Spreading across the blogosphere like wildfire!

Look at me, trying to make professional strides and stuff:

http://blog.awcaustin.org/2011/08/30/chasing-down-the-muse-where-creative-types-turn-for-inspiration/

(Slightly edited from my original version, but I'm pretty happy with it...)

Walk softly and carry a big can of Raid.

But of course that never is that, which is why when I was scouring the bathroom and lifted the rug by the shower, a roach the size of half of my hand (all right, this might be a slight exaggeration, but it wasn't a miniature, either) scuttled up the wall. As expletives did nothing to deter it, I found myself en route to H.E.B., trying to think hardy Texas thoughts like, "All right, it's time to cowboy up, even if this is my first rodeo."

When I got home the roach and I had a little heart-to-heart, John Wayne style (not that I've seen any of his movies, but he had showdowns, right?). I will say this: it is never fun to watch something struggle for its life and lose, no matter how vile, foul, or repugnant it is. After all, cockroaches are pretty remarkable creatures, and it's not like we get to audition for our role in the food chain. Immediately after vanquishing what appears to have been the last survivor of yesterday's treatment, I duly tormented myself by reading online articles about whether cockroaches can feel pain (apparently they can, and it's probably best not to dwell on that).

On a more palatable note:

Meep in a Box TM, the Special Guest Star Edition.

The exterminators have worked their magic and I came home to the dead roach on my kitchen floor to prove it. Let's hope that is that (although is it ever?).

And now, on to more important things:

No one puts Sparty in the corner! 

Oh man.

To the cockroach I just found in the sink (my first one, ever!):

Look, dude. I totally respect your seniority on the planet. I was just coming at you with the Tupperware so as to transport you outside. But you were probably right to skitter away, because seniority notwithstanding, there's no way I'm not calling pest control on your ass tomorrow.

With all due respect,

Allison

Today's MIAB TM!

Because I am in the market for modes of exercise that don't necessitate being outside and because I never, ever want to be able to take myself seriously again (having more left feet than Kali has limbs), I took a class here last night. Eastern and Western dance all in one weekend! And now, without further ado, the star of this blog:

I am particularly fond of this one because not only does it do a fine job of showcasing Meep's aura (thanks, Shutter Island!), but it also captures her in the act of defending her fortress from the Sparty menace (the gray-and-white blur in the right-hand corner).

If it's Broken, don't fix it.

I finally tracked down the Broken Spoke (the previous difficulty arising from the fact that I am so accustomed to committing navigational missteps that I have developed the unfortunate habit of preemptively correcting navigational errors BEFORE THEY OCCUR, whereas if I had just stayed the course I would have ended up at my destination), and boy am I glad I did because it turns out that Texas is just like in the movies (Cowboy hats! Cowboy boots! Men are Men and Women are Women, and the house band sports pompadours and plays the upright bass against a backdrop of blurred neon!), at least at the Broken Spoke on a Saturday night when the dashing and talented Dale Watson is playing. Having finally managed to see Dale Watson, I will now need to find another Texan white whale, and I'm sure I will. Or maybe I will just follow him all over town.

About Dale Watson: when I am a middle-aged gentleman, I want to be him. You know when you encounter someone who is born to be the exact age they are when you encounter them (if not, pretend you do)? Someone who inhabits their life stage with such style and panache that you think, they were born to be in the exact incarnation they are in in the right-now? That is Dale Watson. All right, enough rhapsodizing. Suffice it to say he is a real cool cat.

Several kindly souls braved the dance floor with me in an attempt to teach me how to waltz and two-step and do all the things people who actually know how to dance can do, and everyone was an excellent sport, no matter how many times I stepped on their feet (turns out it’s possible to have more than two left feet!), just as the neighboring couples were excellent sports, no matter how many times I bumped into them. Put a mosh pit in there and I'd be fine, but I'm afraid this Learning to Actually Dance business is going to be an uphill battle. Unless there is an interpretive dance night at the Broken Spoke. I even found a Venezuelan country music aficionado with whom to practice my Spanish! And my car didn't get towed, the dubious legality of my parking space notwithstanding.

