Happy St. Patty's Day!

March 17, 2005

Top o’ the blog to y’all. Now where were we? Pardon my delay but lord I have been busy. I wanted to post way back in December when I was on a trip to Real de Catorce which is in a state in Mexico called San Luis. Here is the boiled down version of that trip:

Real de Catorce blew my mind, once I got over thinking I was going to die on the steep, rocky, cobblestone, guardrail-free mountain road that leads to the village which is accessible only through a one way tunnel. Real is in a valley so wherever you look you see mountains. We stayed with some friends who built a villa out of ruins there. I began each day meditating on a big, tiled verandah, listening to the roosters crow and the clop clop of hooves on cobblestones. It was more beautiful than I can describe, the food was outrageous, the people so nice, and our hosts magnificent. Ed and Brigitt, said hosts, have two kids, Mimi and Luke. Mimi is eight and she is trilingual: English, German and Spanish. She took me on a tour of the village and introduced me to the locals and translated for me since mi espanol es muy mal. I got a ton of work done there, finishing a first draft of my forthcoming book on quilting (finishing if you don’t count that I apparently forgot to hit “save” for the last forty pages) and writing an essay. We rang in the new year there and I bought a beautiful silver ring to commemorate the trip. The stone is greenish yellow, I think it’s called calcedonia, and supposedly it represents contentment. I’m not kidding—since I got it, I have had an awful lot of contentment.

I returned in January to my 41st birthday party at BookPeople. This party is the Kickass Awards—it was the second annual—where I hand out trophies and praise to great people in Austin who don’t get the recognition they deserve. It was on this occasion, at which my buddies Matt the Electrician and Southpaw Jones performed, that I first realized that the universe had purposefully hurled Southpaw in my path. I’d seen him perform a couple of times before, but on this night I felt a bolt of lightning as I stood beside him. Unable to decide what that meant, I went with my usual default and propositioned the Paw, into the mike, broadcasting my Mrs. Robinson desire to a couple of hundred people. We’ve since straightened all this out, and I will explain that further in a couple of paragraphs. Just hold on.

February brought the Sexth Annual Free Sex in Public with Spike Gillespie and Friends, also held at BookPeople and also with Southpaw in attendance and performing and, yes, blowing the room away. We also had Smartypants the entertainer, Mr. Smarty Pants (who did a great presentation on the history of vibrational devices for women), Genevieve Van Cleve (the ever popular), Gen’s friend Krissi (whose name I probably spelled wrong), Marrit Ingman (whose new book you should buy), and dammit I’m sure I’m forgetting someone. I went into the show feeling really down, I’d been working too much, things were piling up. But I came out rejuvenated, reminded of how smart and funny and hilarious my friends are.

During all this, I’ve been working on about eighty projects. I’m putting the final final touches on a quilting book, I was hired to write several textbooks, I’m trying to get started writing a series of knitting mysteries, I’m fundraising for a quilting documentary based on the book, I just got hired to write a book for Seal Press, I did a piece for an anthology, and I emceed about twenty-eight events in February. Oh, and I’m running Teen Rock. So you can see why I haven’t been blogging and why I’m so exhausted all the time.

Oh, and I bought a house.

So anyway, here it is, March, and it’s spring break here and it’s South by Southwest (SXSW) which, for the uninitiated, is one of the baddest ass music conferences in the US. I always have mixed feelings about the conference. I’ve been involved with it in all aspects, from waiting on people in town for the shows, to being a performer, to reporting about the shows, to being a participant, to trying to ignore it all together. A few years ago SXSW is the first place I saw the Polyphonic Spree and that’s when they came over (ALL of them) for breakfast. I always struggle over whether to throw myself in full force, try to ignore it, or be balanced. There are just so many choices and so many bands and so many parties you can get paralyzed trying to choose.

This year, my ongoing case of FMS (fraid of missin’ something) has me a little torn. I wanted to be at some shows and a movie today but I just had to stay home and work. Yesterday however, I had a stellar SXSW day and I even got into a committed relationship with a man for the first time in.. well shit, I don’t know that I’ve ever had a COMMITTED relationship with a man before. So this is a pretty big deal. And he proposed in public. Here’s what happened.

