One of the first friends I made when I moved to Austin in 2009, started a standing annual date with me to do the East Austin Studio Tour. The only thing that interrupted our touring was the pandemic in 2020, but fortunately we resumed our date this year.
Along our way, we witnessed contemporary history integrated along the art tour.
In the backyard of a historic house that had been converted into an art studio, visitors were invited to paint on a long rectangular canvas, anchored on a fence.
By the time we arrived, only spaces that fit in the palm of my hand were available. A thin brush and magenta and deep blue paint called to me. One thing that has never failed me: a swirling spiral, which never quite manifests as I originally intend. Even so, that motion brings me joy. Given time, the motion usually creates something that I like to call “The Eye of God,” which stares back at me. If one views either the magenta or the blue, one can see the separate eyes. Once I completed the pair of eyes, only then did I notice the bold red streak that it sits upon.
While strolling from one studio to another, we came across a bit of nostalgia.
I asked my friend to check it out. It was purely decorative. Considering how much most of us are on our phones, some to the point of addiction, this was a throwback to a time when we weren’t so available. A phone was merely a means of communication. It’s interesting to note that now we have so many different means of communication, one would incorrectly assume that no one would ever be out of touch or lonely. It’s far too much.
The best part about touring is hanging out with a longtime friend out in the fresh air, being inspired by other people’s creativity.
I’m not into dumpster diving…especially with this pandemic business going on, but I’m all about picking up gently used furniture that is dumpster-adjacent.
Hence, our new circular dining table. As I strolled around the apartment complex on a beautiful Sunday afternoon and talked with one of my sisters, I saw it.
I fast walked back to the apartment to get my car and ask my roommate to assist me with retrieving the table. All I can say is thank goodness I have a hatchback. We put the table into the car, legs first, which my roommate held onto since we couldn’t close the hatch. I drove slowly, avoiding speed bumps.
Now one of the upsides of the being in a pandemic is that I had plenty of disinfectant wipes to clean the table off before bringing it into our apartment. I’d had a card table for a dining table for over ten years. I’m sure part of my fascination with the preowned table has to do with being sequestered for nearly two years. Yet, the energy in that corner of this tiny apartment has been changed.
After we positioned it, I announced, “We’re going to have a shot party on Friday!” Didn’t even have to check my schedule or ask my roommate about hers. When I texted a picture of the table to some friends along with the impending shot party, one friend immediately invited herself.
My roommate had her drink together precisely at 5:01.
I had some other running around the apartment to do. As soon as I got off from work, which I do from home, I had a 15-minute workout on my vibration plate. Then I set the party table.
For my drink, I googled something like “fall shots” and landed on a recipe that included fresh ginger, sparkling apple cider, apple brandy, honey, with fresh mint garnish.
I’d bought a nice-sized piece of ginger for another drink recipe from Mom: whole cloves, a few sticks of cinnamon and chopped ginger. I brought all that to a rolling boil, then let it steep until it cooled. Turned out very strong but still drinkable.
Good thing too. That healthy drink made a delicious mixer for the alcohol I added to make my fall cocktail. Why mix in only ginger when you can have cinnamon and cloves as well?
Although I called it a “shots party,” let’s face it, I didn’t do shots when I was a cute age to do it, so I surely wouldn’t start that up as a newly minted middle aged woman.
I sipped my cocktail with a throw-together meal my roommate and I put together: cauliflower crusted supreme pizza with a biscuit, baked asparagus and pork ribs. OK, so my only contribute was the pizza. Then again, I spotted the table and planned the party. Great thing I don’t have to do everything.
As usual, I cast my vote in person on the first day of early voting.
I worried that I’d have to wait in line with the other people just getting off work around that time. Silly rabbit! No one but other very nerdy voters booked it to the polls on the first day they were open to vote on bonds and proposals.
Nonetheless, I perform my civic duty as soon as I’m able to, no matter how seemingly trivial the election. After all, I want to have a say in the community in which I live. Plus, I wanted to sport my sweet “I Voted” sticker as I shopped for groceries afterwards.
