mmm, food

Apr. 18th, 2009 12:21 pm
storyrainthejournal: (Default)
Went for dinner last night with a friend in town just for the evening, on her way to the TIL awards thing today (she has a short story up for their annual award, go her!). We met, with some other local types, at a new place in my neighborhood (ironically, it was my friend, who lives in Atlanta and read about it, who suggested the place) called The Good Knight. It was wonderful!

Small menu, but if covers the ground for both vegetarians and meat eaters, with both meatloaf and a veggie-nut loaf, and everything we had was so freaking good. Plus yummy cocktails that weren't ridiculously expensive. Fried green and red tomatoes with an aioli were so perfectly done we gobbled them up and ordered more; the pate of the day was chicken liver and pistachio with grilled bread, also yum; salad with pickled shitakes and honeyed cashews; and a revelatory scalloped potato, turnip, and parsnip with goat cheese and gruyere, excellently seasoned. This food was effing good. My cocktail was a Pimm's Cup, Pimm's with cucumber and ginger ale.

And this place is a fifteen minute walk from me. I am quite gleeful about this.

The walk was fun, too; I got some light rain and the twilight was alive with birds. Walked by the old school bars with their doors open and a very Mexican feel, men yelling out at me (in my shlubby jeans, and oversized jacket, why?), a lady of the evening hanging out on her phone at the door of one...and then a block down, the indie-hipster colors of Rio Rita's, with its flower beds bursting with blooms just freshened by the rain. My neighborhood: change and diversity on the hoof.

storyrainthejournal: (froggyhashat)

Scenes in Austin during SXSW when one is keeping their distance from same:

young woman in black tanktop, yellow tutu, and black combat boots riding bicycle

turning on radio in car to hear interview with friend about his band; at one point, explaining how he ended up in Austin, the came for college, succumbed to lifestyle story is trotted out (it's so common here) and he says, "It's a soft trap, hard to escape."

three dogs of graduated sizes on lofts green chasing balls as music rolls over all from the club across the street 


In other news, my website,, is currently undergoing transfer from under the capable and generous custodianship of the talented, awesome, wonderful  kelly-yoyo into the hands of the much less competent me. Currently if you try to visit (you in the back, stop laughing), you get a placeholder. All fixed, byt the grace of the ever-awesome [ profile] kelly_yoyo.

Also, if anyone wanted to read "The Blue Parallel," for which there's a link over to the right, for some reason it's not currently available at The Hub's site. I'm checking into it.
storyrainthejournal: (Default)
The Phobot. Life vs. mimicry of life. Some people used to (and some still do) think animals were little more than automatons of life, and that humans anthropomorphized them when they attributed feeling and such to them. But a lot of more recent scientific findings say those people who read human response into animals are in fact not so far off. But robots? It bothers me, this issue… Don't get me wrong, I like robots, robots are cool, but...I'd rather have a kitten. On that note, Crow adopts Kitten - ignore the narrative frame; the stuff of children's books and folktales.
Took the car in to Groovy Automotive yesterday morning, and it only started to overheat and smoke just as I got there. Um. Yay? (Car troubles stress me out so much—they’re the main reason I haven’t owned a car in 18 years, because I’ve never been able to afford a new car and used ones always have issues.) A laid back guy in a knit cap signed the car in; over the course of our conversation I learned he had sustained a lot of hearing loss in the military (he was pretty young, so I’m guessing Gulf or Iraq), grew up in the neighborhood where I now live, and does not, himself, own a car, but rides a bicycle.

The shuttle driver who dropped me at work had wild hair and a full beard, though he, too, was pretty young (relative to me, okay?); a drummer by vocation (yes, we had the vocation/day job discussion).

Groovy, man. Only in Austin. 
storyrainthejournal: (meditate/levitate)
Adventures in my neighborhood…
Walking to the bus stop this morning, saw a cop, with two attendant cop cars with flashing lights, dusting a new looking civilian car for prints; (yesterday morning a cop car with flashing lights was stopped diagonally in the street for no apparent reason by a field between a fast cash store front and a warehouse.) Roosters crowing and cop cars flashing. And a school bus picking up kids. It’s wild, I tell ya. (I’ve had two different people tell me recently my neighborhood is scary, and really, I have to laugh; these people clearly grew up in Austin. This neighborhood is Candyland compared to parts of Philadelphia in which I lived.)
Leaving work early today to go do my early voting. There’s a big Obama rally downtown tonight, to which I will not be going, as I don’t like political rallies even when I like the politico. The only rallies I do are anti-war rallies. And I don't enjoy them.
Just received the galley proofs for “When the Ice Goes Out” and editor Noreen Doyle has posted the cover for Otherworldy Maine here on her website. I think it’s a pretty swell cover.
storyrainthejournal: (froggy)
In the category of wow, or as the person who sent the link said, thank god for madmen. This is another thing I actually find just a little hard to believe.


Things that have been stuck in my head of late:

To your fruited bodies go. (I dunno; I've been researching fungi, maybe my brain got jostled and the mushroom research got mixed up in the book titles section, like chocolate in peanut butter)

The refrain from a credit card commercial (which is actually a Tony Bennet song), of which I will only burden you with the first few words: Are you having any fun...

Also, tumbling bits of scene, idea, character, setting for all sorts of stories I haven't written, started, or thought much about yet. I love it when my brain gets like this, but I need to carry a notebook and pen at all times, everywhere.

storyrainthejournal: (dogwantbone)
For the last bunch of years, I’ve observed Halloween and Dio de Los Muertos as a time to honor the ancestors, specifically my grands and greats who’ve died. By honor I mean, mostly, remember.
Apparently I look most like the Carlson side of my family, which would be my maternal grandmother Beverly’s family. They came from Schleswig Holstein, the northern part, I think, as they’re more of Danish than German descent. Danish Jews, dontchya know. The Carlsons owned a big department store, and apparently had money. And a Carlson ancestor is said to have come over to the states in the 1700s and been a trapper-trader. That's early for the Jews, dude.
My Grandmother Beverly was not the easiest person. She never thought my father was ‘good enough.’ After both my siblings married goyim, she whispered to me, once, loud enough to be heard by them, that she certainly hoped I was going to marry a Jewish boy. I’m told that at my brother’s wedding she shoved my father’s third wife (a goy) aside.
But she was the first person in my family to take me seriously as a writer, at a young age, when everyone else just said ‘that’s nice, sweetie.’ She gave me useful feedback and encouraged me--she was also instrumental in getting me to go to college after I'd dropped out of highschool. My grandfather Abe was a writer, with several YA fiction books about boys at camp to his authorial credit (though I’ve read one, and, well, um…sorry Grandpa, not so much), and Beverly was, until the end of her life, a dedicated and voracious reader.
Three things I associate strongly with Beverly and Abe: swimming—she swam every day until almost the end of her life—root beer floats (summer nights in Maine, a treat they had rather religiously), and Scrabble. My grandfather generally kicked everyone’s ass, getting a couple of seven letter words in each game.
Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you’ll have good luck… Today I found a penny on my bus seat, only it’s a Netherlands penny, not a U.S. one. It’s tiny and has a woman’s head on it, surrounded by stars, with the words (teeny tiny) Beatrix Koningin Der Nederlanden circling her.
Tonight after work I will go to a bon(e)fire at N&C&co’s; there will be s’mores and sparklers, but no actual bones.
In Japan, large fires called bon-bi are set to welcome the return of the spirits of the ancestors. Though the two terms are not etymologically or historically related, they serve similar purposes and indicate the universal importance of large fires.


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