I picked up Southpaw at around 11 a.m. We went to the convention center. Paw has a badge, which gives him access to shows and panels. I have nothing, which doesn’t always preclude me from getting into shows (I know a lot of door guys) but does have its limitations. I knew Elvis Costello was going to be in town and that he would give a 90 minute interview at the convention center. I have some SXSW connections and did some bartering and got a day pass to the panels.

Paw and I went to one panel on how to be a musician’s manager and the speakers were the manager for the Flaming Lips and Neko Case. It was a really great discussion and, essentially, those managers described doing for their musicians what I’ve been working on doing for Paw. Afterwards, we discussed this and Paw officially invited me to manage him so, there you go, add music manager to the old resume. We also hit a panel on selling music online. All this information makes my Student Council President brain totally slobber. I wish I had forty hours a week to dedicate to being a manager but, of course, I just have to squeeze it in when I can.

One reason we went to the online music panel is because this is the same room where Elvis was scheduled to speak. So we sat in the front row. At some point, Jenny Toomey came and sat next to me. She is an amazing singer and she has this great record out called Tempting, where she sings the lyrics of Franklin Bruno, who is a god among lyricists. So I tried to be all nice to Jenny and Jenny tried to be all chilly to me. I tried not to let it hurt my feelings. Maybe she’s not chilly, maybe I read her wrong. Elvis came out and gave this interview and I truly was on the edge of weeping, such has been his impact on my life.

That night, I took Henry and his friend to see Paw and Matt the Electrician and Maya Ohara and Phoebe Kreutz play at Café Mundi and they brought down the packed house. Then Henry and I headed over to Stubbs—I promised Henry I would take him to the Billy Idol Show. When we got there it was jam-packed. It’s an outdoor venue, the temp was in the forties, some screaming deafening band was playing, the Donnas were on deck before Billy and I knew they’d be screaming, too, and I’m thinking, “What the hell am I thinking? Elvis Costello is playing at La Zona Rosa.” So I text messaged Henry and asked if he would be okay just hanging out with his friend and he said yes. So yes, I left my son at a crowded bar and went to another crowded bar.

I retrieved my car from its illegal spot, drove across town, found another good illegal spot, parked and walked to LZR to scope out the scene and see if there was any way to weasel my way into the show. The line was unforgiving, I saw some friends inside the gates and Kayci tried to talk my way in for me. The security guards were having none of it. So I walked around to the back of the building, which was the smartest thing I’ve done in a long time.

Oddly, it was empty, except for a lone security guy. Like a dorky high schooler, I approached him and started to ask if I could weasel in. But before I got very far into my sentence, the guard said, “Spike?” At first I didn’t recognize him, which is really a bummer when you’re trying to cozy up to get into a show. But then I realized it was Kevin, aka Walter of the Flaming Idiots Fame, and the reason I didn’t recognize him is that he’s cut off all of his hair. Which is like if Lady Godiva cut off all her hair. (Except Kevin wasn’t naked or on a horse.)

The Flaming Idiots are old friends of mine—I think the second article I ever wrote for the Chronicle was about the Idiots. They are hilarious. They are also now a thing of the past after touring their comedy/juggling show for twenty years. I explained my Elvis obsession to Kevin who, of course, had never seen Elvis nor did he give a rat’s ass about the guy. It became pretty clear pretty fast that no way in hell was I getting in—there was a layer of security beyond Kevin, backstage, that monitors him. At one point I saw Elvis’s manager and was going to ask her but not only did she brush by me, I also realized it would’ve been tacky. And besides…

Okay, here’s what I love about SXSW. You wind up doing a lot of things you ordinarily wouldn’t be doing. Which, in the old days for me, might mean questionable behavior. But this time it means that I stood for three hours in the freezing cold (temp dropping into the thirties) talking to Kevin about everything in the world, listening to scraps of Elvis coming out of the door every time some VIP sashayed in or out, wondering why the hell some people got into the show who didn’t deserve it (one VIP comes out and says, “Wow, have you ever heard that guy? He’s good! I never heard him before.” And I wanted to say, “GUY! I started listening to Elvis Costello twenty-six YEARS ago. On freaking EIGHT TRACK. And I should’ve been in there, not YOU you eejit!!!” But I didn’t say that.)