More importantly, I texted my photo to several friends to remind them that early voting had begun, knowing that about half of them wouldn’t even bother, but for the half who would, totally worth it. In this current climate of voter restrictions, who knows how many elections I have before the restrictions take me back to the 60s?
When a member of my creative writing group suggested we attend a quirky poolside talent show at an iconic motel, I jumped on the opportunity.
In real life, I wouldn’t have ever paid such a ticket price, parking fee, and lord don’t get me started on that overpriced watered down allegedly tequila-based drink I ordered before the show. All I can say is, I’m glad I took a picture of the provisional poolside bar as a shortcut to telling my friend what the bar offered. This picture at least proves the appearance of alcohol even if there was no evidence in my cocktail.
Nonetheless, very little could spoil this picturesque evening.
I even slathered on the Skin So Soft just in case climate change hadn’t killed off all the mosquitoes.
Although the host and judges were part of an improv troupe, the entire show seemed improvised. Not a single performer played it straight, which made me wonder how they curated the acts.
The synchronized swimmers performed first.
They achieved synchronicity more by the power of suggestion than actual timing.
Their stilted moves, along with their stiffly serious facial expressions, captivated us all.
They worked the crowd both in and around the pool.
Then the most bizarre talent on the scene did their thing.
As loosely as I used the phrase “synchronized swimming,” this performance I’d characterize as “burlesque.”
They removed the outer frumpy masculine-appearing layers, revealing the fight between bra and breasts.
They removed the outer frumpy masculine-appearing layers, revealing the fight between bra and breasts.
When as many layers that could be legally removed were finally stripped away, they jumped into the pool.
Another performance I’ll call “Elvis-flavored.”
When he first came on the scene prior to the music playing, I had a 50-50 chance of guessing correctly: Roy Orbison or Elvis. Then the Elvis medley came on, I think. It was definitely Elvis. Don’t remember whether it was one song or a few.
Next up: light sticks guy.
Or was it lit batons man? Either way, I was more amazed by the lit sticks, especially the illusion of geometric patterns as they moved swiftly through space.
Followed by a fire dancer.
Who ended up jumping in the pool after a fire hoop twirl gone wrong. That spontaneous pool dive was one of my favorite parts of the show. The sheer spontaneity of following her creative bread and butter.
After all was said and done, I spent around $80 for the evening. My cheap ass normally wouldn’t have spent that much on an outing. However, times have changed. The last time I’d hung out, I’d had a different job and hadn’t yet taken my first data science class. A lot can happen in nearly four months. So, I figure if I only drop about $80 every four months, that’s not too bad.
Never before have I used a birthday to make a conscious effort to improve the quality of my life. The kind of changes that most people make around New Year’s, but then again, I’ve never lived through a pandemic either. Going on two years of being sequestered. Now a combination of middle age bulge and pandemic pounds are literally weighing me down.
I’m not even trying to be girlie here. Recently, a man had a heart attack and couldn’t find a hospital to admit him. He died because so many COVID patients crowded him out. I cannot say that my recent lifestyle change will prevent a heart attack, but it’s better than sitting around and seeing how far and fast my ass can spread.
As much as I like my new job, I’ve sat on my ass for 8 hours a day. A full-time desk job managed to change my body faster than I imagined. I’m not at the place yet where I believe “sitting is the new smoking.” Then again, I’m not going to wait until my excessive sitting catches up to smoking levels.
Adopting a new exercise routine wasn’t too hard, courtesy of the pandemic. My active schedule has been wiped clean, so breaking up my online bingewatching when not asleep or at work is a good thing. Plus, it gives me something new and interesting to think about.
My eggbeater kick has come along nicely. I still can’t quite do it, but the overall pool workout is what I focus on while the weather permits. I only have a few more weeks until the temperature drops or the rainy season begins.
Just in time to level up on my vibration plate. I’ve used that magic machine twice a day during the week and once a day on the weekend. The first thing I noticed when I started using it was how good my joints felt. After about two or three days, I discovered how it helps “detoxification.”
