Austin in the Rearview Mirror

 Well, we’ve done it.  After three and a half years of getting by and being tossed around by the whims of the capitol, Jamie and I made the decision to cut our losses and leave Austin.  Of course it’s a fine line between cutting one’s losses and being booted out on your ear, which is pretty much what we were facing with our apartment lease coming up for renewal and no job prospects in sight beyond our limited work for Busted.  But at some point you just have to accept that a place is not good for you and that your personal growth has been limited to extending the boundaries of how many rude people you can stomach on a daily basis and how many nights you can drag your bed into the living room to get away from the neighbors partying and puking outside the bedroom window.  Simply put, we were ready for a new start.

Our last few days in Austin turned out to be some of the nicest.  We saw friends for goodbye coffees and beers and dinners.  We met friendly strangers.  We became tourists, people who were not staying.  As we packed and sold furnishings, we thought a lot about why we were leaving a city that epitomizes cool, hip, groovy and weird and we realized that aside from a few dear friends and a few favorite spots, most of our enjoyment in Texas took place outside those famous Austin city limits.  Austin is great if you are a student and have daddy bankrolling your life.  Austin is great if you have a job you love and the income to take advantage of all those hip, cool and groovy things.  It’s a city of pleasures and privileges, cliques and clubs.  If you fall outside those parameters, it’s a tough to make connections that actually mean something to everyone involved.

Perhaps it is the same in any city.  It certainly didn’t help that we seemed to keep bumping up against neighbors and work situations that demanded far more than they ever gave in return.  In the end, we realized we were losing faith in humanity and indeed in our own abilities to remain the caring and good people we know ourselves to be.  It was those moments of needing clarity that would send us off on adventures to Enchanted Rock, Abilene and the coast.  If being away was better, then why stay?

So here we are in Central Florida having traded hipsters on bikes for hip replacements on trikes.  Bless their hearts, my folks drove to Austin with their truck and cargo trailer to help us with the move.  Jamie and Dad packed that trailer with surgical precision while mom and I vacuumed and scrubbed in the hopes of getting the security deposit back.  We set off for Florida at 6 am on a Sunday morning and watched the sun rise over Round Top as we drove.

Breakfast was at Denny’s in Cypress, a new experience for Jamie.  There was a bacon celebration underway, a Baconalia.  How could we resist!  The first day’s
drive took us through Houston and Baton Rouge.  There was no time for snapping photos but Baton Rouge made us laugh when we spied a sign for a pizza shop called “Schlitz and Giggles.”  http://www.schlittz.com/Brilliant.  I emailed them a few days ago saying we wished we could have stopped because we loved their sign. The owner wrote back that the pizza was even better than the sign and when we were in Baton Rouge again, stop in—the first beer and pizza was on him!

We saw another great sign along the highway in Ponchatoula.  Cretin Homes. We were in tears from laughing.    Urban Dictionary defines cretin as “A Person that is: brainless, stupid, child-like, and full of pointless information that makes no sense and appeals only to other cretins. They can be found in abundance in every single populated internet forum, where they race to post as many mind-numbing messages as possible in a single session. In addition, they seemingly interbreed with other cretins, ensuring that their cretinous genes continue long after they end up dead meaning the Internet will never be rid of their kind. More's the pity.”   It’s good to know that even cretins get to have custom-made homes.  http://www.cretinhomes.com/

Louisiana along Routes 10 and 12 was fun and friendly.  We had dinner at the Olive Garden in Slidell, Jamie’s second of the three forays into popular American eateries that you find along highways and in mall parking lots.  Miceli, our young waiter, brought Jamie the biggest draught beer he’s had in America (everything is bigger in Texas except the beer glasses) and I shared a tip for getting a ginger ale in places that don’t serve ginger ale, which is most places in the south it seems.  This tip comes from a very nice waiter in a bizarrely posh restaurant in Austin called The Cheesecake Factory http://www.thecheesecakefactory.com/ when we met with the Jewish bookkeeper from the library who was certified online to perform marriages to discuss our wedding vows:  fill a glass with Sprite then add a shot of Coke.  Honest to goodness, it’s a suitable ginger ale substitute in a pinch.

We stopped for the night in Diamond Head, Mississippi, at the Diamond Head Resort http://diamondheadresort.ms/which was decidedly un-resort like.  Creepy was more like it but we were tired and dad doesn’t like to drive with the trailer much past dark.  The folks’ room was ok but it took the desk clerk three tries to find us a room that was made up.  We ended up with a suite because he got tired of trying to decipher on the computer which rooms had been cleaned.  The suite had a complimentary cockroach in the refrigerator.  I didn’t sleep well, which made two nights in a row because our UT neighbors back in Austin the night before had decided to have 60 of their closest and drunkest friends over for another all-night party.  It was a blurry-eyed Wren that stumbled into the Cracker Barrel in Spanish Fort, Alabama, for breakfast at 7:30am but a happy one that left an hour later after a rousing breakfast delivered by Debbie Lee and a nice chat with Jackie in the gift shop.  Jamie had his first taste of grits which he pronounced “quite gritty.” 

Breakfast saw us through until Gainesville, Florida, in late afternoon.  It’s safe to say that the panhandle of Florida goes on forever.  It’s like Pennsylvania without the mountains.  What kept us occupied for surely 100 miles were signs for Café Risque.  We had been marveling at and lamenting billboards from the minute we crossed into Louisiana.  They are everywhere, most of them trying to lure you to Gulf Coast casinos.  My folks stopped at Gulfport, Mississippi, on two of their trips out to Austin to have a flutter in the casinos.  By the second trip, the casinos had gone completely high tech, not a one-armed bandit in sight.  Gone was the sound of quarters dropping, levers being let loose and jackpots spilling into buckets.  Now you get a voucher if you win, a piece of paper you take to a person or another machine.  What fun is that?  However, Café Risque was sizing itself up to be a winner.  There was one commercially produced billboard with some coquettishly positioned seemingly

naked ladies but the majority of the billboards were made with a lot of big stencils and paints.  The first one was a bit surprising but by the time we saw the thirtieth one, we were laughing and praying we could see the café from the highway. 

