The Forty Days

Forty days.  Forty adventures.  Forty open doors, and I stepped through them all.  Every day, I learned just a little something about myself, my friends, my community, and my world.

Day 1, What Am I Getting Myself Into?:  If you have to ask yourself this question, whatever it is that you are about to get yourself into, don’t do it!

Day 2, Elvis Has Not Left The Building:  A skinny, white guy in a late-era Elvis outfit looks surprisingly like Evil Knievel.

Day 3, 24 in 24:  Do not try this at home!  Or anyone else’s home.  Or for any reason whatsoever.  This was the most painful activity of them all.

Day 4, Rollin’ With The Homies:  I prefer automatic.

Day 5, Forgiveness:  I am a sinner.  But I am not beholden to my sin.

Day 6, A Day With MJ:  Betsy and I can care for an infant for an entire day without seriously injuring it!  Does this mean we’re ready for kids?  Hmmmm . . .  let me get back to you on that.

Day 7, Check Out The Hook While My DJ Revolves It:  DJ Jazzy Jeff is a mathematical genius.  Long live DJ Chicken Salad!

Day 8, Tears Of A Clown:  Freaking out a child with one’s appearance greatly reduces one’s self esteem.  Do a good deed–next time you see a clown, give him or her a big hug.

Day 9, Teaching An Old Dog A New Trick:  Iago is a very good boy, and now every time I have a piece of food in my hands, he has the overwhelming urge to shake.  I’ve created a monster!

Day 10, Rock The Vote:  City Council meetings are not only for crazy people to voice their craziness.  They’re for regular people, too.  So educate yourself about an issue and participate in this representative democracy thing we got going on here.

Day 11, Calling All Cars:  Police officers take a lot of crap.  So give them a hug too when you see them.  Unless they are chasing you.  Then run–run like the wind!

Day 12, Wind Beneath My Wings:  You may be cranky and tired, but when you hang upside down on the trapeze and someone catches you, it all fades away.

Day 13, Advice For A Nickel:  It is all about community.  The Forty Days + Mambo Berry + friends and strangers who donated small change = one dog saved for Austin Pets Alive.  By the way, the dog we saved was recently adopted!  Yay!!!!

Day 14, Rage Against The Machine?:  One day, machines will enslave the human race.  But this day, one made me a bunch of sweet, undeserved cash.  Hip hip hooray!

Day 15, Deep In The Heart Of Texas:  Fried.  Butter.  Why?

Day 16, Nana Banana:  My Nana hates Joe Biden but loves me.  She’s the best and funniest Nana in all the land.

Day 17, School Daze:  It’s easy to lose touch with the people who were instrumental in your development.  It’s hard to reconnect and express your gratitude.  As in many cases, the more difficult path is the one worth taking.

Day 18, The Masses:  Being a VIP doesn’t get you much, but at the very least it means you’re better than the thousands of non-VIPs.

Day 19, Different Strokes:  When everyone else is dancing crazily, there is no shame in dancing to the beat of your own freestyle drummer.

Day 20, No Free Lunches:  People give away a lot of free crap on craigslist that isn’t worth the effort and gas to retrieve it.  But, every once in awhile, someone gives away a sheep’s head.  Awe.  Some.

Day 21, What’s Love Got To Do With It?:  Everything.  Every.  Thing.

Day 22, The Other Woman:  Every Jewish boy should have a Bar Mitzvah and a Gun Mitzvah.  Then he will truly be a man.

Day 23, Green Day:  Ten simple things to reduce your carbon footprint.  Easy to do for a day; difficult to make a habit.

Day 24, L.O.L:  If you get enough friends to the comedy club to laugh at you, everyone else will think they’re laughing with you.  Everyone wins!

Day 25, Plan C:  Chuck E. Cheese is a shadow of its former self.  Jasper Jowls needs to be put to sleep.

Day 26, Speak No Evil:  I talk too much, don’t listen enough, and oftentimes, my words hinder that which I ought to be expressing.

Day 27, Dr. Party:  Playing in foam is fun–even if it’s in a parking lot and there are no sorority girls around.

Day 28, Help Wanted:  All non-profits need volunteers.  It’s fun, it’s necessary, and it will make you feel good about being a part of the larger community.

Day 29, Home Grown:  Jews are not really into the whole manual labor thing.  But who isn’t into fresh, organic veggies in exchange for a couple hours of good, solid work?

Day 30, Wheel In The Sky Keeps On Turning:  There are many things in this world that are “just like riding a bike.”  Unicycling is not one of those things.

Day 31, Fear Of Flying:  Don’t be a slave to your fears.  Face them head-on.

Day 32, He Said, She Said:  It is possible to live off grocery store samples for a day.  But why?  Make your mother proud and eat a proper meal.

Day 33, Fish Out Of Water:  The Texas Renaissance Festival is not about being a humorless, history-obsessed, uber-geek.  It is about sexual innuendo, dressing up in costume, and acting goofy all day long.  What’s not fun about that?

Day 34, In Memoriam:  Rest in peace, Judge William Wayne Justice.  You will be sorely missed.

Day 35, Almost Famous:  Living out my Almost Famous fantasy was every bit as fun as I thought it would be.  Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer.

Day 36, The Unknown:  There are many things blocking me from achieving my full potential.  I’m just going to try and work through those myself.  But thanks for the offer, Church of Scientology.

Day 37, Scenes From The Mall:  I enjoyed everything I did in the mall, except shopping.  And I think my mall photo shoot went about as well as possible.

Day 38, Mo’ Money:  My strategy was to buy low and sell high.  Instead, I bought high and sold low.  I guess I got confused.

Day 39, Letting Go:  Let go of all the negative energy.  Relax.  Fall.  And trust that your parachute will open.

Day 40, The Last Supper:  Thank you to everyone who helped me throughout these forty days.  One thing I learned from this experience is that success is not necessarily a solo endeavor.  It is about supportive friends and reaching out to allies within the community.  Thank you to my parents, who somehow have refrained from being embarrassed by my antics.  Most importantly, thank you to my lovely and amazing wife–for being so supportive and putting up with a crazy person for the past forty days.  This was a true test of your patience and our marriage.  Thank goodness we passed.

On a serious note, I learned that every, single day can be fresh, exciting, and adventurous.  The point of this blog has always been to demonstrate that each of us has the ability to attain an endless array of moves in life’s game.  We can all break free from habit and routine and introduce new rays of sunshine that can warm our faces and make us laugh.  But more importantly, and somewhat unexpectedly, I learned a little bit more about who I am and what I want out of this life.  I want to live the kind of life that I am proud of, full of humor and close connections, where I can look back and not be regretful of the choices I have made.  I do not want to realize that I wasted time or was not courageous enough to live the life I desired.  I want to look back with nothing but joy and gratitude for my silly, little life.  And although I am only thirty-one, I know the clock is ticking and that I have precious little time.

So, given this experience, am I still going to report to duty as an attorney at a big law firm?  In short, yes.  Not because I am too afraid or risk-averse to choose a different course, but because this is the course that my passions have led me to.  Although I love being a goofy blogger, I also love the law.  I love the fact that the law is clear and unclear, oftentimes difficult to decipher, constantly challenging me to be smarter and more clever and more creative.  I love to think about and write about the law, about broad-sweeping things like justice, the constitution, free speech, etc., and even about dull, boring things like contracts and insurance.  And most importantly, I love that every case is different, so every day is different.

But I will always remember these forty days, what they meant to me, what I learned, and the people I met and connected with.  I will always remember that habit and routine are inevitable, but new and interesting experiences are never far away.  And I will always remember that if I am not happy with my job or my life, or if I stop laughing and smiling, I have the courage and will to make the necessary changes.

