Buying a TV

OMG, buying a TV, right? We had made the decision to switch from Time Warner to AT&T because of the sweet package they were offering in our area. Three TV hook-ups for the master bedroom, the living room and, finally, the kitchen. I mean, in one shot we were going to go from only the 32" in the living room to three independently tuned sets in the most important rooms of the house. Sweet!

We already had the 32" and there was a 19" high-def left over from a previous address so all we needed was to decide what size of television to get and then with what features. We set our budget at no more than $700 and then had to decide whether or not to get the biggest TV we could for the money or the best picture quality. Hoping for a decent compromise between the two we set out for Best Buy believing that something in the 40"-47" range would work. Anything bigger can come later but definitely a step up from the 32" in the living room, which will get moved to the bedroom in favor of the new TV we hoped to bring home.

As the cable guy was setting up the new network we verified a few simple things we needed to know before heading to the store. The refresh speed is measured in hertz and the higher the number the faster the speed. Ok. Nearly every TV on offer is "HD" (High-Definition) so did we want a plasma, an "LCD" or thin profile "LED." Plasma is supposedly better in darker rooms and for sports and action films but run hotter and at higher refresh speeds. Hello, electric bill. We agreed to stay away from the new 3D sets as being too faddy and annoying having to wear those glasses at home.

TVs in show rooms are set to the highest possible "brilliance" to grab your attention walking through the door. The brighter the better goes the trend but those brighter ones tend to be the cheaper models. At the same time all the different makes, models and sizes simply overwhelm the novice shopper with choices, images and other features. How to pick one TV from nearly 100 on the walls and shelves all around you? Does anyone remember going in, buying a Zenith, RCA or maybe a Curtis Mathes, taking it out of the box, plugging it in, pulling the on knob and then simply fiddling with the rabbit ears? Remote control? That's what the kids were for!

Heading in to the store we knew the size range we wanted and the features we were interested in. We started at a 42" Panasonic plasma, made it all the way up to a low-end 55" LCD made by Insignia, the house brand and then settled back down to three 46" (measured diagonally) options by Insignia at the low end, Samsung at the top and Westinghouse in the middle in terms of our perception of picture quality. The Westie and the Insignia were the same price but only offered a one-year manufacturer's warranty where the house brand offered two years. The Samsung was $300 higher than the other two and therefore out of budget and the running.

We settled on the Westinghouse and were ready to wrap up the deal in about 30 minutes of total time in the store until they threw the "calibration" curveball at us for an additional $200 to get the best picture. What? Why aren't the TV's set to optimum out of the box? Why so much over the cost of the TV? Why the scare tactic of voiding the warranty if the customer does something wrong? Why not just fiddle with the brightness and color balance options at home the way most of us have been doing these many years?

In truth we were "just looking" anyway and not expecting to make a purchase the same day we'd decided to go looking. Calibration, huh? Thanks for the "out." Time for some more homework.
Gotta go.

Dignity: At Last and Almost

The American political system is a long and arduous road for those seeking major social change, costing much in the way of time, sometimes political careers and even lives. New York State made history on June 24, 2011, becoming the sixth and largest state to allow same-sex marriage in this country. For many it was a moment of jubilation in "closing the circle" between the Stonewall Riots of 1969 to finally being granted nearly equal civil rights more than 40 years later. Here in Dallas, Texas the event did not even warrant a sideline in "The Dallas Morning News" website.

I took a quick look around some of the other national papers the morning after the news broke which, of course, was emblazoned all over CNN.Com just as it was in the New York Times. The Denver Post had a link under the "National & World Video" section titled "Stonewall celebrates gay marriage." It was the banner headline in the Washington Post with several related articles, videos and op/ed links at the top of the page. It was at least front page news in the Chicago Tribune, the Boston Globe, the Los Angeles Times and the San Francisco Chronicle and was again the lead story in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

Not surprisingly no mention could be found on the front pages of papers in Birmingham or Nashville but I was surprised not to find a front page story on the Philadelphia Inquirer website Philly.Com. The Statesman carried the story as the 5th headline for the good people of Austin, Texas while the Houston Chronicle ranked it the third story below an update on voter approval to have a Confederate flag specialty license plate. The Houston article was also quick to point out directly in the hyperlink that such unions are "not recognized in Texas." The article itself was a mish mash of feed from the Associated Press and Reuters discussing some of the last minute maneuvers, reprisals against the Republicans who supported the bill and the difficulty of getting a divorce in states like Texas where such marriages are not legal or recognized. For Dallasites there was an article on the Dallas Holocaust Museum featuring an exhibit on the persecution of gays in Nazi Germany.

Judy Garland, our beloved Dorothy, died tragically on June 22, 1969 with her funeral held five days later in New York City. It has long been debated whether or not her death was in any way a causal factor of the riots that took place the very next day on June 28th in Greenwich Village, New York City. It can certainly be said that, as is the case in most riots, the victims of systemic police persecution that day had had enough. The events seem coincidental when lined up on paper but surely most people know the feeling of being picked on and then, worst of all, being kicked when already down. Even that famous line from "What's Love Got to Do With It" comes to mind when Tina, fed up, had taken all she was going to from Ike: "I ain't in the mood today!"

The timing of the bill couldn't be better for its supporters. The New York Gay Pride March is this weekend. Stonewall, Judy, even the one year anniversary for my partner and I. And while some cities as expressed through their news media bury their heads in the sand and hope it will all go away or at least not come to them, life surely goes on and evolves through ever more enlightened eyes and increasingly inspiring ways.

Gotta go.

Where Is The South?

During this weekend celebrating "Juneteenth" in Texas I was reminded of recent changes in the American mindset regarding what is currently considered the American South versus how large the South really is. I was recently amazed at how contemporary opinion can absolutely rewrite history. It happens regularly and many in the conversation either don't know any better or choose not to contradict the speaker, especially if the setting happens to be the speaker's home. Being polite is one thing, allowing revisionist blowharding to be accepted as truth is quite another.

On the way to a business conference in Florida while driving the rental away from the airport my colleagues and I were talking about various parts of the country and what it must be like to live there. We talked about the South, the "Deep South" and the Southwest, going over their similarities as well as some key differences from one region to the next. Somehow the subject came up regarding Maryland and Delaware and their place in the American South.

"They're not in the South" one of my more loudmouth co-workers unequivocally proclaimed. I politely pointed out that they were considered Border States during the Civil War and were prevented from actively participating in the conflict; their inclusion would have completely surrounded Washington, D.C. with Confederate States, an untenable and unacceptable position for the seat of the federal government. That's all well and good my highly opinionated peer said dismissively but that still didn't place either state in the "real" South. Even the truth that the Mason-Dixon Line ran along the Pennsylvania-Maryland border wasn't enough in their minds to be considered a part of the South. The Mason-Dixon Line has been reduced to an historical technicality.