We stopped at Sonny’s Real Pit BBQ http://www.sonnysbbq.com/to get fueled up for the final push to Sebring.  It’s never a good idea to stop somewhere that has ‘Real Pit’ listed in the name but Sonny’s is a Florida chain and the folks knew it would be ok food, which it was.  After dining at The Salt Lick, a legendary central Texas barbecue joint that has earned every single kudo it’s received over the years (it’s where we had our après wedding party), nothing else quite measures up, but we managed to clean our plates and leave with a stack of wet-wipes for future adventures.

It was with great joy that we soon discovered we were closing in fast on the exit for Café Risque.  I slowed down to 60 mph and Jamie craned his neck to both sides of the bridge but to no avail.  We couldn’t see the café.  But we saw something equally hilarious.  The billboard beside the on-ramp after the bridge read:  

     Again, tears of joy.  What clever marketing for that lawyer.

Florida delivered us to our journey’s end with a spectacular sunset followed by a starry sky and here we may settle.  For now we are in the spare room at my folks’ place, enjoying the quiet at night and re-acquainting ourselves with the importance of sun screen during the day.  We’re quickly finding that our new state is very different from our old one but that’s why they call it Florida and not Texas.  Stay tuned for adventures in bike shopping, catching escaped parakeets and buying fruit at roadside stands.  Florida promises to be every bit as nutty as the Lone Star State. 

Paid In Full...or how we got stiffed 20 bucks by a family of Amazing Grace Baptists

It all starts with the Israeli Army...well, sort of.  When I first got to Austin, after acquiring a resonator guitar that I couldn't really play but that I knew Jamie would love, I decided that I wanted a keyboard.  I missed playing the piano, especially after having been on it so much rehearsing with the Book Chicks back in Freeport, singing our funny library made-over tunes from South Pacific for the 10-year anniversary at the library.  So I started watching Craigslist for a good deal.  Craigslist is huge here in Austin, perhaps because of the university and so many folks with so much disposable income which translates into disposable stuff.  Eventually, I found a really good deal on a Casio Privia digital piano that was way smarter than I was.  I called Jeff and off we went in the war wagon to pick it up.

I learned early on that if you want to buy something from a stranger on Craigslist, it's never a bad idea to bring Jeff along.  He would ask ahead of time for the street address and then show up at my door appropriately dressed.  Table and chairs from the east side? That called for a t-shirt, maybe even tank top, so some or all of the tattoos were showing, and big  boots.  Cello from the west side?  Long-sleeved shirt and loafers.  The piano was downtown, campus apartments.  T-shirt and slippers.  Jeff always believed in dressing for the outcome he wanted which is to say you never knew what he was going to show up in. But his fashion trends are stuff for a future blog.  This does, however, remind me of a quote from a patron back in Freeport years ago. 

Her name was Emily.  She was always immaculately dressed, even on her most casual visits for books.  In his retirement, her husband, John, had taken to wearing old oxford shirts untucked over baggy shorts, his hair pulled back in a short ponytail that stuck out from under a baseball cap and no socks in his deck shoes when he walked up to the library with their old labrador, Stokely.  Lynn and I were talking about fashionable men when Emily came to the desk one evening to check out her books. She joined the conversation and shared that John used to be a real sharp dresser.  But then she sighed and said without drama,

"Now it's just one costume after another."

That still makes me laugh.   But back to the piano.

Jeff pulled the Suburban up to the curb at the apartment and we got out, including Wendy the Cat in her sparkly pink harness.  Those were the days when Wendy was in full service and she went everywhere with Jeff.  Having Wendy with us always turned knocking on doors into an adventure.  I rang the doorbell and soon we were greeted by a young guy in his early twenties.  We exchanged hellos and then he spotted Wendy.

"Is that a cat on a leash?" he asked in disbelief.  It quickly became the Jeff and Wendy show, with the several occupants of the apartment coming to see the little cat as she checked out the rooms, oblivious to the fuss as is her way.  Eventually we got to the keyboard and the transaction.  Jeff, and the guy who's name was Abraham, took the keyboard and stand out to the truck while I chatted with Abraham's girlfriend who had arrived to take him to salsa lessons.  I settled up, we all said thanks and see ya and off we went.

"That kid recognized my Purple Heart plate and thanked me for my service," Jeff remarked. 

"He's from Israel and did his time in the Israeli Army before coming to UT to do his grad work.  It's compulsory for men and women to serve in the defense force over there for a couple of years."  

I thought for a moment.

"So I just bought a keyboard from a former member of the Israeli Army.  Cool."

That's how the keyboard arrived on Guadalupe Street.  Now fast forward to our current apartment where Jamie and Wren are packing up and getting ready to move to Florida.  We've sold a guitar to a UT student from Houston who bought it for her dad for Christmas partly because the guitar was a Jay Jr. and her dad's name was Jay.  The bar stools went to a hipster re-sale shop that sells furniture with “patina” which is actually just a clever word here for filth.  The comics went to a nervous guy in a late model sedan and the wingback chair just went down the street a few blocks.  But what to do about the keyboard.  It’s a full 88 keys on a wooden base with a stool and neither Jamie nor I had played it in months.  Craigslist it was for $250.