When I got home, I felt strange, and I started to freak out until I realized what it was: I felt good. What with the yoga earlier in the day (shut up), and the thoroughly delightful evening, I felt preternaturally good. Like, scary-good. Truth be told, I'm a little apprehensive to ever return to the Broken Spoke, for fear it would be a doomed endeavor to recreate one of those perfect days/nights that occasionally seem to drop spontaneously down from the heavens and that can never be replicated, but merely fondly remembered.

And here is photographic evidence!

 In the ladies’ room! “These are the most patriotic stall doors I have ever seen,” I explained to the woman who entered as I was taking this picture, by way of attempting to explain that I was not a pervert, but merely impressed with the décor. Apparently I wasn’t convincing, since she turned around and left.

And finally, speaking of real cool cats, here is the Sunday edition of Meep in a Box TM:

Risotto, MIAB TM, and honky tonkin'.

So I went to yoga today and even though it made me feel like the poster girl for "Stuff White People Like" I bought eight more classes, because if anyone needs to get Zenner, man, it's me. I am pleased to report that I successfully refrained from asking the instructor to teach us the crab walk from The Exorcist, as I suspect that this is not a legitimate asana pose.

In other news, last night's Friday Night Risotto was unusually seasonally appropriate, replete with corn and summer tomatoes, to surprisingly lackluster effect--perhaps because I was not using stellar produce. I am in fact rarely using stellar produce, which is why I maintain that my dearly beloved frozen pea and carrot mix works just as well if not better. Of course all was dutifully photo-documented:

Pretty on the outside, bland on the inside.

The allium family represents!

Look! I totally didn't cheat with frozen corn! (Not that it really mattered in the end.)

Herein the shucked corn cobs are artfully repurposed to flavor hot water with their corniness; this will serve as the broth to be added to the rice.

Look at this bowl! It's lousy with summer!

Everyone knows this is the best part about making risotto.

With adding indecent scads of cheese coming in a close second...I use sharp cheddar because I have never cottoned to the mustiness of Parmesan. King of Cheeses, my left foot. All strident assertions to the contrary. Then again, I only buy the cheap stuff.

Basically, I like to eat baby food with pretenses of sophistication.

Plated!

And now we have a very special edition of Meep in a Box TM for those among the readership who have expressed concern that our little lady never actually gets to leave the box:

Meep Outside the Box!

Tonight I am going to embark on a Finding the Broken Spoke rematch, which, as luck would have it, is also a Seeing Dale Watson rematch, as this has become my Texan white whale. Yee haw! 

Happy Friday from all of us here at Meep in a Box TM!

It's Thursday, and you know what that means--Meep in a Box TM!

As you can see, being a cover girl can be exhausting:

DMVmonic.

Okay, so that was an awkward play on words, but bear with me, please. As of today I surrendered the last vestige of my Idaho residency and acquired a Texas driver's license, with the cautionary restriction that corrective lenses must accompany me in the driving task (thanks, Father Time!). Frankly, given that "I can't see that" was my constant refrain throughout the vision test (even when wearing my snappy Walgreens reading glasses)--which I will go out on a limb and assume was not the right answer--I'm surprised they didn't impound my vehicle. Be thankful for small mercies and all of that. I probably spent at least three hours waiting, which would have been vexing, were I not presently in the thrall of Jennifer Egan's The Keep, which I am finding to be a real page turner. So much so that I'm not even sure how long I spent waiting at the DMV!

And now it's time for our headliner to take the stage:

As you can see, her devout fans prostrate themselves before her...

Speaking of whom, it has come to my attention that a certain Sparty has had enough of Meep hogging all of the limelight, so here is a candid shot of him doing what he does best:

One of these days I will go somewhere again, and document it, at which point this blog will resume some semblance of thematic appropriateness....Until then, KITTIES!!!

Today's Meep in a Box TM!

Tacos, trailers, and Meep in a Box TM!

