*A gazillion happy calories*
As you may have noticed, Vegas is a culinary treasure trove and/or feeding trough depending on your budget and tackiness tolerance. This is very good for me because I love the pleasure of eating. I don’t gamble, so food is the sin I claim in Sin City. Nonetheless, there are a few things money CAN”T buy in Vegas, and one of them is Chick-Fil-A. Perhaps it’s because the company is Christian and the whole being closed on Sunday thing didn’t vibe well with a modern-day Sodom & Gomorra. Or perhaps they refused to anchor a casino food court on moral grounds. Whatever it is, Las Vegas is missing out. So one of the many things I did in Texas was indulge in a little pseudo-healthy fried chicken goodness. And crispy, happy waffle fries. And Polynesian Sauce. The best.
I’m in Texas trying to stuff my heritage, family, and friends from high school and college–oh and a few deadlines, too–into a two-week trip. It’s been tight. But tonight, I went with my family to “Light Up Arlington!” at the Levitt Pavilion (I’m so so so happy this has been built in my hometown). It’s my hometown’s Fourth of July Celebration one day early. And what a celebration it was:
6pm: Arlington Community Band (adults reliving their glory days of high school band)
7:30 pm: The Quebe Sisters Band (Three amazing fiddler-sisters with harmonizing my grandmother and I both enjoyed)
9:15 pm: Fastball (The band I liked in high school sounds like a softer version of Brian Jonestown Massacre)
9:45 pm: Fireworks (Go America!)
Actually “she” didn’t. I don’t even know who “she” is. I just love that song.
Instead, I spent last night alternatingly writing and reading the disturbing book Snuff, I put off all my packing till today. If you haven’t heard, I’m going home to Texas for a week for Thanksgiving. My flight departs later this afternoon. It will be quite bizarre to leave this stationary circus known as Vegas. What’s life on the outside like?
Don’t know how my Internet connection will be on the range, but if it works, I will blog for you lovely people. If it doesn’t, be content to know that I’ll be in a turkey daze the whole time.
One day in the distant future, August 26 will be a national holiday in a small, Eastern European country. The citizens will dance around a May Pole or march in a tuba-heavy oompa band in honor of my literary greatness. Young virgins with rosy cheeks and wreaths of flowers will swoon at my photo. Oh, no, there I go mistaking myself for Milan Kundera again.
Ok, well, is it too much to ask if the members of my fan club eat some BBQ today in honor of my Texas heritage? Vegetarian BBQ is acceptable, but not guaranteed to be tasty. Creative interpretations of being Texan are also welcome, but please no W jokes. He isn’t a real Texan, after all.
You may or may not be know it, but this writer is a 6th-generation Texan. In the past (mainly when I lived in Texas), this unique lineage was a large source of pride. But recently (I’ve spent the last four years away from the motherland), my heritage has seemed to fade under the spotlight of more pressing matters. But every once in a while, the the “twang” reignites. And sometimes, it takes just a little spark. In this case, the “spark” came in the form of a forward from my Aunt (in Texas). I reproduce said forward here for your reading (dis)pleasure.
Texas Tech, UT, and an Aggie
A Texas Tech graduate, a University of Texas grad and a Texas Aggie were sitting in a bar in San Antonio. The view of the river was fantastic, the beer was ice cold and the food exceptional.
‘But,’ said the guy from Tech, ‘I still prefer the beer joints back in Lubbock. There’s one place where the owner goes out of his way for the locals. When you buy 4 beers, he will buy the 5th.’ The Longhorn said ‘Well, at my local bar in Austin, the owner will buy your 3rd drink after you’ve bought 2.’
‘Hell, that’s nothing’,’ the Aggie responded. ‘Back in College Station there’s this bar where the moment you set foot in the place they’ll buy you a drink and keep them coming all night. Then when you’ve had enough to drink, they take you upstairs and see that you get laid. And it’s all on the house.’
The Red Raider and the Longhorn immediately doubted the Aggie’s claims. ‘And this actually happened to you?’ asked the Tech grad.
‘No, not me personally,’ admitted the Aggie. ‘But it did happen to my sister.’