The first inquiry was from Archie who was super psyched about it and did the stand come apart so he could get it in his car?  But then he super didn’t want to come to our part of town during rush hour and maybe he could come tomorrow. He kept interrupting my texts with more of his before I could finish the one I was working on.  I said text me tomorrow if he was still interested and could come and I’d let him know if we still had the piano.  He never texted back.

Next was Caleb who wanted to know if we still had it and where were we and please leave a message on the phone because he was interested.  He never called back.

Then there was a reply from someone that made no sense.  Deleted.

Mid-morning Friday  brought an email from Stacy asking if we still had the keyboard.  I replied that we did and would be home all day if she wanted to see it and gave her my number.  She called with a million questions, the last one being

“Could you come down 25 dollars on the price?”

 I hate it when people start haggling.  I make it a practice to price things very reasonably, basically what I would pay for the item.  Haggling may be an accepted practice world-wide but I hate it and I don’t attempt to buy something if I don’t like the price.  However, there were numerous similar keyboards for sale on Craigslist,  and despite ours being the least expensive of the litter, the offers were not pouring in, so I acquiesced and said sure.  Stacy said she had to check with her husband and would call me right back.  She did, said the husband said ok and they would be over around 4pm to pick it up. 

When she arrived, it was with the whole family in tow, including the dog.  Up the stairs came mom, dad and the three boys ages 8,7 and 4.  While the littlest one ran around the apartment, the rest plunked keys, pushed buttons and asked questions.  Well, Stacy asked the questions mostly.  In fact, Stacy was just full of questions and comments and observations.  Dad kept pretty quiet.  As they came to a consensus that everyone liked the keyboard, Dad pulled out a handful of cash and counted it.  Then he handed it to me and he and Jamie started unscrewing  the wing nuts that attach the keyboard to the stand.  Jamie took the keyboard, Dad took the stand and all the men tromped back down the stairs.  Stacy saw my easel with a canvas and asked if I painted.  I said I did and she had a good look at the pieces on the wall and declared

“You’re pretty good.”

I thanked her.

“And I’d like to give you a little something,” she said as she handed me a bit of paper that said  PAID IN FULL in bold print at the top.  Before I could get a good look at it she continued

“It’s a bit of gospel for you.”

And sure enough it was.  Below PAID IN FULL was a drawing of three crosses and inside were several questions that were supported and/or answered by passages in the Bible.

Did You Know You Are In Debt Because Of Your Sin?
Do You Realize What Your Sin Debt Will Cost You For All of Eternity?
Have You Heard Your Sin Debt Has Been “Paid in Full?”
Will You Believe the Bible, The Record of What God Has Done For You?
Will You Trust The Eternity Of Your Soul Completely to Jesus Christ?
Please Realize That You Must Trust Jesus, and He Alone, For Salvation.
Will You Claim the Receipt For Your Sin Debt?

I was surprised at this hand out but I smiled and said

“Thank you.  How very kind.”

We walked down to the parking lot where the boys had climbed into the middle of the Chevy Tahoe, having let the Jack Russell terrier escape and have a sniff around before Stacy got her back in the truck.  Dad and Jamie had totally disassembled the stand to get it all to fit in the way back portion and the tailgate shut tight.  Stacy went on about a couple of paintings she had picked up at Salvation Army somewhere out near Lago Vista where they live.  Lago Vista is quite posh so it’s no surprised the charity shops are filled with treasures like her painting that is worth $1500.00

Finally everything was packed up and we were at the good-byes when Stacy asked her husband if he had given Jamie any gospel.  Dad said no and went for his pockets but Stacy pulled out a leaflet, handed it to Dad who in turn handed it to Jamie.

“A little gospel for you,” Dad said, giving Jamie a manly nod.  Like me, Jamie did a quick look and then smiled and said thank you.  We finished our good-byes and parted company.

Back upstairs, we closed the door and looked at each other.

“What just happened?” Jamie asked comically as we looked at each other.

“I got one, too,” I said and we stood at the counter looking at the pamphlets.  Jamie chuckled.

“When she handed that to you all I could see was the Paid In Full bit and I thought my goodness this woman is very efficient with her receipts.”

As he said that, I was on my second time through counting the money they had paid us.

“It’s twenty dollars short!” I exclaimed.   “Count it for me and see if there are any bills sticking together.”

Jamie counted it once and then again.  It was twenty dollars short.

“He stood right there and counted it,” I said.  “I watched him counting.  I wasn’t going to count it when he handed it to me because that just seemed rude.”

We looked at each other in disbelief.

“We just got ripped off by a family of friendly Texas Baptists.  And that’s after I’d already knocked off 25 bucks from the price!”

Now I’m pretty sure it was an honest mistake but after nearly four years of city living and getting a good dose of not so good folks, there will always be a lingering doubt.  Whenever I pay someone a handful of cash, I ask them to count it to be sure it’s all there.  Did the dad purposely leave out that twenty hoping I wouldn’t count it, ready to cough up the missing cash with an oops! if I did?  We’ll never know.

A bit later I read through the pamphlet completely.  On the back are two option boxes that you can check.

I Choose To Trust Jesus Christ and His Finished Payment For My Sin Debt.
“That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved…For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.”  (Romans 10:9, 13)

Or

I Choose to Reject The Payment of Jesus Christ and Trust My Payment.
“In flaming fire taking vengeance on them that know not God, and that obey not the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ:  Who shall be punished with everlasting destruction from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power;” (2 Thessalonians 1:8-9)

Below those options it reads:

If you have decided to trust Jesus Christ as your Saviour after reading this tract, please write and let us know.

And rubberstamped is the name of the church, Amazing Grace Baptist Church, and its contact info.

Needless to say, I am struggling with which box to check.  Either way, Jesus isn’t getting such a good return on his investment and I’m out twenty bucks.  Now that IS amazing grace.

