I once read there’s a blog born every second, maybe as many stars too? For a while I’ve been pressed with the desire to share my meandering thoughts in type. I’m guessing I won’t publish this until I’m a bit more sure what the direction is, but I also think won’t wait too long. Not knowing is fine with me to some extent. And non-forms in all arts attract me more than clear cut content and direction.
I guess the “Way of Writing” is more important to me than any arrival anywhere.
One of my inspirations to write was something that recently happened to me during my first trip to the fabulous SXSW Film festival. [I went going to the film portion, while my partner in life/creativity Craig joined me by signing up for the Interactive festival.] In the hubbub of packing, for the first time I can remember, I, a seasoned world traveller, forgot to pack even one tiny stitch of underwear. This wouldn’t have been a problem if downtown Austin had a hotel concierge informed about the locations selling this necessity, or if we had a car, or if we had time to search around.
So with no other option on hand, I borrowed the original boy shorts, i.e. Craig’s undies. I didn’t like their thickness or seams on my butt. Then in the little time I had between getting our festival passes and jumping into the screening I kept trying to think: undies, where are they sold? Can I get a taxi to the Target miles away?
Finally when in a CVS drug store on S. Congress, the main street of downtown Austin, looking for a travel sized shampoo and the like, I spotted a small section with Hanes for Ladies. Thrilled I promptly bought eight pair to last for the trip! Only upon trying on the first pair, did I finally note that they were Granny Panties, stretching up to my armpits, or at least my belly button! Eight days of Granny Panties, what horror! What had I done in a previous life to deserve such punishment?
Days later, on a Austin-discovery walk I happened upon the clothes mecca Anthropology and promptly spent more money than I ever do on two pairs of cute, lace-edged, yet edgy–they were striped–undies. Heaven. But when I wore the first pair the tag itched so much that in a fit of scratching I tore it off, ripping a hole in the back of these pricey panties. One cost more than a pack of grannies. Lesson learned, I hope: Now I’ll fill my suitcase with next years delightfully comfortable and cheap Target undies that I usually buy in Brooklyn.