Thursday, June 29, 2006

Naked Lunch Specials IV

It's baaaack!
I have also provided a quick link over at the right for all the reviews.

(warning: link to Joy of Austin may not be safe for work)

Joy of Austin is not actually in Austin, It's actually in Round Rock off I-35 northbound at exit 250. This is the first time I'd been here, but I know from driving by the facade has changed (read improved) over the last few years. It's in between some pretty big shopping centers, but it boasts it's own parking lot, so, no worries about your car being casually spotted from the frontage road. They have valet parking, but no one was at the booth, and I never use that anyway. I did see a sign that intrigued me though. "Car Wash - Cheap" Which implies that theoretically you could get your car washed while you eat lunch at the strip joint. Good deal.

In through the front door, the first thing you see is a leopard skin couch and loveseat. Very swanky. It's a small entrance hall, before the club proper. A young lady behind a desk gave me a "welcome, come on in" and in I went. As soon a you get to the conecting door, BOOM, the stage is right in front of you. It's a round stage of the "hanging raindrop" design connected to the wall at the right. Around the stage to the left is (in this order) a bar area (side wall), a raised VIP section (back wall), a sectioned off second bar area (far side wall) and then the entrance to the teardrop stage (front wall). In front of the sectioned off bar are booths (bench on one side, chairs on the other, bench facing the stage) so that's where I planted myself, feet propped up on a chair.

The decor is kind of gothic revival, all arches and pillars, and the bar was wood panneled, not too shabby, the chairs were all animal print though so there was still a little boom-boom jungle room feel too. I initially thought it was too dark inside, but as my eyes adjusted it just turned out to be too bright outside. The music was loud, but crystal clear. Nice sound system. As I mentioned earlier, it's in Round Rock, so the Smoking Nazis havn't gotten there yet. Feel free to light up.

The waitress was there pretty quick, and although she didn't speak tons of english, was very friendly. I asked if they had Guinness and she asked back "Stout or Draught" I asked for draught, but it only turned out to be a pub draught bottle, not on tap. Still, for $3.75 what do you want out of life. I asked about the lunch special "steak & fries $5". Well, $5.99 but... It's a go. The food was there before I finished my first drink. That's fast.

It was better than I expected. The NY strip was tender, and tasty, about the size of my hand and cooked to order. The fries were thick and crispy, ketchup and A-1 on the side. Not tons 'o food, but a nice little meal. All in all a satisfying experience... and fast. That has got to be the shortest period of time I ever spent in a strip joint. I was out of there in less than 45 minutes.

So... as always, on to the sliding scale.

Service: 9 (would have been 10 if I could have understood her the first time she said something)

Food: 9 (tasted good, cooked well, the portion was a little small for me)

Atmosphere: 8 (nice place, but animal print chairs? come on.)

Value: 10 (I was out of there for under $20, including tip with a couple of bucks to spare)

Total: 9 (Way more than acceptable, this was a deal.)

Next time (notice I didn't say next week this time) I will head south to Expose' on Congress. I have had a couple of friends (No names for professional reasons) offer to meet me there when I go, so we'll see.

If you have a club in your area you would like to review (Food only please, my mother reads this) send a write up to and I may post it. Or if you are in the Austin area and have a club you would like me to visit and review, or would like to join me for lunch, just place in comments.

Update: Do you know the difference between a waitress and a dancer at a strip club? Six months.
One of the girls on stage at Joy was a waitress at Perfect 10 when I went there. Hahahahahahah.


Tuesday, June 27, 2006

...But Acidman's Gone...

...But Acidman's gone...
Acidman and his blog "Gut Rumbles" helped shape this blog. He was crass, and grouchy, and he was one of the best. I have said this before, but I knew I had made it as a blogger when he quoted me on his site. I was proud to have shaken his hand at the blog meet in May. His was one of the first links I ever put over on the right. I knew he was ill, and in pain. I had hoped he would find comfort, and maybe some peace. I hope he has. His passing will leave a void in the blogsphere and in the hearts of all who knew him, and enjoyed his writing.

This is Dave, Rob's brother. I just wanted to let somebody know that the arrangements have finally been made. If somebody has the ability to get the word out, please go for it.There will be a memorial service for Rob at 4 pm on Thursday, June 29th, at Fox & Weeks on Hodgson Memorial Drive in Savannah, followed by an after-service celebration (can't be a wake if it's after the Memorial) at our parents' house. Pickers will bring instruments, everybody else bring voices and any Rob stories you can tell for everybody else to hear while they lift a glass to him. I'm going to miss my big brother, but I'll do my best to send him off in style! There'll be directions to the place at the service, or you can email me: Thanks, everybody!


Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Hurricane Season

I am not a big sports fan, for that you need to see my buddy Doc over at "All I'm Saying Is..." In particular I am not a big hockey fan, but my friend Sean is. Born in Philly he is the huge Flyers nut. He made me come over to his house to watch the Stanley Cup games in years past. We even went to see the Flyers play Carolina in Raleigh back in '97 or '98 (make that '99... The stadium wasn't finished until then) when we were both still living in Greenville. We moved out to Texas, then he moved back to NC and left me out here.
This year the 'Canes made it to the finals, and into the fight for the Cup. Sean was excited. The 'Canes are his new "home team" (he's still a big Flyer freak though) He called to remind me of every game, even the ones I couldn't watch because I don't have cable. I did watch the last four games though.
The Stanley Cup playoff is a best of seven series. At the end of the fourth game Carolina led the series 3 games to 1. Then they lost the next one... And the one after that they lost 4 to nothing. Seventh game, winner take all, the 'Canes took the Oilers down 3 to 1, and Lord Stanley's Cup gets to spend a year in my home state. Not a sports fan, but I guess I still have some back home pride. Woooo-Hoooo 'Canes!

Saturday, June 17, 2006

What's in a Name?

I'm coming up on a year here at Dead Dog Walkin'. I'd like to think I've done OK by the people who stop by to read me. I even went so far as to design business cards (I print 'em up myself) with a picture of my dog tattoo (the very first post) K-Nine my blog site cell # and e-mail to give to friends and new aquaintances. I have noticed a few people look at me a little strange when they read the web site's name, and a handful of people have asked me why I called my blog Dead Dog Walkin'. Here's the story... the true story, as opposed to the story of how I got my nickname K-nine which is lost to the annals of history due to some long convoluted happenings and alcohol abuse.

Well, with a name like K-nine it had to be dog related, that was just a given.
A comedian named Dave Atell had a show on comedy central called "Up All Night" where he would visit different cities and do a show there. I love to travel when I can (which is never) and had told friends if I ever won the lotto I'd quit my job, travel around and blog about where ever I was. I was going to call it "Dog, Walking". Ha Ha HA, like I'll ever win the lotto.

Well as I was discusing this with friends , one of which is a blogger (Ken from Bellerophonchimera), over pints at the pub we wandered into the metaphysical. I am already on a journey, life, and that trip has only one destination.

A man on his way to the electric chair is said to be "walking the long (or last) mile and is called a "dead man walking". We are all walking that long mile every day, so "Dog, Walking" became "Dead Dog Walking". Well oddly enough someone already owned that one ,although there isn't anything there, and "Dead Dog Walkin'" was born.

I wasn't sure how to start, so I did some history and some political opinion, a little personal ranting and some humor. All in all I'm relatively satisfied with the result and the feedback, I just wish I had more energies to commit to it.

So, there it is. Not nearly so exotic as it could be I suppose, but true, every word. Please visit the links to the left, feel free to browse the archives and thanks for stopping by, and come back anytime.


Friday, June 16, 2006


He sat by the fire early that morning, the very last of his coffee heating on a rock in the middle of it, legs crossed and bent awkwardly pulling his right foot around to look at the steel shank poking through the dry cracked leather sole of his worn out boot. Good boots, but four years of war had taken their toll. Thank God he was a horse soldier. He cringed to think of the poor bastards who had walked the length and breadth of this horrendous conflict with bad boots and bare feet. Cavalry had distinct advantages, and he was suddenly aware of how lucky he had been to get a horse and that neither of them had been seriously wounded or killed.

It was almost over now. Everyone knew it. Foot soldiers were deserting by the hundreds, and the officers weren’t trying all that hard to stop them anymore. This new nation he had come to support was going to die in infancy. Somewhere just to the north Bobbie Lee was being chased down by that devil Grant and somewhere south past Raleigh Uncle Joe was trying hard to get by Sherman to join the two southern armies.

After a breakfast that was less than filling, his troop mounted up to finish their scouting mission. The weather was warm and humid in the pines of southern Virginia in early April. Thankful for the shade but at the same time cussing the trees that blocked the breeze they rode forward right into the ambush.

Suddenly surrounded by shouting men in blue uniforms he was knocked from his horse by the butt of a hard swung rifle. Rolling behind a big oak tree he yanked his pistol and looked for a familiar grey uniform among the flash of the rifles and the smoke that was quickly becoming oppressive. On one knee he checked the Remington’s percussion caps and then himself to make sure all was in working order. He felt no pain now, but knew all too well the hidden pains that showed up after a fight.

