I was thinking that I should have a space online to aggregate my work (the "Written Elsewhere") page. It's been an interesting exercise, to look through 2010's stories and blog posts. At this point, I barely remember writing some of them, although I'm happy to report that in most cases I still agree with myself.

Looking back on my childhood, I measure time based on where I was. If that happened in California, it was middle school, therefore it was 1994 or 1995. Now looking at that list of articles, it seems like the new signposts for my personal life are national disasters and political events. The worst summer of my life corresponds pretty neatly to the Deepwater Horizon oil spill, which is actually metaphorically serendipitous, although I wish I had been less heartbroken during those months, so I could have had more étouffée. 
I loved it. Although it's a remake of the 1969 John Ford/John Wayne movie, to me the resonant reference point is Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. The Western as picaresque, the love triangle that largely elides romance and doesn't force a choice...

There was some controversy among the group about the shooting cornbread scene. My father thought it was unrealistic that a man in as precarious and risky a position as the Rooster would allow himself to get sloppily drunk. I thought it was unrealistic that they would shoot all their cornbread.

My interpretation of the ending is that Rooster sent Maddie to Memphis to pick up his body. If he had wanted to see her, he would have suggested the show in Greensboro.
Yesterday I went with Mark to the Armadillo Christmas Bazaar, an annual showcase for local artists. My favorite was Jay Long. I'm thinking of going back to get this print, although this one would look good in a bathroom.

A side note about armadillos. They jump straight up in the air when a predator comes at them. That's why they're so often roadkill. :-(

A spare bicycle tube, a baseball, and a jump rope. Documentaries about Garry Kasparov and Irving Howe. A bottle of detergent specifically for lingerie. Business cards from two dozen states, a flotilla of also-rans, and a firearms instructor. My own business cards for old jobs--writer, consultant, writer. A handheld Simon Trickster. A traffic ticket from St. Charles' Parish (oops). Boxes of Darjeeling, Oolong, and "Russian Caravan." A cache of love letters. A mechanical pencil from the City of Hiroshima: "we are also devoted to inventing and promoting Peaceful Technology." Two Gary Cooper stamps.

Now which of this stuff am I supposed to throw away?
About today. I had unpleasant dreams and woke up kicking off the covers even thought it was cold in the house. I crept out of bed to drink some cold Gatorade and put on the fan, which registered a room temperature of 65 degrees. At 5 am I decided it was too hot to sleep any more, and then I fell asleep for a few more hours. In the afternoon I went to brunch with a mixed group of friends at a trendy restaurant in downtown Austin. I spent a few peaceful minutes in space, staring blankly west toward Congress Avenue, before I realized that it was unsociable. For appetizers we had salad, tender pulled pork, loamy grits with jalapenos, and macaroni and cheese heavy with Grana Padano. When the entrees came I could only eat part of a tortilla. My hair has smelled like a campfire all day from standing next to the chiminea last night.

About this blog. It's my scratch pad. Any mistakes are my own, but so are any good parts. :-) .