A Message to You, Rudy's

My man came home the other day, gushing. He had finally found the Barbecue he'd been looking for, he told me. You see, we moved to Austin, TX last week and had visited a few months before, and we'd been told we'd feast on nothing but mind-blowingly awesome barbecue that entire time. Alas, such awesome barbecue was not had until he was taken by his co-workers to a little place called Rudy's "Country Store" & Bar-B-Q. He was skeptical at first - how awesome is the barbecue going to be at a place that looks more like a gas station with a Kwik-E-Mart than a restaurant?

So awesome, apparently.

He took me out the next night to our local Rudy's, on Research Blvd. just off the 183. My first impressions from the outside were the same as his - the hell kind of barbecue am I going to get at a gas station? Road kill? I did find the sign out front claiming to be "the Worst Barbecue in Texas" absolutely hilarious. I stepped inside and it reminded me of home - well, at least a very specific aspect of it. There's a counter where you order your food, and a line leading up to it, with coolers along the way to grab your cold sides and drinks. The rest of the building is lined with picnic tables. It reminded me of this little pie place out in the middle of nowhere, Northern California. Or maybe the pie place is supposed to be reminiscent of this. Whatever, I'm from Northern California, so I'm reminded of the pie place.

When we got up to the counter, my man told our server that it was my first time here - he asked me where I was from, and wished me a hearty welcome that the rest of the staff up front joined in on. Then, I was served a sampler of some of the different meats they serve there. I had a nibble of their dry brisket, extra-moist brisket, smoked turkey and creamed corn. The turkey had a very rich flavor, but I was in the mood for cow. I actually am considering ordering one of their whole smoked turkeys for Thanksgiving, to save me the trouble of cooking one myself, if that gives you an idea of how much I liked it.

Now, the dry brisket was very tasty, and packed a stronger punch than the moist brisket, but I found out the intended eating format is a sandwich, and I thought the dry might make things too dry for that application. However, for those of you who are on a low-carb diet, I'd go with the dry and skip the bread. The meat here is priced by the half-pound (and that's weighed as it's served to you, so after cooking), but you can get any amount you want, so long as it measures on their scales.

All in all, I ended up with the extra-moist brisket and a side of creamed corn, while my man got more of the brisket and a side of coleslaw. Your meat is wrapped in butcher's paper and placed in a soda flat along with your sides and drinks, with more pieces of butcher paper and a healthy helping of white bread. Your paper serves as a plate to make your sandwiches on, and it's got a very picnic-y feel to it. At your table is Rudy's "Sause", a barbecue sauce that's a bit sweet with just enough kick to tingle. You can grab onions and pickles from a condiment stand off to the side to augment your sandwich with, and while I used onions in my sandwiches, they weren't needed in the slightest.

The extra-moist brisket is, of course, wet and flavorful, and works well with a small amount of "Sause" and onions in the sandwich, though all of the meats I tried were strong enough that no such augmentation would be required to make them enjoyable. The creamed corn is very sweet and the corn still has a bite to it - unlike most creamed corn, which has the homogeneous texture of snot. I'm not normally a fan of creamed corn, you see. It needed with a few dashes of pepper to give some kick to counter-balance the sweetness, but I can see why it doesn't come with that pepper already in. Some people don't like everything they're eating to bite back. The coleslaw was pretty standard - tasty but not incredible, but definitely a nice cooling side dish along all the heat being tossed around.

All in all, Rudy's real is the Barbecue we've been waiting for - sure it's not a gourmet format, but it was most definitely good eats. Rudy's has locations across Texas and New Mexico, with one in Oklahoma.

Where's Pac-Man when you need him?

As I walked home from work yesterday, I looked down at my feet and saw a tiny, round candy.

A few feet away was another candy, identical to the first. And then another not much farther down.

I wondered where the trail would lead, and if I was going towards its objective or away from it.

I continued walking home.

Singing to the Void

Singing to the Void
---
I continue to sing into nothingness
A voice to go unheard.
These scraps of melody
Not meant for anyone
Drift slowly into nothing
As I fade to Black.

Perched
---
Finch on curled branch
as if asking me the time
tilts her tiny head

The Time?
---
"I'm afraid I don't,"
I shrug an apology.
She flits off, annoyed.

Warmth

At first, she wondered why she was always so warm. She was far too young to have hot flashes, wasn't she? She had lost two children in the womb, it drove her husband away and she was so alone. Always so hot! She held ice cubes and they shattered in her hands from the heat. She thought she was dreaming when she dropped a cube in her hand one day and it disappeared, a puff of steam coming up from where it should have landed.

Later that day she accidentally sautered the door shut by touching the hinge. Suddenly, the loss of her children made sense. She'd baked them in the womb, stifling their life before it had the chance to begin. Her husband's complaints about how hot she made the bed. She cried and it smelled of sulfer.

