Saturday, February 21, 2009

Texas (with too many parentheticals)


I don't drive.

Yeah, I'm a suburban west coast boy, so it's pretty weird.

Most of the time, I don't have an issue with it. At least on my own. In fact, overall I prefer it that way on my own.

I do have a roaming streak of guilt over group situations, I admit.

By and large, I must say my pride at the fact that I'm not out crashing into people and things outweighs that. Seriously, I can drive. Totally. If someone needs to get to the hospital or something else, I can totally do it.

What I'm not capable of is casually driving. Day in, day out. My brain wanders off onto other things.

(Here there's someone who is thinking - and would say, if this were a conversation - "Oh, you get the habit of that..." No. You get the habit. I've had my brain, a very, very long time and I know what levels of concentration I can maintain, I do promise you that. Sigh. Fucking condescending dumbass! Did I just say that out loud?)

Back home, in Washington, that was never much of an issue. I mean, it would've been easier when it came to family events and such, because they all live in crazy ass places. But my family drove over the state when I was a kid.

In Texas, however, I can't help wish I could drive off and explore things.

Some for dumb reasons.

I'd like to go to Corpus Christi, just because I love that someone named a city Body of Christ. Religion makes people just plain kooky sometimes. Body of Christ, Texas. That's wicked retarded; a ridiculous kind of awesome. There, I expect I would just call everybody I know and say I was in Body of Christ, and cause them to roll their eyes, and think, "Why do I accept phone calls from this guy? I know that too often it will result in things just like this!"

(Admittedly, for some people this would partly be because I don't call them often enough, so if I finally bothered to be a decent person and pick up the phone, it was to make a stupid reference, it would seem particularly obnoxious, even if not entirely surprising.)

As I assume I'll eventually end up going to Houston with other people, it seems like it would be smart to go there myself first, to get the temptation to say "So, this is planet Hoo-ston" out of the way in a situation in which no one will whack me in the back of the head for it before that happens.


There's the Rolling Thunder trip, from San Antonio down to the border.

(Oddly, considering Texas's self-obsession, I Luv Video makes no reference to Texas in the blurb on their copy of the movie, which is another great choice for Jeremy Richey's M.I.A. on DVD Tribute Month. I would have to work to write a one-sentence description of this movie that didn't include a reference to Texas. Even my blurb would be "Kickass Texas revenge flick!")

Then there's the Robert E. Howard pilgrimage from Cross Plains, where he lived his adult, productive life, to Mission, where he wrote Cimmeria and, as he told it, conceived of Conan.

There is also another city a couple hundred miles north that I'm guessing if I remain here long enough an event will occur there that I will desire to attend even more than I desire to not attend it there, but it doesn't even come close to making the fantasy tour.

What's interesting is that I don't think I'd have this temptation had I moved somewhere else at all. Taking off and exploring the country in a car just has never been something that's called to me, especially not on my own. Growing in the suburbs, I always heard the call of the city with its buildings and people and filth. The highway? Yeah, nothing.

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