At a recent Memorial Day party a similar conversation took place only this time regarding my home state, the great State of Texas. We were discussing traveling for family reunions and I mentioned that my mother's family was in the "Deep South" of rural Virginia. While not as far south geographically as Alabama, Mississippi and southern Georgia the mindset of the "Deep South" permeated this part of Virginia and the Carolinas as much as anywhere else. In that mix of opinions came Texas' place in the South.

"Texas is not in the South" came the last-word opinion of the party's host. After allowing myself time to collect my thoughts and continue my argument I stated that Texas was indeed in the South and that the traditional feel and mindset of the American South could be found alive and well in the eastern part of the state. The Talladega Forest region that extends in to Texas from Arkansas and Louisiana as deep in to the state as the Tyler-Lufkin-Nacogdoches line was as southern as any part of Tennessee could ever be. El Paso not so much, perhaps, but all along US Highway 59 as far as Houston the traditional "South" can be found. Anybody remember James Byrd, Jr. of Jasper?

I guess in their crude way I am supposed to go along with the argument that times change and that feelings and basic instincts evolve, etc. Those were different times and, indeed, Northern Virginia around Washington, D.C. is a whole other country compared to any part of the state from Richmond and Charlottesville south. At the same time, Texas is simply too large to be part of any one region geo-politically. El Paso is famously closer to Los Angeles than it is to Houston while Amarillo is barely connected to the coastal culture of Corpus Christi. I still held the final trump card in the debate as far as I was concerned.

Juneteenth is the celebration of the coming of Emancipation to the State of Texas in 1865, two and a half years after Lincoln's initial declaration. Now celebrated in 37 states across the Union, it was first celebrated in Texas which, like Delaware and Maryland, was a slave-owning state, plantations included. To any Black American breathing, that puts all three states squarely in the South. Happy Juneteenth.

Gotta go.

Football Uber Alles

Football overshadows absolutely everything in sports crazed America. A friend traveling on business to Dallas from Washington, D.C. remarked at all of the stars carved in to the highway overpass support columns around the city, thinking Dallasites were way over-enamored of the Dallas Cowboys. I had to explain to him that, firstly, Texas is the Lone Star State. The star on the helmet derives at least in part from this historical association. Then I looked around the other teams in the area and found a single star on the Dallas Desperados arena football team and, another single star on the chest of the bull in the FC Dallas logo and, square in between the shoulder blades, still another single star on the jerseys of the Dallas Mavericks. I began to wonder if the Lone Star State association was really at play here or if Jerry Jones had finagled his NFL team's presence in to the very fabric of the other area teams, a constant reminder of which team and sport still ruled on high over North Texas.

Pundits have been counting the Mavericks out since the first round of the playoffs, thinking Portland would pull the same kind of upset the Golden State Warriors did the year before. Or was that in 2007? (I really don't follow basketball.) When the Mavs advanced to meet the Lakers the funeral dirges for Dirk and company rang out from Manhattan to Mazatlan. Uppity Oklahoma thought they could outlast the aging Mavericks with youth but forgot the first lesson in southwestern cattle ranching...it's usually the old bull that beats the young buck; with brains.

Here comes the heat. It is sometimes hard to tell which phenomenon the signs around Dallas are referring to, the Summer heat or the Miami Heat when they say "Beat the Heat!" but the sentiment is the same. Both need to go away but the question in the back of my mind is who the rest of the country is rooting for. I read the Mike Wise column in the Washington Post who did a polite but effective job of questioning the mind and conviction of LeBron James. Mr. Wise was not exactly rooting for Dallas so much as he was simply perplexed at the fade-away game Mr. James has consistently turned in during the 4th quarter.

Wise was at Game 5 in Dallas last Thursday, a beat writer for the Washington Post, home rag of some of the most ardent football fans in the nation, the ever-loyal, perennially disappointed Redskins Faithful. No fan base in the country despises the Cowboys and essentially everything else about Dallas like fans of the Redskins. But this is basketball and one of their most respected writers is in town covering the remarkable hiding the Mavericks have taken to every opponent thus far, Miami included. Could they, gasp, actually be rooting for a Dallas team?

It might be as simple a question as whether or not they hate the Heat more. LeBron abandoned Cleveland, which garnered negative press around the country. The Wizards and Heat are in the same division with Washington finishing last (hmmm..familiar) but I'm not sure if the two teams have much in the way of a rivalry; the Orlando Magic is in that group. Even if they did, could a Redskin fan in the Fall find it in his heart to root for Dallas during the Summer?

Gotta go (Mavs).

The Highway Rivalry

I-35 runs from the Mexican border at Laredo almost to the western tip of Lake Superior at Duluth, Minnesota. Strung along that highway are millions of sports fans who support such teams as the Vikings, Twins, and Timberwolves through the Chiefs and Royals of Kansas City. Then there is the "I-35 Rivalry" stretching from San Antonio to Oklahoma City with Dallas/Ft. Worth smack in the middle and definitely not the peacemaker of the set-up by no means. What makes it truly interesting at the southern end of this particular interstate is the deeply entwined loyalties most of the people have for one team in particular but vehement and equally divided rivalries when it comes to other teams and sports in the area.

Believe it or not let's start with the one team that brings the region together every Fall, the Dallas Cowboys. Outside of Greater Houston the entire rest of the state is primarily Cowboys Country while Cowboys Nation extends deeply in to Oklahoma as well except for the Northeast corner that skews more towards the rams or the Oklahoma Panhandle which might lean to the Broncos. The average citizen on the street in Oklahoma will tell you they want nothing to do with anything coming out of Texas but bleed blue in spite of their pronunciations at least from September to January.

Where the splintering begins remains in the game of football, however, at the collegiate level where Dallas becomes the epicenter of the rivalry between the Texas Longhorns of Austin and the Oklahoma Sooners of Norman . There is no strong professional baseball rivalry since the Rangers are the only team along I-35 until you get to Kansas City. Uh...no real rivalry there at the moment. Things heat up for basketball, though, which probably is the showcase sport of contention for the region.

The San Antonio Spurs really get under the skin of Dallas Mavericks fans while there is no love lost in the other direction either. The gleeful thing for "Mavs" fans this season is that San Antonio was eliminated from the 2011 playoffs. The irony of it all is that the Mavs are now locking horns with, of all cities, the Oklahoma City Thunder, late of - wait for it - Vancouver, Canada! It's too early to call it a conspiracy but if Dallas wins the Oklahomans will have one more reason to loudly pronounce their hatred of all things below ("beneath" to some folks) the Red River. At the same time, if the Thunder win the semis to advance to the Finals the tune won't change a whole lot from the former scenario.