Meeting the Weavers

I found out today that I was not the only one who could do this. I turned down a narrow alley and nearly ran into her. I knew she couldn't see me, but she knew I was there. Her skin was an unhealthy white, as if she'd never seen the sun, and over her eyes there was a bloodstained scarf. She held the loom like those frescoes of angels with harps in the heavenly chorus, and turned her face up to mine, an unsettling smile spreading across her face. She began weaving.

I pulled out the paper I had pre-written in case of emergencies. It read in my neat, even script a single word, "Sword." I reached through the paper and pulled out the one-handed, simple but sharp sword that lay in wait within, just in time to block a wicked-looking trident from goring me. I hadn't even seen the woman reach through her loom, but I knew what she had done. I stepped back and took a deep breath. This would be one hell of a fight.

I'm So Tired

It's not that I am losing interest, or that I am not attracted to him. I'm very attracted to him, I'm incredibly interested.

[│Treble-Clef, lots of flats ¾ When I first come home │ I want more than anything │ to jump him then and there │ But he's so tired │ And then it gets late and he is awake │ and oh how he wants me │ But I'm so tired │ Last night he asked me │ if I was no longer attracted to him │ and I cried out │ "No! That's not it!" │ I don't think he believed me │ I come to work │ and I'm so very restless │ Lonely a lot │ Bored │ I'm often the only one here │ I find myself thinking of him │ and how I miss him! │ And I come home and ׃║ ]

…the cycle of longing begins anew.

But it is the weekend now, and our cycles will not be in conflict any longer. I cannot wait.

Geek Heritage

My father was a very talented musician. In eighth grade, he wrote a symphony. He could hear a song on the radio once and play it back for you on the piano. He played keyboards in a number of different bands; I have a picture of him in a cape, white bell bottoms and platform boots performing onstage. My dad was one of the first rockin' geeks. I bet he'd love MC Frontalot and Optimus Rhyme if he was still around.

President of both chess club and the student body, he dated a cheerleader in high school, yet looking at pictures of him, you can tell that even for the times he was a nerd. He wore Coke bottle glasses and had a big grin, and his talent with music probably made the ladies swoon. I wonder if by that point he'd started using? I'll need to ask his friends.

He thought it was so cool that geek was becoming chic. Dad was proud of my geekocity. He'd really wanted a son, but didn't have one until much later. When I was raised, then, my dad took me camping and fishing and of course, to the arcade. He raised me as a tomgeek, encouraging my nerdy habits. We'd watch cartoons together, and they'd be things like Voltron, Dominion Tank Police and Robotech (Macross). While my dad egged me on in computers, anime and video games, mom got me reading the classics from an early age and watched art film with me.

My momma is a geek for words. She enhanced my vocabulary and gave me the unquenchable thirst for books that I have now. My favorite story that she'd read to me at bedtime was the Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster. She encouraged my love of British comedy on PBS, and would discuss movies with me on an in-depth level. She never just asked if I liked a movie, she'd ask what about it I liked, and we would critique parts of the film together. Also, Star Trek. She watched a lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Deep Space Nine. We had Klingon dictionaries and Enterprise design schematics scattered about the house.

She's a very supportive nerd momma, too. She's gotten behind my geeky habits and even gotten involved. She started playing the text MUD I was addicted to, and even volunteers at the same SciFi/fantasy convention I do. I /almost/ got her playing World of Warcraft. We geek out over Firefly together. I still talk film and literature with her, and she encourages me to keep writing.

On Artistry

I honestly wish that I was an artist. I consider myself a hack. I'm mediocre at best at what I do, but I do a lot of it. Drawing, painting, writing fiction/non-fiction/poems/plays, sculpture, sewing, singing, cooking/baking/mixing cocktails, dance, acting on stage/screen, playing the guitar/piano/ocarina/kazoo, costuming, pottery, collage, woodworking, engineering, I've dabbled in all these things but not a one has taken root in me and exploded like a weed throughout all else. Some of these I feel I'm better at than others, some I've forgotten how to do completely. In some I've been patted on the head and told how good I was, but I believe it was meant only as encouragement.

What is missing from all my work is the ability to convey emotion. I was telling this all to Tim the other day, and he said that all artists suffer from a feeling of miscommunication, that their audiences almost never grasp the artist's true intent. This, however, is not my problem. My problem lies in that I simply don't communicate anything.

I wrote a book of poetry when I was still in school that my teacher praised, and I wish I'd progressed at a steady rate from there. I don't believe I've grown as fast as I should have. I get the feeling that I've let down a lot of people who had very high hopes for me.

The Crossing Guardsman

His uniform is the same every day; blue gloves that look more suited to snow than a California spring, a bucket hat that seems snatched from a fisherman's head, sunglasses, a flourescent vest and his red STOP! sign. Sure, the shirt and pants may change, and maybe even the shoes (not that I notice shoes much, mind you), but he looks the same every day, wearing the same glowering expression on his ancient face. He grudgingly assists anyone with children in crossing, but if you are a lone adult, he will not only not help you across the street, but turn around and face away from you, even deliberately ignoring you if you smile and wish him Good Morning.