Last night I went here, where my ambition to eat a fried avocado taco was thwarted by the absence of avocados on hand. Outrage! The tostada I had instead was surprisingly tasty, considering what a simple concoction it was (of course it's often the simplest foods that are the best), although a bit dearly priced for the amount of food it entailed. To be fair, however, I do hail from the land of the Mission Burrito, so perhaps my expectations are skewed. What I learned from this expedition: the word "foodgasm" should be outlawed. You don't even want to know what I think the penalties should be.

In other news, while Austin does seem like a pretty laid back city, this does not apply to the vehicular stylings of its citizenry. But then I've never lived anywhere in the U.S. where the vehicular stylings of the citizenry didn't make me want to put sterilizers in the drinking water. That said, it is disheartening to be caught in heinously clogged traffic due to a fatality on MoPac and watch people pull stunts like crossing solid lines to cut off other cars in the interest of gaining a yard. Oh, humanity, that's quite a learning curve you have there. 

On a brighter note, here is today's Meep in a Box TM and some tortured attempts at photo-documenting last night, courtesy of Shutter Island: 

Be not fooled by the encroaching dusk: it was still sweltering outside.

Lights, lights, everywhere!

This place sells cake balls, which are basically exactly what they sound like--served on popsicle sticks!

This cow makes the cake balls!

It was a lot of the color orange in one place--this seemed to scream "photographic composition!" Or something like that.

Meep in a Box TM: the Sunday edition

All right, so I hope to have an authentic Austin adventure on which to report by tomorrow, since once upon a time, before I crawled deeply, deeply into the bell jar of my crazy cat lady-hood, this blog was supposed to be roughly travel-themed. In the meantime, here's everyone's favorite gal in a box:

Fortifying the economy (aka rampant consumerism)....

Well, the whole AT & T internet debacle ended up paying rather handsomely in the form of a hundred dollar American Express gift card, which meant a trip to Tar-jay, which means that from this point on I no longer have to drink coffee from a measuring cup and try to slice butter with sporks. Life is good. I also bought yoga supplies (shut up--it's hot here, all right, and I can't just be sedentary for months on end, can I?).

In other news, all I want to do on Friday nights is stay home, make risotto, and listen to DJ Amy's program, which runs from 6 to 8 pm. Central Time. I even won a free t-shirt!

And now, without further ado, here is today's installment of Meep in a Box TM, plus some "arty" Friday night risotto shots for good measure:

Olive oil, garlic, onion...

Now the rice has crashed the party!

Portrait of the risotto as a young rice dish....

Note the classy addition of frozen peas and carrots!

It's not my fault that risotto calls for wine....



Even MORE Meep in a Box TM and a couple other things....

I received a very sweet and thoughtful thank-you card in the mail today from the Georgetown furniture store from which I acquired my blood-red bar stool (which, besides the mattress I finally broke down and purchased, remains the sole piece of human furniture in my apartment). I told you--people are NICE in Georgetown. The thing is, it was addressed to "Mr. and Mrs. Floyd Allison". You can see how this might happen--Floyd also being a man's first name and all, but it made me think less of this than it did Ed Wood's Glen or Glenda. Or in my case, Glen AND Glenda. Evidently my Texan incarnation is leading a double life.

In other news, here is the latest installment of the run-away hit series Meep in a Box TM!

Also, here is the taqueria where I have been practicing my Spanish with a group of nice folks on Thursday nights:

More Meep in a Box! TM

Meep in a box! TM

*aura sold separately

More inauthentic Texas cuisine!

"Don't tell me you believe the lie," said the friendly H.E.B. employee as I surveyed the "healthy" section of the cereal aisle.

"We have to believe in something."

"There are Frosted Flakes over there."

"I bought frozen cookie dough, so it's [these pretenses at healthy eating] all a sham."

***

Well, given that this state is famed for its barbecue, it was only a matter of time before I tried my hand at it, but I think we can safely achieve consensus that the stripe of barbecue for which Texas is famed has nothing to do with marinating tofu in barbecue sauce and subsequently broiling it, which is what I tried my hand at last night as part of my It Is Not Scary to Cook With Tofu campaign.