If I look at I-5, the backbone of California and the West Coast I'd see a more clearly defined landscape. With the exception of Los Angeles not having a football team each major city has its own set of football, baseball and basketball teams to celebrate, from San Diego to Seattle. Likewise I-95 running the Eastern Seaboard of the country; to each his own in every major city from Miami to Boston or even I-80 from New York to San Francisco. There truly doesn't appear to be anything like the I-35 Rivalry anywhere else in the country.

It happens. Enemies gather in Dallas in October for "Texas-OU Weekend," formerly held at the Cotton Bowl downtown but now played in Arlington at Cowboys Stadium. They do battle on Saturday and then return the next day to the exact same venue proudly wearing and swearing by the Silver and Blue! Whaddya gonna do?

Only thing anyone on the RIGHT side of the Red River would do: Go Mavs!!!

Gotta go.

Gas-O-Sene

Airlines live by the economics of unit costs per mile. Using that formula I just filled my car at $3.35 a gallon here in the great but not always cheap state of Texas. A 16-gallon fill-up sets me back right at $54 for regular unleaded. My car's mileage over the course of a week of commuting to work and one or two trips for groceries and essentials is about 350 miles. That is right at 22 miles to the gallon over both highway and city mileage. If it were all highway I can add at least another 60 miles to that total before having to pull up again. An entire year of fuel burn, if I drove the same every week, including vacations, would be 832 gallons at an expense of $2800 for 18,200 miles. In airline breakdown that is 6.5 cents per mile with no change in the price of gas or the mileage driven. Doesn't sound so bad but how does that compare to flying?

This month Qantas will launch direct service from my home town of Dallas/Ft. Worth to Australia, featuring nonstop service to Brisbane with return nonstop service from Sydney. The smallest plane in their fleet that can handle the route is the 747-400ER which is no small bird to begin with. The A380 is too big, there aren't enough of them yet and the ones they have are suffering persistent teething problems with engines and fuel pumps. The new 787 would be perfect to start out but oops, those aren't delivered yet or ready to fly at this writing. The 747 it is and here are a few numbers to toss around for just this one flight that will operate only four days a week.

The -400 version has been around since 1989. It expanded upon the original -100 model to the tune of an additional 2300 miles in range (think of flying 11 hours from Athens to New York and then keep going another six hours to California without stopping). It ships 15,000 more gallons of fuel per flight in order to make that added flying possible and weighs 140,000 pounds more than the first one did for Pan Am back in 1970.

Did I say 15,000 more gallons? Yes, for a total of 63,700 gallons fully loaded for just one flight. And you can bet this flight will have a full load of fuel almost regardless of how many passengers are on board. That kind of fuel would need 76 years to burn for just me and my car but that's not a fair comparison. Spreading that fuel load over 450 passengers and you're talking 145 gallons per person to fly all the way to Australia. At 22 miles per gallon in my car that isn't even half the distance of getting there if driving to Brisbane were even possible!

There are millions of cars in the United States alone much less around the rest of the world. My car seats five but carries only me 95% of the time. Boeing 747s rarely operate with only one paying customer on board though it has happened. As of March 11th, the IATA website indicates the price of jet fuel ran at $3.15 per gallon, 20 cents off of what I paid. At that price Qantas has to shell out over $200,000 per flight for the new service from Dallas, the kind of money that would again take me over 70 years to spend if the price held steady that long. Spread it over 450 paying customers, though, and the cost is $445 per person, each way, about the same as it costs me to drive my car for two months.

I just looked at Qantas' website where the cheapest roundtrip ticket between Dallas and Brisbane is, wait for it, $988 round trip. That's hardly $100 over the total cost of fuel at the IATA price and does not necessarily include surcharges, airport or security fees much less the price of labor for the pilots and flight attendants or even the food. Yes, for 17 hours in the air they do feed you.

Just like you I don't like to pay any more than I have to for gas or the cost of a plane ticket. At the same time it is a bit more understandable when they say "seats are limited."

Gotta go.

What to Blue in Texas

Texas is not Washington, D.C. That in itself is not a fair comparison since one is a state and the other a city but it doesn't stop one from competing with the other across all kinds of issues, events and pursuits. D.C. usually gets the trump card in most debates simply because it is the nation's capital and one of, it not the most powerful city in the world but let's take it down a few notches and discuss something really simple, pretty and unique. Flowers. In Texas it is not cherry blossoms but blue bonnets that hold the same place in the hearts and minds of the citizenry and perform the same function as their erstwhile cousins back east. There is a big difference, however, in how each is enjoyed by those who travel up to great distances to see them. And there is some interesting ironies surrounding the ones down in Texas, too. "Bonnet" comes from the shape of the petals which reminded early discoverers of the shape of the sun bonnet pioneer women wore at the time. The flowers are more purplish than blue, anyway, but when seen in great numbers stretching across the horizon they do indeed have more of a bluish tint to them. Before the more popular name was adopted they were known as "buffalo clover." The blue bonnet is an "annual" flower which begins to bloom in late March and reaches its peak in mid-April before slowly fading out by mid- to late May. Texas does have winters and cold weather so the first sighting of blue bonnets growing wild in fields and along highways is something greatly anticipated by one and all in the area. Just as the National Cherry Blossom festival is in mid-March, the annual Bluebonnet Festival takes up the entire month of April in Ennis, Texas, hardly 30 minutes south of Dallas on I-45. Here at Ennis people from Dallas and Houston come together for a common ritual known all over the state: the annual Easter photo opportunity. Small children especially but full grown adults flock to the flowering fields to sit, squat and lie face down, propped up on their elbows to mark the passage of another year of memories and good living. Even the family pet gets in on the history in the making. The irony is that as the state flower it is illegal to pick them. Thousands of people tramp through them, smashing them flat for the sake of the family photo but they're not allowed to take any home which adds to the other trick of the season - finding that sweet spot in the season when the flowers are in full bloom but not totally trampled by others looking for the best patches with the most gorgeous backgrounds! Just like in D.C. when the flowers die off it signals the beginning of the Summer but for a few weeks in the Spring the weather is beautiful, the flowers warm and inviting. For those who don't know it's good, very good, to be in Texas in April. There is simply no better way to watch "Li'l Emma" grow up than from her first picture in the bluebonnet fields through Easter whites, adolescence, puberty through to her own family right up to one more with "Gramma Em" before moving on to the great beyond. Gotta go.

