breezes.

Clay Hefty – everyone's favorite yuppie redneck.

Cowboy Brian and Alison.

Angela, Cobal, Nate, Heather D, Jenny, Kim, and Kristen.

This is what a dance hall's backside looks like.

Nicolette and Marc - sharing a loving moment.

I love the clinical whitewashed exterior in contrast to the warm and luminous interior. I think this is when Marc had my camera, which is fine since I snatch his all the time.

Blurry Marc a la Nicolette.

Our posse and the only photo with me in it taken all evening.

Two-steppin' magic.

Cameron and Jonathan - taking a much needed breather.

The band, a local rock-a-billy staple. Their name I can't remember. Though I danced with as many enchanting ladies as I could get my hands on, it's worth noting that I do not know the Texas two-step. It's kinda like swing so I fake it. Apparently I was a hit on the dance floor. Brian coined the nickname "Ben Travolta." Whatever…

It occurred to me that I didn't get a single photo of the happy couple whose love we were celebrating. So instead, I'll offer you this:

For Halloween last year Tenna dressed up as me for our office costume contest (seen pictured here with Catfish Hunter). It's worth pointing out that she totally won.

But just for good measure, this is all the Bens – Matt Wallace's costume was me having just been hit by a car, Award-winning Tenna was just award-winning me, and Brian Comeaux was me dressed up as Kenny G. Which he only did because he begged and pleaded with me to dress up as Kenny G for Halloween, which I snubbed in favor of the tribute to Steve Irwin and Vladimir my Catfish. I should mention that he rented that saxophone for an entire month for just this one use. Halloween was my last day at L|F which is perhaps what warranted such homage from my co-workers.

Tenna cut her hair shorter for the Fischer festivities. Smart girl – it was a real sweat fest in that beautiful dance hall.

Mid-June Round Up

It goes without saying that I have been a neglectful blogger these past weeks. Suddenly summer is here and I have been confronted with more opportunities than I know what to do with. If there is one thing I am thankful for it is the blessing of too many friends and a high threshold for fun. But of course, that is not the only thing to be thankful for. Have I ever mentioned that I have a roof terrace?

But the terrace is more than a great view. It also is home to a small but fruitful roof garden. In the past few weeks, my tomatoes have peaked and I have been enjoying them and the fresh herbs and occasionally a gerbera daisy or two.

In no particular order, here are a few samplings of what I've been caught up with since late May.

KICKBALL

Every Sunday afternoon my friends and I have been gathering at San Pedro Park just a few blocks from where I live. We bring snacks, refreshing drinks, water balloons, bubbles, hula-hoops, Frisbees and of course the mighty red kickball – all of which instigates more summertime fun than you can usually handle on a Sunday afternoon.

What I love about kickball is that it's not to be taken too seriously. I'm not a remarkable athlete in any way, but as my friend and kickball commandeer Melissa explained, "I have the most intimidating scowl," which apparently is all you need.

Every week we choose new teams and pick names for them like Team Blood or Team Awesome or Team Apathy or Team High-five Pandas. We don't keep score and half the time we don't even abide by rules and generally leave our code of ethics at home unless we attract local kids. I usually designate the team captains, which hopefully ensures that I won't get picked last!

HAMILTON POOL

Last Sunday our kickball group opted to wake up early and take a fieldtrip to Hamilton Pool about 30 miles west of Austin (1 ½ hours away).

Hamilton pool is a magical place – a streambed collapsed in on itself creating a crescent-shaped limestone shelf which naturally created an opportunity to allow the stream to cascade into the basin and pour out the other end. From there, the stream meanders a mile and a half through the most beautiful cypress-infused riparian ecosystem I've ever seen until it meets a larger river that forms a boundary of the state park.

Our group sprawled out over the rocks that once formed the ceiling of the collapsed shelf – a chilling thought. If you look closely enough you can point out our mascot (the kickball) wearing a hat.