Busted Book of Baby Names: Volume 2

Names, names, names. Those precious combinations of consonants and vowels that are bestowed upon us at birth and barring a court order remain with us our entire lives.  Heavy is the head that wears the crown...and that wears a name no one on the planet can spell or pronounce. Let's once again celebrate the creativity of our parents and the endless boundaries of the written word courtesy of the weekly issues of Mugly! Dallas/Ft Worth:

Just Plain Cool Names
Billie Ray Minnieweather
Frisco Townzen
Wyvonne Wright
Sulfornia Amos
Tommy Tester  (arrested for capital murder for retaliation against a judge/justice...yikes!)
Chille Edmundson
Truly Hollis
Ethearius Moore
Amadeus Balmaceda
Odessa Daniels
Chiquita Gulley
Njinski Hill
Hilario Vargas
Wykivia Strain
Stoney Rawlinson
Dovie Williams
Sixto Macedo

Names That Sound Great Over Loudspeakers
Anterius Dequon Lewis
Inocencio Torres Parra
Santana Landeros
Willie Tywone Greathouse
Edgar Quinteros Cenisceros
Bufus Earl Fletcher
Bobby Luckey   (fail to pay child support...not so lucky after all it seems)
Guy Chararra Lara
Frank Tom Steve   (yup...that's his name)
Tomorrow Rayshell Session
Jorge Epifani Hernandez Arevalo
Noe Alejandro Martinez Montoya
Khadija Love Fuquan Young  (prostitution...blimey)
Tex Elkhatib
Kenneth Lee Rasberry II
Ebenezer Legbedion
Lucious Dewayne Lugo
Tronald DeGaulle Finely
Boris Bernard Barr
Peaches Bean
Lamarcus Quinstadius Pier

Names That Look Great in Print
Kenevious Dereion Deamon
Queadrean Dremail Bell
Montavious Lavell Rudd
Dmarkus Dawaye Jackson
Joshawa Everitt Curley
Earl Clearance Shaw
Rashad Zhizago Henderson
Quotess Stevenson
Hanifah Taylor
Alessandrini Johnson
Demarkus Rashaud Williams
Lamarcus Rasheed Williams
Ella Wee Lester
Jazzmik Lashun Allen
Furchester Celeste Bradford
Thurmonique Scott

Royalty and Titles
Princess Brown
Pharoah Romaunt Warren
Majesti Autionette King
King Terrell
Marquis Antron Germany
Prince Slaughter
Sir Captain Bennett
Major Lee Jones
Sircedric Jamaal Smith


Troublsome Twins
Roy and Troy Herring      (theft of firearm)
Brendan and Brandon Irby (theft and possession of a controlled substance)
Connell and Donnell Heads  (assault causing bodily injury family violence)


How Do You Spell That?
Antywon Dillard
Tijuana Meshelle Owens
Higinio Padilla
Syntyche Raven Griggs
Dequithiana Beaty
Zacchaetrius Turner
Treashure Laece Hardin
Dalvin Dwing Gardner

Tough Names for a Teenager
Wayne Romeo Gay
Kenneth Eugene Lovely
Dallas Meek


Historical...Kind Of
Marcus Arvelius Graham
Demond Octavius Grant
Victor Hugo Morales
Victor Hugo Cabrera
Markis De Laffett Goynes
Ponce Deleon Deere
Nepolian Harper
Bismarck Duarte
Dytanion Alton Brisby
Bubba Wayne McBeth
Actavione Buckle


Still Laughing in Appreciation
Jammie Wannette Lacy
Rose Royce Davis
Bill Lufthansa Barnes
Lonnie Chaney
Deon Warick Moore

How Many Ways Can You Spell
Dewaiin
Dwayne
Dewayne
Dwain
Dewainne
Duwayne
D'wayne
Dawayne


And MyFavorite Name of the Moment...

Chateau Briand Hattley

To stay up to speed on all the latest names stopping by the Dallas County police stations, get yourself a subscription to Mugly! Dallas/Ft Worth at http://www.muglymedia.com/

Guadalupe Street Vignettes: Tanisha

She was standing in the driveway when I came back from my morning walk, a plus-sized black gal in her twenties whom I had seen moving things into the apartment downstairs the day before.  I smiled when we made eye contact.

“You got a phone?”she asked accusingly.  I stopped in my tracks.

“Yes.”

“I need it.”

I wasn’t about to say no.

She punched in a number and started pacing.  No answer evidently.  She hung up, dialed again.  No answer.  She dialed again.

“I don’t know where they are,” she said to the person on the other end.  “They were supposed to be here at 8:30 and it’s 8:32 now.  I told him, I told him to be here at 8:30.  I’ve got to see my probation officer and then the social worker and I don’t have time to be waitin’ around.”

My heart sunk.  I lived above the apartment from hell, that was the long and short of it.  Emily told me that an elderly lady had died in that place.  Someone found her a few days after she had passed.  Maybe it was her restless spirit drawing these people into that small gaff, people who could make do with a dorm size refrigerator and a hotplate because there wasn’t room for larger appliances.  The outside laundry alcove wedged its way into what would have otherwise been living space, smooshing the kitchen into oblivion.  I could hear people doing laundry day and night in the single washer and dryer.  My bathroom was above it.  It must be hellish to live right beside it.

She was dialing again.  I wanted to ask for the phone back.  The need to get upstairs and use the bathroom was increasing in urgency but I wasn’t going to leave her with my phone.

“Where you at?” she barked into the receiver just as a late-model sedan pulled into the parking lot.

“Here,” she said, shoving the phone at me, and then they were off, floating down the driveway in that way that big old cars can.  The driver was getting an earful.

