Footwear Essentials

In approximately 4-5 business days, I'll be wearing these until they fall apart. Even then, I'll probably pay big bucks to have them stitched back together. That's what my husband does with his boots, a pair of 1883 Luccheses.

I'm a boot snob, I won't lie. I turn my nose up at rubber soles. But I'm guilty of wanting champagne on a beer budget when it comes to boots. I want soft leather, perfect stitching, good support, no break-in, a leather sole, a clean, cold echo in the heel. But I don't have two large to drop on a pair of boots. Who does?

In a perfect world, I'd spring for a pair of Luccheses--handmade, custom boots out of El Paso, Texas. But it's hard to find a pair under $300, and even a pair under $500 is looking at the low-end of things. One day, my friends. One day. In the meantime, Tony Lamas are a close second. The countdown starts now.

I've been in the market for new boots for a while. But let me tell you, pickins' is slim in this part of the world. They stack up a few boxes of cheesy Ariats with faux pink ostrich and rubber, tire tread soles and call them "cowboy boots." Please. (See below for reference)


Luckily, Zappos.com has a fine selection of western-style boots. Um, no tax? FREE shipping?! Sign. me. up.

By the by, Galveston is going pretty darn well. I have the inkling it's going to leave me feeling a little numb after I turn the last page. I'm preparing myself already.

Where Else Can You Get That?

I frequently find myself in conversations in which I'm defending the virtue of country music. Yet, you never know where you'll find validation for the things you love.

In the book I'm currently reading, the author articulates the beauty of the genre so simply:

"'Each song is a narrative,' he explained. 'Conflict, crisis, and resolution, all in three minutes. Where else can you get that?'"

This quote is delivered by an Indian-American surgeon. Who knew? See, you don't have to be from Texas to love country music after all. Although I think it helps.

(By the way, current read is Playing by Berkeley's own Melanie Abrams. Not a waiting room read, folks. But compelling nonetheless.)

Crazy Heart

So, I almost didn't see this movie. One, the Kentuckian couldn't muster much enthusiasm for it. And this was due in part to the fact that some friends of ours who had seen it said it was the worst movie they'd ever seen.

Yes. The worst EVER. Strong words, I dare say.

These "friends" said it was so depressing and boring that one among them considered walking out mid-reel and another contemplated stabbing herself in the eyes with the spoon end of an Icee straw. Needless to say, I had my doubts. I wasn't expecting much. And maybe this is exactly why I LOVED it.

Yes. Love is a word you might think I used somewhat casually. In fact, I only use it when necessary. And this is an issue of necessity. Crazy Heart is beautifully acted (obviously), the music is incredible, and I can't wait to see it again.

I'd heard Crazy Heart compared to last year's The Wrestler. The comparison left me a little depressed. Perhaps it was the residue of the depression which followed watching The Wrestler the first time. Talk about a wrist-cutter. I'm tellin' ya. That movie put me in some kinda awful funk. But Crazy Heart was different even though there are some similarities.

"Bad" Blake is a washed up but legendary country star wallowing in resentment that his protege's career eclipses his own. He meets a young reporter and they fall in love and he plays the part of father to her son very well. The relationship inspires Bad to seek out his own estranged son and start writing songs again. When the relationship ends after Bad loses her son in the Houston tunnels, Bad finally gets sober to get back what he's lost.

This is a movie about redemption that's truly about redemption. Not redemption through death, which seems to be the only way to find redemption in movies lately (see: The Wrestler). Jeff Bridges is superb as Bad ("Friends" said you could actually smell his whiskey breath through the screen). But what's even better is the music.

Co-written and produced by T-Bone Burnett (raised in Ft. Worth) and Texas-by-way-of-New-Mexico artist Ryan Bingham. (Just downloaded his first album from iTunes. Amazing.) Everything T-Bone touches turns to gold, including the music of Cold Mountain, O Brother Where Art Thou, and the Robert Plant/Alison Kraus collaboration, Raising Sand. The original songs from the movie are already personal favorites, especially "I Don't Know" and "Fallin' and Flyin'."

I know the merits of the movie have been beaten to death by the critics, Academy, etc, etc. But I had to say my piece. It's right up there with the other contemporary Texas classics, like No Country for Old Men and Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. If you love country music, if you love Texas, you will love this movie.