I was there when Elvis got off his bus and entered the building. There he was, two inches from me. And at the end, I was standing right next to his bus door, like a groupie, hoping to talk to him (I did talk to him after a show in ’99). But he just wanted to get on his bus and get the hell out of there so there was no talking to be done. Henry called from the Billy Idol show, which was over, to ask where the hell I was and when I’d be picking him up. I told him soon, that I was trying to meet Elvis. He said, “Take your time, Mom, I’m here talking to Billy Idol.” Chip off the old block. Hen had his t-shirt signed by Billy.

Back to Kevin though. At one point, I walked a few blocks to get him some tea and me some hot chocolate. And walking back I was just grinning at the craziness of the whole night. I’ve seen Elvis many times and even though I always remember loving the shows, I never really remember many details. But walking through the cold night, clutching two hot paper cups, heading back toward Kevin, I was thinking how I will NEVER forget this night, standing for hours in the cold, catching up with an old friend.

So I guess I’ll do another update in June?

Entry Seven: Letters to the Editor

From the December 25th Austin American Statesman:

In support of Gillespie
Re: Dec. 21 letter to the editor, "Author was inappropriate":

I take exception to the letter writers view that Spike Gillespie is an inappropriate choice for a book group leader of older primary students. In fact, Gillespie is a gifted writer and teacher who has considerable experience teaching both reading and writing to kids of that age.

My son attended her writing workshop last summer, and he absolutely loved and was inspired by her. After dropping him off one day, I did an Internet search to learn more about her. Her life experience, admittedly varied, informs both her writing and her teaching but not in a sinister way. For example, to do research for National Geographic's teen travel magazine, she took her young son on a road trip that spanned the U.S. map.

My son's elementary school is among those that are fortunate to have Gillespie lead monthly book clubs for older students. As an elementary school teacher and parent, I applaud the Austin school district for recognizing and employing this talented author. We want our kids to love to read and write. She is part of the reason why my son loves to do both.
LORENE WALLACE
Austin

Who spiked Spike?

There has been a lot of noise circulating lately that the parents of Highland Park Elementary students are against Spike Gillespie leading the book club discussion for fifth-graders.

My daughter is in the fifth grade at Highland Park. I know many of the parents, and I've never heard any of them voice an opinion one way or the other about Gillespie. Could it be this is a small group of parents, working behind the backs of the rest of the parents, who are trying to force the school to comply with their agenda? I wonder indeed if this could be a majority of Highland Park parents who, instead of going through civil channels, have threatened administrators' jobs to get what they want. I hope not. I wouldn't want to be counted as part of that crowd.
CLINTON STOUT
Austin

Entry Six: The Big Stink Part II

This just in from the Austin Chronicle's December 24th issue:

Writer Spike Gillespie became a tempest in AISD's teacup when the principal of Highland Park Elementary School last week rescinded an offer for her to teach an afterschool book club. Gillespie teaches many such clubs in various AISD schools, where she leads activities around books chosen by teachers or librarians. But it seems that some Highland Park parents had visited Gillespie's Web site, read some of her proudly potty-mouth prose, and decided that anyone who opens her online "dot-novel" with the words "donkey cock" couldn't possibly have anything to offer the youth of Highland Park. And that's what they told school officials, who decided the "path of least resistance" would be to give Gillespie the boot. Gillespie, understanding how these things work, immediately called in the press, at which point Highland Park principal and librarian stopped taking calls. One can only imagine the weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth as AISD and school officials struggled with whether to further offend free-speech advocates by sticking to their perhaps-too-hastily-fired guns, or offend the anti-smut crowd by reinstating the offer. But by the end of the day, AISD said "donkey cock" to the latter, and sent Highland Park students home with a letter announcing that despite a "diversity of opinions" at the school, the club would go forward as planned, with Gillespie as its leader. And the crowd (or at least Gillespie) went wild. – Rachel Proctor May