***

It wasn’t so much a knocking on the door as a command to answer.  Looking out the peep hole I saw she was staring right back at me intently.  I opened the door.

“I need your phone.”

I handed it over, hoping to explain that I was almost out of minutes and could she please keep it short but she was already pounding back down the stairs.  I trailed after her.   When I caught up at the foot of the stairs, she was standing in front of her door, staring at it.  On a piece of notebook paper she had written        T A N I S H A , underlined it numerous times and taped it with copious amounts of tape to the metal door for all to see.

“The door won’t unlock,” she was saying into the phone, still staring at the door.  “The key is not working and I am stuck out here using the lady upstairs’ phone to call.  No…why would I know the manager’s number?”     She looked at me and rolled her eyes.

“I have their number,” I said.  I ran back upstairs, wrote it down so she would have it, and came back down, knowing I was going to be paying overage fees to Sprint that month.  Tanisha was already on to another call.

“The door won’t unlock.  No, I can’t get in through a window.”  She took the paper I offered, studied it and kept talking.  I sat down on the steps and stared at the dumpster. 

Finally the call ended and she rang Della.

“The door won’t unlock…”  Della told her to go knock on Juan’s door and see if his master key would work.  I heard all this as Tanisha repeated the instructions back to her.  Good.  Juan could sort this out.  Tanisha hung up and handed the phone back to me.

“Thank you,”she said.  “If I need to use it some more I’ll come get it.”

***

Our interactions were numerous but brief.  Tanisha was almost always standing in her doorway when I came home from anywhere.  She was waiting for people on a regular basis it seemed.  She would say hi, tell me what she was about to be doing and then go inside to get ready.  That was the routine.  She had a phone now but had run out of tape.

“You got some tape?” she asked.  “I’m having a yard sale and I need to put up some posters.  You should come.  You need any silverware?  I’m selling a couple of extra forks I’ve got. I don’t need six, just four.”

I did have tape, the end of a roll, so I gave it to her.  Her posters were on notebook paper that she filled with writing, most of it being directions on how to get from Guadalupe Street clear across town to some address on the east side where her friend was actually having the sale.  The posters were crazy in that way of someone who was really enthusiastic and has a lot of faith in people, faith that someone would totally want to drive 20 minutes to a rough part of town after reading a sign scribbled on notebook paper with the fringe from the spiral binding still attached and buy some forks.  I felt myself liking Tanisha because of it.

She put three posters on the wooden fence that enclosed the parking lot and put two more on utility poles on the side street.  Clear cellophane tape doesn’t stay stuck to rough wood very long.  The posters were soon blowing down the sidewalk.

***

“I’m real nervous,” she said before I even had the car door closed.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I crossed the parking lot.

“I have a meeting about getting my son back. The judge is going to let him stay with me this weekend maybe.  I’m real nervous about the meeting though but I’ll be ok.   I’d better get ready.  See ya.”

I could hear them downstairs later, that sweet, carefree sound of a child’s laughter.

***

The last time I saw Tanisha she was dressed to the nines.  Her hair was curled and glossy.  Her lipstick matched the crimson dress and heels she had on.  I had only ever seen her in torn sweatpants and t-shirts and quickly decaying sneakers and I was envious once again of those women who can be large and gorgeous at the same time.  She was transformed.

“You look fabulous,” I said admiringly as she stood in her doorway waiting.   “What’s the occasion for all this glamour?”

“American Idol is having auditions. My girl and me, we’re going down and show them all how it’s done.”  She was confidence personified.

“I’ve heard singing down in your place but I always thought it was the stereo,” I said.  “Where do you sing here in town?”

She shifted her weight from one stiletto to the other.

“We sing in church,” she replied, looking past me to a car that was pulling in.

“Well good luck,” I said enthusiastically as she sauntered past me.

“You don’t need luck when you’ve got talent,” she answered.

***

Della was putting a lock box on Tanisha’s door when I came home from errands one afternoon a few weeks later.

“What’s happened?” I asked, setting down my giant bag of grapefruit from the market. 

“Tanisha’s had to move out.  She called me and said she couldn’t afford the rent here anymore.  She is going to move in with a friend.  We had her paying month by month to see how her probation went but she just couldn’t swing it.”

***

I guess American Idol didn’t work out.  I hope something did.

Black and White

It’s edifying and yet terrifying how life goes on after a death.  The couple walking their dogs this morning doubtless have no idea why their animals are lingering near the Jeep parked at the curb.  Do the dogs even know what it is they are smelling on the asphalt just beyond the vehicle’s tires?  I watch them from the porch and remember the sound of the garbage truck, the frantic yelping for a few seconds then a young man’s voice saying over and over, “Oh my God, oh my God.” 

The truck driver stayed in the cab, watching the scene in his big side mirror.  His assistant stood motionless with a trash can in his hands.  The young guy from the apartment house next door walked in circles of disbelief, ran back into the house and then back out again.  Several people stopped to stare and offer help.  My view was blocked by the Jeep and I was glad for it. When the truck driver finally stepped down from the cab, he moved slowly, as though he carried a heavy burden.

Eventually, the garbage truck moved on its growling way.  Trash waits for no one.  The dog was loaded gingerly into the back of a car; a rug beneath it, someone’s jacket covering it.  The young man from the apartment house kept coming out with bowls of water to sluice down the area near the Jeep.  Later, a City of Austin truck parked in our small lot.  The driver surveyed the accident scene for a few minutes then left, probably off to file his report, many steps removed from the black and white border collie who once chased a wandering guinea hen, making it fly up into the bare branches of a pecan tree.