The water was a tad frigid, but warmed up once you started moving around. We swam over to the rocks beneath the cascading water and frolicked about.

Chris and Desiree back from a dip and grooming themselves in what looks like a sunglass advertisement. But I swear it was in fact a completely natural photo.

 

Later, a smaller group of us hiked through the cypress stream to where it met the larger river. It was sunnier there and we basked in the rays of light atop weathered boulders and allowed the current to drag us away.

At 5:30 the park rangers kicked us out of the reserve and we headed to Austin for some much needed vegetarian sustenance. Living in San Antonio, its easy to forget sometimes that ever so slightly to the north is a bastion of attractive hipsters to evoke enough intrigue or scorn (depending who's side you're on) to last you at least a week. On the way back, we rocked out to Queen and Led Zeppelin tapes. Yeah – I said tapes. Remember those?

GO SPURS GO

I've mentioned before (possibly in this post even) that I am not particularly athletic. This is a disposition that leaves me perpetually ambivalent to the world of professional sports.

At least I thought it did. When I first arrived in San Antonio two years and some months ago, the Spurs were all the rage. Well, that's really a misnomer as they are actually all the rage all the time in this town. However, when they are on the precipice of winning a championship title this city goes Spurs crazy. It's unprecedented, really. People wore their jerseys and put multiple flags up in their car windows and basically draped every solid available surface in the city with signs that read Go Spurs Go! Everyone – EVERYONE – is a Spurs fan. It took two years and two championships to realize that everyone implies me, too. It is actually fun to watch, you know this basketball phenomenon. I still have to ask if we are the guys wearing white or black at the beginning of each game, but once we get that straightened out I can follow the ride 'til we win.

The Spurs swept the series against Cleveland and this time 2 weeks ago I found myself in our favorite little homeless bar downtown – the Texas T – when the city erupted into complete and utter mayhem. Despite the fact that it was raining, over 500,000 people drove into downtown with their broomsticks (get it? Cause it was a sweep!) and shoved as many kids as they could fit into their cars and trucks (mostly) and for hours just filled the downtown arteries with one enormous party.

My friends and I danced about between the masses of parked vehicles and at some point just started jumping into stranger's trucks to dance with them and celebrate. It's amazing what you can get away with for a high five and a Go Spurs Go! I probably gave ten times more high fives that night then all the rest of my life combined. That's a lot of high fives…

SHINING BROW 140

June 6^th was Frank Lloyd Wright's 140^th birthday. "Wait a second there," you might be thinking, "didn't Mr. Wright kick the bucket back in 1959 – just shy of his 92^nd birthday?"

Though he, himself, believed God was in the details, I chose instead to ignore silly facts, and had people over revel in his genius anyway.

See – look at how these smiling youngsters take in the presence of the Modern Master of Space. On the other hand, maybe it's the beer.

Either way, we shared the glory of non-traditional Frank Lloyd Wright double chocolate birthday cake which I bought from Central Market. This was in lieu of the traditional birthday cake which combines mountains of yellow cake, raspberry jam, freshly whipped cream, walnuts, and chocolate drizzle. Shhhhhh, don't tell anyone.

Everyone agreed that the chocolate was the way to go, anyway.

Then we sat around the Frank Lloyd Wright shrine (seen here left of Vicki) and discussed all the ways in which FLLW enriched our existence including but not limited to contour farming, Lincoln Logs, desert masonry, drive thrus, carports, and spelling Nature with a capitol N. Cheers to the mitered glass!

DAD

This past weekend, my dad made his first trip to San Antonio, which was a lifelong dream of his since watching the Davy Crockett show of his youth. (Davy Crockett for those of you unaware as I once was prior to moving here, had been one of the heroes who perished at the Alamo. The Alamo is in San Antonio – right downtown). We went on a lot of little adventures, but the highlight of his trip was taking him to see Ben Folds open for John Mayer at the AT&T Center.

