Pre-Columbian Mountaineer

This cake is from the crafty Miss Hall, baked for my pre-going away going away party held at the beginning of May due to scheduling conflicts.  Now, the beginning of June, I have taken flight and with nary a backward glance; adios Houston!

Every now and then I allow myself a book that I call "in-flight reading," namely, "something I found in the airport bookshop 5 minutes before boarding and it looks like it may keep my from falling asleep on the person next to me for the next few hours." High lit is not necessary: page-flipping fluff is the general objective.   I have sought and received in-flight insurance against drooling on strangers most recently with the following: Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen, Dying Inside by Robert Silverberg, The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger, and The Enchantress of Florence by Salman Rushdie.  

The results?  Shoddy on the whole.  Gruen's was by far my favorite, if not only for my penchant for elephants and Depression-era circus trains (elephants love alcohol!  And lemonade!).  As for Silverberg and Niffenegger?  I tried.. I tried to get into the fun (is that why they do it?) of telepathy and time-travel but in the end find the whole bag so fraught with gimmicks and problems I can't help but roll my eyes.  Also, each author had sex ticks that really got under my skin; Silverberg is a breast man, and he will never be able to convince me of an equally as vested interest in a single other subject on planet earth, and Niffenegger couldn't quite pull away from a lilting dependence on Nora Roberts-esque lovemaking scenes.  Even if they happened across time, across worlds,  the presence of a tuxedo and white opera gloves whilst swiping a V-card does not equal romance.

And Rushdie: I cannot get that image of him from Bridget Jones out of my head.  Not even long enough to marvel at the breadth of languages necessary to catch those pithy name puns.  Jerk.

Anyway, the in-flight pleasure of my move to Baltimore was The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows.  This is not one of those obnoxious-looking Sweet Potato Queen books, but rather a collection of correspondence taking place directly following WWII.  Even though the chief recommender on the book's cover was that Eat, Love, Pray Operah-nite, I was fortunately undeterred and am very charmed by the thing.  I may even take up real, carpal tunnel-inducing correspondence once finished.  

Now.. packing, storing, and trekking off to the mountains in a week.  

Unpaid plug

So I am one week until take off and I'm finding myself becoming a little nostalgic about Houston.  More specifically, I'm feeling nostalgic about the Houston I've experienced as an adult, not necessarily the Houston I was exposed to as a child. By the time we were in high school, we were all ready for adventure in some exotic out-of-state location that wasn't humid, polluted, boring, humid, crowded, humid Houston.  We found ourselves in Virginia, Wisconsin, Ohio.  We figured anything in these rural, cold towns just HAD to be better than some tired Texas city with the climate of a mouth.  

Returning as an adult, I found Houston to be busy, diverse, quirky, romantic, cheap and yes, still very humid.  But all of a sudden there were places to go, delicious food to eat, cheap drinks and long happy hours, and many, many venues for music, dancing, art, and sports.  And here go my unpaid plugs:

U of H has poetry readings at Poison Girl every month, and each Wednesday at 10 Agora faithfully provides belly dancing.  There's sangria and margaritas in Rice Village, ethnic and vegetarian fare in Montrose, karaoke and dancing in midtown.  Rothko Chapel has poetry/music happenings, and the art scene can be as formal as an MFAH members' only reception to the very casual house-parties at the Joanna by St. Thomas, complete with Christmas-tree bonfires in homage to Heath Ledger.  You can go hang on the President's busts at the David Addicks studio and watch the sunset over the downtown skyline.  You can have brunch picnics on the Menil lawn.  You can buy Mexican dresses for $20 at the supermarket.  Adulthood has even offered insight into this humidity issue: Houstonians may have terrible hair, but we have fabulous, ageless skin.  

How did I miss all of this when I was growing up?

Fiesta!  Where you can buy limes and avocados and jalepenos by the barrel...

..and then you can go around the corner and pick up a new pair of boots.  

Dan Flavin

Dan Flavin

Cafe Adobe: happy hour from 11am--7pm, everyday.
The Big Show!
MFAH
MFAH

Montrose; I've seen this delightful friend stopped at many a street light, banjo at the ready.

Kool Aid man at Poison Girl

Armadillo Palace