Yesterday was the 10th anniversary of the SOS ordinance, which was originally passed to protect Barton Springs, often considered the spiritual heart of Austin, and a damn fine swimming hole if nothing else. Admission to the Springs was free, and there was pretty good live music playing all day.

The great irony is that, a few days before this anniversary, the city essentially caved in to development pressure and nullified the ordinance.

This also gave me a moment of reflection: I moved back to Austin ten years ago, right around the time the ordinance passed. At the time, I was already dismayed at the growth in Austin, and predicted the town had another 10-15 good years left in it, after which I would probably leave. And here I am, ten years later. I’m still dismayed at the growth, but still here. I live in an idyllic part of town, I don’t need to wrestle with the traffic on a regular basis, and so I am insulated from the worst of it. But sometimes I think of the frog-in-boiling-water metaphor, and wonder if that applies to me.

While I know that none of my friends with full-time jobs, whether they’re at startups or blue-chip multinationals, have much sense of job security anymore, there’s still something weird about freelancing.

The past two weeks I had almost no work, which is damned alarming, you can bet. Today I am sitting on about 24,000 words worth of work. That’s a fair amount—probably $3500 in two weeks.

Go figure.

What a great weekend.

Some of Gwen’s friends organized a campout at Colorado Bend State Park. I got a few pictures. The park was pretty nice–about 10 miles down a gravel road, 100 miles away from home. Right on the Colorado River, at a point where a stream feeds into it. There’s a hiking trail along the stream, which has a few small waterfalls and some pretty good swimming holes, which were the major attraction for us. A lot of bubbas were attracted by the oppportunity to take their motorboats and personal watercraft out on the river. Oh well.

Gwen and I arrived at about 10:00 PM Friday, hooked up with the few people who had made it out there ahead of us, and set up our tent. Made a fine dinner of tuna steak, mashed potatoes, and curried rice. More people in our group started showing on Saturday, and we had a full day of hanging out, walking the trail, soaking in chilly stream water, eating, hanging out some more, and eating some more. In the course of the day we discovered a secluded group campsite, and Susan decided we should move there. The park office was closed by this time, but Susan found a ranger, who cleared it. So we pulled up stakes (literally) and moved about a fifth of a mile. The new site really was better, and not just for us, as it spared our former campsite neighbors from the group’s late-night singalong of bad 80s music (unfortunately, it did not spare me). A big feast, with lots of very fine food and lots of wine was put on. To derail my campmates’ caterwauling, I did a fire set.

Sunday was another rough day of soaking at the swimming hole; we packed up around 2:00 and hauled ass back to Austin (those country roads seem to have no speed limit).

That would make for a fine weekend right there, but there was plenty more fun to be had. Gwen and I had tickets for the very last show in Austin by the Flaming Idiots, so we got cleaned up and went to that. It was great fun–those guys are really talented as jugglers, but also good comedians and showmen.

But wait, there’s more–Jenny had invited us to meet up with her at Flipnotics to catch Shorty Long. Flipnotics is walking distance from the Zach Scott Theater where we saw the Idiots, so we strolled over and caught the band. Jenny had told us they reminded her a lot of the Asylum Street Spankers (a band we love), and when we got there, it was clear why–Shorty Long has both Pops and Mysterious John from the Spankers. Anyhow, Shorty Long put on an excellent, high-energy show lasting over two hours. I marvelled that we live in a town where talent of that quality is playing for tips at a small coffee shop on a Sunday night. Jenny and Gwen also had a chance to meet, and that was good.

Yesterday was Father’s Day, and Gwen and I drove down to Houston in her snazzy new wedgelet to visit her father, who happened to be there on business. He’s even more curmudgeonly than my own dad.

We all visited the Natural Science Museum, specifically the Butterfly Center. This was really wonderful–the exhibit was a little short on education, but is still worthwhile. The un-educational aspect fits perfectly with the rest of the museum, which is among the most commercial I’ve ever seen. One buys tickets (which aren’t cheap) to specific exhibits, not the whole museum. The exhibits are packaged and marketed like movies at a cinemaplex, with promotional displays and posters. That, combined with the fact that the museum also has an imax screen, makes it downright confusing as to whether a given attraction is an exhibit or movie. The museum had two gift shops (that I noticed), plus a McDonald’s right on the premises.

We then ate dinner at Kim Son, a Vietnamese joint that is a Houston institution. I had a really excellent shrimp curry.

And then it was about time to go home, so we did.

Jenny points out that the aforementioned movie theater chain is one that specializes in rehabbing dead movie theaters. That’s a noble goal, even if the results are kind of, well, laughable.

So I went and did it–bought a new car. A silver Subaru WRX wagon, exactly as pictured here. To say that I am nervous about taking on car payments is an embarrassing understatment.

I’ve got a crablike spiny orb-weaver living in my front yard. I’ve long been interested in spiders, and this is certainly an interesting kind of spider. He/she builds a new web every day, and the webs are pretty big–a few feet across.

I’ve also got a bunch of wolf spiders that hang around the house.

