The Country Within a Country

I've been to Dallas a few times. Frankly, it's a nice place to fly over. I wouldn't want to live there.

I think it's noteworthy that their greatest claim to fame was the killing of a President. And, indeed, the Fifth Floor Museum is the only reason to even bother getting off a plane at DFW Airport. I went through there a few years ago and had the surreal experience of looking out the window adjacent to Oswald's perch with actor Steve Buscemi standing next to me. (By the way, in person, the image is the same. He has a face only a blind mother could love.) But, I digress...

When you fly into Dallas, you will notice that it is flat and it is brown. And those are its most notable attributes. Flatness and brownness. It sort of looks like the Kansas portion of "The Wizard of Oz" which was shot in those weird sepia tones. But, as you travel around the city, you will notice one very significant preoccupation.

They actually think they're in their own country.

No matter where you go, that blasted Texas state flag is staring down at you. In the shopping mall. In the hotel. In restaurants. (They're all steakhouses. If there was a vegan in residence, I am sure they have been hung by now.) Over urinals in public restrooms. I would be hard pressed to tell you what the NY State or California State flags even look like. But, in Texas, it's there. And there. And there.The other thing you can't avoid is the Dallas Cowboys. Training camp opened while I was there and it was handled like a Papal visit. Breaking news all day long! There was some sort of gas explosion while I was there. It was second on the evening news compared to the unveiling of a new Gatorade cooler at Cowboys camp.

The people there are loyal. They wear their state proudly. Good for them. They are overly American and probably experience daily inner torment. They love the United States, but relish in their own country of Texas. What's a Texan to do?

Well, there's always the snack rack down at the gas station for some beef jerky. I go there and suddenly have new appreciation for Eva Gabor's lyrics on "Green Acres." Give me the city life, Oliver.

Yep, it is flat and it is brown.

Dinner last night: English Muffin and fruit salad.