Entry Five: Caption

The photo posted. That is a picture of my son, Henry, onstage singing with the Polyphonic Spree. He's pictured with Tim DeLaughter, lead singer for and genius behind the Spree, which is the best band ever. Hear the story of how Henry came to be a guest singer with the band

That's a commentary I did for our local public radio station, KUT, in Austin, about Henry and Tim. The show I refer to happened in September at Stubb's BBQ. This past weekend, we drove up to Grand Prairie, which is between Dallas and Fort Worth, to see the Polyphonic Spree Christmas show. It was our third year to do this. Before I started attending the PSCS, I mostly hated Christmas. I typically suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder and all the forced cheer of Christmas pulls that trigger a little harder. I have wept my way through more than one holiday season. No more. The Spree has reclaimed Christmas as their own. There shows feature entertainment for the whole family. This year they moved from the smaller Lakewood Theater in Dallas because the show outgrew the venue. The new venue, the Nokia Theater, is pretty hefty. In the lobby there was a moon bounce, a terrifying ventriloquist, a woman with a monkey, some oom-pa-pa music, a reindeer, an elf, Santa (I think Santa was there-- I am so allergic to that guy that I sort of block him out). Inside they had a variety of acts. The Syncopated Ladies are these elderly tap dancers who show a lot of leg. Corn Mo must be seen and heard-- can't describe him. There were animals from the zoo. And then... then...

Usually the Spree does two sets for the holiday show. This year they changed format a bit. Instead of just doing a set of Christmas carols they added an original play A Polyphonic Spree Carol (I think that was the name of it), written by the French horn player and based on a Christmas Carol. My friend Jason calls Louis, the French horn player, the Hugh Hefner of French horn players. Louis always has this serene smile on his face on stage. Surely he has more rabid and zealous fans than any other FH player. He is also an incredible writer and the play, which I expected to be funny but fluffy, in fact was hysterical with a great message added in. Tim wishes he'd never started the band. Then Santa Claus calls Tim, pretending to be God, and tells him he's going to see what happens if he gets his wish. Tim is visited by a very queeny holiday card representing Christmas past, a very electrifying dominatrix played by Audrey the flutist, a scary ghost of Christmas future who shows Tim that without the band the world will be entirely controlled by an entity known as Clear Station. Ultimately a wandering Jew and his donkey Ezekiel arrive to offer "conflict resolution" in the form of a parable about a shiny shovel. Tim realizes his errors, the band forms after all, and then they bust out the Christmas carols.

Even though I don't like to celebrate Christmas, even though I'm not a Christian, whenever those guys sing "Do You See What I See?" I get totally choked up. And even though I have globophobia, which is a severe fear of balloons (it's true), this is the one event where hundreds of balloons falling down from the ceiling don't terrify me. It did bug the crap out of me when the high school kids, whom I was squished up against at the front of the crowd, continually popped these balloons. I kept wanting to tell them I was a teacher and they were going to get an F for this behavior. But I just bit my tongue and waited. By this point it was between sets and I knew, from being at so many other shows, what would happen once the band returned. And I was right. As soon as they started singing the whole place simultaneously chilled out and freaked out. It is a bizarre phenomenon. Tim is genuinely charismatic, truly nice, and really cares about the audience. The band really likes their jobs. And the audience-- except for one young woman who kept smashing past me-- are downright polite.

After the show we hung out backstaqe for awhile. Henry and his friend Max-- they play their guitars together at clubs in Austin-- bagged a couple of older babes. The boys are fourteen. The girls claimed to be 16 and 17 and were very excited that we knew the band. So the four kids sat on a big leather couch while I sat and tried to be invisible in a corner. I made myself not drag them out of there after a half hour even though I was totally exhausted. I managed to finish knitting a fuzzy hat which I gave to Tim. (Julie liked it so much I am now making hats for their entire family.)