More test-drive fun yesterday. I drove a couple of Subaru Imprezas–the plain-vanilla RS, and the completely insane WRX.

The RS is a good car–it drives well, and Consumer Reports rates it highly for durability. It’s got a pretty potent engine for a car of its size, good handling, and that all-wheel drive really does make a difference, I think, on iffier maneuvers.

The WRX is another beast entirely. Its engine is considerably more powerful, its handling tighter, brakes stronger, everything. It’s very direct and as subtle as a sledgehammer. Tap the gas and get pushed back in the seat.

Both cars are definitely more on the sporty side–in both, you really hear the engine and are aware of what’s going on. This contrasts with the Jetta, which drives well, but doesn’t constantly remind you of everything that’s going on–it’s a lot more like a luxury car in that regard. Likewise, the Subarus have cheesy interiors, compared to the posh Jetta. Not badly engineered, necessarily, but obvious skimping here and there with vinyl sun visors, that sort of thing.

The RT Impreza is a good deal, and I could certainly content myself with it…but driving the WRX really captured my imagination. It’s more car than I need, and might even prove to be a bit annoying for long road trips. And it’s quite a bit more money, and this is a serious consideration for me. Though the price is reasonable for what it is–basically a race car disguised as a sedan.

This is truly hilarious.

Once upon a time, I was a member of the Japan Association of Translators. In fact, I served for a few years as a director, during which time I helped the group purchase its domain name and set up its website. So my name and address got stuck in Network Solution’s database. At the time, the president of JAT was Jeremy Whipple, a friend who lives in a suburb of Tokyo.

Now, somehow, Jeremy’s name and my address got mis-associated by direct-marketing scumbags, so I get a huge amount of junk mail and telephone solicitations for Jeremy.

But the best piece of junk mail ever just arrived. I’ve taken the liberty of opening it because it obviously isn’t meant for the Jeremy I know–a real human being–it’s meant for some completely fictional Jeremy. It’s from Dick Cheney, inviting him to “a private dinner here in Washington, D.C. [note the superfluous periods] on June 19th and also to ask you to serve as a representative of Austin, Texas at The President’s Dinner…In fact, a special place of honor has already been reserved for you to recognize your steadfast support of President Bush.”

Obviously this is a come-on for money, but the pomp and circumstance, the flourishes, and most importantly, the amounts are really impressive–they want Jeremy to spend $2,500 for a seat at a table. And I’ve never really discussed partisan politics with Jeremy, but something tells me he has not been a steadfast supporter of W.

Saturday was a very car-oriented day, which is funny for someone who tries to keep his car use to a minimum. But my own ratbox of a car, an ’86 Honda Civic with 176,000 miles and a weird smell, is facing repairs that are probably worth more than the car. It’s at this point that I start thinking about buying a new car. And, though money is always tight, I’m not just thinking about a new-to-me car, I’m thinking about a new-new car.

So Gwen, who is considering replacing her Honda as well (though not with as much urgency), and I went car-shopping yesterday, an errand made more convenient because our short-lists are identical. There are financing deals in the air, so it’s probably a good time to consider buying a new car.

We started at a very fancy luxury-car dealer in my neighborhood–it has Ferraris in the showroom. Obviously that’s not what I’m interested in: they’ve got a mini on the lot too. While we were looking at it, people in at least three other cars pulled over to check it out–some had obviously caught it out of the corner of their eyes, but one couple had made the trip specifically for mini-viewing. Nobody was looking at any Ferraris. The car is really cute, feels really well made and well designed. The back seats are laughable, but I guess that’s to be expected.

The problem is that minis are not officially being sold in Texas yet–this dealership bought the car retail (in Little Rock, I think), and trailered it back to Austin. They’re charging a hefty premium too–I think at least $6,000 above sticker, and if you ever needed warranty work, well, you’d have to go to Little Rock.

Next stop, VW. The Jetta Wagon was already first on my short-list of desired cars. A test-drive did nothing to change that. I drove a stick with a 1.8-l turbo engine, and was surprised at how smooth, quiet, and fast the car is. The car just seems really well put-together, good attention to detail. A telling example: the key is built into the remote-control fob. It’s on a sprung hinge, so it folds away to put it in your pocket. You press a little button on the fob and the key flips open like a switchblade. Slick. The whole car is like that.

Third stop, Mazda. We were both looking at the Protegé5, a fun-looking little wagon. The car was an ergonomic no-go for Gwen, who is short enough that when she’s driving, the relative positions of the seat, steering wheel, and stick make it so that she practically needs to reach behind herself to shift. I had no such problem with the car, but it was a letdown after driving the Jetta–it’s slower, louder, less refined, with less cargo space, poorer warranty, etc. Yes, it is a little cheaper, but the price difference isn’t enough to make up for its relative shortcomings. If I had driven the Protegé5 (yes, they really write it like that–the salesman abbreviated it to Pro5) first, I would have thought it was a nice enough car. Bad luck for Mazda I didn’t.

Then we went back to Gwen’s place, where I helped her wash and wax her car. It seemed so sad compared to the shiny, zippy cars we’d just been looking at. And don’t even get me started on my car.