And there it is.  Thank you.  Thank you to everyone who read even a single word of this ridiculous, inconsequential blog.  My heart is overwhelmed with joy that my words made anyone smile or think or feel or laugh.  And although this experience is over, I will never be too far away.  I’ll be right here, living my life anonymously, trying not to take myself too seriously, and attempting to engage in a life worth living.

As for the future of this blog, I am not going to reconstruct this into The Forty Years.  This is my last post, and I mean it.  But I do not want this blog to die.  So I need to ask a huge favor from anyone who is reading this.  Spread the word.  I want to find someone who is funemployed or unemployed and has forty days to change his/her life to take over this blog.  I want to find someone who can take the same challenge, engage in different activities, and speak with a different voice.  And when they’re finished, maybe someone else will come along.  So, dear reader, please tell everyone you know about the blog and that I am looking for the right person to pass it on to.  The site will stay up, and I can be contacted at thefortydays@yahoo.com.  Who.  Is.  Next?

Throughout the past thirty-nine days, I have challenged my endurance, my courage, my will, and my psyche.  But until now, I have played it safe–I haven’t had to cook a single thing.  I have an admission to make–if I have ever been to a dinner party or pot luck of yours, and Betsy and I walked in carrying a dish to contribute, I probably had absolutely nothing to do with the preparation of that dish, besides moral support (and probably not even that).  Some people love to cook–I am not one of those people.  Before I met Betsy, my idea of cooking was heating up some pre-made food in the microwave or oven.  And even after I started cohabiting with Betsy, I have only learned how to cook a select few items.

Accordingly, tonight is The Last Supper, which serves a two-fold purpose.  First, it is a dinner party to thank all those people who have substantially helped me throughout the past thirty-nine days.  This blog has definitely not been a solo effort, and I could not have completed this project without people to assist me in setting up the blog itself, to help me organize activities, and to participate in activities with me.  I have an amazing group of friends, whom I have drawn from like a leach over the past thirty-nine days, giving nothing in return.  I have also met some great people and established new connections along the way–connections which I hope will not fade with the passing of this blog.  Second, The Last Supper is to serve as my final challenge–throw a dinner party for twenty to thirty invitees, preparing a salad, the main course, and a desert.  Will I have the food prepared in time?  Will it be edible?  Will someone throw up, thereby causing another person to throw up, until a chain reaction of throwing up spreads throughout the party?

Betsy helps me prepare the menu–because I have absolutely no idea where to start.  I decide that the best idea is to keep things simple–make simple dishes that will feed a lot of people that will taste good.  For a salad, we decide on a simple Caesar salad with homemade dressing.  For desert, we settle on a delicious turtle cake–consisting of a layer of melted caramel and chocolate chips surrounding by two layers of chocolate cake.  For the entree, I decide I want to make lasagna–it’s not too complicated, it’s heavy, I can prepare a vegetarian and non-vegetarian version, and it will feed a substantial number of people.  I find a recipe for “Lazy Lasagna.”  Oh yeah, that’s the recipe for me.

After deciding on the menu, I have to find time to shop for groceries, prepare the food, and cook.  Part of my dislike of cooking is linked to my dislike of shopping for groceries.  Whenever I go to the grocery store, I always buy the same exact things, I know precisely where they are located, and I am usually in and out within twenty minutes.  After day trading on Friday, I find time to hit up Whole Foods and HEB to hunt down the ingredients for these dishes.  Usually I hate searching for new items in the grocery store–I don’t know their location, I wander aimlessly down the aisles, and I usually end up asking an employee where every, single item is located.  By the end of the trip, I am inevitably in a bad mood for some reason.  But my grocery trip on Friday is eventful, and I find the items on my list somewhat efficiently.  Yay!!  But when I get home, I still find myself in a rotten mood.  Why?

Yesterday afternoon, after skydiving, I begin making the turtle cake with Betsy’s supervision.  I use an electric mixer for the first time ever!  The cake takes about an hour to make and bake, and then I taste my concoction.  Yummmm.  So far, so good.

This morning, I wake up too early and begin to look over the recipe for the Caesar salad dressing.  Uh oh, what the heck is involved in “zesting” a lemon?  I wait for my supervisor to wake up, and after a few hours, I “accidentally” wake Betsy up so she can put me on the right course.  I vigorously zest a lemon with a grater, mix all the ingredients into a food processor, and then use a food processor for the fist time ever!  Look, Mom, I’m processing food!

At approximately 3 pm, my parents arrive from Dallas to witness this semi-momentous occasion.  They bring with them lots of good pre-made appetizers from Costco–chips and salsa, cheese, veggies, and sushi.  This way, if the cooking is terrible, at least the guests can fill up on appetizers.  I begin preparing the lasagna around 4 pm.  Here’s some thrilling video of me preparing the vegetarian lasagna.  Unfortunately, I do not think a cooking show is in my future.

After I shower and make myself beautiful, the first guests begin arriving shortly after 7 pm.  Instructing me to entertain the first guests, Betsy and my mother plate the appetizers and put the lasagna in the oven.  I breathe a deep sigh of relief.  I have nothing left to do but entertain and eat and drink.  As the guests arrive (about twenty in all), I circulate amongst them and realize how lucky I am to have such a supportive and caring group of friends.  (Or maybe they’re just here for the free food.)  After everyone has had a couple of drinks and is sufficiently hungry (because hungry, drunk people will think my food is better than it actually is), I get everyone’s attention, explain the menu, and thank them for their assistance and support throughout these forty days.

As everyone is eating, I wander around and make sure that no one has gotten deathly ill yet from the food.  People tell me it is delicious, and I am relieved.  We eat, we drink, and dare I say it, we are merry.  Before everyone leaves, I take one final picture for the blog.

Around 10 pm, people begin leaving.  I thank them for coming, they thank me for hosting, and they congratulate me on the end of The Forty Days.  After we clean up, I get into bed, and my heart swells as I try to think about all that happened, all I did, and all the people I met over these forty days.  But there’s too much.  It’s all a blur, I’m too exhausted, and I can’t hold onto it.  So I close my eyes and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Tomorrow, I will leave you with my final and parting thoughts in one last post.

It is an odd feeling waking up this morning with the knowledge that I will jump out of a plane today.  Last night, I was in a terrible mood, a mood that had been building for some time.  First, I am extremely tired—for some godforsaken reason, I have started waking up at 6:30 am.  So for the past few days, I have been getting precious little sleep.  Second, I am cranky—too much stress from having to write and weave my experiences into literary gold every single day, trying to scrape in time in the mornings and evenings so I can post the next blog entry on the interweb in a timely manner.  I am also feeling stress regarding tomorrow’s The Last Supper, the final event—a dinner party for those individuals who have substantially helped me throughout this project.  (Did I mention that I’ll be making the salad, main course, and desert?)  Finally, I am anxious—anxious about what the end of these forty days signifies.  I am excited about the end of the hyperactivity these forty days have wrought, but I am also nervous about the rapid approach of a new job that will likely be exceptionally demanding of both my time and psyche.  I will soon become just another worker bee—I may not be engaging in new and interesting experiences, every day may not be an adventure, and I will no longer be unique, creative, and special.

This is the dark side of me, the dark side of The Forty Days.  Tired, cranky, anxious, and entirely self-obsessed.  Neglectful of my duties as a husband and a father (of a dog).  I have really only let the better side of my personality shine through my writing, reserving all my negative attributes for my private life and for my poor wife to suffer alone.  Well, here it is in all it’s glory.  Drink.  It.  Up.  And now I have to go skydiving today–something I never even had the faintest desire to do before turning myself into the human guinea pig I have become.  This merely serves to add to my anxiety.  Fan-freaking-tastic.  (Isn’t it terrible that I am complaining about going skydiving, as if it’s some chore?  It’s supposed to be fun!)