We got to the Motel 6 at 2 a.m. but everyone was hungry and so, despite my complete and total exhaustion, I took the kids to Denny's because, come on, what's a rockstar night without a greasy egg finale? It was the perfect Denny's experience with the waitress thoroughly confused when I ordered something that wasn't EXACTLY listed on the menu. We brought the scraps and a fresh side of bacon out to Bubbles who'd joined us on the road trip and was tired of being left alone in the car. The bacon went a long way toward earning her forgiveness.

At the motel, I left my keys in the car door. The phone rang a few hours later. The front desk had my keys. When we went out to the car to leave, there was a note on the windshield: "Your keys are at the front office. Reach for the sun." This was followed by a little happy face. The note made me cry. "Reach for the Sun" is a Spree song and clearly whoever left the note was also at the show. I'm telling you, listening to this band makes people nicer. Henry said next time we should leave the car running in the parking lot at the show and leave the doors unlocked. He's convinced we'll return to find the vehicle loaded down with gifts.

In other holiday news, I spent the day before the Spree show visiting Dripping Springs and Johnson City with my OUTSTANDING friend, Laura Freeman, who is also a musician. Laura should run wacky tours for a living. She took us to Jote's little quilting shop, Peacemakers, in Dripping. And then to Marianne's organic farm, Onion Creek farm, also in Dripping. And then she took us down the path to Joy. Joy is this woman who lives in a huge log cabin. She has a Christmas tree in every room. She also collects chickens-- live ones in the yard and then all sorts of chicken knick-knacks in her house. She must have a thousand chickens-- from cabinet handles to figurines to chicken hats and electronic chickens. (She also has a pepper grinder which uses SIX batteries. I loved that.) Joy and Laura were in a musical about quilting together back in '97. I'm writing a book about quilting and so they showed me a video of the musical. Joy seemed to remember it was 45 minutes. Actually I think it was closer to two hours and 45 minutes. Henry pulled me aside at one point and informed me that, to make this up to him, we would be spending the entire next day at the guitar store.

We did take a break in the movie to go and watch a live nativity at Joy's church. Joy's donkey, Taco, had a key role as an ass. The narration was provided by the booming voice of Perry Como pouring out of some huge speakers. I got choked up. I always get choked up at stuff like that. Poodles in tu-tus, baton twirlers, live nativities. More powerful than long distance phone commercials.

Anyway, so even though I don't like Christmas and even though I keep trying to ignore it, it did sneak up on me in a good way this year. And this week I'm in Houston with my friends who just had twin baby girls. I'm cooking for them. Cooking and reading and knitting and writing. A very good week indeed.

Entry Four: And Now, Some Levity

First, let me see if I can get this photo to post. I tried the other night to no avail.

Entry Three: Statesman Article about The Big Stink

School reconsiders spiking author's invitation

Austin writer Spike Gillespie will read to elementary students despite parents' objections.
By Raven L. Hill

AMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Spike Gillespie's not the kind of woman to let somebody beat her to making a big stink about something. Especially if the matter is Spike Gillespie.

So when a local elementary school librarian invited — then regretfully uninvited — Gillespie from leading a student book club because of parents' complaints, the author made a ruckus.

The saga started started in September, when Gillespie accepted an offer from Highland Park Elementary School in West Austin to lead a book club for fourth- and fifth-graders similar to those that she has done at other schools.

She planned to kick off the club in January with Blue Bailett's "Chasing Vermeer" — a mystery that one online reviewer called "The DaVinci Code" for kids.

Then, some parents began questioning Gillespie's involvement.

After all, the local author's in-your-face style and persona have garnered her a loyal following and equally vocal critics.

Political columnist Molly Ivins praises Gillespie's "incurable honesty" on the liner notes of Gillespie's latest collection of essays, "Surrender (But Don't Give Yourself Away)."

An Amazon.com reviewer takes note of the "exuberantly X-rated prose" in Gillespie's memoir, "All the Wrong Men and One Perfect Boy."

