hella good

one of my favorite yoga teachers i ever had was a girl who had trained as a teen and now taught in her young twenties in LA. she had bleached blond long hair and wore those sweats with juicy written across her ass. she had an ass, mind you, not a butt or anything like that; she herself referred to it as such.

she was completely without guile or affectation, naturally spiritual like this: she'd obviously grown up in the valley and so had seen it all and was absolutely nonplussed, the way only true angeleans can be. they just dont give a damn about affecting some approximate cool. its totally unnecessary for people who just live.

so she'd come to class with a gigantic starbucks double-shot cappuccino and neon-colored juicy pants and she'd take everyone to heaven. it all had humor but serious depth. she was everyone's favorite because she wasnt full of it. chick could disarm an army.

i love that. i despise preciousness. i appreciate the get on with it thing.

last night a business owner downtown revealed to me that the whole city is undergoing a massive attack at the architectural level (he didnt call it that) and that soon over the next four years or so there will be interesting chilean 'scrapers rising over little cow town austin like a vegas bad dream. oh well. he and his business partner kept repeating what obviously they'd heard in chamber of commerce meetings for local business investors--it'll be alright, it was inevitable. you know, words you'd use in any hostile-takeover or coup d'etat. not a problem.

sleepers just keep sleepin.

heat rising

hey, lover dog.

o. hey.

whats up!

nothing. just waiting.

waiting?

yeah. pretty much.

hey, uh, he-who-suddenly-speaks-very-little, whats the changeup for? are you down?!? in doggie heaven?

dont start. im older now, wiser. things change. shit happens. i may not be in the physical anymore but my understandings are growing and lemme tell you, i actually miss you and your absolutely terrible life.

hey!

seriously.

thats MY terrible life youre talking about, take it easy.

i do. i miss the hot asphalt which would burn the bottom of my feet pads off but you would have no idea, making me stand in the parking lot of some random irrelevance of a town.

o, now you sound like me.

i actually miss you, can you believe it?

um yeah. actually. ive been missing you from the beginning. since you died.

well but jenn, youre you. you know. cant be helped, im just a little thrown. i miss food.

um shep?

yeah.

uh, is it weird if like, a dead dog and a live human go on as though nothing had changed? like, still hung out and did things together? im sorry i just dont want to replace you or some crap like that. are you into it, even if its weird?

arent we already doing that?

oh yeah. good point. ok. so youre ok with it?

at which point did i seem to have a choice?

yeah. ok. me too. strange. never thought it would go this way.

hmm.

k.

(silence)

(silence)

k.

ps

in answer to a host of emails,

as if 21 question marks doesnt say this clear enough,

the answer is NO. HAYELL no. i dont do gladiator sports.

the funny thing, sis, is

i got a call from NBC this afternoon, asking me if i would be on the batchelor. i said, the who? ryan seacrest, the american idol host, is... sorry? ryan seacrest, the kiss-fm radio dude? um, yeah, except he's a tv dude now. oh! cool, yeah? yeah, well, im calling from the batchelor, i have your headshot in front of me and we'd like you to come down to houston for some interviews for the show, meet ryan and...



can you say, ???????????????????? twice?

boomtown

utah

spent the day down at a house party for some seriously worthy musicians here in town for a residency. down in shady hollow, land of the burbs and the folks who stay down under for whatever reason. and then there are those of us who travel, who roam a little, and record, and play, in search of a way to do everything better (hopefully) and even more lovingly than we thought we could. for all our hunger, out want, we are what we have wanted to be, and that's free. from tyrannical uncomfortable non-artistic life.

utah phillips just died. his wife joanna, his kids, his family- write them. they must miss him terribly. the family want to donate funds to hospitality house in grass valley-- a worthy, worthy thing in his name. funny, aint it, how life will find you out? and then make everything right! here's the link to the shelter, or, more directly, his family. and the official obit here,



my friend who lives in grass valley wrote me back to say yes, that her town had celebrated his life in a huge way today. about 800 or more met at the park and there were stories, songs, prayers, you name it -- john mccutcheon flew in, etc dot dot dot.

we are doing a show on wednesday over at a little cafe on east 5th, come by and throw something in the tip jar, and we'll send it on to hospitality house for him. and join a chorus of the song i'm gonna do for him, one of his- do you know it?

rabbit rabbit