I am writing this week’s installment somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. I just wrapped up a week in Hawaii with my young, hot boyfriend Warren. The trip was everything and then some, with hikes into deep valleys to watch astounding waterfalls, a trek across a still steaming lava crater, a trip to watch 2000 degree liquid lava pour into the ocean in enormous clouds of brilliant orange steam, a day on a black sand beach watching the locals surf big scary waves with the sort of ease most of us can only associate with walking. We even broke down and went to a beach yesterday, our last full day on the Big Island. It is the sort of beach you conjure when you imagine paradise, the kind of place I had, until yesterday, only seen in the movies. We buried ourselves in wet sand up to our knees and built castles and moats along the water’s edge and jumped big blue and green waves and even, to be silly, took the requisite long romantic walk along the white sand....

Being incredibly popular is really very fun but can also, you know, wear a girl out. Which is why, as you’re reading this, my ass is planted firmly and deeply upon a beach chair in Hawai’i for a week as I rest up and prepare for my next round of popular posts. But just because I’m away doesn’t mean I can neglect my duties. And so this week, I present an interview with Kareem Badr, one of the four masterminds in the improv troupe Parallelogramophonograph, aka Pgraph [www.pgraph.com]. (And yes, you might have noticed, I am running a lot of interviews lately. I love other people’s stories. If there’s someone you want interviewed, drop me a note and I’ll see what I can do.) I first saw Pgraph perform at the 2008 Frontera Fest. They did a French Farce and, as I detailed here, I just about drenched my pantalones I was laughing so hard. ...

Not long after I hooked up with Warren, my young hot boyfriend, he introduced me to the lovely, talented Audrey Maker. Audrey puts together burlesque shows around town. Which is how I wound up, last fall, as a volunteer at the Texas Burlesque Fest, a sold-out, over the topless, two-night celebration of boobs. I got to work the Undressing Room, hanging out with beautiful women (and some men) in various states of undress, asking them if they needed anything. Warren had the more exciting job of Panty Catcher. Outfitted in a Super Hero costume enhanced with a big, bright pink, crocheted cock, he served a function similar to that of the ball boys and girls at Wimbledon. Each time an act finished, Warren dashed onstage to retrieve thongs, gloves, corsets, fishnets, etc. to clear the way for the next act....

The best way to efficiently kill a chicken, as far as I know, is to lop off its head. Next best is to break its neck. Neither method appeals to me. I don’t eat chickens—I certainly don’t want to kill them. But when one is an urban chicken farmer, as I was off and on for years, one stands the risk of having to take out a bird now and then. Chicken execution proved to be necessary with my flock last fall when I got a call from Starsky, my then roommate, informing me that the dogs had gotten into the chicken pen. Of my four birds, one was dead, one was hunkered down trembling, one was missing, and a fourth was flopping around, no hope for survival. I was at Warren’s house at the time. We were early into our relationship and he’d already witnessed enough drama—for being incredibly popular often comes with a component of frequent high drama—that I feared enlisting his help might be some last straw for him. I got off the phone and faux-bravely announced I had to run home and slaughter a bird and I’d be right back. ...

One of the ten million things I love about Austin is how well this town lends itself to the creative class—those of use dreamers who eschew cubicle jobs and want to figure how to put matzoh on the table through some fun, interesting endeavor that pays (I’m trying hard to avoid the word “work” here). It’s precisely because Austin embraces this lifestyle that I’ve been able to support my writing habit through putting on camps and shows and performing non-traditional weddings and working all sorts of nutty gigs. And oh, how I admire my creative class cohorts. Back around 2002, I met David Ansel at a dinner party thrown by Lisa Kaselak. David was just starting a business, inspired by a trip he took to Real de Catorce (a Mexican village I would one day come to count on for my annual escape-Christmas plot). David’s business, the Soup Peddler, involved making good, homemade soup and delivering it to people’s homes. By bicycle....

My darling son called me a week or so ago in the middle of the day. Some of you might recall that Henry sometimes (like about 54 times in a row one semester) has a hard time getting up at the crack of 9 a.m. to get to chemistry class and, as a result, he’s been afforded a priceless learning opportunity to find out, firsthand, what it’s like to go to court for truancy. The judge, in addition to basically telling my son that he’s stupid, informed him he better have a pristine attendance record when we show up for our next date, in June. Hence my son’s call. He wanted to let me know that he’d left school in the middle of the day. His excuse? He found a bullet in the hallway. You know, live ammunition. He turned the bullet in to the school cop and principal and voiced his concerns about safety. Then he split. He wanted to let me know that he was worried his absence would be counted as unexcused, getting him in trouble in court. Call me a screaming liberal and Charlton Heston hater, but, you know, I could really get behind this vacate-the-premises-in-the-face-of-otherwise-maybe-getting-shot-to-death....

