eh heh heh, about that whole Austin vacation thing....see, I've been sick for a couple of weeks, and, um, well, I sorta lost all motivation for anything and everything....I've been a titch miserable see, just sleeping the days away...

But now I'm back to it! I won't let my readers down. Presenting, Thursday! Austin, Texas!

It was a cooool day, temperature wise. I think the mercury plunged below 60. Freezing, totally. But it was a nice, refreshing change. Fern and I rode our bikes to the Spider House for morning brews and a lil' intellectual kickstart. We attempted to sit outside but found the chill air a bit unpleasant, so we made ourselves comfortable on an old couch inside. I remember being impressed by the room's antique lighting fixtures. Across the room from us were two college chicks talking about car's engines or something deadly boring like that. It was a comfortable start to the day.

Our first big activity was touring the Harry Ransom Research Center, which according to our guide books, was one of the absolute greatest things about Austin. The Center is home to an enormous collection of original manuscripts and such. Sitting in its lobby is one of five Guttenburg Bibles that currently exists in the United States. These Bibles were the first "substantial" books to be published using moveable print. Its immense size and the display created for it certainly impressed.

The bottom floor of the Center featured two relatively large exhibits. One consisted of grotesque, distorted portraits of various literary giants (?). Next to the portraits were several responses from the persons portrayed by the artist. Nearly all voiced their great distaste over the artist's depiction of them. People have claimed that the subject of one painting was so affected by the disgusting image of himself at an old age, that he died soon after viewing it. Which I could almost understand, since the paintings exaggerated all that was old and unnatractive about the subjects, playing to their greatest insecurities and fears.

The other featured exhibit was on Norman Mailer, someone I had no knowledge of before that day. Thanks to the Center, I was quickly able to familiarize myself with the man and his accomplishments through the display of various letters, books, pictures, and other memorabilia. Mailor first wrote books that placed the reader in the trenches with soldiers during WWII. His characters spoke crudely and explicity. Mailor was one of the first popular authors to overcome the censorship of the time. His bold, brilliant writing always pushed back the lines of what was acceptable, or publishable. He involved himself in politics and, to some degree, activism. He was regarded by his peers as a genius... I enjoyed looking over a letter sent to Mailor by Truman Capote. Both men's handwriting spoke volumns about them (or so my Grandpa the handwriting analasyst would say)...obviously, my knowledge of the man is infitismal, so I'll move on.

Our next stop was Jack Blanton's Museum of Art. First, let me say that I really, really enjoy museum experiences. Its just that I think art museums ought to look like museums, instead of a nondescript sports facility buildings where one might expect to find a women's college basketball game in progress. Also, I believe that the entrance to museums should hint at the grandeur inside, instead of resembling a back door where one might find employees milling around smoking cigarettes.

Ok, so the museum wasn't impressive from the outside. What mattered was what was inside. There we found huge renaissance paintings, a grand white staircase, some neat modern art, and some tasteful classical art, including sketches from Rembrandt. At one point, Fern and I's tendency to make light of serious things began to get the best of us. I think our joking around among the priceless works of art gained the attention of a security guard or two. Finally, I'll note that the renaissance paintings were impressive in size and impact, but tended to bore me due to the repetitious depiction of religious imagery, including the baby Jesus. Have you ever noticed that painters of the time had a hard time making babies look like babies? They look more like out of shape MiniMes.

Moving on. We ate cheap Mexican food for lunch. We rode our bikes to Book People and had a quality sit down. I treated myself to chocolate cake and a mocha. I sought out a book on near death experiences-a type of book that is proving difficult to find.

On our way back to the hotel, we did some shopping on Lamar and 2nd street. After a break, we headed out in search of good food and live music. Dinner was absolutely amazing. We ordered Texas flat-iron steaks at Moonshine. As Fern mentioned, it was the best steak I ever had. Our search for a hangout after the steak was rather dissapointing, as the first place we visited was so dark we could barely see each other, and the wine was ridiculously expensive, and there was no live music (a bar in Austin with no live music, unheard of!). The second place we walked into was a sad, sad, lame bar. We left as soon I was able to knock back a Jack n' Coke. Then we walked down 6th street as things were beginning to pick up. There was plenty going on, but yes, it was a college town on a Thursday night; and a hip, tasteful hangout with good live music was not to be found. Still, the dissapointment was not felt too deeply, since we had a fantastic live jazz experience a few days before. We tromped home and went to sleep.

To find out the sequence of events on our last day in Austin, check out Fern's blog. I'll simply add a memory or two. Our mountain bike ride on Friday took us over terrain so rugged and challenging that it seemed as though we were traveling 5 miles for every mile we actually covered, which was great since we had most of the day for that adventure. Manuevering over and around rocks, trees, and vines demanded an acute sharpening of our senses and response times-producing fantastic sensations. I was glad we had a chance to experience the land as it existed pre-Austin. We really felt far away from civilization down in the woods, amid the rocks and cliffs of Barton creek.

Ah, I must go now. I have yet to gain back full vitality after two weeks of the flu doldrums. Sleep remains a priority. I bid goodnight.