St. Selena, TX

In this month's issue of Texas Monthly, the Mike Leach vs. Texas Tech scandal is just a smattering of text on the cover. The rest of the design is an iconic-style portrait of Selena Quintanilla Perez, who is perhaps the patron saint of Texas. And undoubtedly the Queen of Tejano Music, as the article claims.

It also says that even when she broke attendance records with her final performance in the Astrodome at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, she was virtually unknown to white audiences. I can't say this is true for myself. But maybe I had an edge because I lived in the same town where she was born and attended the same elementary school she did. Unfair advantages, to be sure.

I still remember when she was killed. Murdered, rather, by her own friend. I was in junior high, eleven years old. The hallways were very somber and lots of students were even in tears. A large percentage of the students at my school were Latino and many of my best friends were Latino. They grew up speaking Spanish, unlike Selena herself, and loved her music. Her English cross-overs "Dreaming of You" and "I Could Fall in Love" were anthems at school dances for years after.

Fifteen years later, her songs take me back to Texas, to my schools where whites and Latinos sit side by side in class rooms and at lunch tables. They share a culture if they choose to. I can't see that here in California. Maybe I'm missing it. But it seems like everyone stays away from each other.

Issues like immigration law and teaching Spanish in schools are controversial. Almost too controversial to talk about--depending on who you're talking to and what side of the fence you're on. I can't help thinking we're all in this together. Nothing proves that more than Selena's popularity during her lifetime and her legacy after her death.

She is/was both/and. Both Texan and Latino, an icon to Spanish-speaking peoples on both sides of the border. Yet she was neither: self-conscious about her Spanish in Mexico, American as apple pie. Can I not claim Selena as part of my culture because I'm white? Some would say so.

The Kentuckian grew up in a predominantly black community in northern Kentucky. Granted, even today, a well-to-do black real estate agent drives his Hummer with trepidation in to rural communities in this part of the world. But the Kent was surrounded by the African-American culture of the South. Played side by side with them in basketball games. They were his friends. They became men together. A regular Larry Bird. He is white with black influences to be sure. Is it any less real because he isn't black?

We're so focused on lines and boundaries and rules. I decide what defines my culture, don't I? Selena was born on the Gulf Coast of Texas. We are the same. My people came from Europe. Hers came from Mexico. But we are both Texans.

The Last Rodeo Tour

As some of you might already know (let's face it, if you live in Texas, you probably DO already know), Brooks and Dunn have announced their retirement. Old news, I know. However, their upcoming performance at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo pours salt in my wounds since I will not--repeat, will NOT--be there. March 20. Reliant Stadium. Please go and send a piece of the bittersweet joy to me via carrier pigeon.

Country music is something I really, really, really miss about Texas. I tell you, I've never listened to so much country music in my life since I moved out of Texas. Sometimes, it's my only salvation. A little Pat Green. A little Willie Nelson. A little George Strait. Just puts me right in a mood. However, the Kentuckian doesn't much have a heart for Alan Jackson's "Dallas." I think it's a little too close to home.

Country music gets no R-E-S-P-E-C-T here on the west coast. I know, there is bad country and there's good country. I'll be the first to tell you that. At times, the puns and double entendres are too much even for me. But classic, outlaw, and Texas country get an automatic "in." And so does George Strait. Because he's George. That's all.

I'm telling you, though, Californians have no love for the steel guitar and the fiddle.* I recently attended a barbeque in honor of March Madness (in which no basketball was watched and the ribs were inedible (we'll discuss BBQ in another post)) and somehow, a country song found its way into the carefully constructed Lil' Wayne play list. You would have thought it was Nickelbach or Creed or some shite like that from the volume of screeching. The host quickly corrected his party foul and replaced said country song with another, more appropriate tune in which I'm sure Alvin and Co. were on backup.

I'm no square. I love a good bass-busting, pants-sagging, ho-bashing track every now and again. I know it's hard out here for a pimp. But I do question the psychological fortitude of a person who cannot muster the slightest appreciation for country's greatest hits. The angst! The loneliness! The longing! What's not to love? Give me Willie and Waylon and the boys any day.

*I recognize that not ALL Californians are country haters. Just the ones I know, of course.

(Photo shamelessly lifted from www.brooks-dunn.com)

A Commonplace Blog

When I'm in the mood for a little light reading, I head on over to the blogosphere and soak up a little humor from a few of my favorite blogs: Janet Reid, Query Shark, The Rejectionist, and when feeling sentimental, the dearly departed Miss Snark. However, bloggage is not just for the masses, I'm learning, as I occasionally wander over to this little gem, Dr. D.G. Myers of our own Texas A & M University.