I sort of hated Elizabeth Gilbert for beating me to the punch in writing a memoir about how an utterly fucked up divorce led to amazing travels, much meditation, and ultimately great healing. On the other hand, I have to say that I actually enjoyed the book, my enjoyment compounded by the fact that I read it while I was in the midst of my own utterly fucked up divorce. For the three of you who haven’t heard of or read Eat, Pray, Love, basically this really tall chick with blonde hair and a big book advance decides to spend four months in three different countries not getting laid for a very long time despite the fact that she meets a lot of hot Italian guys. A part that really stuck with me was how her friends ragged on her for taking night classes in Italian. I think they referred to the campus as Divorced Lady College. As if we must immerse ourselves in frivolous activities to help us forget what our idiot ex-husbands did to us....

Just as I was once an amazing pet sitter who nevertheless had a hard time keeping my own animals alive (back off—they were guinea pigs), I am now the wedding officiant who cannot manage to stay married for more than ten months. I tried twice, each time marrying a different facet of my father (round one: the bully, round two: the narcissist) but when husband two walked out, that cured me of any “need” I felt to be hitched. Interestingly, it was during the very month I filed for divorce (he left the dirty work to me), I had to perform eight weddings. It’s true, people, I’m not just popular, I’m a minister. Actually, you can be a minister, too. It takes about two minutes at the Universal Life Church web site. And the cool thing is, once you’re ordained, you are legally qualified to join people in matrimony. Back in 2004, I was up in Jersey, visiting my bio family, and a few days before they chased me down the beach yelling about Jesus, prompting an earlier than planned departure, I was reading the New York Times and I saw an article about a growing need for wedding officiants by non-denominational and mixed-denominational and secular couples. The gig involved writing, public speaking, being useful, making people happy and cold hard cash and so the article caught my attention since these things are all very important to me....

The first time I ate dinner with REM’s Michael Stipe—okay so it was also the last time I ate dinner with him—was September 28, 1984. The boys were in Tampa to play at the University of South Florida (my alma mater, a place of such prestige that the dorms had pools behind them and no one took classes during prime tanning hours). Stipe didn’t invite me, I invited myself. I’d lucked into a phone interview with Pete Buck and Mike Mills a few days prior and I was still high from this unbelievable score—me a twenty year-old fledgling music writer getting to talk to them, some of my biggest musical heroes. They weren’t superstars yet, but they were heading in that direction. It was an outdoor gig and when they pulled up, I watched from a little ways away as Pete and Mike scrutinized my words in The Oracle, our college daily. Stipe was a vegetarian—probably still is—and vegetarian wasn’t something the caterer had provided, so it fell to my friend Ed, to ferry the singer to a place where he could find something that suited his palate. I like to think Ed invited me along. Or maybe I just shoved my way into his sports car. Either way, there we sat, gathered around healthy food before healthy food was a trend, at the NK Café. ...

I know, I know, apparently it is illegal to use the letters “s,” “x,” “s” (again), or “w” in any combination this week unless you are officially sanctioned by the folks at SXSW. And so here I sit, risking some Midnight Express fate (did you see how I worked not one but two “s’s” and an x into Express) because I am going now wax poetic on zen and the art of SXSW. First, a brief history of Spike and The Festival. I got to Austin late ’91. My first SXSW was spring ’92. I was a waiter at the Magnolia and so my baptism was by fire as the place was slammed with all those badge wearing assholes. I became a badge wearing asshole a year or two into my Austin tenure because, as I like to remind y’all, I am so popular. Sometimes I got a badge for performing (back when they still had a poetry venue for SXSW) and sometimes for being a reporter. And suddenly, I understood that sense of entitlement I once loathed back when I was pre-badge. I pitied the fools who had to wait in long lines when I could simply sashay to the front of any line, Japan night being a favorite....

So, I produce and co-star a little show called The Dick Monologues. We have four shows this month—three more than usual. Two are in Dallas this weekend at the Water Tower Theatre as part of the Out of the Loop Festival. Two are here in town—one at the Victory Grill on March 21st and the other at Hyde Park Theatre on March 30th. Please tell your Dallas friends to come to the show up there. And if you want to attend an Austin show, please email me at spike@spikeg.com for info. This week, I present a piece I wrote that sometimes appears in the show. Big Dick on Buddha Mountain To meditate with the enlightened Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, is akin to playing guitar with Pete Townsend, making cookies with Martha Stewart, or tying your shoes with Mister Rogers. And so, despite my tight budget, when I heard that Thay, as he is known, was leading a retreat in California, I did what any overzealous aspiring Buddhist would do: I mailed off a hot check to procure my place at the monastery. ...