I breathe deeply on the forty-five minute drive to Skydive San Marcos.  I am going skydiving with the best sister-in-law ever, Melissa, who is visiting us from New Orleans.  Betsy is going shopping in the outlet stores in San Marcos while we throw our asses out of a perfectly good plane.  Betsy is nervous for us.  After today, she says, you can’t do anything dangerous for awhile.  I’m tired of worrying about you.  I see her point–Africa, Kilimanjaro, pilot lesson, police ride-along, and now this.  I promise to take it easy after this one last day.  But I have to do this–I can’t wuss out now at the very end.  I tell Betsy I love her, and she leaves.

After signing in and waiting about an hour and a half, Melissa and I gear up for our dive.  I meet Jason–the man who I am going to entrust my life to for the next thirty minutes.  He straps on my harness and gives me instructions for the dive.  Ensuring that I am in the hands of a professional, I ask him how many dives he’s taken.  Somewhere between 3,600 and 3,700.  Ok, that seems like a lot.  And how long have you been working here professionally diving?  Six years.  Not bad.  I feel like I trust Jason and tell him to strap me close and hold me tight, if need be.

We board the little plane, it takes off, and my heart starts pounding.  I breathe it all in–all the anxiety, all the crankiness, all the fatigue, all the craziness of the last thirty-eight days–and I breathe it out, trying to expel it from my system.  I breathe it all in again and breathe it all out again.  Let it go, David.  Don’t hold on so tight.  Let.  Go.  We reach our altitude of 10,500 feet and the side door opens.  I look out.  I can’t believe I’m about to jump from this plane.  I am second in line to jump.  The first tandem jumpers approach the door, and I watch them jump.  They fall from the plane like a ton of bricks.  I am expected to do that??

My.  Turn.  There’s certainly no turning around now.  I approach the ledge with Jason strapped behind me.  The tips of my feet are over the edge of the plane.  I look down.  All I have to do is let go.  Just.  Let.  Go. . . .  And I do.  We fall forward and spill out of the plane.  I freak out for a split second until we straighten out into the standard free-fall position, and then it is magic.  It is as if I have been asleep, and I have just woken up.  At the same time, I feel as if I have been transported into a dream.  I am awake, but this is not life as I know it.  I am in the middle of the sky with the ground far below me, and I am floating–I do not feel as if I am falling or dropping one bit.  I am floating, and I feel absolutely amazing.  Everything else fades away.  It is as if I have been cleansed, and a sense of calm washes over me.

We free fall for about only a minute, which is way, way too short.  Jason taps me on the shoulder, I fold my arms, and pray to the Lord of all things holy that the parachute opens.  It does, and we make our way slowly down to the ground.  I pop up, give my guardian-angel Jason a big hug, and I make my way over to Melissa, as we gleam from an exhilarating experience.  We are truly high on life–well, life and jumping out of a plane.

I call Betsy, tell her I am alive, and she comes to pick us up.  I give her a big hug and kiss and tell her that I am finished putting myself through these semi-dangerous, ridiculous experiences (at least for awhile).  I breathe in, and all of the tension, anxiety, and negativity I was experiencing last night and earlier today is gone.  We start up the car, and I kid you not, “Free Fallin” starts blasting on the radio.  Hell.  Yes.

For a link to the video of my jump, click here.  (Feel free to skip the first minute, which merely consists of Skydive San Marcos’ promotional intro.)

Does anyone remember the 1992 romantic-crime-dramedy film Mo’ Money starring Damon Wayans?  I don’t–except that (1) it was terrible, and (2) it may be where the saying “Mo’ money, mo’ money, mo’ money” comes from.  I love that saying and compulsively repeat it whenever I talk about money, which makes our husband-and-wife trips to the bank very embarrassing for Betsy.  Today, I am joining my friend Anthony, a day-trader, and he is going to teach me how to day trade on a simulator, so I can make some mo’ simulated money.  (By the way, can you believe it’s already Day 38?  I’m almost done with this thang!  In case anyone is wondering, yes, I am exhausted.)

I meet Anthony at his office in the morning, and I immediately see a pool table, a ping pong table, and a huge TV with an Xbox 360.  Day trading is gonna rock!  We then enter a pitch-black room with rows and rows of desks and huge computer screens everywhere.  Anthony tells me that the darkness allows the traders to see the screens better.  Anthony sets me up at my terminal, gives me $100,000 of (simulated) buying power, and begins instructing me on how to day trade.  There are graphs and indecipherable boxes everywhere, which Anthony attempts to explain to me.  Uhhhh-hu.  I reckon.  As far as strategy goes, Anthony instructs me to engage in a variety of trades–some high-volume and low-volume stocks; some expensive and cheap ones; buy some stocks and short sell others (short selling is when you sell a stock that is essentially borrowed from a third party in the hopes that the price of the stock decreases); and hold some stocks for longer periods of time and some for shorter periods of time.  As Anthony explains the computer system and recommended strategy, my overarching strategy dawns on me.

Yup, I decide to buy stocks from companies I dislike the most–AIG, Exxon, and Halliburton.  Why?  Because they seem to always make money–except for AIG.  But AIG is due for a big comeback!  Proud of my Jewish hertiage and our prowess in the financial sector, I decide to also buy stocks associated with things Jews like–the Gap, gold, banks–and sell short stocks associated with things Jews don’t like–Home Depot (because of our dislike of manual labor) and Disney (because Walt Disney was an alleged anti-Semite.)  I spend most of my $100,000 and exclaim, “I’m learning how to day trade!”  “I wouldn’t say that,” replies Anthony.  My Wharton undergrad professors would be so disappointed in me.

While we let the market work it’s magic and make me some money, I ask Anthony about his experience day trading.  Anthony began approximately two years ago after being introduced to it by friends.  He has always been intrigued by the market and enjoys the day-trading lifestyle–setting his own hours and being his own boss.  He tells me that day trading is a lot harder now than it was a year ago.  But wasn’t the market in a tailspin a year ago?  Yes, but it was volatile, which is good for day traders.  Interesting.  I ask Anthony if day-trading isn’t just the same as gambling.  Not really, he says.  It’s more like playing black jack when you know how to count cards.  Sure there’s some risk involved, but if you’re good you can better predict changes and trends in the market.  Anthony then states that the average day trader should not expect to make any real money the first eight to twelve months because there is a huge learning curve.  Damn, that’s a long time to work and live without making much money.

Because the opening and closing of the market is usually active and the middle of the day is usually slow, Anthony and I get down to the real business of the day–ping pong.  As you can see, I’m having a great time day trading!

Throughout the day, Anthony and I play two best of three sets.  He wins the first 2-0.  Ouch.  But then in the afternoon, I win the second set 2-1.  Boo ya!  Who’s the big winner?  Both of us, I guess.  We’re not the only ones playing around, though–there’s a bunch of dudes around the TV playing Halo.  At this point, I should probably say that I do not see a female in the office the entire day.  According to Anthony, there’s eighty to ninety day traders in the office and only one girl.  Man, those are some pretty damn good odds for that girl!  Girls, if you’re looking for a hubby, don’t go to singles’ events or do online dating or stalk your prospective mate as he’s leaving the post office–become a day trader!

When we return to my terminal, I see that I have lost approximately $150.  That’s nothing, considering I have about $100K in the market.  I decide it’s time to go big or go home–I either want to make a ton of money or lose it all.  Embracing this drastic change in strategy, I get rid of all my stocks and put almost all of my money into selling Apple short, predicting it will go down.  I don’t know why I think Apple will go down, but some of the chart-thingies on my computer screen seem to indicate that this may be likely.  Instead, Apple rises precipitously.  Bad idea.  I lose about another $520.

After about forty minutes of losing money, I engage in another dramatic strategy shift and put all of my money into short selling Halliburton.  I am much more comfortable with this–rooting for the share price of Halliburton to fall.  It does!  Yay!!