Okay, so I've yet to snicker while reading Dr. Myers posts. How he manages to muster enough breath for such musings on said 'sphere is beyond me. But I must say, he offers quite a bit more than the traditional "Omigod i LOVE thiss book!" approach to online book review. No, there is no mention of Twilight. In fact, I feel a tad iffy about mentioning it in the same paragraph, nay, POST, as his blog.

He does, however, compile a very interesting list of great Texas novels, all of which I intend to add to my to-read list, especially Whitewater, about a man who escapes his small Texas town only to find his thoughts remain on the home front. A sentiment this "expat" understands well. He will also defend Lolita's position as the greatest novel in history until he's blue in the face. I keep going back hoping to be convinced. If only it were the subject matter barring me beyond page 50, IF ONLY! Maybe I could save face.

You'll also find a cool-ish review of Woodsburner, a novel about the little known forest fire started by a not so little known transcendentalist named Henry David Thoreau. The author, John Pipkin, happens to be an Austinite who's better half teaches Victorian lit at my alma mater.
In the mean time, check it out. Chuckling: unlikely. Very serious, high-brow literary criticism: guaranteed.

A National, er, State Holiday

That's right, folks. Today is the anniversary of Texas's declaration of independence from Mexico in 1836. Settlers in Texas drafted up this tricksy little document here and thereby said, "Hmph, we gonna take our toys and go home." I'm kinda glad they did, since it makes Texas one of THE most history-makin'-est states in the union.

In honor of this momentous occasion, I will be listening to Little Texas's 'God Blessed Texas' every hour, on the hour, until I just can't stands it no more. Not really. I'll listen to it a few times and two-step alone in my kitchen before I must get back to the grindstone (since we don't celebrate Texas holidays out here on the West Coast. Darn shame, I'll say).

Redirecting 'Afterlife', Introducing 'Texasville, CA'

It's official. The focus-less 'Afterlife' is dead. No really, no afterlife for 'Afterlife'. It's time to give this blog a purpose.

And as I'm finding a purpose for my writing in general, I thought it was only appropriate to devote this half-hearted attempt at blogging to the same thing: Texas. And all its murky glory.

Since leaving this God-forsaken state, I just can't stop thinking about it. Or talking about it. Or writing about it. Texas gets in your blood like West Nile after a skeeter bite (skeeter = read 'mosquito').

How do you write about a place when you don't even live there? From 2,000 miles away, I see Texas through new eyes and they find many more things to love, cherish, and celebrate about it. And as I mine the history books, blogosphere, the headlines, and the world wide web for these tidbits, I will share them with you. Hopefully, Texans on their beloved turf will appreciate it more and those who scoff at it from afar will scoff less.

You can never go home again. But at least you can write about it.

Libraries, Literature, Love

I am excited--BEYOND MEASURE--about this weekend. Is it because of the Tech vs. Texas game on Saturday? Close, but, um, no. Actually, I'm dancing in my seat right now because the relentless little hopeless romantic that lives inside me is so revved up about the release of Bright Star.

I'm not going to pretend like I'm a John Keats fan, much less an expert. This particular section of Survey of British Literature II is a little fuzzy and not because it was at 9 am. But, I think all lovers of literature--poetry and prose--relish the opportunity to have a peek into the real lives of the enigmatic characters of literary history. And Keats is definitely one of the brightest stars (wink) in the cast. Even I have to admit that.

Bright Star is the story of his three-year long secret love affair with Fanny Brawne, passionate and tempestuous, that ended only with his untimely death. Okay, so it's not a wink-wink, ho-ho romcom in which the omnipresent Katherine Heigl tries her darnedest to pass as a romantic lead. I get the feeling there could be tissues involved. And sleepless nights. And a tender ache in the chest as the credits roll. But nevertheless, I will be there. Even if it does cost me ten dollars.

I might not be quite this excited if the film's creator wasn't the beloved and brilliant Jane Campion, director of the The Piano and my personal favorite, which I've seen at LEAST 100 times, The Portrait of a Lady. I haven't seen all of her movies, but I haven't seen one I didn't like. Think this one's going to be a winner. Leave the boyfriends/husbands at home. They can watch the Red Raiders/Longhorns game.