A couple of weeks ago, I blogged about the uplifting and relaxing experience of taking my son to court for truancy. Brief recap: In Texas, if, say, your seventeen year old child, who lives independently, takes care of himself, buys his own food and gas and concert tickets, owns his own car, and demonstrates daily acts of thoughtfulness, compassion and general total-duded-ness, decides that having to attend chemistry first period is not part of his Desired Life Experience, and if, say, he does this forty-seven times in a row, there’s a very good chance that you, the parent, will find yourself in a court case titled State of Texas vs. Henry’s Mom....

The other night, Warren—my hot, cocky, young boyfriend—came over after work to pick me up. As soon as he arrived, I popped a Vicodin. I love Vicodin. I love it for many reasons. First of all, I am in my ninth year of not drinking, if you don’t count the three times I accidentally ingested booze hidden in food (hint to teetotalers: watch out for that sake laced mussel broth at Uchi, people) and the sip of Kahlua I had mixed in a coffee one night at Jeffrey’s. (Aside: For the record, Spike is not one to frequent places like Uchi and Jeffrey’s. Really. Those were special occasions.) I also haven’t had any pot, if you don’t count two hits in Mexico, December ’06 (and no, I did not inhale), since the late nineties, when I needed hourly bong hits in order to maintain my “relationship” with the bikini-underpants-clad cheater I mentioned last week. So, like, nearly a decade ago....

Haven't had enough of Valentine's Day yet? Ever secretly wanted to take a date to the Harry Ransom Center, but went for $2 Tecates at some hipster dive instead? This Friday, for one night only, the HRC is heading to the Eastside, celebrating love, the birth of hip, and the "starving, hysterical, naked" visions of the Beat Generation. Sounds hot....

Getting married ruined Free Sex in Public for me. Let me explain. Back in the late ‘90’s, I was dating an asshole we’ll call George, since that was his name. George would do things like ask me to come over and help him pack for a trip and he’d leave condoms out on top of his suitcase for me to find. Now why, you might ask—and I most certainly asked —would he need condoms for a trip on which I was not joining him? Well George was one of those guys who liked to give the speech that goes like this, “Babe, we’re above that monogamy crap. We’re beyond it. We’ve evolved.” What he meant by that was that every time he went to Chicago, he would be banging his so-called ex but that if I so much as attempted to have a platonic lunch with a male friend he would threaten to break up with me and/or kill himself. Very evolved, George! Later, after we finally finally FINALLY—oh Thank you Baby Jesus!—really did breakup, two major things happened....

Apparently, though, when other people hear the word wrestling, they think of something entirely different. They think of big scary men and faked-breasted women, the entire lot of them sporting spray-on tans, dangerous smirks, and very stretchy articles of “clothing” as they hurl each other around inside of a ring while thousands of mesmerized spectators, many of them apparently just having raced on over from Walmart and/or on furlough from Fashion Prison, scream their approval....

Frontera Fest is such a playing-field-leveled egalitarian opportunity for creative types from all walks and skill levels to have a night in the spotlight. Totally worth the $12 -14 price of admission but don’t wait to figure this out later. The wait for unclaimed tickets on sold out nights starts an hour before showtime and baby it’s cold outside....

Because I am so popular, it is not only my right but my duty to namedrop. And so I am happy to report that yesterday, as I strolled the aisles of Whole Paycheck in search of some homeopathic means to help tame my desire to rip people’s heads off during my monthly stigmata, I ran into none other than my pal, Kacy Crowley ....

What sets Laura and her show apart is a wild imagination and an ability to get the audience inside her head. Not only that, but she pulls this off with no set to speak of and very few props, key among what little she uses being a ukulele and a shopping cart. Luna Tart, the character, much like her creator, is not just from another era, she’s from another planet....

I haven’t really slept with half of Austin--it's probably closer to a third, unless you count sleeping-with a by-proxy affair, the old one-degree of separation being close enough to count. In which case, pre-Warren, I’d slept with the whole of Austin at least twice and, post-Warren (because, of course, after an exchange like that, we hopped into bed almost immediately), well then, I’ve now slept with the whole of Austin several times over....