This is the last trade of my day, and when the market closes, I make back about $400.  Accordingly, the day’s losses total about $270.  Really?  I spend all day engaging in the riskiest and most haphazard strategies I can conjure in an attempt to go big or go home, and I only lose $270?  Oh well, I’ll just go home then.  Actually, I’m happy I didn’t win heaps of fake money.  Because everyone knows: “Mo’ money equals mo’ problems.”

Two more days left!  Two.  More.  Days.

I do not like the mall.  I do not like going to the mall.  I don’t even like thinking about the mall.  Come to think of it, I don’t really even care for the word “mall.”  Whenever I go to the mall, I am only there to complete a very discrete task, and I make sure to walk quickly, complete my task efficiently, and then run away as if I am an inmate on the lam.  But maybe I’m giving the mall a bad rap; maybe it has more to offer than I give it credit for.  Then again, maybe it has less to offer.  So today, I am imprisoning myself in a windowless, climate-controlled mall for the entire day–in Barton Creek Mall, the best indoor mall in Austin I am aware of–to experience all the mall has to offer.

10:30 am:  I arrive at the mall, a short time after the stores open for business.  I am tired and grumpy.

10:45 am:  Breakfast.  I have to eat three square meals today at the mall.  Insert cringe here.  For breakfast, I opt for a bacon, egg, and cheese croissant and a smoothie from Frullati Café.  Oddly enough, this is one of the only breakfast options, as all the other food court shops are content selling Philly cheesesteaks, pizza, and Chinese food before 11 am.

11:15 am:  Apply for a job.  I walk into the quintessential mall store, Spencer Gifts, and ask for a job application.  They are hiring for $7.50 an hour.  I fill out the application in the food court and write my salary demand as $15 per hour.  I also list my best friend from second grade, Scotty Smalls, and my mother as my references.  I’ll let you know if I get an interview.

11:59 am:  Request a tour.  As I return from the bathroom, I see two men entering a restricted area.  This gives me an idea—maybe I can get a backstage tour of the mall.  I locate the mall management office and explain to the receptionist that I have a blog and would love a behind-the-scenes tour of the mall.  She consults a manager, who denies my request.  Didn’t you tell her I have a blog??!!  She says that due to 9/11, they cannot let me in the restricted areas even if I am accompanied.  Clearly, the terrorists have won.

12:25 pm:  Enter a sweepstakes contest.  I can feel it!  I’m gonna win a brrrrrraaaaaaaand neeeeeew  caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrr!!  In actuality, I will probably just get a lot of junk mail from giving them my home address.  Crap.

12:45 pm:  Makeover.  I go to the Macy’s cosmetics department and wander aimlessly.  Can guys even get free samples/makeovers?  What is the protocol here?  A nice girl, Jennifer, at the Lancome counter asks me if I need any help.  I ask her if I can try any samples.  She starts applying a hand cream, and I ask her if I can videotape this.  Umm, sure, she says.  She starts applying the cream and then asks the inevitable question—what is going on here?  I explain the blog concept and my day’s activity and ask her if she can do a makeover on my face.  She doesn’t really have anything for men’s faces at the moment, so I suggest she make me into a goth.  (Goth kids always hung out at the malls when I was growing up.)  Surprisingly, she is completely into the idea and gets to work.

Below is the end result.  Thanks, Jennifer!  Everyone should go see Jennifer at the Lancome counter in Macy’s!  She is helpful, enthusiastic, and apparently has way too much time on her hands.  I re-enter the mall in my goth make up and try to find some goth dudes to hang with.  There are none to be found—I thought they always skip school.  Now I am just a one-man goth gang in a bright blue t-shirt.  Awk.  Ward.

1:45 pm:  Lunch.  I eat a slice of cheese pizza and drink water.  I don’t even get soda.  Man, I’m so health-conscious.

2:15 pm:  Exercise.  I wash off as much black lipstick and eyeliner as possible and go for a forty-five minute power walk.  I try to find some old ladies to walk with, but I think they get to the mall at like 7:45 am, and there was no way I was getting here that early.  I listen to some awesome 80’s music to keep me moving.

3:02 pm:  Build-A-Bear.  Build-A-Bear is the new craze sweeping the nation’s malls.  It’s just like other long-lasting mall-related success stories, such as Debbie Gibson, Beanie Babies, and heroin!!  I put a heart inside him, stuff him, bathe him, and create a birth certificate for him.  I name him “The Monster” because I have created him from scratch and he is now a-l-l-l-ive.  (As I am sure you are all aware, Frankenstein is the name of the doctor; his creation has no name, but is often referred to in the book as the monster.)

Am I the only one who thinks that this bear stuffing process seems overwhelmingly sexual?  Anyway, I am overly excited about my bear.  The excitement unfortunately does not last long, and now I am stuck with this thing.  Anyone want to buy it for a limited-time offer of $15?

3:45 pm:  Reconnect with an old acquaintance.  As I am sitting on a bench, a law clerk from my building last year walks by.  We haven’t seen each other since our respective clerkships ended in mid-August.  Are you wearing black eyeliner?  No . . . Yes.  Is this what you like to do outside of work?  Hold on, there’s a completely reasonable explanation for this (which I recount for him in detail).  C’mon, I couldn’t make something like this up if I tried.

4:30 pm:  Relax.  I go into Brookstone and try out every massage appliance in the joint.  I decide that I want to marry a $3,000 massage chair I spend about fifteen minutes in.  The massage chairs whet my appetite for the real thing, and I get a fifteen minute chair massage.  The masseuse, however, digs his elbows into my shoulders and is generally rough with me.  Is this guy with the LAPD or something?

5:30 pm.  Nap time!!!!

5:55 pm:  Play time.  Refreshed from my catnap, I want to have some play time.  I go into Game Stop and Radio Shack, but there is nothing to play with.  I go into the crowded Apple Store, but there are only laptops and iPhones and such, and I play with those things all the time in my ordinary life.  David sad.

6:41 pm:  Shopping.  I can’t believe I’ve been in the mall almost eight hours and haven’t gone shopping yet!  I urgently need a new pair of shoes, as my current pair is falling apart.  All I want is a pair of blue Pumas, but Journeys, Finish Line, and Nordstrom do not have any.  I give up.  I then realize that it may not actually be the mall that I hate, but shopping that I despise.  I have always hated shopping for clothes, whether inside or outside a mall.  (If you have been internally critiquing my fashion sense throughout this blog, my hatred of shopping explains why all my clothes are from 2005 and earlier.)  Maybe I’ve been unjustly blaming the mall all this time.

7:28 pm:  Dinner.  Third mall meal of the day.  Three words.  Chick.  Fil.  A.

8:05 pm:  Portrait.  I first approach Glamour Shots, but they are too expensive and do not produce same-day prints.  But Picture People do same-day prints and they cut me a sweet deal on a shoot because of the blog.  (What am I going to do when I’m no longer a big-time blogger that can talk his way into getting free stuff from businesses?)  Sarah Boger takes some hilarious portraits of me.  Here they are!  You’re welcome!

8:50 pm.  I finally leave!  The stores close at 9 pm, and I am outta here.  I have to say that I actually had much more fun at the mall than I thought I would.  Essentially, I thought a day at the mall would be hell on earth.  I was going to take in a movie, but there just wasn’t time to fit it in.  Really?  Over ten hours at the mall and not enough time for all I wanted to do?  I should have just cut out the shopping.