Speaking of Keats, and college, and survey courses, I was in a public library for the first time in a long time yesterday. Whoa, things have changed. I have to admit, I was little disappointed at the selection. You never appreciate the things you have until they're gone, like a university library. Even at that, Southwestern's library wasn't exactly epic. But it was three stories tall. And they certainly had every book I could ever want. Pickins' were a little slim at this particular branch of the Sonoma Co. Library system.

But what stunned me was this: gone are the days of library cards and the cathartic stamping of the due date on a sleeved chart inside the book of your choice. Things have gotten a smidge high tech. Check out process is as follows:

1. Scan library card--name and profile appear on computer screen.
2. Computer message tells me to 'place books on table' (table being a black pad under the screen.)
3. I cautiously and skeptically place book #1--Larry McMurtry's Texasville--on said 'table'.
4. Title miraculously appears on screen. Serial number and all.

Aside: Before proceeding, I'm looking around trying to find the conspiracy in all of this. I look at the lady behind the desk to see if she's typing in my titles. Apparently not.

5. I place remaining books, in a single stack, on the 'table'. Each title appears accurately on screen.
6. Complete transaction.
7. Dialogue box appears: How would you like your receipt? Email? Fax? Print? Or Text? Email please.

Yeah. Space-agey or what? Maybe I'm behind the times, but I was so charmed by it all. Plus it's one of the few places in town with free Wi-Fi where I don't feel pressured to buy coffee. So awesome.

Still Alive

Indeed, you may--or may not--have noticed that new posts on this blog have recently been reduced to...zero. That's right. Very little blogging has been going on at this particular site.

I have little to say on the subject except that I have been doing a little too much of the above...I'll give you a minute to assess the image now.

Done? Mmmk. A little bit too much of THAT, along with working, traveling, bridesmaidsing, and other such shenanigans have significantly diminished my time and desire to blog. However, I feel the drive and inclination to continue said blogging coming back.

Do you ever just run out of crap to say? That's kinda what I was experiencing. But then maybe I was just saying it elsewhere. Who knows. But I've missed the ole blog and my sprinkling of readers. And so, I'm back. Hopefully.

In other news, I'm strongly considering a subtle renaming of the blog to match the direction it seems to naturally follow, which is a longing for all things Texan. Along with a few digressions into the areas of movies, television, news, and goofy anecdotes. Should be fun.

Speaking of which, how about that Gerard Butler? I just can't seem to get enough of that guy lately. Bad movies notwithstanding. When you're willing to sit through The Ugly Truth just so you can spend two hours with him, you know there's an issue. So what if it's just in a movie theatre. And it costs you ten dollars. IT'S WORTH IT. Suddenly Schumacher's Phantom of the Opera has strange appeal. Mmm.

I will be back for more. See you there.

Grown-Up Christmas List

So, Christmas is in eight days. It snuck up on me once again. I'm not sure if it's supposed to be sneeked or snuck or snucked, but we'll go with snuck for now. I am headed to Texas after all.

Christmas is in eight days and happily, I'm sitting in the Oakland airport awaiting my cushy Southwest flight to Houston. (Note: Oakland Int'l Airport has free Wifi y'all. Other airports of the world, watch and learn.) This Christmas is going to be a wee bit different from the others cause the in-laws from Kentucky are also joining us. It's going to be a full house and it's going to be awesome.

Isn't it so funny how Christmas changes as you grow up? I used to get sooo excited about Christmas morning that I literally could not sleep. Or, worse yet, I'd go to bed at like 6 pm and wake my parents at 5 am to open presents. Maybe if they hadn't spoiled me so much, Christmas morning wouldn't have the same thrill factor. Literally, one year--I think I was three--they got me so many presents that I got tired of opening them and refused to open any more. I'm not exactly saying that with pride, folks.

Nevertheless, this year I still made a mental Christmas list. It's changed a bit from Barbie Dream Houses and cell phones and purses. This year, it looked more like food processors, pot holders, cook books, digital cameras, and gift certificates to Lowe's. I am officially old. My Christmas list is more grown-up than ever. But I guess it's all relative.

Here in the airport, they're playing one of my favorite Christmas songs. Not 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer'. Not 'Feliz Navidad'. No, not even 'I'll Be Home For Christmas', although it's a good one.

'Grown-Up Christmas List' has always made me get a little choked up. You probably know what I mean, cause the chorus goes a little like this:

No more lives torn apart,
That wars would never start,
And time would heal all hearts.