Bussing

For much of my life riding a bus meant either a road tour across some stretch of Europe or "goin' down Grandma's" to visit family in Virginia. It was a particular thrill as a child to ride on one of the biggest things on the road with those narrow but interestingly patterned seats and the scented interiors of the buses. The windows were huge and the scenery ever changing, from towns and cities, to hills and mountains with the occasional lake or river thrown in for good measure. It was exciting beyond measure to "race" a train that happened to be thundering alongside in the same direction. As a child there was no stigma attached to riding the bus. I was too young to worry about the collected mix of passengers on any given trip. As at least some of the trip was at night it was my job to sleep as best I could, anyway, and not worry about whoever else might be on board. Mom and Dad paid the fares so all I had to do was stay close by, stay on board and stay out of trouble. Easy enough. On a bus there was a whole aisle to wander if I got bored or annoyed with my younger sister as opposed to being trapped in the back seat of the car for hours on end. As best I can recall I was well-enough behaved to not be a nuisance to my fellow travelers and certainly no one to my recollection made any untoward advances in my direction. For many today the blue and silver silhouette of Greyhound is the only bus line they have ever known. There once was a time when the red liners of (Continental) Trailways competed for fares across the nation's expanding network of interstate and national highways. We typically rode with Greyhound as they had a stronger presence along the east coast but even at a young age I remember a distinct difference in their service. For some reason I felt the Greyhound's were faster but the Trailways coaches were larger, cleaner and more powerful thanks to many of them having manual transmissions as opposed to Greyhound's preference for automatics. Trailways is gone, having been absorbed by Greyhound who now faces a crazy quilt world of competitors from surviving Trailways franchises as well as the likes of Peter Pan and Coach USA for scheduled and chartered service across the country. I've been driving for thirty years now and enjoy the freedom of long drives up to 10 hours in any one direction. Going "down home" now is a three-hour flight back to the Maryland/Virginia area followed by up to a five hour drive in to the country to Gramma's. That in itself is a long day but put all of that in terms of a Greyhound schedule? One day, five hours and 10 minutes, according to their website with one transfer in Atlanta for a web fare of $167.56 up to the fully refundable fare of $208 one way. Oh, and that includes 16 stops between Dallas and Atlanta where the bus arrives at 3:30 in the morning before waiting an hour to catch the 2nd bus with nine more stops to my Grandmother's home town. Come on along! Gotta go.

Shape of the Dream

I am semi-officially house hunting. I have recently reviewed my credit score and report and happily found it to be in better shape than I had anticipated: nothing there that I didn't expect with just a bit more work to do to get it to the land of "Excellent" interest rates. The only thing to do now was to seriously work on saving up for a down payment and then consider along with my other half and the dog where the best parts of town would be for our family. If only it were that easy.

As the son of a soldier I have lived all over the country and also in Europe through his career and now my own. I've seen popular home styles that run the gamut from Colonials, Cape Cods, Bow Houses, Spanish Colonial to Southwestern Ranch, Georgians, Craftsman, the classic A-Frame to the Midwestern 4-Square and the San Francisco Victorian. When I stumbled across custom built homes around Dallas/Ft. Worth I thought my head would explode! Which one to choose and for what reasons?

I've never owned a home in my life, having always lived in rented apartments, townhomes or condos. I've never had to pay property taxes or for my own maintenance either, surely worth something after decades of zero private equity? Still and all the American dream runs quite strongly through my veins, to own a piece of land and some property that was thoughtfully chosen and cared for over the years to build not only a home to enjoy but a nest egg towards retirement. Out of all the choices in a country of 50 states, 310 million people and 3000 contiguous miles of land to choose from in the Lower 48 alone, where to freakin' start!

My mother used to take us kids to watch new homes being built in the late 60s in Indiana when safety regulations were nothing like they are today and free entertainment was always desirable with three kids in tow. The diggers would come and excavate the basement level which instantly became an earthen playpen for us primary school age kids as we clambered down and marveled at how level the ground was, how deep the earth was and how fun all those perfectly packed dirt clods were! When the wooden frames were erected we would go "upstairs" to try and figure out which rooms were which and what bedrooms we preferred if this were our home. From this training as early as the First Grade I began to stockpile a list of features available in various houses around the world. Could I get them all in my one dream home?

I will call this an irregular series going forward until I finally find and my partner and I sign on the one home I have waited all my life to buy. By "irregular" I mean maybe once a month or so as new events unfold or I feel the desire to share some additional background. I'll share anecdotes of some of my favorite memories related to the apartments and homes I've lived in as well as my adventures in house hunting in the Dallas market, what I'm looking for and whether or not some of the things I've seen in other parts of the country are possible to find here in DFW.

Most of the pictures I post will more than likely come from official brochures as I don't have my own house to show (and wouldn't) nor would I want to invade someone else's privacy by showing their address. Hopefully you'll understand as well as get the idea of what I'm trying to accomplish.

Gotta go!

Lubbock to Dallas

Driving in Texas can leave a person a lot of time to think. Despite myths and stereotypes classifying everything as dusty and flat the landscape is actually quite diverse, from the forests and lakes of the east to the mountains of Big Bend and the rolling hill country of the central part of the state there is more to the roadside scenery of Texas than tumbleweeds, scrubland and snakes. Except for the part that I was presently driving it, of course!

Having paid about 30 minutes of respects at the graveside of one Buddy Holly in Lubbock, Texas the fastest way out of town to my next destination, Dallas, was US Highway #84 to Sweetwater and from there on Interstate #20 straight in past Abilene and around Ft. Worth. Once in Dallas I was planning a couple of weeks visiting with various friends in the area that I missed greatly since moving away in 1994 to further my career with my then employer. That employer furloughed me and 20,000 other staff less than a month after September 11th which is how I found myself on this journey of purging and self-discovery in the middle of the United States Southwest region.

This was also one of many long stretches between destinations with either little to see in between or little time to really stop and smell the roses as much as I may have liked. Even though I was laid off and had all the time in the world it was not a deliberate goal to spend every waking moment and dollar of my severance to turn every rock in the road for some iota of great revelation. I wanted to spend time in Dallas so down #84 I rode.

I felt the awe of nature at Devil's Tower, a spiritual uplifting at Mt Rushmore and a sense of the old west survivor's fortitude while driving through the plains of Nebraska and eastern Colorado towards Lubbock. This panhandle city of Texas was little more than a rest stop where I wasn't expecting to find much beyond a hotel room and a grave marker but I found a small legacy in that cemetery. Buddy Holly may not be an alpha god in the pantheon of musical art and artistry but he has never lacked for his share of fans and pilgrims since the day the music died.

The sun can set very fast in west Texas though the trip itself was only one third of the way through. Dallas was certainly not going to reveal much to me since I had lived here for many years before moving away. Maybe a few more suburbs and shopping malls but the core of the city was right where I'd left it. This stopover was simply about being off the road for a little while, resting and reconnecting with good friends before pressing on again to Florida. I made it in safely, enjoyed seeing my friends who allowed me to cook for them a few nights in exchange for a bed and hot shower.

Following my time in North Texas it was on through the bayous of Louisiana and the gulf coasts of Mississippi and Alabama before arriving in Central Florida for a one of a kind event that brought every pent up tear pouring from my eyes.

Gotta go.

Ol' Man DFW - Thanks!

March 3rd officially began the act of moving. I noticed a quiet melancholy in the air as I began stuffing clothes in to the trunk of the car to move across town. The area I was moving from just underneath the sprawling DFW Airport had been my home community for more than 12 years in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area and included at least seven different addresses in three cities! When you're trying to start your life sometimes you move around a lot.