And another reviewer sums her up this way:

"She'll make you laugh, or make you mad, or make you sneer, or make you cheer. But you won't shrug your shoulders and walk away from it."

Some of the parents at Highland Park apparently fell on the mad side.

The school librarian, Cheryl Mullins, told Gillespie in an e-mail that parents had threatened to take their concerns all the way to the superintendent and that she and Principal Jane Knowles thought it would be "the path of least resistance" to cancel Gillespie's participation in the event.

"The librarian was very apologetic. She felt that she was between a rock and a hard place," Gillespie said. "These people who coerced this librarian planned to make a really big stink about it. I felt that I would make a big stink first. This is my livelihood."

Gillespie consulted four lawyers about potential libel, slander and defamation of character issues after learning that one parent was circulating a letter criticizing her work, and she told Knowles that she expected the school to honor her contract, which would pay her $250 in May.

"I think that I have First Amendment rights and they don't have any right to disinvite me," Gillespie said.

Shortly thereafter, the school reconsidered its stance.

In a letter that was sent home with students on Wednesday, Knowles said that Gillespie's participation would focus on books selected by the librarian and help students improve their writing.

"After having considered the diversity of opinions, and after having spoken to principals of other AISD elementary schools in which this author has led book discussions with students, I have determined that this individual's presentation to our students would be beneficial and appropriate," Knowles wrote.

Gillespie, the mother of a teenage son, readily admits that she "scares" some people but says her motives in this case are pure.

"I do this in the the hope that I can help kids and broaden their scope," she said. "This is all part of my trying to help the community, and they are ready to burn me at the stake."

Entry Two: The Big Stink

Wow. Okay, so first of all, I don't know how people keep up with the daily blog lifestyle. Right now I am about to forego some deadline work to make a little post here. I am making a mental note to eventually get back to talking about why seeing Modest Mouse finally pushed me into this online journaling. But for now, let's talk about The Big Stink.

The Big Stink is a story about one woman attempting to strip me of my First Amendment rights and, in the process, attempt to ruin my career, and how I fought back. But first, let me preface with two other tales of my First Amendment rights being challenged recently.

Incident One:
Since last April, I have kept, on my front lawn, a running tally of U.S. Troops Killed in Iraq. I have also added the number of Dead Iraquis. And sometimes I put up a comment or two about the Bush administration. And twice I wrote specific names of Austin soldiers who lost their lives in this travesty of a conflict.

This makeshift monument grew and grew as the numbers grew and grew, going from 610 to over 1200. It stretched across my yard. When it hit 1,000, I placed a roadblock in the middle of the walk leading to my front steps. Upon this I placed a poster board with 1,000 written in very large letters. Beneath this number I included a picture of George Bush with a Hitler moustache and the slogan: Got Death?

People stopped by the house all the time to read the signs. This reminded me of back when we let some huge anthills grow and grow and folks would stop and kneel down and watch the ants in action. I never intended the ants or the dead soldier signs to become an interactive performance art peice, but both did.

One night, in early November, while I was out of town, someone came by, planted a Bush Cheney sign in my front yard, and knocked down the memorial signs. I tore up the former and restored the latter. Then, on Thanksgiving night, someone came by, destroyed all my signs, removed them from the lawn, and threw them in the street. The lawn was naked. The first time the signs were knocked down, one neighbor came by to thank me for restoring them. Another left a card, also thanking me. The second time, when the signs were destroyed, yet another neighbor asked if I wanted to make something more permanent. I said maybe then went inside, made some more homemade signs saying, "You can destroy the signs, but you can't destroy the truth." And I started the death count again.