That everyone would have a friend,
That right would always win,
And love would never end.
This is my Grown Up Christmas List.

Kinda breaks your heart, doesn't it? Mostly because we all know that such wishes are likely to go unanswered. But wishing, hoping, and trying can always help. I think we all wish for such things. But in the meantime, there's nothing wrong with hoping you'll get an iPhone, or a new pair of boots, or a leather-bound copy of your favorite Austen novel also.

What's on your Christmas lists? Tangible and intangible items alike?

LIKE the SAT, but 'funner'

I gotta tell ya: trying to juggle work responsibilities while traveling/on the road/playing is a little tricky. Needless to say, I'm doing very well at it this week while I'm visiting the fam in Texas. However, if I had real J-O-B, I wouldn't be here at all so...I'm gonna take what I can get.

In other news, I cannot stop thinking about/playing with FreeRice.com! OMG, it's amazing. Brush up on your art history, vocabulary, mathematical skills, etc. through never ending quizzes on FreeRice.com and for every question you get right, they donate 10 grains of rice for starving people around the world!

My thoughts exactly. Ten grains, what a joke. That's not even a full bite. But last night alone, I racked up over 6000 grains of rice. And it was a hella fun.

Check it out!

THE Monument Cafe

Calling all Georgetownians, Southwesternians and alumni... It is the time, of all times, to stand up in honor of the most nostalgic, the most picturesque, most truly wonderful cafe in all of Texas and perhaps even the world: The Monument Cafe.

I have finished more than one college paper while sitting at their granite counter. I have sipped more than one cup of coffee and I have cried more than one tear while dining at this particular establishment that is delicately perched on Austin Avenue in Georgetown, Texas.

Don't you want to go where everybody knows your name? I do. And believe me, I dream of the comfort of The Monument Cafe. Its delicious coffee. The special quiche. And even the occasional, and I do mean, occasional, slice of key lime or--for Heaven's sake--the Monument Chocolate Pie.
It is a slice of sheer heaven and I only hope that when I die, I get to spend the afterlife sitting in the corner round booth, sipping a hot cup of fresh brewed, and shootin' the breeze with my favorite crew from good ole Mother Earth.

Based on the crowd that forms in front of the Monument on any given day, it's safe to say that I'm not the only one who feels this way. Which is why The Monument Cafe is the only cafe in Texas worthy of Texas Monthly's cover story for December--'The Best Small Town Cafes'.

How do we make it happen? How do we give back to those from whom we've received so much? Email April Hinkle, Texas Monthly representative, at ahinkle at texasmonthly dot com and put in a good word for the ole Monument. Time's a'wastin', deadline for submission is October 23rd. Spread the word, y'all. Let's do this thing.

April, get ready. Email mania is in store for you. And after one bite of Two Alarm Chili, you won't know how you've survived up to that point.

(Photo courtesy of http://www.themonumentcafe.com/.)

Coming Soon to a Theatre Near You: Towelhead

Believe it or not, I actually read an article in Texas Monthly about this up-and-coming movie even before the recent obsession with all things Alan Ball. (Aside: Alan Ball is the writer/creator of Six Feet Under, American Beauty, and, of course, True Blood.) Yes, I think it's okay to say 'towelhead' if it refers to the a movie/book and not an actual person that might be offended by such a reference...maybe.

Apparently, some local Islamic groups have been a little offended by the title. But being that the novel of the same name was written by a woman who refers to herself, lovingly as a, er, 'towelhead,' I don't really know what there is to be offended about. Would the African American community be offended at a book entitled...well, you know. I've heard Chris Rock and I kinda don't think so? (Which by the way, his latest routine is hilarious.)

But if you have an immediate reaction to the title, you can pretty much bet the ranch that you'll be squirming in your seat through the whole movie. Here's what you're looking at: a thirteen-year-old half American, half-Lebanese girl named Jasira is sent to live with her father after her mother discovers her (the mother's) boyfriend has relieved Jasira's 'lady parts' of all of her follicular adornments. Upon arriving in Houston to begin a new life with her newly Christian yet highly traditional Lebanese father, Jasira launches into a hysterical, tragic, and albeit controversial journey of sexual exploration, with the help of her pedophilic middle-aged white neighbor. Not exactly your typical coming of age story.