I absolutely adore Ben Folds, but I have to say that seeing him perform this venue was not ideal. Many of his efforts to involve the audience in his songs were completely lost on the John Mayer fans that (for the most part) filled the arena. But regardless, it was so great to finally see him live and play a few of my all-time favorites. Even though he was OPENING for John Mayer!

I made a joke recently to my friends that Jason Mraz (another singer-songwriter of my generation) was a third rate John Mayer. Which was really a knock at John Mayer, being that even John Mayer is a second rate John Mayer. I'm so glad he proved me wrong. John Mayer proved to be quite the capable guitar player. In fact, he is rather gifted. And he has such a mellifluous voice and lyrics that speak to you. I'll even go as far as to say that he is a first rate John Mayer.

Sally-Mander

Last but not least, about a month ago my dearest friend Julie went off again, finishing what she started back during the summer of 2005 when she hiked from North Georgia all the way to about 30 miles west of New York City, mostly by her lonesome. That was over 1300 miles of pure Appalachian Trail. Now, she's hiking from NYC to Northern Maine, which is said to be the hardest part of that great American journey.

Julie and I usually talk on the phone at least every other day so I really have to keep myself busy to distract myself from how inaccessible she is to me right now. We write each other letters, but there is a 3-4 week delay in reaction of our experiences. Every once and a while I call up her voicemail just to hear her voice, which I admit might be a little obsessive, but it makes me feel better. It's a hard balance to support a friend in the life dream of hers, all the while cognizant that as a single woman (though tough as hell), faces a lot of dangers out there in the wilderness. I'm trying not to think about those, and choose instead to remember things like the tradition of appalacian trail hikers to go nude on the Summer Solstice, which was just the other day.

Hikers use aliases – her last one was "Ivy" (as in poison ivy), but this time she's opted to go with "Sally. Sally Mander." Lets wish her the best.

The Third Largest Party in the World

For ten days in late April, the city of San Antonio hosts what is known as "Fiesta" - a city-wide celebration only topped in attendance and duration by Mardi Gras and Rio respectively. This was my third Fiesta, and though you'd think I'd had enough of the parades, endless onslaught of confetti in my hair, and generally wholesome merriment, I succombed gleefully in the direction of fun.

I am told, Fiesta commemorates the Battle of San Jacinto. For those of you non-Texans (myself included) who were not lucky enough to sit through an entire year of Texas History in high school (yes - they really do that here), San Jacinto was THE battle that severed the burgeoning Republic of Tejas from the unruly control of Mexico. For the record, San Jacinto is not even remotely near San Antonio. It's near Houston. Even though there was a perfectly good battle fought at our quaint city landmark, it's San Antonio's nature to oddly go with whatever makes the least amount of sense. Which is why, I rode my bike with some friends to my first Fiesta event of the year - "A Taste of New Orleans."

Fiesta,

Wait. Did I read that right? A Taste of New Orleans? As if being third on the list of world's largest parties wasn't bad enough, we have to dedicate an entire event to the city that inhabits the top spot? No knock on Creole or Cajun culture, but I think Fiesta should be all about what makes our city particularly unique.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, I can totally show off my handlebar mustache:

Me and Matt Fleeger - the Fleegers were kind enough to share with me their extra ticket. Marc Toppel also biked with us to the Sunken Gardens - a fine, but completely under-utilized musical venue.

There was a ridiculously great zydeco band on stage and the lead singer fervently displayed his washboard talents for the crowd.

We met up with Karen and Chris Krajcer who were keen on informing us how badly we needed to find crawfish.

So we desperately tried to find some, but for some reason they only found a crawfish etouffee. I went for the fried shrimp which is a pretty close substitute. Once we were out of tickets, we begrudgingly stood a few yards from the funnel cake booth and sulked about not having any more tickets. The garbage can against the tree near us provided a sufficient eddy within the continuously heaving crowd. All of a sudden a little girl emerged with a half eaten funnel cake on a paper plate and headed determinedly toward us. We all winced as she carelessly tossed the remnants of her treat into the receptacle. Karen and I looked at each other in dismay as Marc reached into the trash can to fish out this delectable treasure. And then he ate it, without offing us a crumb.

