I went for a walk last night, mostly to watch the moon.
It didn’t do me much good, because it was cloudy most of the night.
It was a bit like magic though, because it wasn’t some clear thing.
It wasn’t the bat signal, lighting up the sky.
It was this hazy disc of red, that was really only seen if you were *looking* for it.
I went to the top of the hill near the vivarium. It’s a beautiful view.
Hill country. Green; trees, people.
San Antonio really is a beautiful city.
I will be leaving Texas behind (farewell vivarium! Farewell my magnificent Shadow!) and I will be heading to New Zealand.
I’ve got my sights set on Nelson, but I think there will be a bit of following the wind on this one.
(Nelson just so happens to be a town known for it’s art scene, with lots of opportunities for glassblowing, as well as a flight school, and the jewellery company that created pretty much all the stuff for the Lord of the Rings films. So I mean. Pretty much everything I want to do in life, all handily packaged in one town. )
It’s not quite tourist season, so I might wind up with something seasonal.
(We’ll see how it goes when I actually *get* to New Zealand.)
For now, I’m packing up, cleaning out.
I’m really excited to be back on the road.
It was nice to have a bit of a break, but I’ve still got restless feet and so much of the world to see.
If there is anyone who personifies Texan stereotypes – it might well be Kinky Friedman. He’s got his own line of cigars, and a his own brand of Tequila. He even ran for office.
He also apparently writes noir novels, though I haven’t had a chance to read any of those yet.
Mostly, though, he wanders around with a guitar, being a Texan bard.
(I’m not totally sure how I feel about this, to be honest.)
I think one of the most interesting things about the Kinky Friedman concert (aside from the age gap. I’m pretty sure there was a solid gap of at least a decade between me and pretty much everyone else there.) but the crowd was shockingly international.
There was a table from New Zealand, a couple from Australia. There was a group from Sweden. There was a Canadian couple on their honeymoon.
I think that, for me, I’d definitely have to read more lyrics and probably do some more looking into things before I come to a conclusion about Kinky.
(It probably didn’t help that I had absolutely *no* idea what I was getting into, but hey. That’s sort of how I roll.)
There used to be a softball team that I was tangentially involved with – it was run by the local Episcopal church, and was, consequently, named ‘The Episco-bats”.
(This was mostly because that episcopal church had a mascot. When it had gone through a remodel, a small bat had been found in the belltower, and been named ‘Archie’. ‘Archie the Episco-bat’ was definitely the best team mascot in the softball league. By *far*.)
This team had a very dedicated fanbase, that came up with pages of cheers, full of some truly inspiringly bad puns. (Literally pages. There were fan packs that got passed out, pages of cheers that had been printed off and stapled together.)
‘Bats in the bellfree, bats in the tower!
Bats in the diamond, Episcobat power!’
(Which is what gets stuck in my head, every time I think about bats.)
…Now, when I walk to work, I pass under this bridge.
Like many bridges, this bridge is inhabited by a colony of bats.
Walking underneath the thing truly smells awful, but, often, I get a break around sunset, and I can go out and watch the show.
Let’s take a moment to appreciate some booze that feels like it could only ever come out of Texas…
Oh, yeah.
I was walking home the other day – it was dark, but I had an extra plastic bag in my backpack.
(I have a really bizarre assortment of shit that I always have in my backpack. It’s all really super useful all the time though, so whatevs. I’m prepared like that.)
Anyway, what should I find on the footpath, but a pair of crows.
Naturally, all I can think about is how much I WANT TO HAVE QUILLS.
So, being me, I immediately grab my plastic bag and a flashlight and set to see if I can get any useable feathers off these birds.
Then I realize that they’re covered in insects already.
And I’m still about a mile and a half from home.
Am I willing to carry a bag full of feathers that will be sprouting unknown insects for the next mile and a half?
No.
No I am not.
Apparently I don’t want quills *that* badly…
But I still *really* want quills.
Dear Texas,
WHY DO YOU HAVE NO ROADKILL OUTSIDE MY HOUSE. SERIOUSLY. THIS IS *TEXAS*.
THERE SHOULD BE ROADKILL.
That is all.
I was sitting outside the Starbucks where I work, and I got an alert on my mobile, warning of flash floods.
I looked at the sky and thought ‘..Nah. It’s super nice out.’
Twenty minutes later, I looked at the sky and though ‘Fuck. I really need to get home before the rain starts.’
I got on my bike.
On of the side mirrors had come a bit loose, so I thought I might see if I could tighten it up a bit before I started home.
Instead, I managed to snap it clean off.
So, now, I was without a mirror, and hoping to avoid rain.
A bit pre-occupied, I drove to exit the parking lot, where I did an exceedingly poor job of picking the right angle to avoid a pothole, and ended up in an extremely awkward position at the entrance to the road.
Instead of making the turn, I managed to drop my bike.
I picked it up, got it started, and got back on the road.
I was…maybe half-way home when the rain started.
By the time I was at the intersection nearest to my house, there were several inches of standing water on the road.
Every time a car went by, I would get absolutely *drenched*. Like, waves of water would go over my head every time a car would pass by me.
I am soaked. My bag is soaked.
EVERYTHING I OWN IS WET.
Awww yeah. Check out that puddle I made from walking in the fucking door.
EVERYTHING I OWN IS WET!!!!
And hung up on my shower-curtain road to drip off (hopefully) into the tub.
I…am a tea snob.
I’m honestly pretty proud of it. (Though honestly, I was indoctrinated into the church of Yorkshire Gold, and see no reason to turn my back to Glory.)
But.
Folk here in Texas *really* like sweet tea.
Now, if you’ve never had sweet tea, just imagine this: Take “tea”. Not *good* tea. Don’t bother using something that you actually want to be able to taste. Get the most shit, cheapest tea available.
Like, dollar-store tea.
Then, imagine this tea has been oversteeped to hell and back.
Why had this tea been oversteeped to hell and back?
Because, while it’s hot, they dump in a metric *fuckton* of sugar.
Like, maybe one cup of sugar to every cup of water in your tea.
For starters.
Some people add more to taste.
Anyway.
The point is: I work at a place where tea and coffee are sold.
The other day, I had just gotten off work, and decided to have a nice cup of tea.
Only, I wasn’t paying attention, and I accidentally wound up with *sweet tea*.
*shudder*.
HOW CAN SOMETHING WITH THAT MUCH SUGAR IN IT STILL BE BITTER AS FUCK.
I was practically *shaking* from the sugar content.
and it was so bitter.
I DON’T GET IT.
I DO NOT UNDERSTAND SWEET TEA.
I’M SORRY.
I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.
It’s official: I’ve been back in the U.S. long enough to start itching for a road trip.
I’m in Texas. There’s so much I haven’t seen.
(Read: Virtually everything.)
I’m only two hours from the ocean.
There’s an entire *desert* out there to explore.
There are small towns, and shit roads and places I haven’t *been* yet.
My walls are starting to get covered in maps again.
I want to go somewhere and get lost.
I have a new driver’s license (With a motherfuckin’ *M* on it, BOO-YAH!!!).
I have registered to vote (In Bexar county, which is pronounced ‘Bear’, because silent ‘X’s.).
Add MediaI am….officially a resident of Texas.
It’s warm, and beautiful and I am so happy, but…
oh my god.
What have I done???
foxfinding 