I’ve not had a bowel movement like that since being in the yoga hot room before the plague. Thanks to a mostly healthy diet and exercising on a regular basis, I don’t experience constipation. But this vibration plate, just like Bikram yoga, causes “enhanced” bowel movements.
Call me crude. I can’t help thinking that this is one of the few cases where getting more shit is a good thing.
My birthday is ruled by sevens. Not only was I born on the 7th, but originally my birth month, September, was the 7th month in a 10-month Roman calendar, which is why the prefix is “sept-“. Plus, I was born in 1970. Thanks to the year 2021, I’m now a 17-year-old thrice over. That basically means, unlike when I was originally a 17-year-old, I’m highly aware that I don’t know it all. Speaking of “17,” I was supposed to be born on the 17th. So much for that plan.
Embracing my father’s philosophy of birthday celebration, I planned several things, starting with an upscale Italian restaurant.
My roommate and I ordered takeout. We were going to have a drink while we waited for our food.
As soon as we walked in, they enthusiastically told us that our order was ready. Obviously, we weren’t dressed to pick up takeout. We informed them of the plan, which we still followed even though our packed leftovers sat at the bar with us.
Another birthday tradition I started when I turned 40 was to wear a tiara for all my birthday activities. Considering that I’d planned to stay home the entire long weekend and work on my actual birthday, I made that trip count for the tiara photo op.
The next day, I celebrated my birthday by ordering things that would enhance the quality of my work/life balance: a firestick, an adjustable standing desk, a vibration plate, and a tankini.
My first gift to myself came on the actual day.
I broke my usual rule about fooling around with new technology at night. I really wanted the pleasure of watching Netflix without hooking up my laptop to the TV. That had been my inexpensive workaround for years. Then in about a year and a half, the effects of COVID finally caught up with the connection.
After using that HDMI hookup at least once a day, the laptop port couldn’t take it anymore. Even butterfly clipping the TV cable in place onto the TV like an IV drip (or should I say “IT drip”) into the HDMI port on my laptop as a workaround only lasted for about a month.
So as I knew would happen, the simple firestick instructions still had gaps. Fortunately, one of my nieces called to wish me a Happy Birthday. Among other things, I narrated the technological hole I was in with the “it’s so easy!” set up.
After she agreed that a firestick should be ready to go once attached to the TV, I backed out of the step I was trying to set up, and tried something else. I honestly don’t remember how I did it, but the Wi-Fi started downloading updates, which I hoped would help since I was attaching new technology to an old TV.
Once I got the firestick to interact with the TV, then I had to get the remote to connect to the TV. I got stumped on choosing the correct TV IR Profile. As every good IT person knows, just Google everything.
I found out more about Insignia TVs than I ever wanted to know except the one thing I actually wanted to know, the infrared profile of the damn TV! Thanks to perseverance and some guy who shared how he chose his TV’s IR Profile: trial and error. The good ol’ standby. Worked for me on the first try.
A UPS email sent my expectations through the roof about getting my standing desk. To be delivered between 11:30 AM and 1:30 PM? My Black ass! After work, I changed clothes to do pool exercises. When I returned, my standing desk box had magically materialized in my bedroom. I took one look at that box and thought, “What a fun Sunday morning project that’ll be!”
Friday, officially my mother’s 81st birthday and the 8th day of celebrating mine, another present I’d bought myself awaited in my bedroom, thanks to my roommate’s efforts.
Although one can do a full workout routine on a vibration plate to sculpt muscles, improve lymphatic and blood circulation, better balance and (the jury’s still out about) weight loss, I was far less ambitious.
Although one can do a full workout routine on a vibration plate to sculpt muscles, improve lymphatic and blood circulation, better balance and (the jury’s still out about) weight loss, I was far less ambitious. I plugged it in, flipped the switch, which didn’t actually turn it on. Pressed the power button, followed by the start button and vibrated while slowly doing some squats. Until I read an email, telling me that I had a package.
I’d chalked it up to the fires in California as to why the tankini didn’t arrive sooner.