That very night, someone came and stole the new signs. Again my neighbor asked if I wanted something more permanent. I agreed and set off to run errands. I returned to find that he had dug a trench, poured concrete, installed a thick fencepost, reinforced this with steel pipes and rebar to prevent chainsawing, and screwed a huge piece of plywood to the front, to which he affixed, also with screws, my American for Peace sign. He also left me some space to get creative. On his suggestion, I started the Kill-O-Meter. Now when you walk by my house, you can stop and look at this billboard of death. It is an immoveable feat. My neighbor said he did it, more than anything, because he supports the First Amendment. In addition, yet ANOTHER neighbor anonymously left a beautiful photo s/he'd taken of my house at night, with my Italian Peace flag illuminated from behind by the lights inside the house. So the vandalism, all most as much as the signs themselves, have really brought the neighbors together.

Incident Two:

Okay, so let's move along here. I teach at about eighty different schools in Austin. Not really. But if you add up the workshops, the regular gigs, the book clubs, and my summer writing camp, I do move from campus to campus, often teaching at two or three places in a single day and interacting with hundreds of kids and their parents. At one campus, a parent complained to the principal about one of my (many) bumper stickers, the one that says, "Bush is a PunkAss Chump." The parent swears it's not about the political sentiment but rather the word "ass." I explained to the principal that I am well within my rights to sport this sticker and, besides, I don't even park on campus, I park on the street. What is happening to this country that the conservatives feel like they can control what they don't like and demand it be changed. I hate every Bush sign and sticker that I pass but I don't rip them down or report them to some authority to try to have them removed. FREE SPEECH IS A RIGHT.

The Big Stink:

But here comes the most amazing attempt to try to censor me. Yes, it's time to tell the tale of The Big Stink. A few months ago a public school librarian contacted me and asked me to lead a book group for kids. I agreed. I've done this before. Once you deduct the cost of the book, the time spent reading it, gas and mileage, and the hour I lead the club, I average about $5 per hour. But I do it anyway because I love when kids are passionate about reading and I get a kick out of it. Well, less than a month before the club was to begin, I was uninvited to lead it because a parent had researched the writing I do for adults and, based on this, and without researching the years of work I've done with children, complained that I was unfit as a role model for children. She told the administration if I was not removed from the club she would get very vocal and make things very unpleasant for all involved. She composed and distributed a very long letter in which she initially attempted very hard not to be libelous or slanderous.

For example, she likened me to Erica Jong and Philip Roth, citing that all three of us MIGHT be good writers but NONE of us are suited to speak to children. Before long, however, the letter writer could not control her rage and began leveling accusations that were absurd, calling me a man-hater, saying if I were a man I'd be a misogynist, and that I get away with my behavior by masking it in sarcasm. Two specific points that amused me greatly were these:

The letter writer went to my web site, saw a parody wedding announcement-- CLEARLY a parody-- and in her letter warning other parents of the Dangers of Spike, cited the fact that I had GONE TO CANADA AND MARRIED MY CAREER. Actually, for the record, marrying one's career has not even been embraced by those liberal freak canucks yet. That was a joke. My apologies to those of you who feel tricked and thought I actually did wed my career. In fact, we continue to live in sin and, I cannot lie, I am screwed very very often by said career.

The letter writer also noted that all one need to do to recognize my perversity is to visit my online novel, www.thebelljar.net (Aside: if you take this advice and can spare a few bucks, please make a donation. Thanks. My career and I are saving up for a honeymoon ON MARS!!) She said that just the first two words would suffice in revealing me for the morally inferior human that I am. (For the record, those first two words are: Donkey Cock.) She provided a link to this chapter. She then noted that, if this were not evidence enough, there was more to be found. She went on to cite several incidents of sex in my book. I'm pleased that she enjoyed these moments enough to search thoroughly for all of them. I'm happy for her, too, that scrolling down only requires one hand.

Anyway, so my initial reaction upon being uninvited was to say, fine, whatever, I pity the kids of the parents who would persecute me. I mean, I don't read them excerpts from my adult books. Duh. I discuss young adult literature with them. And it's not worth it financially. But then one of my lawyer friends pointed out how easily I was giving up and letting this one woman, with so much smutty-Spike-reading time on her hands-- excuse me, her HAND-- get me kicked out.