I have always loved airplanes and enjoyed living near one of the major air centers of the country, looking skyward to see all that metal lifting in to the sky above me. I wondered where they were going and wished I was tagging along. It was a particular thrill to see the international "heavies" thundering in to the air, the beauty of the plane and the pounding noise of the engines hauling man and machine to the far corners of the world. I was so geeked out about planes that at one famous point I could tell time just by the sight of a plane and the level of the sun in the western sky!

Many would complain about the noise but I gave them little sympathy. The airport was built in what was originally the middle of nowhere, indeed worrying city fathers early on that no one would ever drive that far just to catch a plane to Houston! That "noise" was beautiful to me. I learned to tell the difference between types of airplanes and I also learned to adjust myself around it, like staying in doors with the windows shut to talk on the phone. On days off from work it was fun to sit outside my front door, stereo going in the living room and watching the world beyond being connected to Dallas/Ft. Worth by so many flights leaving all day and nearly all night long.

Clearly the major benefit of living next to an airport is being able to hop a flight fairly quickly without an hour long drive plus having to find expense-friendly parking, etc. My current residence is literally a five minute drive from remote parking or the terminals, depending on whether I'm flying out or picking up a friend. There is a LOT to be said for that, especially if the flight is early in the morning or the last one of the night in to town - I could sleep late and get home quick, both very nice features to have.

I am moving to the northern suburbs of Dallas to share a home with my partner and the dog. It is the first time I will have lived in a house other than my parents, having spent every year of my adult life in apartments, townhouses and condos. No more shared walls, nosy or noisy neighbors or, sadly, free maintenance! It also represents the first time I will cohabitate with someone in over 25 years not to mention never having a pet since I was in the second grade - that was a goldfish.

I'm far more excited and happy than I am nervous about all the changes in my life. I'm moving on, as it were, so it is time to move away from old comforts to face new horizons. Thanks for being an anchor, DFW.

Gotta go.

Long Way to Lubbock

Dumas, Texas! Buggy had been rolling an easy eight hours by the time I crossed the Texas state line on US Highway 385, right at the top of the famous “Panhandle” of the Lone Star State. This was the first time for me in this corner of Texas where #385 shared the road with #287, a highway more familiar to me and ran directly in to Amarillo where I would catch Interstate I-27 to Lubbock for some well deserved rest on my journey of rediscovery. Dumas wasn’t much larger than Stratford or Cactus, Texas, two towns I also had to pass through on my way south.

Pronounced “DOO-mus,” it was the third in line and the one where the local sherriff’s department was doing a fine, fantastic job of keeping the small-town po-po reputation intact. I and several others were pulled over for being exactly two miles over the posted limit. A fine howdy do and a warning later, Buggy and I rolled on down the highway to Lubbock.

There was no indication that I would discover anything significant in Lubbock other than the grave of Buddy Holly. It was a convenient stop on the road after visiting Mt. Rushmore only that morning. Both car and driver were on fumes when we finally pulled in to a hotel just north of town for the night. Dallas was my true destination after the Black Hills of South Dakota but that drive was too far for one man alone to make. In Lubbock there was Texas Tech University and the chance of a good steak; not much else after that so I thought.

Another half-day of hit-and-run touring the local area dawned after I checked out of my hotel, rested from one long drive but seven hours of asphalt lay ahead of me to get to Dallas. I woke up late and gave myself two hours in Lubbock to see what there was to see. It was a Sunday and since I’d already missed and had no plans on church, much of this lower plains town was closed for the day. No worries. I was looking for a graveyard and the tenants there certainly wouldn’t mind a visit from somebody.

Like something right out of a Randolph Scott film, typical towns in Texas have the main square with a courthouse in the middle of that and a grid of streets fanning out in all directions except one truncated arm where the cemetery lies. Lubbock lopsides just slightly to the west while on the east is, you got it, Eastlawn Memorial Garden also known as the City of Lubbock Cemetery.
No one was in the office to point the way in this fairly sizable resting place. Being used to fans visiting through the decades there were well placed signs that showed the way to Holly’s marker by the side of one of the roads near the front entrance. A simple flat marble marker with his name and a few lines of music identify the plot near a tree as the grave of Mr. Holly. Simple, dignified, not much to look at and perfectly fitting.

I knew the larger hits, “Peggy Sue,” “Oh Boy” and “That’ll Be the Day” but I cannot say that I ever lived and breathed for the sound of The Crickets. Lubbock was a rest stop on the way somewhere else and since I happened to be in town figured it worth an hour to stop and pay my respects at a place I might not otherwise have gone to deliberately. The surprise was that here, again, of all places, I found something else to carry with me on the road to rebuilding my life.

I found simple, uncomplicated peace.

Gotta go.

Ice Ice Dallas

The last Sunday in January and I'm enjoying an afternoon in the pool with friends feeling very good about the "winters" in North Texas. I'd called to gently needle my family back in Maryland who were enduring yet another full white-out set of conditions. Some had temporarily lost power while the kids were enjoying the usual delayed openings at school. The Dallas area was enjoying a weekend with temperatures in the seventies and almost no winds.

How things change and quickly. It's Tuesday morning. All Monday night was the sound of gentle rain pattering against my window only with the soft click of tiny pieces of ice as if in a frozen sandstorm. Freezing rain and sleet purred and tinkled us to sleep across the area to wake up in the morning in a solid white wonderland coated in ice. The roads are covered, the medians full of spun out cars, the airports and schools are closed and I'm sitting at home with warnings from both local authorities and my employer not to venture out unless absolutely necessary.
Why move to or live in Dallas if Ol' Man Winter is only going to follow you down from up north?

The freaky thing about this storm is that it appears to have actually started here and stretched in a line over 2100 miles long in to New England. "Desert" states like Texas and Oklahoma are in various states of emergency with the real fun being that such states typically do not have the storm equipment or budget to deal with these so-called eventualities. Texas is infamous for using finely powdered sand to provide traction on the streets instead of salt. They say it preserves the roads where salt supposedly eats away at the asphalt. To me it has never been the salt but the snow removal trucks that routinely gouge canyons in the concrete; the roads in Dallas are about as bad as anywhere else in the country, sun or snow.

Highway architecture around here calls for soaring flyovers, some more than 150 feet above the ground at exchanges with names like "The High Five," the interchange between I-635 and US-75. There are several of these gorgeously elevated high-speed overpasses around Dallas and Ft. Worth and they are all closed. Motorists across the area that do manage or have to make it to work are left clogging surface arteries to find routes with the fewest bridges to get where they're going. Nobody wants to get stranded at the crest of a flyover but worse is the thought of crashing through one of the things - it is a very long way down.