I am about to break the two rules of talking about religion to strangers.  The second rule is–do not say anything that might contradict the beliefs of another.  And the first rule of talking about religion to strangers–DON’T DO IT.  But I am a curious fellow.  Like many people in Austin, I’ve walked past the Church of Scientology on the Drag many times, always wondering what actually goes on in there.  I’ve heard stories about free personality tests and tests with a strange electrical machine.  As is the case with many people, I have always held a negative attitude and a healthy skepticism toward Scientology, but I do not really even know a substantial amount about the religion and its practices (other than Scientology is controversial and their beliefs have something to do with aliens).  That is why today, my friend Rick and I are going to walk into the Church of Scientology and see what happens.  I am going to attempt to recount my experience in a completely objective and non-judgmental manner because (1) I do not want to impose my thoughts and beliefs regarding religion on others and (2) I want to respect the religious beliefs of others, even if I may not agree with them.

Created in 1952 by L. Ron Hubbard, the central tenants of Scientology (according to its website) are: man is an immortal spiritual being; his experience extends well beyond a single lifetime; and man’s capabilities are unlimited, even if not presently realized.  With this limited information in mind, Rick and I walk into the Church of Scientology.  We are greeted warmly upon entering, and a man, who I will call “John,” asks what he can do for us.  We tell him we would like to learn more about Scientology and take the personality test and the test with the electrical machine (called an e-meter) that we had previously heard about.  John explains the purpose of these tests, and I discover that central to Scientology is the discovery of painful or traumatic past events and the attempt to overcome their limiting effect on one’s full potential.  The two tests Rick and I are to take are allegedly helpful in isolating those experiences and events that need to be overcome.

First, we take the personality test called the Oxford Capacity Analysis, which asks a series of two hundred questions which can be answered “Yes,” “No,” or “Maybe.”  (As far as I can tell, this test was created by the Church of Scientology and is not a standard, recognized personality test.)  Some of the questions are pretty typical: “Do you find it easy to express your emotions?”; “Do people enjoy being in your company?”; and “Do you spend too freely in relation to your income?”  But some of the questions seem substantially out-of-the-ordinary: “Are you a slow eater?”; “Do you ever get disturbed by the noise of the wind or a ‘house settling down?’”; and “When hearing a lecturer, do you sometimes experience the idea that the speaker is referring entirely to you?”

After I complete the test, a computer plots the results on a graph, scoring ten different personality characteristics: Stable, Happy, Composed, Certainty, Active, Aggressive, Responsible, Correct Estimation, Appreciative, and Communication Level.  John points out the areas in which I am deficient and require attention–apparently I am nervous, irresponsible, critical, and lack accord.  This is actually somewhat apt–I can be a very nervous person, and when things bother me I have trouble focusing on anything else; I can be highly critical of others, including those close to me; and I can lack accord with others, focusing too much on my own self-importance (especially during these forty days).  However, when John reads what each deficiency means, he speaks in absolutes which do not resonate with me.  For instance, just because I am a somewhat nervous person does not mean that I cannot relax and am irritable to the point where I can become violent;  just because I am critical of others does not mean that I am impossible to be around; and just because I place too much importance on myself does not mean I am cold-blooded and heartless.

Next John brings out the e-meter, which allegedly measures electrical resistance to isolate stressful areas in my life.  As I hold onto two metallic bars, John asks me to think of different people and situations in my life.  I think about my wife, friends, and family.  These thoughts do not illicit a change in the positioning of the electrical needle which would indicate stress.  He repeats the instruction, I comply, and he asks, “What were you thinking about just then?”  My dog, Iago.  He asks if Iago has been stressing me out; not really, other than the fact that he somehow got some poo all over his fur recently and still kind of stinks, even after an intense bathing.  John repeats the same instruction to think about people and situations in my life, and as the Dallas Cowboys pop into my head, John asks what I was thinking about.  “Is there anything about the Cowboys that stresses you out?”  Yes, they suck this season.  This is the end of the test, and I am unimpressed by the e-meter.  (According to Wikipedia, scientists dispute the accuracy and scientific value of both the personality and e-meter tests.)

Instead of discussing the results of his personality test with John, Rick asks John a series of questions about Scientology, and they discuss re-incarnation–how people isolate stressful events in their past and go back to events that happened in a previous life.  John also discusses Scientology’s disagreement with psychiatry, which now makes sense to me, because psychiatry uses medication to help with one’s mental state instead of discovering and working through traumatic events as advocated by Scientology.

As we leave the church, I ask John how Scientology is a religion–i.e., what is the religious aspect to helping people overcome what is preventing them from reaching their full potential?  John responds that Scientology is not about God, but it is about the spiritual self.  According to John, Scientology is non-denominational and compatible with other religions.  As we leave, John does not try to convince us to become Scientologists or ask for a donation–instead, he gives us some brochures and an informational DVD.

Based on my visit alone, I would have to say that I don’t find anything overtly strange or objectionable about the religion.  It has a surprisingly psychological aspect to it, and I am all in favor of working through painful and traumatic events that may be holding me back.  And Scientology boasts of cool Hollywood members, such as John Travolta, Jason Lee, Isaac Hayes, and, of course, Tom Cruise (although I don’t think anyone considers Tom Cruise cool anymore, do they?).

Scientology, however, has been embroiled in controversy since its inception.  According to Wikipedia, critics have described Scientology as “a cult that financially defrauds and abuses its members, charging exorbitant fees for its spiritual services.”  Controversy has also surrounded Scientology’s mystical teachings, which are only revealed to those members who have attained a certain level with the religion.  Also according to Wikipedia, the teaching revolves around a story of an alien ruler, Xenu, who brought billions of people to Earth 75 million years ago and blew them up with hydrogen bombs.  Their spirits now infest out bodies, and followers must rid these spirits by working through the painful experience of being blown up.  Although this sounds pretty fantastical, is it any more so than the Jewish belief that God delivered them from Egypt through the infliction of ten plagues and the parting of the Red Sea?  Or a belief in heaven and hell?  In the world of religion, isn’t the dividing line between what we consider bizarre and non-bizarre beliefs just a matter of popularity and momentum?

I think at this point, out of an abundance of caution, I will refrain from further commenting on my own religious beliefs or pontificating about the religious beliefs of others.  I have my own belief system, which is a mixture of my Judaism and my own spiritual development.  Other people have different religious beliefs, some have no religious beliefs, and that is all fine and dandy by me.  To each his own.  I have no idea if the controversies surrounding Scientology are true or not, and I do not wish to venture a guess at this point.   Like many others, I was just curious about entering a building and getting some more information.  Like many of my experiences throughout these forty days, I have somewhat treated myself like a human guinea pig and reported my findings.  Consider my report submitted.

Almost Famous, Cameron Crowe’s semi-autobiographical, coming-of-age tale about a budding teenage rock journalist and the music scene in the early seventies, accurately encompasses what I love about music, rock bands, and smart, quirky, uncool outsiders who are fortunate enough to get a glimpse into the beating heart of rock.  As probably is the case with most, I always identified much more with the main character, William Miller–with his outsider’s perspective and youthful idealism about the music industry–than with the band members themselves, mostly because people in bands are undeniably cool, and as a skinny, Jewish man-child, I am undeniably not.  When I first started listing activities for these forty days, spending a day with a band plugged into the renowned Austin music scene was a must, and as luck would have it, I am friends with the manager of an up-and-coming band, growing and gaining in nationwide and international popularity by the month, The Band of Heathens.

Started approximately four years ago when the three frontmen and bassist collided into each other from their then-current bands and solo careers in the Austin music scene, the band’s sound defies easy categorization, drawing on a variety of musical influences ranging from Southern and roots rock to soul to 50’s R&B and even gospel.  Although the catch-all name might be American rock, one member describes their sound as “Rock N Roll gulash,” while another asserts that they are “a head-on collision between The Band and Little Feat.”  (Damn, I wish I was cool enough to know anything at all about Little Feat.)  The Band of Heathens’ recently-released album One Foot in the Ether, already garnering critical success and increasing popularity, is currently #2 on the Americana Radio Chart in the US and #1 on the Euro-Americana Chart for October.