When I walk past him, I just want to shake him and tell him that the world can't be as bad as he seems to think it is and dammit, it wouldn't kill him to return a greeting or at least smile once in a while. Instead, I just keep walking and think to myself about how much I dislike him. Maybe I'm afraid of turning out like he has, old, untrusting and filled to the brim with a sort of tired hatred.

A Dream of Home

I was acutely aware in this dream that I was just visiting, but the setting was so familiar, it felt like coming home. We were at the house I grew up in. The only person I saw in the house was my mother, but I knew that my sister and father were both there. This is strange for a few reasons. Firstly, my father is dead. Secondly, we moved out of that house when I was in high school. But for some reason, there we were.

Two neighbors walked past, I knew they lived nearby but I did not know their faces. They were talking about a seminary that used to be down the street. Mind you, in reality, there is no such thing, but I digress. It was a small seminary that was behind a large building. About 120 years ago, a bakery opened up in the large building in front of the seminary. Around the same time, one of the new priests went insane and killed everyone there. His rampage was finally stopped when the owner of the bakery heard the commotion and came out with his shotgun.

After this, my mother and I decided to sleep in her car. It was parked out in front of the house under the magnolia tree. In the morning, I awoke to found one of the back doors open. I was suddenly very concerned for my kittens, who I suppose had been sleeping in the car. I'm not sure why they were there, but hey, it's a dream, right? I herded the cats and brought them inside, thinking how nice it would be to not have to walk or take a bus to the store since my mother has a car. It was then I realized that I was thinking about having to do grocery shopping in real life and woke up.

Dreams of Last Night, 2/8 to 2/9/07

Tim and I were at some kind of downtown movie theatre that had many levels. They had all kinds of snack foods there. We were with two other people, one male and one female, but I could not tell you who they were. We found a horse-drawn buggy with three rows of seats that could hold about 15 people, and my companions all knew the driver but I did not. We hopped in with the boys in the front row with him, the other woman and I in the second row. While I knew it was a horse-drawn buggy, I never saw the horses. We clipped along at a fast pace, taking in the sights and sounds of the crowded marketplace, until we came to a "guess your weight" carnival game booth which was being run by another friend of my companions. We all got out of the buggy and disassembled it, and I kept gathering loose nuts, afraid they would be lost and we wouldn't be able to rebuild the buggy. The dream ends there.

My father was still alive, and my mother was taking care of him. She was going to an island somewhere as a vacation, and she was taking me. My sister did not go, she stayed with my father, and my half-brother was supposed to come but he decided not to at the last minute. The only part of this trip that I had in my dream was the preparations. We had to get the boat we'd be using, of course. We tried fishing it out of the water, but my mom became frustrated and picked it up and dumped it in the back of the pickup truck we were using, but when she picked it up it looked like a smaller pickup truck. For some reason Jesse, a former coworker of mine, was in this dream as one of my mother's students, and she took him along with us in order to further his tutelage under her. For reference, Jesse is legally blind. My mother had me run in and grab some sodas and snacks for the drive (we were driving to an island?) and I said my rushed goodbyes to my father, my half-brother and my sister. As I left the house I noticed it was the house I had grown up in.

When I came back out, my mother had put up a sign at the front warning people that nobody else could stay at this house without her express permission, and also warning firemen that there were three people and two cats who lived there. This ties in to real life a bit - my dad lived in my garage after my parents broke up with his girlfriend and their son. I think my mother might have been trying to prevent her from coming over in my dream. At any rate, Jesse had gone one street over to grab some groceries (but I don't know why, there's no grocery store there in my dream, just more houses) so we went to pick him up. Once he was in the car with us, mom talked about how we were going to India. This is where the dream ends.

Character Sketch: Contest Winner

She can finally tell people she's self-employed, and she gets to wander around the house in her bathrobe and slippers all day. Her day begins in front of the computer, browsing the internet for new lucrative opportunities. Then she spends her time watching some TV, hoping a commercial will lead her to success. When she checks the mail, she finds a great cache of goods, tons of envelopes and magazines. The magazines come trickling in all the time; she has more subscriptions than she knows what to do with, and besides, the magazines themselves contain more ways to further herself.

The letters are best of all. Sometimes they contain checks after she's earned some money, sometimes they contain new contests, more sources of income. The ones that tell her she's already won are always tossed, she's not interested in scams. No, she plays with the numbers and goes for the ones she's going to win, even if the prize is not money. She has a teal scooter she's never ridden.

This all started after she got laid off from her prior job as an engineer. She has no husband, no children. Nobody else in her life, not even a cat. She stays inside most of her day, basking in the alien glow of her monitor. She is brilliant but not beautiful. Her eyes are baggy and droopy, her lips long, thin and pursed. She appears to have no chin. Her hair is stringy and always tangled, and she still suffers from acne.

An Introduction of Sorts.

I will be using this blog to keep track of the scraps I write up along the way to writing...something. A novel maybe, or a collection of short stories? I'm not yet sure how exactly the words will take form, but this is where you can read them.