The last time I looked out the window I went to clear some of the condensation for a better view and discovered that it was frozen - on the inside! I don't run the heat during the day when I'm at work - no kids, pets or plants to worry about so why pay the bill? I sit here in the cold now with a pair of sweats and thick socks with that same mindset...why pay the bill? My joints aren't stiff, I am not taking blood thinners and it is not completely uncomfortable yet so I should be able to stand it for a few hours out of one day in the winter season which, on the 1st day of February is pretty much almost over.

For Texas, anyway.

Gotta go!

The Loser's Rejoinder

The Cowboys have been thumping the Redskins in some way or other since before their first season in the league. In 1959 Dallas bought the rights to “Hail to the Redskins” as a trump card over Redskins owner George Marshall to get him to vote the new franchise in to existence. All of the other numbers regularly trotted out in friendly and heated debate in the break rooms, tailgate lots and internet chat sites are legend so there is no need in repeating them here. In my opinion it is the catalyst reason behind this great rivalry that needs a bit more examination.

Legendary Coach George Allen came to Washington from San Diego to revive a moribund franchise and immediately set about installing a pervasive and raw hatred for the Cowboys in what I believe is the most damaging fashion of all – The Inferiority Complex. Coach Allen routinely motivated his players by serving up the schoolyard chestnut “They think they’re better than you!” and tossing off such sniffers as “They don’t want to get their precious white uniforms dirty,” or “They don’t play gritty, smash mouth football like we do!”

That kind of pep talk goes a long way in stirring up single-minded passions but it goes so much farther. If something is repeated often enough even though it is an untruth then it becomes the truth to the believer. In this case, the perception of “they THINK they are better” becomes the reality – “they ARE better.” Anywhere today on the streets of Washington , D.C. and Northern Virginia the sense of inferiority comes up at some point in the conversation. Sports journalists in the Washington area routinely decry the “overrated” Dallas Cowboys as a way to shore up confidence in the classic “drag them down to lift us up” strategy.

Ingrained in the hearts and minds of millions of Redkins faithful is the unshakeable, fundamental angst-ridden hatred that says no matter how many times the Redkins actually do beat the Cowboys, win the division, advance in the playoffs or even go to the Superbowl, the Redskins will simply never measure up. The George Allen Inferiority Complex lives on, perpetuating the idea that Dallas is still and will always be the better team.

So here is Coach Allen feeding second class citizen mind games to his own team and, of course, Dallas fans are going right along with it. “Hey, your own coach says you guys aren’t good enough! We won’t argue with him!” The absolute proof came the year after Cowboys beat the Dolphins in Superbowl VI by a score of 24-3 for their first Lombardi Trophy. With “We Want Dallas!” at fever pitch, the Redskins defeated the Cowboys in the next NFC Championship game and went on to face those same Dolphins in the Superbowl.

No one will ever know if the Cowboys might have gone to their third Superbowl in a row and beat Miami again. The Redskins lost and the Perfect Season of 1972 was born. If grudgingly, Dallas will respect a team that talks the talk and walks the walk. Washington spoiled Dallas ’ party then came up empty when it really mattered, 32 years before Philadelphia would go belly up against the Patriots. Hey, nice going!

At a family gathering this Summer an Eagles cousin and a Redskins cousin ganged up on me in a friendly yet still winner-take-all round of trash talking and chest beating. Said the Eagles cousin:

“When was the last time you went to a Superbowl?”
“Four years after him,” I answered calmly, pointing to the Redskins cousin. “And when was the last time you won one?”

Said the Redskins cousin:

“Oh yea," using the classic Loser's Rejoinder, "Well ... when was the last time you won a playoff game?”

“Last year, off of him!”

Gotta go.

One Man's Heaven

When a friend comes in to town for business you always try to hook up over dinner. Oftentimes it is the only time you have a chance to visit and catch up as any number of meetings, conference calls and deadlines can and do get in the way during the course of the business day. Even though it was a noticeable distance from the house when the firm is picking up the tab for a chance to reconnect the time and gas are the least I can do. This time, however, was unlike none I have ever experienced before. We went to a brand new eatery and fun/hen house by the name of "Redneck Heaven."

I'm explaining to my suddenly very concerned father on the phone while waiting for my friend to show up that it is not 30 miles from the nearest paved road surrounded by livestock and open fields with strange burn marks in the soil. Along the lines of "Hooters," "Twin Peaks," and "Bone Daddy's," "Redneck Heaven" is a variation on a tried and true theme - breasts (not always chicken), beer and burgers served up by barely legal beauties only this time instead of wearing orange they're in bikini halters and "Daisy Duke" shorts. The only thing not in line with the full costume were the flat boots each wore instead of the spiked heels their namesake inspiration ran through the countryside in on the "Dukes of Hazzard." The roof of the General Lee, Confederate flag and all, hangs from one of the walls while the famous "Dixie" horn sounds anytime anything cheeky happens. The one and only establishment as of this writing sits right next to the Vista Ridge Mall in Lewisville alongside heavily traveled Interstate I-35 just north of Dallas.

"Not too popular with the brothas?" was the first question I got upon returning to work the next day to tell my office mates all about it. I was in fact the only customer of color in the place but there were two "sistas" helping with the serving and causing their fair share of mayhem with the men folk one would most definitely expect to find in a place with a name like that. My buddy, in from South Carolina, don'tcha know, practically squealed with delight when he came in, rubbing his hands together and hunching his shoulders like the proverbial kid with the cookie jar.

As he took his seat our "Daisy" plopped in to the seat between us as if it was the most perfectly normal thing to do. Apparently it was because the table next to ours had no open seat so their "Daisy" simply sat in one of the highly appreciative men's laps and took their orders without missing a second thought. The food was standard fare with one exception. I was convinced by our "Daisy" to try the "Mississippi Mud Burger," an open faced half-pounder cooked to order on a slice of thick, buttered Texas Toast and drenched in onions and brown gravy.

Oh my. Frivolous flesh was never my thing but I'd go back for that burger on a regular basis! Good thing I don't drink, either, because one classic sleeveless bubba in the back downed the house special without breaking a sweat. The "Minnow Shot" is a shot of liquor with a live minnow in the glass. He chewed the hapless herring b-e-f-o-r-e downing the booze that would have otherwise put the flapper out of its misery. Shrieks of delight from the "Daisy Chain" while the horn blared "Dixie" for one and all to cheer the cable guy on.

All this on a Monday night during the football game. Friday they plan to have a "She-Devil/Angel" costume party. Our "Daisy" didn't know which to choose so I gave her an idea to think about: red boots, black "Daisy Dukes," a tail and topped with angel wings and a halo. Best of both worlds.

Gotta go.