Thirteen years after founding Salvage Vanguard Theater, Artistic Director Jason Neulander is stepping down. Neulander has grown SVT from a crazy little fringe collective to a powerhouse producer of cutting-edge works. No doubt it'll be very exciting to see what he gets into next....

Photo from SpikeG.com Spike Gillespie presents Quilty As ChargedTuesday, November 6BookPeople (603 N. Lamar)7pm, Free[info]Local raconteur Spike Gillespie has been a favorite of ours for a long time. Easily the hardest writing writer in Austin, the moxie-mad Gillespie stole our hearts with the annual Kick Ass Awards ceremony she holds on her birthday. She isn't one to hold anything back or censor herself. Her "dot-novel", a completely free book, opens with the phrase "donkey-cock," and......

Album cover of McLemore Avenue, Booker T. & The MG’s The hilarious kids of ColdTowne bring their audience-driven film/music/improv spectacle, 3, 2, 1 Kill!, to the new downtown Drafthouse digs Austin Music Commission hosts a very important town hall meeting tonight at Momo's on the resurrected sound ordinance proposal, which could dramatically transform our city's live music landscape -- and not in a good way Stitch, Austin's ultimate gathering of D-I-Y fashion and design, takes......

Austin author, entertainer, and all-around Renaissance man Owen Egerton is finally receiving some formal recognition for all of his hard work and hijinks. He's one of this year's two Best of Austin "Best Authors," in no small part due to his darkly-comedic book of short stories, How To Best Avoid Dying, released earlier this year by Austin-based Dalton Publishing. Egerton tied for the prestigious award with journalist-turned-punk-rocker-Texas-Rollergirl Melissa "Melicious" Joulwan. Her bruiser of a memoir,......

Local writer Spike Gillespie (along with a dozen of her closest friends) has been holding forth on the subject of wookin pa nub in all the wrong places. The Dick Monologues run once a month at Hyde Park Theater. When we walked in, there was a sea of women with tiny plastic cups of red wine. Any trepidation over being surrounded by that many sleeveless tops quickly dissipated as the raucously hilarious women (and......

Note: Several weekend events will be added in the afternoon. THURSDAY [5] fashion/music/party • Car Stereo (Wars), Visuals by Super!Alright!, and 30-40% Everything at Strut (6-10pm) film • "Military Intelligence and You" at Alamo Drafthouse Lakecreek (7:30pm) art •Opening Reception for Aki Nagasaka's "Yellow Labyrinth" at Women and Their Work (6-8pm) books •Pam Oslie presents Love Colors at BookPeople (7:00pm) books •Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht presents "In 1926: Why and How?" at The Harry Ransom......

MONDAY [2] books •Peggy Collins presents Help Is Not a Four-Letter Word at BookPeople (7:00pm) comedy •22nd Annual Funniest Person in Austin Contest at Cap City Comedy Club (Check site for lineup) film •Serge Gainsbourg Birthday Feast at Alamo Downtown film •"El Duce Vita" with The Mentors at Alamo Downtown food •Central Market Cooking Class: Midnight in the Garden of Food and Evil at Central Market Cooking School, 4001 N Lamar ($40, 6:30-9pm) music......

WEDNESDAY [14] music • White Ghost Shivers Valetine's Day Party at Scoot Inn music • Bigwood, Street Light Suzie, Sedium, The Ivory Class at Emo's Lounge music • The Stags, Future Clouds and Radar, Radar Radar, The Strange Boys at Emo's music • Kitty Kitty Bang Bang Valentine's Day Party at Stubb's music • Anti-Valentines Day Second Halloween Party at Beerland music • Jimmie Dale Gilmore at Cactus Café (8:30pm) music • People Skills,......

Couldn't score a table at Aquarelle? Arby's not going to cut it with your sweetie? Why not try a little Free Sex in Public this Valentine's Day? Whoa, whoa, you've got it all wrong tiger. Pull those pants up! Please refrain from actually fornicating in the streets this Valentine's Day. For the seventh year in a row Austin's literary wonder woman, Spike Gillespie, will assemble her unusual cadre of poets, musicians, amateur psychotherapists and friends......

MONDAY [12] benefit • Everychild House Party 2007 at Stubb's ($25/$10 Adults/Children) books • Quincy Troupe presents The Architecture of Language at BookPeople (7:00pm) film • Texas Music Museum presents "JAZZ," a six-part film/discussion series with Dr James Polk at Austin Public Library, Carver Branch (7pm) film • Darkon: The Movie at Alamo Drafthouse Downtown film • Half-Cocked at Alamo Drafthouse Downtown food • Central Market Cooking Class with Chef Vance Ely: Gentlemen Entertain:......