Crouching, he ran forward until he was on a small rise with a clear field of fire and a small pine thicket behind him. A soldier in blue erupted from across the clearing running hard. The Remington came up with practiced ease and with a thundering boom the union soldier’s upper body reversed direction. For a split second it looked as though he were running up an invisible hill, then he fell and lay still. A second soldier appeared and knelt to aim his rifle. Again the smoke and fire from the pistol dropped him cleanly. Three more times the gun rumbled and three more men ended their time on Earth.

He turned to duck into the thicket to reload when a blue clad man pushed his way out of it. The yank was still tangled up so he leveled the pistol with its single remaining shot. The triple click of the hammer seemed louder than normal; he squeezed the trigger and was greeted by a loud pop. “Damn, misfire” was all he had time to think before he saw the barrel of the .58 caliber Springfield swing his way. A muffled boom followed by the whuffeling sound of a badly cast bullet off to his left let him know he had a second chance.

The two men stared at each other briefly before the union man pulled his bayonet from his belt. As he reversed his pistol in his hand he noticed the man’s round features and wire rimed glasses, and then he was in a fight for his life. He felt the triangular blade snag in the material of his coat as he brought down the butt of the pistol down on the man’s shoulders. The contact knocked the gun from his hand, so he grappled for the weapon the other man held.

The bayonet pierced his side and he yelped like wounded dog. Twisting his body away he felt the stinging pull of the blade as it was ripped from his opponent’s fist. The man in blue charged as he fell backwards pulling the bayonet free from below his ribcage. He reversed it and braced it against his chest just as the other man leapt on him. As the man was impaled on his own weapon he spit blood in a wide spray and collapsed.

Pulling himself free of the dead man he tried to check his wound, but to his unfocused eyes he couldn’t tell who’s blood was whose. Giving up he leaned against a tree and closed his eyes and breathed in the harsh smell of burnt powder and death.

Two days later he came awake to the sting of carbolic on a fresh wound. The doctor was amazed they had found him. His horse had been standing over him waiting to be fed, and that’s how the stragglers from Appomattox had spotted him.

Lee had surrendered. The Yanks were granting amnesty to all who swore allegiance to the United States.

To Hell with that, home is just a hundred or so miles east-southeast of here just inside the next state.

When he got home he asked his neighbors about her. Gone she was, a year and more. Word had come that he’d been killed in the valley and she’d married a grocer from across the county line. “Just as well,” he thought, “dead is exactly what the man who left her is.”

The days rolled by, and slowly turned into months. He managed to get in a late garden, and kill a couple small deer to hold starvation off for the winter. There was no end to the folks that would stand him a drink to hear a war story or two, but his oldest friends, the ones who were still alive anyway, never looked at him the same as they once did. Evenings he would sit and sip whiskey, puff on a cigar or his pipe, and stare into God’s eye as it fell past the horizon.

Spring came, as it does every year, and his horse balked at the plow harness it hadn’t seen for almost five years. He, himself, realized that a view of the world from the top of a horse was much better than the view from behind one. Lincoln was long dead by now and Johnson was showing himself to be too malleable to the more harsh factions in Washington.

His fields had started to grow up with weeds. No one had seen him for a week or more. His neighbors went by, and his house lay empty, save the furniture. The stable was silent, and the hoof prints trailed west.

There are a lot of comments I would like to make about this piece of work, but a writing instructor I once had told me, "If you don't point out your own shortcomings, a lot of people will never notice them." Suffice it to say, this was written in a relatively short period of time, and I never have been one to over edit (or even somewhat edit) my work. It's nothing like anything that has ever appeared on this blog and I don't know if I'll do it again. It is an original work, and a condensed beginning of a much longer story I have floating around in my head.

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Friday, June 09, 2006

Back In Black (And White)

No, I am not dead. I did not have a fatal "aneurysm" (grumble, grumble at JRB). I have mentioned before that I won't be one of those bloggers who complains about every little thing unless I can make it somewhat entertaining or add substance to it. There are enough whiners and criers out there to go 'round. I have also noticed that a lot of good bloggers are quitting because now that everyone blogs it's not as cool any more. No, I am not quitting. I only have a month to my 1st anniversary. I have just had a lot going on at one time and have not had the time to string coherent thoughts together. I hate that I did nothing for Memorial Day, but I had nothing. Thank you for checking back from time to time to see what I have, and I have been sorry to disapoint. I can see light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, and should be back up to speed by next week.

Upcoming Posts:
(in no particular order)

Part II of the Blown Star Blodge Fest (where I finally link the rest of those freaks)
The P38: Gods gift to GI's
A fictional Civil War story (original)
A random (mostly true) story about one of my old friends
and last but not least: Da-Da-Tadaaa...
A return of the Naked Lunch Specials Starting with Joy of Austin