The free swim cap with the raggedy-edged American flag design mirrored the state of the country. Nonetheless, it’s a damn fine swimsuit and the added bonus is the company name happens to be my initials. On Saturday, I put my tankini on to take a virtual yoga class, then kept it on to do my swimming pool exercises: capoeira kicks, jogging, and eggbeater kicks.
For my weekend takeout, a special treat: cupcakes and a chocolate Bourbon bar.
Normally I don’t buy desserts, but since the state of TX recently passed a law that essentially outlaws abortion, I made an exception. This dessert shop sold sugar cookies where some of the proceeds are donated to abortion care. I wasn’t in a sugar cookie mood even though they had icing. I made a $5 donation on top of the desserts I bought.
On Sunday morning, I figured out two major life-improving things.
I put together the adjustable standing desk with few problems, given the minimal written instructions and the mostly accurate illustrations. Yet once I’d assembled it, I couldn’t lower it. I squeezed the handle and pushed down. Nothing. I wanted to tinker with the mechanism, but envisioned cutting off my fingers. Instead, I checked the company’s website. No troubleshooting tips. I sent them an neutrally-worded email. Called the alleged support number, which no one answered because it was a Sunday morning.
At one point, the only safe idea I could think of was to put the portable desk on the floor and push down while squeezing the handle. That desk lowered as if it had good sense. Apparently, when I initially raised it, I couldn’t get enough leverage to lower it. Fortunately, I won’t need it that high again now that my workstation rests on it. Even when I’m standing on vibration plate.
As much as I enjoy my job, I’m excited to test drive the new workstation and workout on my vibration plate.
I finished putting my workstation just in time to set up for my virtual yoga class.
This was my second attempt to cast the Zoom class from my laptop to the TV.
Then it dawned on me: since the connection was via Wi-Fi, the laptop didn’t need to be beside the TV.
With that thought in mind, I returned the laptop to its resting spot in my bedroom. Funny thing. The sound comes out of the laptop and not the TV. Perhaps the free app I downloaded to cast Zoom call doesn’t allow that. I wouldn’t pay a whopping $2.99 for a better app. Not until the free shit totally breaks down. It’s the principle of the thing. I may be a year wiser, but I’m still cheap.
By the next day, I tested out another free app to watch a YouTube video. Lo and behold! the sound came out of the TV. Then again, even the second app didn’t cast Zoom sound through the TV. At least this time, I read the fine print: “devices,” such as Zoom, which doesn’t have any built-in sound control, won’t allow TV sound. Live and learn.
This birthday has confirmed my belief that money can buy happiness with the right set of priorities. Everything I gifted myself contributes to mental and physical well-being.
Watching so much of the 2020 Olympics had me thinking. Those elite athletes have laser-sharp focus and make a tremendous effort within a minute skill set. Countries don’t send one athlete to do EVERY event or even a Noah Ark’s pair, but a team. An advanced team to compete, each in their area of expertise.
What captured my thoughts was this: if an olympiad doesn’t have the unrealistic expectations of doing it all, why do I? Somehow, my upbringing, where I was told I had to work twice as hard to get half as much as people who were born with more privilege, has been my driving factor. Do I regret my accomplishments? Of course not. Do I now value not trying to do it all. Hell yes!
The Olympics has helped drive home my new embrace of doing what I can as I can. I fully embrace that I don’t have a personal team to pick up the slack. I’ve had a fluid schedule for years now. Juggling what needed to be juggled, given the myriad of deadlines.
Yet, there was always some part of me, my damn inner critic, who longs to be a Super Negro, nagged that there was more to be had or more to be done. Not just in terms in money. If nothing else, my life has been proof that I’m not chasing money. Trying not to chase after poverty either.
What usually stops me from asking for help, much less assembling a team, though, is the lack of funding. I don’t feel right asking people to essentially donate their time for my creative cause. The other side of it is that I’ve learned to do many creative things in pursuit of a low-budget project.
At the same time, I don’t need an Olympic team to complete the things I’m doing. A small group of dedicated people who gathered for a common cause would do. Of course, the bigger the ask, the more the participants have to invest in their time and effort.
