arrival to Oman

We finally made it! After 25.5 hours of flying, layovers and delays, we made it safely to Muscat. Because we flew in under the cover of darkness, it was virtually impossible to get an aerial view of the supposedly picturesque area. My dad had a native co-worker who was able to meet us inside as we exited the bus and entered the terminal. He swept us right through our visa retrieval, customs and baggage pickup. It was the easiest and smoothest international arrival I believe we've ever had.

Once we found all of our luggage -- for once almost all of it was waiting for us -- we rounded the corner that took us out to the eagerly waiting family and friends. Dad stood at the end of the walkway, and as soon as Emerson spotted him, he took off running, right into Poppy's arms. It brought tears to my eyes, it was so sweet!

Dad's house isn't too far from the airport; he says it's just out of Muscat proper. From what I could tell from the drive, the shops and restaurants look a lot like what I was used to in Doha, Qatar. And I've already spotted the first American touch -- a KFC that was still serving well into the night. Dad tells us that there are several American eateries here, including Chili's, Papa John's and Dairy Queen. It's always so weird to see these establishments on the corners of otherwise foreign streets...and they're always so popular. The last thing I want when I get over here is to eat at a fast-food restaurant that is so prevalent at home, but I guess there are occasions where that American touch can be comforting. I bet it feels that way to my Dad sometimes.

Because we got in so late (around 10:30pm local time,) we went straight to Dad's house to settle in. His housing always amazes me when I visit him abroad; I'm not sure if it's just because he chooses them large or if it's just the average house available, but each villa he's lived in has been expansive, especially for a single man. His Muscat home is no exception. This duplex doesn't look all that fancy or large from the exterior, but once inside, it feels never-ending. As per most Middle Eastern homes I've encountered, the walls are clean, white cement with arched doorways and high ceilings with intricate crown molding throughout. Like my favorite house of his in Doha, the floors are a creamy beige marble tile that's always cold to the touch -- so refreshing given the 100F+ heat outside. In my Dad's usual fashion, he had the high, horizontal air conditioning units cranked up in each and every room so it felt like the Arctic tundra as we experienced the formal tour of the place. That's just the way my dad is though and, although I grab the remotes and turn them down almost immediately, I love it.

Julie, Emerson and I all decided to sleep in bedrooms on the second floor where my dad's master suite also is so we would all be easily accessible. Despite the fact that the first floor has an impressive kitchen (in size at least; I can't stand the overhead lighting and the fact that the cabinets are blood red!) the second story has a separate kitchenette, allowing my dad to rarely make it downstairs unless to leave for work. And one of my favorite features to Middle Eastern homes -- roof access is available with stairs that make it appear as a third floor. I haven't been up there yet, but you can bet I will at some point soon.

That was my favorite evening spot during my summers in Doha -- I would climb the exterior ladder on the side of the one-story villa and sit along the roof's edge while I wrote poems, listened to music and called friends/family back home. The lights, sounds and smells of the Arabian city are somehow so calming, and coupled with the usually clear sky filled to the brim with bright, shining stars, it's something I'm pretty sure I won't ever forget. And those are the best memories.

On today's agenda: hitting the Toys R' Us to stock my dad's house with toys for 2.75-year-old Emerson (from here on out referred to as E,) taking the mandatory visit to his workplace to prove that he does in fact have two beautiful daughters, and who knows what else. Visits to local souks, beach time and cultural sightseeing will be forthcoming. Oh, as will photos.

formal introduction to Sheba

A couple months ago, C and I decided that we'd graduated beyond plants in the nurturing department. With me at home full-time now, I was convinced I was ready for a furry companion. Determined to come to the rescue of a sad but sweet golden retriever, C and I somehow got distracted at the Town Lake Animal Center. Instead, we ended up with a spastic, waify kitty named Sheba who loves to meow constantly. Her range is both phenomenal and unbelievably annoying -- if you're lucky, maybe I'll record a couple clips for your listening pleasure, but don't hold your breath. If this is any kind of preparation for children, I've still got light years to wait.

Because Sheba loves the outdoors and devours anything she can catch (mainly in the form of spiders, moths and those gigantic male mosquitoes,) she comes home fairly dirty on a daily basis. Here's a photo from her very first bathing experience which I'm pretty sure she LOVED.


Although she looks like a pissed off, underfed raccoon above, she really is a quite comfortable cat. She's totally made herself at home in our shoebox apartment, grabbing herself a beer before she sits down to watch Adult Swim every evening (although she usually passes out before the funniest parts.)

Local Live Music :: Bob Schneider

People in Austin don't even use his last name. They refer to him simply by his first, like he's an old friend. Like he's everyone's old friend. I'm not sure why I haven't yet written about him; he's Austin's most popular singer-songwriter.

Bob Schneider's style is forever evolving. He writes sappy sweet love songs, silly jangly tunes and raunchy, sexy numbers that I skip over when my mom's in the car. (Did I mention my mom loves him too?)

He's been a cornerstone of the local music scene for decades now, a veritable flesh and blood Austin landmark. I came to know of him when I spent my nights (literally each and every night) catching local music on and around the notorious Sixth Street. As a porous college student with an intrinsic love for anything creative, it made sense for me to take my study materials to the upstairs balcony of the now-defunct Steamboat and watch random local bands perform unfamiliar songs while studying. Pen in hand, I'd work on art projects or psych papers while noting bands, songs and the like that caught my attention in the margins. Friends knew of my bizarre study sanctuary and began cluing me in to various musicians worth noting around town. This is how I was introduced to the Scabs.

How someone coaxed me to see a group with such a visually-disturbing name is beyond me. At the time, the nine-piece band enjoyed a Tuesday night residency at the renowned Antone's, a venue that was, conveniently enough, all ages. As a partial social phobe, I was immediately turned off by the unbelievably packed club. The rambunctious nature of the college crowd was almost too much for a sober, slightly shy bookworm with a live music fetish. It wasn't until the end of the show after several songs with sexually explicit lyrics that I grew numb to the crudeness and began to appreciate the fun-loving party band that a dirty-talking Schneider fronted.

Since that time nearly a decade ago, this workaholic musician has kept me entertained with his unbelievable ability to morph into a variety of characters in the span of one show. He currently plays in a low-profile band billed simply as Bob Schneider, alongside long-time bassist and equally awe-inspring artist Bruce Hughes. Biting lyrics, astute rhymes and a certain unexplainable stage presence keep his live shows worthwhile, no matter the group he's fronting.

And if his musical ability isn't enough, he delves into both poetry and art.

Look for the latest musical creations on his MySpace where saucy, fun tracks are available for download.