It is with these thoughts swirling around in my mind that I roll up to their bassist’s house this afternoon to accompany them to a show later tonight in San Marcos.  Unfortunately, their manager and my friend Ethan is not attending tonight’s gig due to a conflicting engagement, so I am all on my own.  I introduce myself to the band members, most of whom have at least some inkling of what I am doing there and my intentions in accompanying them to San Marcos.  In explaining my journey to them, I cringe when I say the word “blogger” because it sounds so terribly dorky–I think I’m going to start saying that I am a DIY online journalist instead.  Does that sound any cooler to anyone?  The band loads its own gear into a trailer, we hop in the van driven by frontman Ed Jurdi, and we hit the road for Texas State University in San Marcos, Texas–approximately a forty-minute drive.

Although I feel somewhat awkward and out of place during the ride to San Marcos, I summon the will to ask questions to Ed, bassist Seth Whitney, and frontman Colin Brooks about their recent tour in Europe, their intense touring schedule (approximately 270 shows per year), and the effect such tours have on their personal lives (several band members are married with children, and most are either married or have significant others).  But mostly I just sit back and soak in the color of a road trip with a hard-working Austin band.

Upon arrival at the venue, we unload the trailer, and the band sets up their equipment and conducts their sound check.  After a lengthy sound check, while the band is eating their dinner, I begin to ask them stereotypical rock journalist questions, such as, what direction is the band heading, what their musical influences are, etc.  The band gives me some ridiculous, semi-dismissive answers to these typical questions, and for a moment I really do feel like William Miller in his quest for the elusive, meaningful interview with Stillwater’s lead guitarist Russell Hammond.  Fearing that I am losing credibility with the band, I switch to asking ridiculous questions myself, such as, “If the band was an animal, what animal would it be?” “What is your favorite federal holiday?” and “Finish this sentence:  I liked climbing the rope in gym class because . . . ?”  I think these humorous questions disarm the band members just a little bit, and I am then able to engage in a substantive conversation about the band and its history with Colin.

The opening band, the newly-formed The Trishas (no apostrophe!), consists of four soulful songstresses,who I would love to say remind me of a white female counterpart to Boyz II Men, but in actuality rock more of a bluegrass and folk rock rhythm.  I suggest to them that they should retool and go hardcore gangster rap, shooting ultra-urban music videos that objectify men, who are pouring Cristal all over their washboard abs.  The girls don’t really go for this idea, but I think it’s a unique and unoccupied niche market–I guess the burgeoning demand for four skinny hardcore-rapping white girls will just continue to go unsatisfied.  I joke around with one of the songstresses, Savannah, at various points throughout the night, and we talk about music, religion, our backgrounds, and my forty-day project.  Although she is in a band, and not a Band Aid, I internally anoint her the (platonic) Penny Lane to my William Miller.

After The Trishas finish, The Band of Heathens take the stage.  By this point, I have somehow already convinced the band to allow me to introduce them.  As they prepare to begin, I take the stage and give what one band member later describes as a “monstrous introduction.”  I wonder whether he is being facetious.  Looking back on the video, I am unsure of how pumped I actually got the crowd.  Regardless, here is my introduction.  (I apologize for the poor quality of the video.  Whoever was operating the camera is a complete amateur.)

Almost immediately after the introduction, I realize that I should have gotten the crowd to engage in a “slow clap” for the band.  I have always, always wanted to start a slow clap, and I completely blew my opportunity.  (If you do not know what a slow clap is, watch any teen dramedy from the mid-1980’s.)  As I stand on the side of the stage, I watch the band make sweet, sweet love to the crowd by way of their righteous beats.

After the show, the band packs and loads it equipment, and we head back to Austin.  As we hit the highway, there is a quiet silence, and I say, “I want to thank you guys for letting me hang out with you today.  I really appreciate it, and here is my present to you . . . .”  And then this happens:

I’m pretty sure I’m the only one actually singing along, which is unfortunate because as you can hear I have a terrible voice, but I think the band enjoyed this Almost Famous moment only slightly less than me.  On the rest of the way back into town, I talk with Colin about the community-oriented nature of the Austin music scene, how rich the Austin soil is for music and collaboration, and how their band’s humble beginnings represent a microcosm of the power of that community.

As I arrive at my car and head home around midnight, I reflect on the lifestyle of talented, hard-working bands, such as The Band of Heathens and The Trishas.  At one point during the evening, Savannah asks me what I think about the rock ‘n roll lifestyle.  “It’s not too glamorous, is it?” she says.  This is true.  The Band of Heathens is constantly touring and promoting itself, driving their own van, and hauling their own gear.  There’s long sound checks, heavy lifting, waiting around, and often lots of driving before and after their hour of on-stage majesty.  But at this point, for these bands, that’s why it is truly about the music.

Unfortunately, God did not give me the talent to play or sing music; but I can enjoy it, feel it, and bond over it.  And although I felt cool for one night while basking in the reflected glory of a band that is starting to make it, I am still most likely uncool.  But I’m comfortable with that.  After all, as Lester Bangs states in Almost Famous (my favorite line from the movie): “The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what we share with someone else when we’re uncool.”  So.  True.  Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer.

Judge William Wayne Justice passed away on Tuesday, October 13, 2009, at the age of eighty nine.  Appointed by Lyndon Baines Johnson to the federal bench in 1968, Judge Justice served faithfully for over forty years and became one of the most influential judges–if not the most influential judge–in Texas history.  Striving to protect civil rights and equal justice for all, Judge Justice acted boldly at a time where bold action was required, bringing Texas unwillingly into the 20th Century.  His landmark rulings desegregated the Texas public school system (almost twenty years after Brown v. Board of Education), reformed an abusive Texas prison system, and ensured public education for the children of illegal immigrants, just to name a few.  Although his decisions were highly controversial, and eventually lead to death threats and ostracization from Tyler society (where he sat for thirty years), Judge Justice never waivered in his determination to do what was both right and required under the law.  This legendary figure of Texas history, who meant so much to so many, was my boss from August 2008 to August 2009.  I attended his memorial service today.

Like a very lucky few, I had the honor of serving as Judge Justice’s law clerk.  I first met Judge Justice when I hand delivered my application to his chambers.  Having a connection to his then-current law clerk and already working in the same building for a federal appellate judge, I entered his chambers in August 2007 to submit my application as a law clerk for the following year.  I saw a sprightly Judge Justice sitting in a chair near his secretary’s desk, as he was often apt to do, and he beckoned me over to him.  Although I was essentially a stranger at this point, he asked me about my background, and we had a short and jovial conversation about my upbringing, my current clerkship, and pescetarianism.  (Judge Justice loved barbecue but unsurprisingly attracted numerous vegetarian law clerks.)  I could feel the Judge’s warmth, empathy, and decency from the very beginning, and I immediately knew that I wanted to clerk for him.

I returned one week later for my interview.  We again had a pleasant and easy conversation regarding my academic credentials and delved a little further into my background.  He offered me the position after about twenty minutes, and I accepted on the spot.  Although he was eighty-seven years old at that point, he still had a substantial criminal and civil docket and worked a full day at chambers every single day.  In January of 2008, I heard that the Judge fell ill, and he struggled to recover from his illness throughout the spring.  Every day I passed by the door of his chambers on the way to my then-current judge’s chambers, and I remember thinking, “Hold on, Judge Justice.  Hold on so that we can have our time together.”

