Posted in January 2012

i found: a dollhouse

Before Facebook, before blogs and rss feeds and everyone’s ideas being pushed out to you and then recycled in the artificially, eternally-sustained virility of reposts and social collectives centered around reposts (looking at you, Pinterest),* there was still Google. We didn’t have a computer until my freshman year of high school, but despite insisting to the contrary, my parents eventually reached into their impossibly tight pockets and pulled out a few bucks for high-speed cable internet. Most of my friends were still on dial-up, but there were significantly fewer pictures, and no such thing as image search, and the closest thing to youtube were animated gifs, so the only real benefit (to me) was not having to sacrifice my use of the phone. Because this was also before cell phones, you see.

Anyway, reading back through that I am starting to sound like a codger. Boo. But! That was not really the point of that exposition. While the internet has always been a pretty cushy little place, what seems to have changed the most in terms of delivery of content is that you used to have to find things on the internet. Now they find you, like Soviet Russia. But in my internet youth, I spent a lot of time googling hazy memories from my very young childhood, like “what songs are on the Ferris Bueller soundtrack” [total sidenote: none was published, so I located a track list then recreated it for myself], with mixed results.

In that spirit, I have googled every few years about this fantastic dollhouse my mom brought out of storage one year. All I remembered was that it had three stories and was super modern and the walls and floor were clear in this super-modular, but you’d be amazed at how hard it is to find when all you really have to search on is ‘dollhouse modern vintage clear floors.’ There are NO distinct words there! Then today, in a stubborn fit of “I’m going to dick around on the internet while I drink my coffee,” I found it. There. On the 28th page of google image results.

2011 & its weather

2011 was no 2010, and it certainly was no 2006 (not enough karaoke), but there were celebrations had and opportunities seized and hard work done. It was also a year of weather. This weather tale begins when Ernst and Young acquired Dano’s company, and he was all like “no way” and I was all like “I crave temperance.” To be clear, I was referring to the weather, and had probably just dug my Miata out of a snow pile because it wasn’t yet May, so I was a little biased. But then Dano was like “yeah, and let’s drive with the top down year-round.”


So we packed up all of our stuff,
The big schlep - North Grafton to Austin


said goodbye to all of our friends,
(here are are saying goodbye to friends over hot dogs, like classy folk)
Old school dining.


assured mothers we’d still visit,


and drove a couple thousand miles. Not here, though. Our condo was extremely conveniently located just over a mile from the Pike.
The big schlep - North Grafton to Austin


Sammer came along for the drive, and took most of the pictures. Here she is demonstrating what the kids apparently call a “duck face” in a disappointing Calhoun’s in Nashville.
The big schlep - North Grafton to Austin


On the way out of state, Mass said goodbye with a sudden and relentless rain shower. But then it followed that up with a little rainbow dessert. Which is so tear-jerkingly bittersweet it embarrasses me every time I think of it.
The big schlep - North Grafton to Austin


We arrived to the beauty of months of cloudless skies, paired the longest 100o+ streak in Austin’s recorded history,which really interfered with fully embracing the glory of months of cloudless skies.


The big schlep - North Grafton to Austin


The yard doesn’t look like much in this shot, but this was after a scant month or so of triple digit highs. These were that lawn’s halcyon days, when, in its naive optimism, it dreamt of becoming a lush paradise upon next rainfall. After the several months of continued drought and outrageously hot temperatures even for Texas (I was assured by more tenured locals), any form of lawn maintenance resulted primarily in piles of dirt and pebbles and the bottom of a broken thermometer thrown onto the withered pyre like some kind of slap in the face to underline how fucked our lawn will remain until it is fully reseeded.


…reseeded by some other sucker. Heh.


Anyway, the weather has since improved, much to our delight.