I feel like one of the subjects on the show Hoarders who can’t sell their old house because it’s filled to the brim with clutter. Still need to vacate Blogger. Will make every effort to flesh out the site. And come up with another way to say “flesh out” that doesn’t sound so… grotesque. In the meantime, read this post from my current home to get a sense of why I’ve created this site.
Up and out and on to better things!
Kerbey v. Kirby
I’ve always been enamored (though never fully committed in belief) with the idea of astrology and personality. How the planets swirled and stars aligned the day each of us were born. Whether our first few months were filled with falling leaves or rising temperatures- and the corresponding dips and swells in human mood and activity that defined the world of our infancy.
September just feels cerebral.
And even though the ritual in my family is to head north for the autumn- back to school, back to Austin and all things burnt orange, I would argue that like me, Houston is a September child.
The four-year summer of my life was filled with late nights at Kerbey Lane Cafe, weekends on the river, wiener dog races in Buda. The highlights of the year were things like ACL Festival, SXSW. Even with its quiet moments Austin is never without song- it had a way of making work never feel quite like work. Life was one big trip to Mozart’s or Spider House, serving both study-time and fun, coffee and alcohol. An eternal rabbit hole in the tightly-woven plans of the ambitious.
In Houston I start my days on Kirby Drive, passing Armadillo Palace on my way in to work- the last standing monolith of quirkier times. I listen to Roula and Ryan on 104 instead of music. I attend Social Media Breakfasts and HiMA conferences. Houston is all about words and action and putting to use the whiley artistic impulses of hotter times. There’s creativity, but it’s captured.
Museum District Day is this Saturday, my birthday. A classic Houston affair. It’s artsy and fun but in a way that pushes stale hot air and brushes leaves off the trees. Houston has the feel of a beginning-of-the-year assignment in elementary school that makes you thoughtful. Hopeful.
Sometimes I think I’d love to go back to the wonderland of Willie Nelson and shopping on South Congress in the middle of weekday afternoons, but as September settles in and my 24th birthday pulls near, I can feel that the Houston/Austin competition is really more of a battle of my younger and older self. Of how I’d like to live and who I’d like to become, and when I stop fighting it I realize that September is good for me.