Judge Justice did indeed hold on.  By the time my clerkship began, Judge Justice had resumed the bench and had begun hearing criminal sentencings again.  Eventually, however, illness kept Judge away from chambers for several months, but throughout this time chambers staff maintained close contact with him.  We would talk with him about a variety of topics–the cases on which I was working, the upcoming presidential election, and Texas Longhorn football.  Much of the time, Judge would regale us with stories about his past.  He loved talking about his late father, Will Justice, a renowned criminal defense attorney in Athens, Texas.  Judge Justice often repeated to me his father’s advice for how to win a case–know more about the facts of the case than anyone else in the courtroom.  I will never forget this advice.

One day, when it was just me and him, he asked me what I thought about death.  I said that I wanted to die at a ripe age and know that what I did on this earth made a difference, that I tried the best I could to do good, and had close and warm relationships with those I loved.  Then I would die with no regrets–I would not look back on my life and wish I had taken a different course.  I don’t know if he agreed with me or if he realized that I was attempting to describe him, and we just sat there quietly and stared into the midday sky.

My clerkship ended in August, and after I returned from Africa, I paid him a visit.  This was the last time I saw Judge Justice.  He had deteriorated slightly from when I had seen him last, but he still seemed in good spirits.  I told him about my trip, read him some news articles, and eventually said goodbye.  I didn’t tell him how much he meant to me or the impact his work and humanity had on my life.  I didn’t say all the things I probably would have said had I known that this was the last visit.  I just left and told him I would be back soon.

Today, I attended his memorial service in a chapel full of judges, old law clerks, family, and friends.  The service was beautiful, poignant, and emotional.  The night before, law clerks and his staff from his forty-one years on the bench gathered together for dinner, and it was amazing to see all these people with this common connection brought together to celebrate this remarkable man.  I was and continue to be jealous of the clerks that worked side-by-side with the Judge when he was fully active, in chambers every day, and brimming with the vigor of the monumental work to be done.  But I was fortunate enough to have my moment with the Judge, and I believe that I was able to form a meaningful and lasting connection with him and his family.  I guess that to ask for more would just be selfish.

Judge Justice represented the best among us.  He was kind, decent, charitable, empathetic, and unafraid of doing the right thing, despite the consequences.  He certainly had his share of critics, who believed that he distorted the Constitution to achieve a desired result.  But Judge Justice believed that he was simply doing what justice and the Constitution required, and if he interpreted it incorrectly, he could simply be overturned on appeal.  And although he has passed, his decisions live on, the reforms he instituted that benefited and continue to benefit the powerless and disenfranchised among us live on, and the effect he had on those closest to him lives on.

Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, Judge.  Rest in peace.  You will be sorely missed.

If you would like to read more about Judge Justice, there were some truly great articles about him in the Austin American-Statesman and the Dallas Morning News.

Photo at top of page courtesy of John Katz.

What do you think of when you hear the words “Renaissance Festival?”  I used to think of people dressed in silly outfits talking gibberish in ridiculous accents, who had no senses of humor, took themselves way too seriously, and constantly cried into their pillows at night because they lost at Dungeons and Dragons and never got laid.  But after a day at the Texas Renaissance Festival, I realize how very wrong I was.

My friend Rick and I leave early in the morning and drive to Plantersville, Texas, to the festival grounds.  Although I have an awful blog with a very small readership, the folks at Texas Renaissance Festival actually seem somewhat excited that I am there to blog about the festival, and they set us up with the royal VIP treatment.  (Either Texas Renaissance Festival is desperate for media attention or they have yet to read my blog and realize that its low quality makes me completely undeserving of any special treatment.)  Upon arriving at the Media Center, our wench escort for the day, the lovely Sarah, takes us to the costume shop to play dress up.  (The festival rents costumes on-site for very reasonable prices; actually, I don’t know about the prices–our costume rentals were free!)  Proud of our Jewish roots, Rick and I request to be dressed up as money lenders, but I end up wearing a kilt and Rick dresses as a knave or something.

Dressed in our new digs, we have some swagger to our step and feel a little more connected to the strange, new world that is enveloping us.  Sarah explains to us that this is the largest Renaissance Festival in the nation, covering fifty-three acres.  What we will see today is only a small portion of what the festival has to offer.  As we are walking toward the beginning of the parade route, which we are to partake in, we happen upon a band of my Scottish brethren, and they entertain us with a little ditty about an unfortunate Scottish lad.

The Scottish contingency escorts us “backstage” where the parade will begin.  Once backstage, all of the characters lose their accents and assume their real personalities.  We talk to a couple of these newly-transformed individuals, who explain to us that many of the workers/characters are local doctors, lawyers, and other regular human-type people, who once enjoyed the festival as patrons, and now choose to spend their weekends working here.  Interesting.  You mean you guys who dress up as pirates, fairies, demons, and wenches are real people like me?  You just blew my mind, good sir.  We proceed over to our rickshaw, meet our driver, who has a tail, and we are off into the crowd as part of the parade.  Rick and I shout some pretty crazy things at the “commoners” watching the parade.

As you can tell, the parade is a trip, and we are next presented to His royal majesties, the King and Queen of England.  We have no idea what the protocol is for interacting with most of the characters wandering around, much less the King and Queen.  So Rick and I wing it.  We hand flowers to the King and Queen and fall to our knees in subservience.  The King states that he appreciates our obedience and loyalty.  In response, I proclaim: “I will kill for you, my King!  I will kill anyone here that you desire!”  The King looks a little shocked.  A wench pulls us away from the King and Queen.  I think we are scaring them.  After we exit, Sarah tells us that she thinks we surprised the King and Queen, as most people who are presented to them simply stand there.  Hahahaha.  Rick and I just freaked out the King of England!

We next proceed to a “mud show,” which is clearly for the masses and relies primarily on mob mentality.  Essentially, it involves two grown men playing in mud.  Rick and I then try out some axe throwing.

And although I tend to stay away from Germans for obvious reasons, Rick and I stumble upon some absurd German rappers.  Impromptu dance party!

We then attend the King’s Feast, which involves a six-course meal, a show, and well-endowed wenches with heaving bosoms serving us meat and ale.  Before the meal begins, we sing an interesting song about forks.

And before each course, we sing my now-favorite song, which I have named “Eating Drinking Dancing Singing.”

The next course?  Turkey legs!

As the day winds down, I realize that the festival is operating on two completely different levels.  On one level, the festival operates as a venue for family-friendly fun.  But on another level, there are big-bosomed ladies wearing corsets, men dressed as barbarians and knights, and outright flirting and sexual innuendo.  I can cut the sexual tension with the huge sword I just saw a tiny man carrying.  This unexpected, multi-layered aspect of the festival piques my interest.

When I ask Sarah about the historical accuracy of the festival (such as, “Isn’t this more medieval than Renaissance?”), Sarah explains that this is simply a fantasy fair, not a historical re-creation.  And then when I tell Sarah that I think the festival has to be much more fun when dressed in medieval garb, she agrees and says something to the effect that the people who are not dressed up are not in on the joke.  Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh.  Now I get what this is all about–something I never understood before about these festivals and its participants.  The Renaissance Festival is all about having fun and acting goofy–something I can completely appreciate.  It offers its participants an opportunity to shed their normal selves for a couple of hours, step into an alternate reality, assume a different persona, and explore that world in a silly, non-serious, innuendo-filled manner.  People do this type of stuff all the time–Second Life, role-playing, Halloween, my first date with Wendy Johnson.

I walk away from the festival grounds with my preconceived notions about the festival and its participants shattered.  The participants are not humorless, history-obsessed uber-geeks.  Having dressed up and participated in their world, I truly had fun–and, at the very least, I am not humorless or history-obsessed; the uber-geek part, however, is up for debate.  As far as I can tell, the festival is all about exploration and being goofy–which are also the building blocks of this very blog.  So for those of you like I was–cynical and allegedly too cool for this kind of make-believe–I would recommend further exploration of this antiquated, pseudo-world.  But that definitely has to include dressing up (remember, you can rent costumes on-site).  You may not get the pimped-out VIP blogger treatment Rick and I received, but you may walk away with a new-found appreciation for this sub-culture and a smile on your face.

