And so Ryan lands in Oklahoma City. Jealous? I know. In fairness, not a bad town. Airport was functional - with words and everything - unlike San Antonio. Nice people. Felt my drawl coming out inch by inch until I was about to throw in a "Yee-diggity" and caught myself. Earned hero status at a bar where (I kid you not) a patron was throwing change at every opportunity into the bartenders cleavage. I asked her, "Is this guy an owner?" She said, "He's been in here every day for 3 years." To which I said (loud enough that everyone could hear it) "So how does that make him less of an asshole?" This apparently was the magic statement that made him leave and gave me free drinks and back scratches (helloooooo Heaven) for the rest of the evening. I can't wait to try it somewhere else. If it works for you I expect royalties. The downtown area is a nice micro-version of San Antonio. Plenty to keep you busy. I even found a techno Euro-trash club that had the fortune of being nearby when I really had to find a bathroom. My sense of obligation meant that I had to endure the "Music" through a vodka tonic. I left it half full.
Honorable mention: In Oklahoma "Cafe" can mean strip club. And "Dance" can mean "treat me like a 9 year old Macaulay Culkin dipped in honey butter with a twisted ankle and dropped into the Vatican." Laws are sort of guidelines in Oklahoma gentleman's clubs. I didn't know whether to tip extra or press charges. I decided to go to Amarillo.
Off to Amarillo! Wind. Did I mention wind? And then there was wind. If the wind ever stopped in Amarillo every man, woman and child would simultaneously fall over and be rendered immobile having now idea how to walk without a lean. The first day I looked like a Nick Nolte mug shot. The next day I prepared with the hair gel helmet that snared low-flying birds now and then but was a reasonable trade off. And who can forget 10 Cadillacs buried face first in the dirt. To me this is a metaphor of the Texas political mindset. No matter how stylish you may be, if your head is buried in the dirt you never really know who is responsible for the limp you have in the morning. Quote for the Amarillo trip (at a movie theater waiting 30 minutes in line):
Me: "Do you think there any other ticket machines inside?"
Kindly patron: (dumbfounded look) "You aint from Amarillo are ya?"
And that sums it up.
And it was off to Santa Fe. I have no specific recollection of the drive. Nothing to recollect - except stopping in the dinosaur museum in Tucumcary to get pictures for my dinosaur fanatic nephew. I'm such a cool uncle. Anyhoo - Santa Fe is camouflaged. Like most camouflage it doesn't actually prevent you from seeing the object, it just irritates you because you cannot differentiate between objects. Like restaurants. Everything is tan and squared off!!!! Ok, I get it, there were Indians here and they had pueblos before you raped and murdered them and tossed in some smallpox for spice. I don't think a proper monument to the glory of the indigenous peoples is to make the Applebee's look like a truck stop where I can buy an "authentic" rug and a Slurpee. Here's another news flash: Coyotes are not and have never been aqua blue. They are scrawny looking dogs that chase prairie dogs - not wear bandannas and hold my door open. I know - I checked. And so the good news - it's 75 degrees in July and I'm from Phoenix. All is forgiven. I'll buy your ornately turquoise encrusted shoe horn if it means that I can stand here and not fear spontaneous combustion. Ahhhhhh cool wind. And the smell. Assuming there is no patchouli from hippies are walking by it actually smells of sweet mesquite. Not nearly enough is said of the smell of a place. To me it's important. New York smells like a floor mat in a 30 year old cab and I can never live there. The repression of one's gag reflex is for getting promotions - not for choking down a bagel in the morning.
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