For now, I’m going to do as much as realistically can. One day, I’ll have my team.
I credit still being in a plague for all my Olympics viewing. There’s still a hotbed of COVID superspreading, so this event has broken up my usual TV programing.
And speaking of hotbed…some genius thought it would be a wonderful idea to make Olympiad beds out of a cardboard frame. First of all, if anyone can endure the rigors of having sex in untraditional places, whether it’s a tricked out bed, or comfortably contorting into a strength position for loving, it would be Olympiads. Secondly, if all else fails, there’s still the floor.
The opening ceremony was a 4 1/2 hour theatrical extravaganza. From the interpretative dance and tap dancing to the parade of nations, which displayed more flight attendant attire than anything else, but Tonga man was still an oiled up crowd pleaser. My absolute favorite part was the “living emoji” choreography with animation sequence, depicting the international symbols of the Olympic events. That production crew deserves an Oscar for that segment. The juxtaposition of Kabuki theater with that out of control jazz pianist was fabulous. I’ve never seen a pianist use so much of her body not only to play, but to dance with the instrument.
I watched events I had never seen before. At one point, I googled, “What’s the name of the Olympic sport that looks like soccer in a swimming pool?” No, I didn’t feel the least bit stupid when the words “water polo,” flashed on the screen. As a matter of fact, I’m happy I finally learned what that sport looked like after hearing about it for so long. I especially liked that the women’s USA team had a black goalie with long powerful arms, batting away the opposing team’s shots like stopping white women from touching her hair.
Besides the obvious rooting for the home team, or any other country I’ve lived in or Brazil since that’s the birthplace of capoeira, I enjoy learning the stories behind the athletes. Beyond being amazed by their physical acts of strength, I am inspired by their personal narratives. After all, I don’t know any of them personally. Not even the top gymnastic GOAT, Simone Biles, who resides in Houston when she’s not wowing the world with her spectacular feats.
The most awe-inspiring and unpredictable thing Biles did during this year’s games was to take a mental health break. The world watched in horror as she got lost in space while in the air during her vaulting routine. Gymnasts call this phenomenon “the twisties.” An athlete undergo catastrophic injuries when that happens. Fortunately, Biles didn’t suffer permanent physical injuries and knew to take a break.
The world overwhelming supported her wise decision, but the usual trolls demanded that she continue and ridiculed her for not continuing. This flared the “Black women must fight all battles all the time” argument. Sigh. One fine day, and I sincerely hope I live to see it, Black women will be seen as human beings and not beasts of burden who must utterly exhaust ourselves for the comfort and pleasure of others.
Meanwhile, other women are fighting to dress comfortably, given the rigors of their sport. Given the fact that The Olympics started when no women had a say in formulating the rules, now the athletes themselves must demand a voice such as the Norwegian handball team. They were fined because they wore comfortable shorts rather than the skimpy bikini bottoms. Pop star Pink offered to pay the fine, but in the end, the European Handball Federation paid the fine rather than the team itself.
Lots of controversy swirls around this year’s Olympics and many felt that the games should have been canceled due to the pandemic alone, in addition to all the other bullshit that goes on due to the Olympics.
As usual, I wonder if cancellation would better address any intersectionality of discrimination. Showing elite athleticism often breaks down barriers and allows spotlights to be shined on such things as mental health issues, gender disparity, sexual orientation discrimination and the such. How much can be gained by NOT seeing these athletes hailing from different backgrounds?
Just last year, the world protested against police brutality because they saw the video of George Floyd’s murder. Now, the world is witnessing how these seemingly arbitrary Olympic rules are being applied. Why, for example, an athlete cannot participate for consuming a THC gummy, which didn’t enhance her performance, but a country found guilty of doping its athletes to give them an edge can still participate with a name change.
The world is watching. There are many different ways to protest. Yet we cannot care about what we don’t know about. Video is a very powerful medium, which motivates the masses to take action in whatever form they have access to.