A Capital Idea

A bit of perspective can be a good thing some times.  Being married to someone from another country is like being given a second set of eyes with which to see your own world.  After hearing a reporter refer to the Green Bay Packers as the “world champions”,  Jamie asked how they could be the world champions when the rest of the world had not competed against them in the Super Bowl.  I pointed out that being America, we ARE the world.  But then the chuckling began from both of us.

It has lead us, however, to think about the ways we market ourselves as being superior in some way to the rest of the world, or rather possessing such attributes that would render one the cream of the crop.  After four months of job applications, resume re-writes and rejection letters, I am beginning to wonder if I ever possessed anything in the way of experience or skill that would set me apart from the crowd.    It is clear that I need help in delineating my vision of myself but rather than enlist the services of a life coach or career advisor, I’m choosing instead to follow the example of Mills County, Texas.  After all, it’s the Goat Meat Capital of Texas.

You don’t have to drive very far in Texas before seeing some sign, banner or monument proclaiming the excellence of the place you are about to experience.  Texas is darn good at promoting itself. It was on our trip to Abilene that we saw the sign in Goldthwaite about the Goat Meat Capital.  Now we haven’t done the research so I don’t know if Mills County is the clear and clever champion of goat meat production or if they just edged out Gillespie and Comanche counties in the per pound categories, but they have a nice big sign on 183 North so I’m not about to argue.

After a cheer for Mills County, Jamie and I realized we’ve seen quite a few boastful signs in our travels.  Of course you have to start with Austin which is not only the state capital but has also trademarked its self-proclaimed motto of “Live Music Capital of the World.”  Now I must admit that I’ve grown quite cynical while living in Austin so I do caution that the Austin founding fathers and mothers didn’t coin the city “The Great Live Music Capital of the World”  so caveat emptor if you show up looking for music.  Maybe you will fare better than we have.

It did seem that Austin would garner the title for the most grandiose Texas world claim until I picked up a magazine about El Paso at a tourist information center.  There on the cover for all the world to see was the feature article:   El Paso—Mexican Food Capital of the World.  Ok, isn’t that a bit cheeky?  The Mexican border makes up the western city limit of El Paso.  Isn’t it quite possible that Mexico just might be the Mexican Food Capital of the World?  But that’s Texas for you and neither the city of El Paso nor the country of Mexico hold the trademark on the motto.  That hot piece of marketing property belongs to some bright spark in El Paso who markets it on key chains, license plate holders, magnets and jewelry.  Texas wins again!

But let’s get down to some slightly more conceivable capital claims.

Baird is the Antique Capital of West Texas.  This is an official proclamation put forth by the state legislature in June of 1993.  We were in Baird on our way home from Abilene.  There are quite a few antique shops.  Most of them were closed.

Bastrop is the Most Historic Small Town in Texas.  Why this is, I don’t know.  But we’re more tempted to believe that the Roadhouse Café, which boasts on its t-shirts “Best Burgers in Bastrop”, is undoubtedly telling the truth.  No burger in Bastrop could be better than the ones we had there.

San Saba bills itself as the Pecan Capital of the World;  however, so does Albany, Gerogia.  I’m not about to get in the middle of that feud because Georgians and Texans are both passionate peoples who are fond of carrying firearms.  Brunswick, Missouri, claims to be the Pecan Capital of Missouri, a relatively safe and modest claim in my book, but it’s also home to the World’s Largest Pecan, unless you talk to the folks of Seguin (pronounced Sa-geen), Texas, who make the same claim.  Read this quick article for a good belly laugh:   http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.roadsideamerica.com/attract/images/tx/TXSEGpecan.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/4031&usg=__pZlun7MATIb16nvL4AsG3TdnaEg=&h=256&w=240&sz=14&hl=en&start=41&zoom=1&itbs=1&tbnid=3WoHk5mZe-M5gM:&

When I started looking for more Texas capitals, I was delighted to discover that a couple of websites are all ready dealing with this complex topic. 

Athens is the Black-Eyed Pea Capital of the World.

Waxahachie is the Crape Myrtle Capital of the World, though Lamar County is the        Crape Myrtle Texas County Capital.

Bandera is the Cowboy Capital of Texas.  Jim Hogg County is the Official Vaquero Capital of Texas and of the United States.  No one is talking about where the Unofficial Vaquero Capital is.

 Eagle Lake is the Goose Hunting Capital of the World.

Hawkins is the Pancake Capital of Texas.  Elgin is the Sausage Capital.  Parker County is the Peach Capital.  Caldwell is the Kolache Capital of Texas.  Mauriceville is the Crawfish Capital.  Medina is the Apple Capital.  Westlaco is the Citrus Capital.  Poteet is the Strawberry Capital.  Basically, you don’t have to worry about finding lots of capital food in Texas. 

Watermelon is a little more tricky though.  Luling and Dilley share the honor of  Watermelon Capital of Texas.  Someone in Hempstead was not to be left out and decreed it is the Watermelon Capital of Texas 2.   But the standing ovation has to go Knox City who championed the cause of the seed-free watermelon and got the state House of Representatives to issue a resolution in 1997 making it the Seedless Watermelon Capital of Texas.  Absolutely brilliant!

I was a bit curious why the lists were not including the chicken, pork or beef capitals and a cursory glance through Google on the topics only brought up beef boasting which goes to the panhandle city of Hereford, Texas, named for the local breed of cattle.  A few Google pages later you find Buenos Aires, Argentina, being referred to as the Beef Capital of the World but they must not be paying Google AdWords enough money if the county seat of Deaf Smith County, Texas, is garnering the first search result.  It may interest you to know that Hereford, due to an unusually high level of naturally-occurring fluorine (fluoride) is also called “The Town Without a Toothache.”  It is, as well, the birthplace of Ron Ely who played Tarzan in the 60’s AND replaced Bert Parks as host of the Miss America Pageant.  Three claims to fame for Hereford…it hardly seems fair.