The Fleegers and the Krajcers.

Me with the Fleegers - we headed out soon after the zydeco Marvin Gaye cover. Aside from the music which was incredible - especially in the amphitheater carved into the old cement quarry, the best thing about this Fiesta event was the fusion of San Antonio's major ethnicities. It was hands down the most diverse experience I've had in SATX.

When Marc moved into his new place several months back he stumbled upon a gold mine. In his garage were almost 12 dozen (what is that, a gross?) hollowed out eggs, and several bags  of confetti. Rather than paying inflated rates for in-season cascarones (confetti-filled eggs), Marc had Vicki and I over to watch a movie and fashion our own. It was a simple procedure: dye the shells, dry, fill, and cover with tissue paper.

 

The only problem was that Marc and Vicki put me in charge of getting things started, forgetting about the fact that Jews don't know how to dye eggs. I didn't boil the water first or remember to put in vinegar until after the fact, so our eggs were on the pastel side.

Vicki really enjoyed this. We could tell as she proclaimed, "We should do this every weekend!"

And with that we abruptly ended our weekend. And Monday morning, in a feeble attempt at being taken more seriously around the office, I hastily shaved off my handlebar mustache because I couldn't help but burst our into laughter every time I glanced at my reflection.

But Monday night brought the Fiesta River Parade. And in a strange twist of fate too complicated to recount - myself, Vicki, Alison, Marc, and Raina found ourselves at a riverside table at Casa Rio enjoying a free Mexican meal, margaritas, and in range of throwing confetti-filled eggs at Senator Kay Bailey Hutchinson, the parade's Grand Marshall.

All I'll say is thank you Mamie - your family was so kind to let us go in their stead.

Having found confetti in my hair, house, car, etc..., I took Tuesday and Wednesday off from Fiesta-ing.

On Thursday, my architecture firm (looking forward to our paid day off city holiday - Battle of the Flowers Day) we had a Thursday afternoon happy hour and barbecue.

The courtyard outside the new office, co-workers abound.

The newly installed fountain.

Later on, Marc and I decided to check out the San Antonio Current party for the Best of San Antonio 2007 at the San Antonio Museum of Art (SAMA). Anyone who is anyone in San Antone was there.

And with the free food, free drinks, sublime atmosphere provided by the courtyard architecture, and the sense of euphoria derived from the fact that I had a paid day off in the morrow, I found there was very little to complain about.

Here I am with my usual dance partner - the graceful and lovely Desiree Garza.

Her grace and loveliness was trumped, however, by my impending clumsiness, and several minutes later we were found floor dancing.

In the morning, I biked downtown, which is normally easy enough. But with half a million people clogging the city's central arteries I certainly had to get creative in my efforts to meet some friends to watch the Battle of the Flowers Parade. I circumvented the parade staging area North on Broadway and around to the Lake|Flato office near the Alamo Plaza.

There, I met up with Marc and Raina and her mother. I ditched my bike and we decided take the parade route (prior to it starting) over to our optimal parade viewing spot courtesy of Stephanie and Patrick.

We marched past the auxiliary en route.

Like I said, our parade viewing spot was optimal, in the air-conditioned, shaded, second floor of the Commerce Bank building, whose empty offices are overseen by real estate company that Patrick works for.

I was glad that S&P brought the kids from the neighborhood with them. And they were glad that Marc brought over dozens of our home-made confetti-filled eggs.

Marc and I perched ourselves, cascarones in hand, above the stone cornice over the building's entrance.

Texas flag.