The verdict? It tasted like barbecue sauce, which is fine, because I like barbecue sauce, and this was good barbecue sauce, courtesy of H.E.B.'s "upscale" sister, Central Market, which I have yet to visit, but some of whose products (including frozen cookie dough—cranberry walnut and chocolate chunk pecan!) can be obtained at its more plebian permutation. Maybe firm tofu is the way to go? T.B.D.! Which rhymes with H.E.B....

So yes, I intend to slowly savor the leftovers whilst uneasily mulling over man's inhumanity to man....

More gadding about town.

Things I did yesterday:

·    Visited this place and sampled some Bordeaux and ate macaroni and cheese that finally impressed upon me what all the fuss regarding homemade versions is about and even had me questioning my deep and abiding loyalty to the radioactive orange stuff from a box so dearly beloved in my childhood (and adulthood).

·    Felt like a space alien.

·    Went here and vowed to return one day for chicken excrement bingo.

·    Vowed never again to eat my homemade Frito pie, even if this is an appalling waste of food.

·    Discovered an enormous iridescent green beetle in my apartment. It is now hiding beneath a suitcase, presumably to evade the mooshies, and I am too scared to try to set it free, which is making me feel like a murderess, because I don't think there's anything for it to eat in here. This is not a problem I had in Idaho.

·    Sagely concluded that you can go against your own grain without catastrophically toppling your identity.

All in all, a pretty productive Saturday.

Frito pie!

As this is evidently the Texas state (or national, depending on where you stand with respect to the secession issue) dish, I felt it my solemn duty as a newly minted Texican to concoct it—as inauthentically as possible, of course, on account that I am now one of those folks who gets all up at arms about the food chain (you might know them as vegetarians). This of course means that I used kidney beans instead of real Texas chili (which is all about the meat and contains no beans whatsoever). I lifted the recipe from this site. I omitted the sour cream, but otherwise remained true.

It should be noted that I made the official Texas state/national dish in my excellent new Texas decorative cake pan, replete with a giant Texas mold in the middle and, as the pan literature noted, "Blue bonnet accents". More statist/nationalist points!

The verdict? It was all right. I should have used a better cheese and maybe baked it for less time, as I think I would have preferred a soupier consistency. Also, I probably would have halved the tomato sauce, but then I'm not much of a fan. I'm frankly not necessarily thrilled that I have as many leftovers to get through as I do. But, hey, it was relatively cheap to make, is relatively healthy to eat (if you disregard that it consists of a whole bag of Fritos), and boy do I feel (semi)authentically Texan now.

And look! I took pictures!

The indomitable aura of Frito pie fixins', plus Don Pedrito, the purported (by the candle holder) patron saint of Vida y Salud.

A slightly more somber rendering of Frito pie fixins'.

Everything is redder in Texas.

It's beginning to look a lot like Texas!

All finished. Mournfully masticate whilst contemplating the futility of existence.

Allison in brief.

Let's see: a jaunt downtown, a visit to the Writer's League of Texas office (where I found plenty of writers' business cards, but alas no markets or job prospects, I guess there's a reason not many people make a living at this), a "Monster" burrito, a corresponding outburst of monster sound effects on my part and subsequent "Coolest Customer of the Day" accolade, a threat to make the news, quiet despair, noisy futility, et al., et al.

Attempts thus far at responsible adulthood (i.e. employment) are yielding no returns. If this trend continues unabated I will most likely say "flip it" (this is, after all, a family blog) and hit the road (cat-free this time!) for some other stateside adventures this fall. After all, you can beg and plead with the albatross to wrap itself around your neck, but if the albatross says "Uh, sorry, it's not you, it's me," what is there to do but run, run, run, even if this feels like digging your own financial grave? Of course, at the moment it's arguable that the credit for this belongs to ye olde economy. Which is to say, there may be some other adventures in the works soon, especially now that I have a home base where I can safely stow the kitties. We shall see....

Meanwhile, remember when I went to this really cool place??? The photo-documentation NEVER ENDS!!!

MORE El Santuario--this chapel (that's what they're called, right?) was devoted to children...