There is the Bluebird Capital in Wills Point and the Catfish Capital in West Tawakoni.  The Rose Capital in Tyler (presumably where the Yellow Rose of Texas resides) and the Cactus Capital in Sanderson. Mesquite is the Rodeo Capital and Madisonville claims mounds of Mushrooms.  Buda (pronounced Be-you-da) is the Outdoor Capital of Texas but I think that’s because there is a massive Cabela’s retail complex there, though Buda is the undisputed home of the world-famous Weiner Dog races.

My favorite capital of something is Odessa, Texas.  Odessa is quite amazingly the Jackrabbit Roping Capital of Texas.  That’s all thanks to Grace Hendricks who set a new record in rabbit roping at the State Convention of the American Legion in 1933. Her record-winning time of 5 seconds beat the 11 1/2 second time of the previous record holder, Sheriff Arden Ross of Loving County.  According to Mrs. Hendricks’s grandson Jon, Grace was convinced to enter the roping event, which she did, and walked to the center of the arena to prepare to rope the rabbit.  She saw the rabbit heading for her so she roped it in self defense.  In 2001, the Texas Legislature signed another of its resolutions thereby granting Odessa its truly unique designation.  And of course, Odessa is home to The World’s Largest Jackrabbit… I think the lesson learned here is that I need a big sign and a big claim.  Once I've got that, I think I'll be good to go.

(Check out these links for more unusual place designations and to see just what the Texas Legislature has been up to when it comes to putting Texas on the map....as if taking up a vast quantity of the atlas wasn't enough!  And sadly, none of the great photos in this posting were taken by us.)
http://www.beer-bytch.com/state_and_county_designations.htm
http://www.tsl.state.tx.us/ref/abouttx/capitals.html

It’s English Jim, but not as we know it... by Jamie

Wren and I took a short road trip to Bastrop, about forty five minutes south east of Austin, just because it was there, they have a great farmers market and the town looks lovely. We also wanted to try the burgers at the Roadhouse Café, which claimed to be “One of the 50 best burgers in Texas!”. I also wanted to go play on the arcade games in the bowling alley…. Well, the farmers market was a charm, we came away with 7 bars of posh soap (5 dollars) and a huge piece of sirloin (4 dollars). As per usual, I had the “I love your accent” conversation, which mostly serves me well while I live in Texas. Mostly…. But I’ll get to that bit later.

So, off we went to Bastrop town, where we parked up, and immediately found a pie shop, which got me all excited at the possibility of getting a steak and kidney, or pork pie or a nice big meat n tater to put in our cooler, and take home. It was shut. For good. Ah well. Wren has explained to me, on many an occasion, that British pie and American Pie are very different things quite often. When a Brit thinks of pie, it is usually a savory meat filling, often accompanied with vegetables, gravy, and usually, some variety of offal. Or pork. American pies, are usually sweet, apple, cherry, peach, or some kind of delicious chocolaty goop topped with thick whipped cream, and drizzled with some kind of syrupy, sugary and delicious sauce. Definitely not pork. But anyway, the point is, I get all hopeful whenever I see a pie shop in Texas. Not that I’m ever disappointed with pecan, or pumpkin pie… But anyway, I am rambling.

We sat by the Colorado river for an hour, with coffee for me, and green tea for Wren, just taking in the birdsong, and the sound of water. It was lovely. We walked around the charming town and main street, till we got hungry and headed off to the Roadhouse Café, for one of the famous burgers. http://www.roadhousebastrop.com/  We got there at Three O’clock, and it was packed which is a very good sign. They weren’t lying about the burgers…. Wow. Best I’ve ever had. And the milkshake? Oh my actual god….. Chocolate and peanut butter. Together. With milk. In a glass. Cold Guinness doesn’t even taste this good. The waitresses didn’t bother to ask anyone if their food was ok. They didn’t have to. They knew it was excellent.  We looked around at the other diners. Every single person there was having burgers. I didn’t blame them one bit….. Texas takes its meat and its BBQ sauce VERY seriously, and the Roadhouse in Bastrop, TX comes very close to tops in my book… Anyway, I’m rambling about food again…

The arcade games were a bit rubbish, so we headed off home. We stopped at a petrol station to get our lottery tickets for Saturdays draw. I headed in to a Chevron shop, and asked the lady if they did lottery tickets. “No Lotteria, Shell Station” she replied in Spanish, pointing across the road.  So, in I went, and asked the man at the counter “Do you do lottery?”. “What?” came the man’s reply. “Can I get lottery tickets here?” I said again, in the clearest voice I could manage with a Yorkshire accent. “What?” said the man. “Lottery. Lott-er-ree. Lottery tickets. For tonight.” I said once more, feeling that sinking feeling I get when no one can understand my accent. “What? Lobster? Huh?” said the man, shaking his head. I sighed and shook my head in reply. I looked over the counter, located the lottery ticket machine, pointed at it, said “Lottery. Three please” holding up three fingers, just in case he thought three sounded like tractor or something. We got there in the end, with the cunning use of sign language.  What’s funny, is the Hispanic lady in the Chevron shop understood me perfectly well, even with my broad Thirsk accent, and replied in Spanish, which I had no problem with. The man in the Shell station had no idea, and he spoke English. Why on Earth would I go up to a counter at a petrol station and ask for lobster? Eeeh, I ask you…

This brings me to the main point of this blog… Living in America, and having a British Accent.

Firstly, I don’t live in America, I live in Texas. There is a difference, in the same way that I don’t have a British accent, I have a Yorkshire accent. Were funny like that.