The Queen of Fiesta - one of the traditions of Fiesta is a pageant for well-off debutantes. All the girls from the pageant are provided extravagant floats for the Fiesta parades to show off their intricate dresses. Rumor has it these dresses and ten-foot trails cost about 30K each. The girls all were off-beat foot ware such as bunny slippers or flip-flops and lift up their skirts to reveal them as people in the crowd call out to them, "Show us your shoes!"

The girls are also bestowed odd titles like the Royal Highness of Magical Indonesian Splendor or the Dutchess of Radiant Chinoiserie Delight.

All the balloons had to be lowered below the traffic lights.

Me, Mark Jones, (who joined us eventually) and Raina's mom in our window.

Dance Party Float.

Tiger.

 

Caleb, Me, Jones.

Travie.

When the parade ended, the Marc(k)s and I biked over to the East Side to test out a new eatery that Jones was to review for the Current. We tried out Tank's Chicken and Waffles. That's right, I said Chicken and Waffles. You can read Mark's article here...

After a respite, some folks gathered at my roof terrace for our regular Last-Friday-of-the-Month bike ride. We ventured down to the Alamo to gather with forty of so other bikers, which was a lot more folks than usual.

Alamo Plaza.

Nico and I.

Kristen, Skyler, and Victoria IV.

Ready to go!

Because it was Fiesta, downtown was really hopping, and we knew it would be a challenge to keep together.

And after an unfortunate encounter with a belligerent cop, headed south, leaving downtown in our dust.

But the bike ride was full of snags. Someone split their chin open, spilling in front of a truck. Several minutes later we encountered a long pause near the railroad tracks to fix a flat tire and then we were delayed further by the passing of a slow moving train.

At our first pit stop, the Union Stock Yards, we were asked to vacate the premises by the security guard.

Then after loosing several members of our gang in the West Side, someone fell off their bike and scraped their leg. Vicki waits underneath the highway overpass.

Despite all the problems, Mark Jones took us on a really interesting route around the West Side. We traversed along a particularly memorable section of town that had the prison on one side and an endless bombardment of bail bond shoppes on the other.

We concluded the evening at the VFW Hall (the oldest in Texas) which was having a Fiesta party of it's own.

We arrived just before last call.

Marc and Nico.

As the evening progressed, our formidable bike gang dissipated. I ended up biking back to Monte Vista where I live with only one other.

By the light of the morning I was up and ready (0nly after picking up a bunch of breakfast tacos, and Marc, his friend Catherine, Raina, and her Mom of course) to head down to King William - Southtown's historic district, where they hold an annual King William Fair. The fair is christened by (guess) a parade!

With breakfast tacos in hand, we were delighted to be able to watch the parade in the comfort and shade of Brian's porch.

Brian and Marc.

Alison drinkin' coffee and Mark taco eatin'.

Parade view.

Folksies on horsies.

Men in white dresses.

Miss Southtown.

Looking pretty.

The best float.

Marching band. I don't miss that.

Before heading over to the fair, we sat around and had a lot of coffee.

King William, as I said, is one of the oldest neighborhoods in San Antonio and one of the nicest. They really do this Fiesta-thing up. Alison and Catherine stand outside the gate and dream of one day soon...

After getting some food tickets, we realized it was noon and headed up to Justin Parr's balcony to tap his pony keg. Caleb takes in the mayhem.

The well-shaded King William streets provided an almost delightful trail on our journey to find...

ROASTED CORN! Yeah! (Its a Fiesta delicacy).

We ran into Juan Carlos and Desiree, who came with us to the mainstage.

There we saw our favorite local band -

Buttercup. Grammy Award winning Joe Reyes with frontman Erik Sanden.

Odie, the bass player, at the end of their killer first set.

Marc snapped this one of Desiree and I. For the record, there is STILL confetti in my hair.

Betsy, Chris and Karen Krajcer.

Mark Jones with Fidel Castro.

Desiree and I (as we so often do at Buttercup shows) riled up the crowd and started a really fun dance at the foot of the stage.

Then it was back to the porch.