Texas Renaissance Festival is celebrating its 35th Anniversary and is open on Saturdays, Sundays, and Thanksgiving Friday from October 10 to November 29.

Today, Jodi Bart of the local food blog Tasty Touring and I will determine for the first time ever whether man can survive on food samples alone for an entire day.  I’ve heard stories of poor college students eating a meal by simply perusing their local grocery store aisles for delicious little freebies.  But I have never heard of anyone eating only food samples for their entire daily sustenance.  Will we survive?  Will we find a way to fill our bellies with bite-sized portions?  Will our hunger turn us against each other, with the student poised against his former master, in a blogger-versus-blogger, no-holds barred, old-fashioned blog-off?

I will give my perspective of the day–the “He Said” part–on this blog, and Jodi will give her perspective–the “She Said”–on her blog Tasty Touring.  Jodi’s post will likely entail a more detailed description of the food itself.  My post will more likely involve inane and semi-coherent ramblings.  Bon appetit!

Lunch

10:42 am, Downtown Austin Farmer’s Market:  I am not usually a morning eater, so I’m not too hungry, but my stomach is starting to growl.  Roar.  I sample some hummus, jam, pesto, and curry.  But there are no crackers or breads on which to apply said foodstuffs.  Without a cracker, I am essentially just sampling liquids with little sustenance.  I wash down these samples with some more liquid–herb tea samples and a sample of Jim Jim’s water ice.  We bump into a friend of Jodi and Adam’s, who says she needs to go breast feed her baby.  I’ll take a sample of that please!

11:41 am, Sunset Valley Farmer’s Market:  The market is plush with a variety of samples–fresh pecans, pesto, hummus, agave pecan granola, wholegrain shortbread, english flapjacks (whatever that is), duck bacon, bison jerky, kale crisps, blueberry lemonade, Kombucha, and cheese spreads.  Most importantly, the vendors provide crackers with the pesto, hummus, and cheese spread samples.  Thank you, vendors, for this efficient and filling delivery mechanism for your lovely spreads.  “Are you interested in purchasing?” a vendor asks.  Nah, I’m just browsing.

1:02 pm, Sprouts:  After picking up my friend Rick from the airport, we all head over to the newly-opened Sprouts off Brodie Lane.  As soon as we approach the entrance, there is a sample of blue tortilla chips to welcome us.  In the deli section, we find some blueberry scone and focaccia bread samples, but the rest of the store is sample-free.  We approach the bulk bins and consider helping ourselves to some samples but read a sign stating, “If you would like a sample, please ask!”  Fine.  I find an employee and tell him I would like a sample from the bulk bins.  He gives me a confused look and tells me to go for it.  Great–but don’t give me a confused look next time, Sprouts employee, as I am merely following your company’s printed and framed instructions.  We help ourselves to large quantities of gummies and chocolates.  At this point I wonder whether all this random food I am consuming is going to get along in my tummy–or am I just going to have a bout of explosive diarrhea by the day’s end?

1:13 pm, World Market:  Besides having some great furniture, World Market also sells wine and food.  Yup, it’s one of those furniture/food-type establishments that keep popping up all over the place.  Finally, I can buy my potato chips, beer, and chaise lounge all in one convenient location.  Samples are scarce–biscotti and potato chips–but we sample some wine and St. Arnold’s Octoberfest beer.  L’Chayim!

1:36 pm, Costco:  Jack.  Pot.  Costco is filled with hot, healthy-portioned samples.  Little tables are stationed throughout the store and manned by pleasant, good-natured individuals, who want nothing more than to wear their hairnets and give us samples.  Smoked salmon, tomato and mozzarella, mini-quiches, bourbon and popcorn chicken, five-cheese lasagna, grapefruit, pancakes, protein bars, some terrible dreamsicle-tasting vitamin drink, and cookies freshly baked with what appears to be an easy-bake oven.  I’ve gotten my protein on, have a full belly, and am officially done with lunch!

Dinner

6:02 pm, Whole Foods Market:  Dinner starts off well at Whole Foods where, according to my wife who works in the corporate office, you can sample pretty much anything in the store.  Jodi and I plan to put that to the test.  We sample a cornucopia of delicious items as we make our way around the store–BBQ (sausage, chopped beef, and pulled pork), chips and guacamole, pineapple, grapefruit, oranges, salmon jerky and candied salmon, a variety of seafood soups, vegan apple pie and cheesecake from the raw foods bar, wine, risotto, kale, nuts, gelato, truffles, kale, and salami.  Jodi gets feisty as we approach the cheese counter and tells the cheese monger, “I want to sample your most expensive cheese.”  The cheese monger is unfazed, tells us about two different expensive cheeses, and lets us sample them.  Yum!  Determined to test the bounds of this apparent sample-anything policy, Jodi approaches the sushi counter and asks for a sample.  She is rejected–possibly because of the nature of the request, possibly because the sushi guy did not fully understand the request itself.  We could spend the entire night at Whole Foods sampling everything the store has to offer, but after an hour, we feel compelled to move on to our next venue.

7:17, Central Market:  Samples are unfortunately sparse at Central Market.  We only see a few samples of different cheeses.  We realize that samples may have only been prevalent in the afternoon.  We approach the bulk bins and again see a sign telling us to ask an employee before we sample.  We track down an employee, who gives us her permission to sample away.  We again go for the gummies and chocolates.  I take a picture of the sign to the right, and an employee immediately asks me not to take pictures inside the store.  Really?  The Costco employees loved posing in pictures with us.  I approach the wine bar and kindly ask if they are sampling any wines.  The bartender acts like my question is completely absurd and somewhat rudely responds, “No.  You have to like pay for wine here.  We’re not just giving it away for free.”  Oh, so sorry, missy–you’re right, who’s ever heard of free wine samples?  Oh, wait, Whole Foods and Spec’s.  As we leave Central Market dejected and hungry, Rick says, “The only sample we got there was of their ‘tudes.”

7:48 pm, Sam’s Club:  We suspect that Sam’s samples may be gone, and we are right.  No!!!!!!!!!!!!

7:53 pm, Spec’s:  I want to end the night at Spec’s because the last time I was there on a weekend night, there was a large variety of alcohol samples.  Tonight, however, there is only one lady serving wine samples, and she doesn’t even have cups.  We offer to drink straight from the bottle, but she surprisingly declines our generous offer.  We find some more cheese samples, get a sample of ham at the deli counter, and wander in search of other samples.  We find a stack of sample cups lying around and ask an employee if we can take them to the wine sample lady.  We also ask the employee where all the alcohol samples are, and he tells us that on Saturday they are from 2 – 5 pm.  Whoops–who planned this?  Why did he not do any research beforehand?  We take the cups back to the wine sample lady for some hard-earned wine samples.  As we walk out of Spec’s, I get the distinct feeling that I have not eaten a proper dinner and that I will soon be hungry.

Lessons Learned

1.  Whole Foods and Costco are the best for free samples–Costco for large samples of mostly processed foods, and Whole Foods for a large variety of high-quality, tasty samples.

2.  If you are relying on free samples for your dinner, eat early.  The majority of free samples may be gone by 7 pm.

3.  Don’t take pictures in Central Market or bother their employees with your ridiculous questions.

4.  Eating small amounts of a large variety of random foodstuffs will surprisingly not give you the fire-poo.  None of the day’s participants have complained of stomach issues.

5.  Expect lots of cheese samples.

6.  Although it is possible to subsist exclusively on food samples for a day, the better alternative is to just get a damn job and pay for a proper meal.

Remember to visit Tasty Touring to get Jodi’s perspective regarding today!!