A Night of Mavericks

I'm not a big fan of basketball. I remember being eight years old and going down to the local gym to check out a ball and see what I could do at the free throw line. Not much. There was no one around to tell me that I would grow taller one day and that the net would not seem so high and out of reach. There was no one watching, giving pointers, encouraging me that my shot percentage would reverse itself from dismal to decent, maybe dependable or possibly even deadly. Not this day. I had enough of embarrassing myself, checked the ball back in and went down the street to the bowling alley where I acquitted myself rather well for the first time out and have been bowling ever since.

Later, when I made it to college at the slender height of 6'3" and just south of 200 pounds the other freshmen in my class drooled at the prospect of me playing center on their new team. Sit back and smile with me at the memory of their dumbfounded faces when I explained to them that not only did I not play the game but that I cared very little about it. Me, the only Black male in the class and by race alone one who should have been the cornerstone of their otherwise all White team of dreams. Chuckle.

I find myself enjoying an incredible renaissance in my life here in Dallas which included a recent invitation to a pre-season game of the Dallas Mavericks at the glitzy American Airlines Center just north of downtown. I'd been to the venue once before for, get this, a hockey game featuring the home team Stars who at the time were not too long removed from their original home in Minneapolis. Even today it remains a crown jewel in the city for its architecture, amenities and unobstructed sight lines.

The key here was the fact that these were the cheapest imaginable cheap seats at only two bucks a throw so it's not even worth mentioning that I could touch the roof with the palm of my hand. That is, if I didn't get vertigo from the steep angle of the seats looking down on to the court seemingly a mile below. Not being a big fan of the game - I will at least say I root for the Mavs simply because I live here - I wasn't complaining. They were almost free and the Texas Rapid Express rail service was barely two miles from my front door and dropped me off literally at the front door of the arena.

I bought a bottomless bucket of popcorn, hiked to my seat with my buddy and enjoyed a few carefree hours watching the Mavericks phone in a warm-up effort against the Washington Wizards. They lost and it was a school night but overall it was an enjoyable evening out on the town in the Big D. If nothing else it was a diversion from the rapidly unraveling season of the Cowboys. The Rangers were on their way to the World Series, the Mavericks and Stars were both tuning up so it felt at least that mid-October evening as if there was reason to be optimistic in North Texas.

Since then I've been back for a regular season match up between the Stars and the Anaheim Ducks. They lost, too so now, in early November, with the Rangers having lost the Series and the Cowboys three-fourths' dead I wonder how the season looks for FC Dallas.

Gotta go.

Hour Long Jeans

My body is not in transition from a higher to a lower weight, sadly, or a lower to a higher weight, thankfully. At the same time it was time to buy some new jeans. My favorite blue pair fit in the waist more or less but with a 30" inseam they were most certainly high waters that I could no longer justify wearing. Plus, they'd finally worn a hole in the crotch rendering them no longer fashionably faded.

For the sake of cost if not exactly the perfect fit I had been buying my jeans at Wal-Mart for the longest time. I mean, yea it shows in the cut but who can pass up $20 jeans? Knowing that I would potentially double my paying price - but definitely no more than that - I headed for Cavender's Boot City, one of the popular western wear chains in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area. Who knew that I would be there for a solid hour picking out exactly the right pair!

I haven't worn "Slim Fit" in I can't remember when so I knew automatically to cut my losses there. Part of what took so long was the myriad colors and shades of jeans available; no more just basic black and deep or faded blue, there was chocolate brown, tan, gray, camouflage and acid washed. Add on to that whether or not one could pull off high waist, zipper or button fly, Wrangler, Levi or Lee.

I knew I wanted a pair of deep blue jeans. They fade after a few washes but never end up the "sky blue" color after years of wear. I knew what general size I needed but wasn't in a big hurry to be anywhere that evening so decided simply to invest the time to find the best possible pair I could find. Being in Texas I also bowed to conformity in choosing Wranglers, the more popular brand for real and urban cowboys.

The counter staff were solicitous and helpful in seeing my obvious dilemma - finding a pair of jeans that fit but wouldn't also broadcast the full volume of my girth. The first go-round I went in to the changing room with three pair of jeans, the "I Wish" size, the "Most Likely" size and the "God I Hope Not" size. Thankfully, the most likely was closest to the mark, remembering that fresh jeans are snug through the waist and thigh until they relax enough to hold you the way you want. Still, the counter help suggested I try a new line called "Stretch."

This style of stretch was not like the "Slim Fit" in being intended only for the most reedy of ranglers. These were designed to stretch more than the regular fit product while still attempting to hang naturally from the frame. Uh..not. Like the half moons between button-holes in a shirt too tight for reason I knew better than to even try those things. Wanting a sale, the sales guy went back to the drawing board and said to at least compare between the regular and relaxed fits. Fine.

Regular Wranglers did the trick. Four solid trips to the dressing room and at least ten pair later I found the one that did the trick for under the budget set. My look was improved and my wallet was saved. Trying to be a courteous shopper I even folded and reshelved the pairs that didn't make the cut before picking out a couple of interesting shirts to finish the day.

I'm still my mother's son but I'm definitely not her little baby anymore. An hour...just for some jeans.

Gotta go.

Ten To Do in Dallas

I love my city. I love the both, actually, Dallas and Fort Worth. The recent census ranked the area as the fourth largest metropolitan area in the country after New York, Los Angeles and Chicago though I'm not exactly sure how they came up with that result. What I am very much aware of, however, is that short of a ton of highways I really had to sit down and think about what the area has to offer in the way of tourist attractions.

Oh sure, the Convention and Visitor's Bureau will hop up and down to point out the seemingly endless list of things to do but I looked a little closer. Once they rattle off all of the trendy shops and restaurants or the W Hotel what was left? Well, I'm just an ordinary citizen who chose this part of the country on purpose to spend the rest of my days so I cannot say that I am employed to promote the area or claim to know it as well as others. Then it hit me: my friends and family consider me to be a more than competent tour guide and I do have a list of things I like for people to see when they come to town. Here for your edification, then, is my list of ten things to do in Dallas.

1. Dealey Plaza

Sadly the plaza where JFK was shot and featuring the School Book Depository remains the singular most popular tourist attraction in the city. Flip-flopped tourists mingle with hawks selling cheap maps and homeless offering low-budget "help" in pointing out Oswald's Window and the spot on the road where Kennedy's car was when the shots rang out. Sometimes there is even a macabre entrepreneur offering pictures in the back seat of a replica limousine by the side of the Grassy Knoll. At the same time the area is almost eerily peaceful and quite beautifully landscape.

2. Trees

"Trees" is one of the last joints standing in Deep Ellum where the area was once lined with bars, restaurants, tattoo parlors and counter-culture clothing stores. I had the pleasure of a live concert at "Trees" that offered four acts on the bill with the Lords of Acid as the headliners. Anyone who remembers that band yes, they are still touring and you now have an idea what kind of scene to expect just about any given night. Deep Ellum was never a scene for quiet jazz; "Trees" carries the torch for the loud, the electric and the indie vibe.