Overall, probably the most leisurely day I've had in a while.

Alison might agree, if only there wasn't all that confetti to clean up off the porch.

Desiree, Vicki, and I went and picked up dinner at Cascabel (one of my favorite Mexican restaurants). Desiree was demonstrating how great of a mom she is going to be someday, playing with the little Mexican waitress girls. Vicki was ignoring me on her phone.

At some point after we returned to Brian's porch, it occurred to me that I had been on that porch, drinking beer on and off for about twelve hours. It was time to go...

Fiesta came to an end the next day and I weened myself off such festive cheer by going to San Pedro park and playing some kickball with my friends. We used up all the cascarones that day, so I can breathe only slightly easier until next year about finding confetti all over my life. Until then, I'll watch my back around those tricksy neighborhood kids.

I Met Al Gore Yesterday

Every year the overwhelmingly bureaucratic institution that controls my profession hosts a national convention. This year San Antonio hosted the AIA in what was, I admit, actually worthy of it's hype. It was a whirlwind of a half week as 25,000 architects from around the world descended upon our unsuspecting city. There were tours, seminars, book signings, events, great networking, and the largest hoard of exhibitors to ever grace our bustling convention center. Despite my animosity toward the conformist agenda of the AIA, I couldn't help but sink my teeth into these glorious opportunities to perhaps better myself.

The convention's theme was "Growing Beyond Green" - a nod to the ever expanding necessity to make green architecture, thereby possibly giving hope for the survival of our way of life. No one understands this concept better (over 50% of the world's carbon emissions are derived from the building sector) than the Honorable former Vice President Al Gore, who was the last of several notable speakers at the convention.

I had been looking forward to being in the presence of this democratic luminary for months and months. But given that there were thousands of others equally enthusiastic about absorbing his energy, the competition was fierce, and I didn't know if I would attain my goal of meeting him face-to-face.

I spent hours in line yesterday on two separate occasions. He would be signing only 700 books and luckily, I was the 466th person in line. We were told by the convention volunteers that he would not be signing any personalizations, just his name, and that we had to have our books open to page four, and that we would be ejected from line if we attempted taking pictures because the glimmering flashes in the crowd disrupted his aura or something.

"Would we be able to talk to him", I begged?

Thankfully yes, though very briefly. I wanted to say something memorable, and not just plead for him to run for president which 465 people in line before me did. Not that I don't think this would be a terrific idea, but the only way I could express this in a way that he might remember would be to rip off my t-shirt to expose the phrase "DRAFT GORE 2008" scribbled across my chest in black sharpie, and even I am not that crazed.

My absolute dream statement would have been, "Mr. Gore, I was a disenfranchised Florida voter in 2000, would you, er, could you forgive me?"

To which my dream response of his would have been, "That's ok - I'm sure you've done everything you could since then to restore the integrity of our democracy."

As I stood next in line, inches away from the hero-candidate-of-redemption, I watched in awe as the Costa Rican women in line beside me who I had spent hours getting to know, expressed their admiration of him in Spanish and he replied in Spanish.

This distracted me from uttering the sure fire attention-getter, "Hey - aren't you that guy from Futurama?", and instead I dove into a pit of gushiness to proclaim, "Mr. Gore, it's an honor and a privilege," as he warmly shook my outstretched hand, before scrawling his name across page four of my new book.

I then promptly bolted upstairs toward the ballroom to wait in another long line to see his keynote address. We all assumed he would simply regurgitate his Academy Award Winning-Global Warming powerpoint presentation. Instead, he did away with visual aides, and by only eying his notes but twice during the hour and half to which he spoke, he communicated his visions for a better tomorrow and that it could be attained if we, as architects, step up to the plate. It was, I thought, a very impressive oration, as well as startling proof that this man should be in charge.

One can only hope that someday this prophecy, for the sake of our children, will manifest itself upon my reality. But until then, I guess it's up to me, an aspiring architect, to heed his call.