Which is of course why I'm dying to watch it! And it doesn't help that it's set in Houston, Texas, where I grew up. And it couldn't be a more perfect place to tell a story about things that are a little strange going on behind closed doors. And it demonstrates Houston/Texas as the melting pot that it really is--and a fast-paced business world where people get up, go to work in their high-rise office buildings, and go home. But then maybe they can't stand the heat. Or the traffic. I don't know.

Anyway, Towelhead (the movie) was released to select cities on September 12th, which of course means that is hasn't been seen in any of my local theatres. That being said, I think I'll pick up the book by Alicia Erian (above). Thanks, Alicia, for writing a NEW story about the Middle Easterner's experience. I'm so done with jihad, wars, mutilation and tragic death. I swear, if I have to read one more of those, I'll be depressed with suicidal tendencies. Did anyone else try to fight their way through Infidel? I'd rather get a sharp stick in the eye.

(Photos courtesy of Amazon.com and MetroActive Books.)

Bookshelf Finds and WTF Romo?

Sorry I spaced for a week or so guys. It has been one HECK of a crazy week. I blame the insane number of concurrent projects and due dates or maybe it was the watching of True Blood over and over on OnDemand? Not really sure...

Any way, a new episode of True Blood comes on TONIGHT! and I'm so excited. In fact, can hardly contain myself.

Truthfully, what started the whole fascination with the show was a promotional diddy that HBO did on vampire mythology and how it's evolved through literature and film. If you haven't seen it yet, it's time to cue up your cable. It blew my socks off--mostly because I haven't had a quasi-intellectual conversation about books of any kind since my senior year of college--but mostly because I'd never really given the vampire genre a fair shot.

Who knew that Bram Stoker's Dracula was the first real vampire story? And the idea of the suave, charming and well-dressed vampire didn't come along until years later via Hollywood? Well, and according to the wealth of religious, mythology, and anthropology experts commenting on the topic, the whole genre is the study of the 'other'--the abnormal--and Anne Rice is the 20th century Stoker in terms of her contribution to the vampire myth--a tragic hero, tortured by his remnant humanity and the reality of his savage-like nature. Their words, not mine.

Mostly, I couldn't believe that I had missed the apparent obsession with vampires. It's so true! We have a cultural obsession with vampires more so than any other mythical monster--why that obsession has endured I do not know. But there are even people out there that really believe they're vampires--like with teeth, and they even, like, drink blood. I know.

With that, I decided to dive in. So I picked up this omnipresent Twilight --pretty much everyone and their mom is reading it. So I figured it had to be good. It's basically about a stand-offish highschool girl that falls in love with a school mate--that happens to be a vampire. I'm telling you, I cannot put it down! It's apparently for a teen audience so it does get a little tedious at times. If you're expecting the sex, drugs, and rock and roll of True Blood, you won't get it here. A little Harlequin-y for my taste. But it is a quick, delightful weekend read. And you can get it in hardback for about eight bucks. Nice.

Nevertheless, I think I'll pick up one of Charlaine Harris's books next--the series on which True Blood is based. Or I might even bite off a big one and go for Stoker...WHO KNOWS. You just never know WHAT I'm going to do, I'm a wild woman.

Speaking of which, I was a wild woman today and in PUBLIC--at the local sports bar because Cali TV stations are the antichrist and will not air a Dallas game if it means the locals don't get to watch the 49ers lose...again. But then I think that Tony Romo must be getting his tips from San Francisco because Dallas totally blew it today. Why can't he play the whole game the way he plays in the last two minutes? Get it together, mon. Ugh, it was kinda painful.

HBO Does It Again

I'm a little embarrassed. I joined the ranks of the Starbucks Crazies this morning. Standing in line to get my pound of beans and complimentary coffee, I saw a girl carrying a copy of Twilight, you know that vampire series that's selling like hotcakes? I could feel the lunacy coming on but I just couldn't stop myself.

She had that look in her eye like she just wanted me to go away. But the fact is: I just had to tell someone! I'd be doing her a great disservice if I didn't tell her about my new discovery, which happens to be the greatest thing since Carrie Bradshaw...

Okay, that might be stretching it, Carrie's a pretty special lady. But I'm sorry y'all, True Blood--HBO's latest contribution to humanity--is a thin slice of heaven. Before you roll your eyes, I've got to tell you I was in complete resistance to it, I don't really do the vampire thing. Even Brad Pitt couldn't entice me. Never did the Anne Rice thing. I've never even worn black lipstick, y'all. But I'll be straight with you, after one episode of True Blood, I was a total goner. Give me some Louisiana rednecks, a few blood-thirsty vampires, a telepathic heroine and I'm in. They 'had me at "hello"' so to speak.