The mere presence of skateboarding for the first time as an Olympic event shows changes happen with advocacy. I look forward to the next Olympics. I optimistically hope the discussions we’re having now are woven into how things are run in 2024. I also hope that the next time around, I’ll have to make time in my busy schedule just to watch the Olympics…perhaps in a public place, unmasked on the weekends.
Two days after quitting both of my nonlucrative, remote, part-time jobs, I virtually attended the 80th Strange Family Reunion. Yet another silver lining from the coronavirus. The plague sank me financially, hence the two jobs, which kept me underemployed. Yet this global event allowed me to attend our family reunion two years in a row because all it cost me was time.
I met relatives I didn’t know existed and heard stories of ancestors I never knew. Thanks to technology, I’ve captured several narratives from the second generation of freeborn Stranges of whom my mother is one of the remaining of 12. I even took the opportunity to invite them all to participate in a podcast interview, which I launched last year, Strange Family Folklore.
Throughout the virtual program, I kept directing certain parts because I knew I’d eventually have to edit the video for posterity’s sake. I pointed out at the end of Sunday’s hourlong virtual church service, sermoned by one of my cousins, that next year when we’re all together in real life, our tradeoff will be not having a record of the program from start to finish like we’ve done in the past two years.
That prompted one of my sisters to suggest that “someone” could still record impromptu interviews with family reunion attendants, which motivated my other sister to volunteer her to do so. I felt that one coming on. Just like I knew yours truly would probably edit it.
Before I get too ahead of myself, though, I’ll focus on editing this year’s reunion. Since this will be my third Zoom recorded editing project, I’m hoping that it’ll be the charm. I finally have all the clips, including the ones from the other two breakout rooms. As three other people sent me their clips, I fondly remember how that step used to be the stumbling block.
This time around, I knew exactly what to ask them for and how to retrieve it, regardless of how they sent it to me. I even played the role of IT with one of my sisters. She was stuck in that loop of doing the same thing repeatedly, expecting a different result. She’s not crazy. She just didn’t know another way to send the mp4. Not until I talked her through it.
Fortunately, I’ve upped my technology game. My full-time job is tech heavy, and I’m also taking an evening Data Science class. My worst fears of biting off more than I could chew has not come true. If anything, the more I learn about how to use technology to pursue both work and creative projects, the happier I am.
My navigation through this modern jungle of existence has become more interesting. The light at the end of the tunnel isn’t a locomotive ready to mow me over after all.
My first in-person film fest event took place about 30 minutes outside of Austin proper.
Before heading out to the event, I coached myself not to automatically hug people I knew. After all, this was my third in-person event. I had to show some maturity and restraint. I asked first if someone accepted hugs or not. Progress.
Once I found my fellow board members, we hung that blasted banner. I’d learned my lesson the first time around over a year ago when we’d first used it. Only took one failed attempt this time before we settled for hanging it lower.
From there, we walked back to the hotel, which hosted the film festival.
We mingled and sipped free drinks. Thanks to a plague lesson, the bartender had a QR code for us to tip him. I don’t know if I’ll ever use cash ever again.
Closer to our co-sponsored happy hour, we strolled back over to the restaurant.
Technically, the festival organizer had paid for catered food. Still, I like to do my part. I knew the bartender was up-selling when he dazzled us with a description of a drink that wasn’t even on the menu. His showmanship was divine, so I ordered a “mariposa.” It was as pretty as he said it would be and garnished with edible flowers.
I mingled around the filmmaker crowd.
I view all of our events as membership opportunities. Nonetheless, I was impressed how many had come from out of town. I’d mistakenly thought no one had disposable income to do something like this. That was me projecting.
Although I left at midnight, two hours before the event was scheduled to end, I counted my attendance a success. Least of all, I’d made lemonade out of lemons. Training for my lucrative full-time job was supposed to be the next morning. Due to a computer glitch, my start date had to be pushed back two weeks. That door closed, so this opportunity opened.
As I continue to navigate through the post-COVID jungles of landing lucrative employment, I now have to include working out a schedule that includes in-person social events. What a refreshing change of pace–fitting live events into my work/life/bingewatching balance.