Secondly, and I must point this out, most of the people I have met in Texas couldn’t care less about my accent. It raises no eyebrows, or merits any reaction, which is fine. Some folk are intrigued, some folk engage me in conversation, and tell me they love my accent, even if they haven’t got a clue what I am on about half the time. This mostly happens with middle aged ladies in shops, and I could just as well be reading the phone book to them and they wouldn’t mind a bit, as long as I kept talking.

Very often, folk ask me where I am from, to which I usually reply ‘A small town in the North of England that you probably never heard of” The reply I usually get is ‘Huh?” or “What?” to which I make it easy for the poor listener, and just say “England”. Sometimes folk will say “You’re Australian, right?”. Nope. Not even close. About 9000 miles off. Perhaps if I said “G’day mate”, they might say “Hey, are you from Thirsk?” I’ve started telling people I’m from Oklahoma, just to see the reaction I get. Usually none, as they didn’t have a clue what I said anyway. But the clever ones laugh….

 Some folk, as soon as I open my mouth, a look of what can only be described as mild confusion and extreme terror takes over their face, and that’s the end of that conversation, especially when my simple request sounds like gibberish to Texan ears. Like, for example, in the shell station while attempting to buy lottery tickets. Also, when I first came to Austin in late 2008, and I was looking to play a couple of gigs in some local coffee houses, I went into this coffee house called Flipnotics, (now called Kick Butt Coffee.). I had one of my demo’s on CD, and I asked the barista who I should speak to about getting some gigs. “Pardon?” said the barista. “Who do I speak to, about getting a gig in here?” I said again, a little clearer. “Sorry, Pardon sir?” said the barista. I put on my clearest Queens English telephone voice, and said “Who do I speak to, about getting a gig in here?”. “Sorry sir, did you just ask for a single or a double latte?” said the barista. Honestly, you couldn’t make this up….. I did that embarrassing thing that English speakers do when they talk to people with non-English accents, and spoke slowly and deliberately in that horrid patronizing way. “I. Play. Guitar. And. Sing. I. Would. Like. To. Play. A. Show. In. Here. Please. Mate.” It was rude of me, but what else could I do? That poor chap at the coffee house…. We got there in the end. I never got a call back about a gig. Oh well.

One problem I often have, albeit an amusing problem, is my name. My name is Jamie. Say it. Go on… Jamie. Jay-mee. Simple, yes? Not in Texas….  When I introduce myself, the person I am introducing myself to will say “Nice to meet you Jeremy!”  It’s not like I was misheard, they don’t say “Jeremy?”, but “Jeremy! Hi!” I used to say “No no, Jamie.”, but that would only result in that look of confusion and terror, so now I say “Sure. Jeremy. Close enough”. I really don’t mind, it has become a source of private amusement for Wren and me. Whenever it happens (which is most of the time), I simply give Wren the look, and she tries really hard not to laugh out loud.  But get this.. Folk even spell it wrong, even after it has been written down! The amount of times I get ‘Jaime’ is unbelievable. Pay slips, job replies, you name it.   I’m just grateful they got it correct on my green card…

 On extremely rare occasions, folk are rude, insulting and bordering on downright racist, but thankfully this has only happened once. There is this bloke who goes to the same gym as Wren and me. I know him only as ‘Tosser John’. He first came to my attention when I was on the treadmill, and I noticed Tosser John, who was not doing very much working out at all. That’s fine, people can do what they like at the gym, as long as I can get on with my workout in relative peace. Anyway, Tosser John would do two or three reps on a weight machine, then stand around posing, checking himself out in the mirror, strutting around like a peacock, and generally looking like a Tosser John. It was vaguely amusing, but I didn’t think too much of it, till one morning, after my workout. It was about two days after Spain won the World Cup, so there was still some football fever in the air, especially after the USA had played so well. Football (not soccer, thank you) was a new craze for a time here in the U.S.A. and was all over the sports channels, even the British games (except for the Leeds U.T.D. games, but we wont go into that…) So, anyway, I was just leaving the changing rooms of the gym, and checking out a bit of footie on the telly (they have a telly in the changing rooms at my gym). Tosser John walks in, looks at me, looks at the telly and says “ Aint that all over now that the World Cup has finished?” A fair point.. “I suppose so, for a lot of people yes. We love it back at home though!” Tosser John’s face darkened. “Where you from anyway?” he says. “England mate” I reply. “Ok. So when you goin back?” says Tosser John. My face darkens at this dubious comment. “I’m not ‘going back’, I live here.” Tosser John tuts, rolls his eyes and curls his lip at me. “Got tired of your socialist government and ran away then, huh?” I see where this is going, and decide not to point out that Britain had recently elected a conservative government, and go for the slightly less offensive reply of “No, I married an American lady, and now I live and work here.” . “So, you’re not Australian or South African then?” says Tosser John. “No mate, definitely English.”, Says I. “I cant tell the difference , y’all guys are all fucked up anyway. You call that English speaking? I cant understand a word y’all guys are tryin to say. Y’all are fucked up.”, says Tosser John. I refrain from pointing out that I speak English a damn sight better than he can, grab my gym back and leave. Fortunately, Tosser John has had the courtesy not to bother talking to me at all since that incident, for which I am entirely grateful. And besides, if he did, I might well be tempted to reply with “What? Huh? Sorry, I only speak English….”

Now, I am not trying to belittle the American people here, nor am I making inflammatory comments towards them. If anything, this is about my own shortcomings and stumbling blocks that I have had to overcome so that I can communicate properly in Shell stations and supermarkets. Please, don’t start making rude and throwaway comments about what you think you know about the American people by using information that you have either got from the telly, or made up. The Brits are quick to do that, I have noticed, even the ‘liberal thinking’ ones.  And besides, if you make any nasty comments, my wife and her country will invade. They are very good at that, those crazy Yanks…