Winter in Texas.

Ah, the precipice of another year. The weird, fuzzy feeling that occurs when you realize how quickly the current year has passed, and how little has been accomplished with it. Que hanging head in shame and inhaling of all potentially leftover holiday chocolate. 


While the end of December has never sat quite well with me (see above), I've always been excited for the Winter Solstice, which is over a week behind us now. The increasingly crisp air, still carrying notes of fall with the smell of rotting leaves and not quite naked trees. Winter also means snow, which means snow days, which means sledding and hot cocoa and warm socks. I have dragon mittens, snow is an excellent excuse for them to make an appearance. 


You may, then, be able to imagine my confusion and displeasure that today it is 74° and incredibly muggy. Stepping outside is not unlike what I'd imagine it would be to step into a mouth. While this allows me to use my favorite New York Summer analogy, it does not make up for the fact that Winter is a lie here. Oh, I've seen people in their coats, all bundled up on those days it drops below 60° (gasp! shiver!), and have even had the odd day or three where I've been able to don a heavier hoodie. Heck, it was 30-something° on Xmas, which to me is evidence enough to at least consider some sort of holiday miracle at work. 


The real issue, though, is the allergies. The locals call it "cedar fever", but I prefer to think of it as a special sort of hell meant to punish me for betraying my New York heritage and/or some cruel tradeoff for access to great music and fun, quirky things to do. The culprit of said suffering is the Mountain Cedar (for the record, I spent a year living IN the mountains, literally, during which time I encountered nary a tree of this nature), aka Juniperus Mexicana, and it is pure evil. Think about Stalin, then turn him into a tree. I mean, not to belittle terrible tragedies or anything, but seriously, my eyes are really itchy. I burst a freakin' blood vessel in my left eye from rubbing it so hard. It was grotesque. My throat, too, itches like mad, and can only be relieved with loud and unattractive throat scratching, wherein I bellow like a trapped bison and frighten the cats. Oh, and my sinuses! They are on fire, causing frontal sinus headaches and very inconvenient vertigo. While that allows me to think about Lucille II from Arrested Development ("oh Buster, how grand!), it's most unpleasant and causes complications. See: last day of hoop dance class, where I couldn't get the room to stay still and was wobbling all over the place. More so than usual, I mean.


I am a half-Jewish (Jew-ish, ha!) girl with asthma and a sun allergy, and never have I suffered anything like this. Winter is supposed to offer reprieve from such misery, and I consider it cruel and underhanded that I was not alerted of this sneaky, vicious turning of the tables. This definitely was not included in the brochure. 


As a result, I've been doing much research on the Mountain Cedar and its related "fever", and have come across a website devoted to people against cedars, aptly named peopleagainstcedars.com. Typically I would be very strongly opposed to getting rid of any trees, being a tree hugging (see below), field romping, outdoorsy dork, but I think these people are on to something. 

18 years old, college Freshman. Little did I know the battle I would face ten years later. 

Until such a time when we are rid of this pestilence, however, I shall be avoiding the outdoors, using the dreaded neti pot, continuing to take what has to be an unhealthy quantity of knock-off Zyrtec and sitting next to the air purifier Brian recently procured for me. Sweet, right? I'm pretty sure he did it to get me to shut up, but nonetheless. 


We're off to Colorado for a visit and some ski adventures in a few weeks, and it should be a nice escape. DRAGON MITTENS, I tell you. 

The beginning.

If anyone had told me five years ago that I'd be living in Texas, I'd have kicked them. Or, more likely, verbally berated Texas, its inhabitants and the thought that I'd ever be capable of showing my face there. 


Yet here I am. 


When I met Brian at the Library Bar, a filthy, fabulous, punk rock dive on Avenue A (home to what I consider to be the best jukebox in the city), I didn't really notice his mohawk or commentary, but his Oregon Trail shirt. He continued to impress me with his wit, snarkiness and progressive views. Then he had to go and discuss obscure grunge bands of the early 90s and LucasArts adventure games, two topics I've never had much success garnering an audience with. What's this? A kind, interesting, intelligent person from Texas? Am I to believe that you're not all racist, inbred bigots? Quel surprise! And thus, my obligatory Northern stereotype of the Texan began to crumble. 


After several years in Brooklyn, Brian asked me to join him in his move to Telluride, CO, and I did. As much as I love it, I've always said that one of the best things about living in New York is leaving it. 


One year and one torn MCL later, we decided to nix our plans to spend another season there and move to Austin instead. His family is here, and it's without doubt one of the best places in the country to be if you care about music. We care about music a lot.


Granted, Austin is the little blue oasis of big, red Texas, but still; they eat a lot of barbecue and have weird, white gravy which they put on everything. And it was my idea. I suggested we move to Texas. The girl from New York with a "not my president" Bush sticker on her car who hates the heat. It reminds me of what David Sedaris wrote in Me Talk Pretty One Day on his move to Normandy from New York City: "you meet a guy, relinquish a tiny bit of control, and the next thing you know, you're eating a different part of the pig". 


So,here I am (not rocking you like a hurricane in the least, sadly), in Austin. It's late December and 72°. Mugginess abounds. New York's terribly humid and Summers there are dreadful and disgusting, but there's reprieve and snow. I feel like I'm in an alternate universe half the time, but not in a bad way, per se. Something akin to traveling around with Doctor Who, exploring new worlds and races, except not nearly as amazing; let's not kid ourselves, nothing is going to top a phone box traveling through space and time. 


We've been here for two months now, and I'm most curious to see what the next year brings. I shall document these things, along with my various ramblings and observations here, where the world shall sit enthralled by my drivel. Or not. Most likely the latter.