True Blood is everything you'd expect from the HBO crew: sexy, steamy, dramatic, and well, a little raunchy. And you can be sure you won't be bombarded with a bunch of vampiric cliches. What's wrong with cliches? Uh, they're boring, that's what. Unless they're in the form of classic southern colloquialisms, which frankly, you can't have too many of those. Gotta love a girl that says thing like, "Oh my stars!" Awesome.

As a southern belle myself, I'm bound to have an affection for any thing that lays it all out there, you know, the 'both/and' of America's South land. Both traditional values, old-fashioned charm and a dark place where some pretty twisted stuff goes down, that whole Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil thing. It's not all Sunday dress and apple pie, y'all. And Alan Ball, of American Beauty and Six Feet Under perfection, does it right.

The love affair with TV continues! Ugh, and six whole days until the fourth episode. I'm gonna lose my marbles. THAT'S why all those Starbucks people are nuts.

(Photos courtesy of www.hbo.com)

That Time of Year Again

I love When Harry Met Sally... It's quite possibly the best movie Hollywood has ever made and Nora Ephron is my hero, no matter how bad her neck is. I love the part when Harry is discussing the youth of his new flame, Aunt Emily, that was revealed when he asked her 'where she was when 'Kennedy' was shot' and she said "Ted Kennedy was shot?!"

Well, I wasn't even a speck on the horizon when Kennedy was shot. But I do remember exactly where I was on this day, September 11, 2001.

I was in tutorial, the only one that morning, delivering an assignment to my crazy, senior economics teacher. She was a loon, folks. It was so quiet, all I could hear was the raspy rantings of that silly lady. Then the OTHER crazy economics teacher, 'Wild Bill', ran into the room screaming, "Turn on the T.V., they're bombing New York." Why are economics teachers so paranoid? She didn't even question who he meant by 'they'. It was if that had a common, cooky language.

She did, turn on the T.V. that is, and immediately let out this loud shriek and fell to pieces. Wild Bill ran on to share the news with his other colleagues. I'm not being mean, we called him Wild Bill to his face.

Then all day, in every class, we watched it all unfold. Except for AP Biology, where we took the regularly scheduled exam. Which I failed. Then that teacher hated me for the rest of the year because I wasn't on the doctor train. Words! Words, lady! That's what I do! Not cells and horny flies! Not that she would understand, she pronounced entropy with a 'ph'. Whatev.

Alls I'm sayin' is that in twenty, thirty, forty years, I'll still remember that day as if it were yesterday, because it was a day on which the world changed forever, even though I didn't realize it at the time.

What about you? Where were you on September 11, 2001?

Decision-making disorders

I have one. Do you? And right now, I am in a major dilemma. A pickle. A quandry, if you will.

It has been almost two years of wedded bliss since I married that stud-licious husband of mine. Yet the highlight of that particular evening is still hanging in a closet at my parents' house. I'm talking about my wedding dress.

If I had to choose between my husband and that dress, I would need the cold barrel of a gun at my temple to cast my vote. (Just kidding, hon.) No but really, I love, love, love that dress. I would sleep in it if I could and I miss those times leading up to the big day when I could just watch it. And pet it.

Here's the deal though, ladies. And this is serious, so I'm going to need some input on this one. They say you should spend about 30% of your budget on the dress. Well, I blew that. A lot. In fact, the dress WAS the wedding. (Hey, I made my own wedding invitations so I could have that dress. And I LIKED it.) But it's okay because it is still the most fabulous frock I ever put my little eyes on. Now that the wedding days are behind me, this little beauty sits on a hanger, in a bag, waiting to die.

To sell or not to sell the dress, that is the question. Do I release the dove into the world for some other lovely lady to bask in its...loveliness? Or do I keep it for my own selfish, sentimental, girly reasons? What's to be done in a situation like this?

FYI: The dress in question is courtesy of Anne Barge and selected with the help of Claire at Louise Blum on Post Oak in Houston, TX. Talk about service, y'all.

Photo by Aric Hoek at Solaris Studios, Houston, TX. He will make you look fabulous.