3. Oak Cliff

'Round these parts it's called "O-Cliff" and it used to be the part of town that people didn't go to after dark. Over in "Sowf Dellis" (South Dallas) across the Trinity River from downtown the area was an remains primarily Black American and farther down on the economic scale to the rest of the city. Long and loud were the fights in City Hall to figure out how to revitalize the area. The fights have paid off with the area slowly being gentrified and rebuilt one block and one neighborhood at a time with young families and affluent professionals "flipping" low-end properties then deciding to keep them once the renovations were in place.

4. Mia’s

One of the original Tex-Mex restaurants in town and still owned by the same family, the rule is first come first served at all times so timing at Mia's is everything. It is in a converted house with the walls stacked with photos of the rich and famous who have dined here. The food is good, the prices very reasonable and the service lightning fast only don't linger over dinner. It is cozy and intimate in some areas but others are waiting and the tables too close together for that kind of evening.

5. Sonny Bryan’s

Sonny Bryan's is to Dallas BBQ what Lou Malnadi's is to Chicago Pizza. Fights have broken out for all the same reasons - they ran out of food, somebody claimed a competitor was better or some fool from out of town said that he'd tasted better back home. This is Texas so there are a ton of choices; this is Dallas so almost all of them are quite good. Everybody bows, however, to Sonny's.

6. White Rock Lake

As close to the feeling of the Jackie O Reservoir in Central Park as one can get in the heart of Dallas, Texas. The views of downtown are breathtaking over the water while the lake itself is lined with tony neighborhoods and hole-in-the-wall restaurants the locals swear by. This is a quieter side of Dallas with trails, parks and play areas for one and all.

7. S4

The "S4" is nothing short of a multifaceted warehouse of a nightspot. A patio and balcony out back or a quiet lounge inside allow revelers to get away from the excitement without having to leave. Wallflowers can watch the action on the main dance floor from the upper balcony railings while live entertainment is in the Rose Room ranging from tongue-in-cheek to hilariously wrong from the word go. It is in the heart of Dallas' main "gayborhood" so go only if you don't mind mixed company.

8. The Majestic

This was Dallas' answer to the Palace during the heyday of vaudeville. Major touring productions, musicians, speakers and other artists keep the place busy and the memories alive. It is a very tall theater so while few seats are bad, the upper balcony is way up there.

9. Reunion Tower

Revolving bars and restaurants seem to have been a fad that never really caught on but Dallas has one of the good ones. The cocktail lounge and restaurant in "The Microphone" offer gorgeous views of downtown and the surrounding area some 500 feet up. While some will say the Dallas area is too flat for their liking absolutely no one comes away unimpressed after a sunset evening at the Tower. Locals come for special occasions, tourists are well advised to spend an evening here on their last night in town.

10. Greenville Avenue M-Streets

Arguably one of the more famous neighborhoods in Dallas for not having a long list of notable residents, the M-Streets are a section of cross streets centered on Greenville Avenue that simply defy logic in being there at all. Not the streets themselves but the houses. These small to medium sized bungalows are all brick, nearly all Tudor in style and unique to any other part of the city. These homes often feature original hardwood floors, detached garages and "cozy" rooms and common areas for those who appreciate intimacy in their domestic environments. Location fetches serious bidders only for the boutique homes along McCommas, Morningside, Mercedes, Merimac and Monticello but it's always free to pass by.

There is more to Dallas than malls, mansions and the Mavericks. This is just one man's list of things to do just within Dallas. Fort Worth has its own list of compelling attractions as do the surrounding communities of the area or the rural stretches from Tyler to the east to Abilene and Jacksboro to the west. The only thing left after all these choices for the visitor to consider is the weather. Is it cool yet?

Gotta go.

A Texas Sized Wedding

Relatives and friends flew in from literally all over the world: Arizona, India, Singapore, Georgia, Maryland, Virginia, Nebraska, Iowa, Pennsylvania, South America, Canada and England as well as around Texas. Several of the officiates commented that not only was this the closest they had come in their lives to a royal wedding but that it also appeared to have been the most photographed nuptials they had ever seen. I tried to work with the official photographer at least in not firing off my flash at the same time as his so the subjects wouldn't appear washed out and shiny. Didn't always work but hey, the happy couple will have over 600 shots from me alone to choose from free of charge. He's a cousin so don't get any ideas I do this for a living or just anybody!

Yes, this wedding to me compared quite closely to a state dinner or an inaugural ball. Attorneys, orthopedic surgeons, insurance agents, pharmaceutical movers and shakers along with city planners and other usual suspects in an extremely well connected gathering of Dallas high society packed the church with close to three hundred guests. At the reception the group photo of just the groom and his friends from high school was the size of any well attended class reunion, each as successful as the other and remarkably still in touch one and all.

Simply put, Dallas, Texas knows how to throw a damned good party. The Ewings would have been pleased. Accommodations ranged from the Embassy Suites to the Adolphus Hotel. Venues included the Adolphus' Grand Ballroom, the Park Club and the W Hotel after hours. There was a Bridal Tea right out of England with summer florals, hats and heels preceded by a family "kick-off" at Cyclone Anaya's earlier in the week. The Summer weather cooperated in dry roasting everybody evenly at 100 degrees for one solid week with no rain to ruin day tours of the area, shopping runs, hair appointments, shuttles to the airport or afternoons in the pool for the little ones in tow or a part of the bridal party. The big news was the earthquake in Washington DC that week, of all places.

Then there was the food: fudge, curries, potato roti, cake, catered BBQ from Dickey's on one occasion, enough soda and beer to fill the pool outback and all this before three nights out on the town including the rehearsal dinner featuring tortilla crusted red snapper, salad and fajitas with all the fixin's followed by the reception itself featuring four "filling stations" with hand-tossed spinach or marinara pasta, more salads, breads and cheeses, carved roast beef and turkey or baked salmon over shrimp fried rice with an open bar at every event.

The Hebrews didn't eat as much after 40 years in the desert. Oh, and this was only the groom's side of the family. Whatever the bride's family and friends plowed through outside of the organized events is not on official record! The dress was gorgeous and the bride flawless so nothing else mattered.

At the end of the reception Saturday evening I drove away thinking how happy I am to live in this city and how proud that the best of Dallas was on display for family and friends from all across the planet. We laughed, we ate, caught up or met for the first time, ate again, of course the men watched the British Open, talked trash over football or rough housed with the kids while the women rolled their eyes, cooked and we all ate some more.

After moving back to Dallas over two years ago friends and family saw and commented on how my outward demeanor had changed so much for the better in comparison to years before. It is true but this week wasn't about me or Dallas, Texas. I stayed respectfully in the background while my city served as the backdrop for the beginning of a beautiful new life together. I'm pretty sure they were the happiest people of all.

Congratulations, "KMR!"

Gotta go.