So I asked to be reinvited. Now, I don't know what got said to whom. All I know is, at 2:18 yesterday a reporter contacted me and informed me that the Communications department of AISD had informed her that I was about to be re-invited. And that's what happened. The principal called. I was reinvited. And I accepted. Meanwhile, there will be a second book club for students whose parents hate me. And also, because I chose to beat the letter writer and make a big stink about myself first by contacting several local and national reporters, tens if not hundreds of thousands of people are aware that this school is allowing Spike the Scandalous Writer lead their children.

I do wonder, among this group, how many claim to worship the King of Compassion, Jesus Christ, a man who did not throw stones, did not judge, suggested others judge not, and embraced all sorts of freaks especially his right hand ho, Mary M. (Please, excuse me a moment while I burst out into a rousing rendition of "I Don't Know How to Love Him," a song which I specifically chose to sing one night when I attended Dyke-oke (lesbian kareoke) but the audience did not appear to find nearly as funny as I did,)

Where was I? Modest Mouse. Oh wait, no. I was being persecuted. What did U2 say-- I am not afraid of anything in this world, there's nothing you can throw at me that I haven't already heard... Yeah, that. I love that the letter writer filled her letter with what apparently she deemed to be scandalous allegations-- did you know Spike's marriage ended in a restraining order? did you know Spike had an abortion? Did you know Spike had a drinking problem? Uh, hello? Earth to uptight mom? A newborn with its arms tied behind its back using a headstick could access this information on Google in under three seconds. Spike doesn't keep secrets. That's Spike's secret to keeping the right pissed off without EVEN TRYING. Spike just says what her life is like. It scares the hell out of people. (Hey, doesn't that give her work a Christian bent then?)

Ah, but then parents might argue-- and the letter writer made a claim along these lines-- that kids might rush home, access Spike's web site, read about Donkey Cock, and thus have their lives Forever Ruined. My question: are you letting your fourth grader surf the web unattended and without filters? And you call yourself a Christian?

Let me end this rant now. I will post in a separate entry the article that ran on the front page of today's Austin American Statesman.

Entry One: Welcome

After resisting this blog stuff for however long it's been trendy, I've decided to break down and post some entries. I actually used to blog before most of you were born, way back when the Internet was just becoming popular among people besides sundry ex-boyfriends of mine and the Gore family. I blogged via email. So maybe I actually spammed. Whatever. I'm back.

What really made me want to start an online column again is the Modest Mouse show I attended last week. It was an Austin City Limits taping which means, when the house is full, there are about 300 people total. Then season ticket holders who are frightened by Modest Mouse or sleepy because it's past nine o'clock all go home. Which means you are then in the room with the band and about fifty people.

Isaac Brock is a genuinely weird dude. Very refreshing. He sings like a cross between Steve Forbert and Kip Dynamite. He kept focusing in on the guy two seats down from me and saying, "You look like my dad. You're freaking me out, man." Before I decided he really was weird and wasn't just acting, I thought, after a while, "Okay, enough with the you look like my dad," routine.

But then, the next night, I went to see a documentary by my friend David Layton. The doc is called Hot Shoe about card counting in Vegas. (I just did a typo and wrote Vegan. Now I want to write a song called Viva Las Vegans!) Anyway, David interviewd a guy named Tommy Hylander who lookes EXACTLY like my dad except Hylander has teeth. Suddenly I had deep empathy for Isaac Brock.

Speaking of documentaries, my friend Lisa Kaselak made a GREAT one called, "The Soup Peddler." Some of it is based on a story I wrote about The Soup Peddler, local South Austin hero David Ansel. Not only does he make fine soups, he also maintains my web site. His web site is www.thesouppeddler.com "The Soup Peddler" is Airing in Austin this Sunday night, December 19th at 5 p.m. Please don't miss it.

Lisa and I are making preparations to collaborate on a documentary about the no-holds-barred world of competitive quilting. If you would like to be a sponsor by donating cash, frequent flyer miles, or some other thing that would help us defray costs, please do not be shy about saying so.

That is the end of today's entry. Please stay tuned for another entry: "My First Amendment Rights Get Pooped On: A Trilogy" coming to this space very very soon.