Taking the first step

I want to preface this 'spiel' by clarifying that I am not--repeat--NOT an addict. I don't' have a problem. I can quit when I want to. I do it because I enjoy it and for no other reason.

It's just the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning. And I have to have it to feel normal both physically and emotionally. The smell, taste, and sheer possibility of it fill me with complete and utter contentment.

I'm talking about my first love in life, a hot little cup of bliss known as coffee. C-O-F-F-E-E. I know that I'm not the only one that feels this way. How do I know this? Oh, it might just be the adjacent Starbucks coffee houses that have infested every city in America. Nothing against Starbucks. I've been spotted there. And even though it's a little excessive, any coffee lover can appreciate two distinct Starbucks establishments in your immediate field of vision. Yes, without having to turn your head. If nothing else, it's a testiment to the true greatness of the drink. But even so, I know I'd be willing to cross a busy street for a cup of good coffee. Hell, I could make a shorter list of things that I wouldn't do for a cup of coffee.

Where does the fixation come from, you might ask? Well, coffee is a cultural phenomemon in the American South. Coffee is to Texas as tea is to China, whiskey is to Ireland. Texans bring a new meaning to the concept of 'drinking socially'.

Some of my favorite memories include sitting around my mom's kitchen table, everyone with a fresh, hot cup of coffee in hand, gabbing away about nonsense. Good times. True familial bonding. And all because of a relatively simple, inexpensive, hot beverage.

It's a morning, midmorning, afternoon and evening ritual.

Now that I live about 2500 miles away from my best pals--the fam--coffee has served as my very own security blanket. It's pretty pathetic actually. But a hot cup of coffee fresh out of the pot almost makes me feel like I'm home again. Except not. Only getting a caffeine fix. But soothing the separation anxiety nonetheless.

Yes, I know that coffee is innately toxic. That it takes your liver like a week to process one cup of coffee. That caffeine is more addictive than heroine. But it's not illegal so it must be okay, right? Hmm... Sometimes I have fits of moral dilemma as I ponder the possibility that coffee could one day be the demise of the American public. But it quickly passes. Probably because I drown it with another cup of...you guess it.

A new 'frontier'...

Lately, it would seem that my life is made up of 'firsts'. First job. First house. First home away from home. First husbands...ha! Just kidding darling. You might even say that my recent experience would be one of embarking on a new 'frontier'...or...'frontier-s' to be more exact.

My frontier life excites me. Mostly because the word--frontier--is one of my favorite words in the English language. It just sounds pretty...the word, I mean. Plus, who wouldn't like a word that means "an undeveloped field for discovery." Yes, sign me up.

It all started when I met this guy by a pool in San Diego. Tall. Blonde. Blue eyes. Scathingly handsome. And a trouble maker. So naturally, when he smoothly suggested that we tie the proverbial knot just three short weeks later, I enthusiastically agreed. However, it was a package deal. This charming young man came with a California zip code, which I inherited the day we got married. And so, I left my childhood home in Texas for what once was the Great Frontier...literally.

So just six months after my college commencement (a haunting word), I found myself 1) married and 2) living in Northern California. This is in no way a bad thing. However, in life, I have often professed that I would never, I mean never, do the following things:

1) get married (too compromising)
2) become a 'soccer mom' (too predictable)
3) move to California (too cliche)
4) get my belly button pierced (too skanky)
5) get fat (too much)

Considering that 'nevers' 1 and 3 have already been fulfilled, I'd say that this is not looking good.

One thing I knew I would do is to discover the world beyond my home state, to make a life somewhere else. Not to say there is anything wrong with good ole' Texas. It's quite fabulous, actually. It's not all about religious fanaticism and hate crimes. Parts of Texas have this funky coolness that is truly unforgetable. Mostly, Texas doesn't take itself too seriously. I kind of miss that, actually. Plus, I love being 'from' a place that is truly larger than life--both literally AND figuratively.

But since Texas will very likely never be my home again, I have come to enjoy the newness that has characterized my life. This 'frontier' business has been so fun that I've made it my little theme--every girl needs a theme. And so, I've decided to embark on another new frontier, for me anyway. Yes, I intend to get my blog-on.

I need to come clean and confess that I have never blogged before. I am a newbie, or to use a better term, virgin, blogger. Even in this overly-teched age, I have never ventured into the world of blog. And so, I take my first steps into this--for me--'undeveloped field for discovery' known as blogging. And with it, California, marriage, womanhood, and life, in general.