It all started during the drive over from New Orleans. We were west of Beaumont when I noticed a very nice roadside barbecue stand. It was a tiny green house with a few tables out front, freshly painted to match the gigantic McCain-Palin sign in the yard beside it. The sign was the same size as the dang shack.
Then once we were in the Houston metropolitan area, we passed a cement daycare center called "Little Angels Christian Day Care."
That put any ideas of moving back to Texas to rest for good. Even though I'd be in Austin where things aren't nearly as bad as that - they are still bad in the Conservative Christian Right Wing Republican Straight White American Male department. Maybe those guys aren't the most vocal subgroup of the population in Austin, but they are still there. There may be a couple of those guys in New York, but they go home to the suburbs at night. Velvet's friend - who will get to choose his own name one day soon - the one who said I could easily play the Samuel L. Jackson role in Snakes on a Plane (Response to Diana West Interview, Stonerdate 9/21/07) - has declared Suburbs Breed Intolerance. That may be very true.
This morning while my mother was fixing breakfast, the next door neighbor brought over some amazing examples of white trash cooking. I swear she spies on this house because it was barely 8:30 when she came over with a tray of (1) fruitcake made from vanilla wafers, marshmallows and butter and (2) individual frittatas dripping with cheddar cheese and stuffed with Jimmy Dean brown and serve sausage patties. Heart attack on a plate indeed.
I suspect I'm a bit grumpy because Houston always gives me the worst sinus headaches of anywhere in the world. It's a damn good thing that Velvet was not impressed with Tulane after all because the engineering department has gone into the toilet since Katrina. They're focusing on the medical school - which makes sense because it has been the cornerstone of the University ever since the Yellow Fever epidemic back in the 1850's.
That particular epidemic is the backdrop for Jezebel, the movie written so that Bette Davis could compete with Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind.
New Orleans was delightful, as always. The weather turned so nice I forgot my coat at the bed and breakfast where we stayed. Fortunately, the innkeeper is a personal friend of my brother's wife, but she is so conscientious that she'd have sent the coat to New York anyway.
*note* When in New Orleans, Menopausal Stoners recommends staying at The Grand Victorian on St. Charles in the Garden District.No white trash cooking at The Grand Victorian, I guarantee. But a quick walk away, on Magazine Street, there's an amazing restaurant favored by the locals - Joey K's. Gumbo, crab and corn bisque, shrimp remoulade salad, red beans and rice. You couldn't ask for anything more - except a beer - and they have cold ones galore.
I'd have moved back down here if Velvet were in New Orleans - maybe - but now that he's going to be closer to home, I can put the idea of moving out of my head for years and years. I'll need to make more money once my alimony runs out - but everyone I know needs to make more money so who cares? I'm just glad this issue is settled once and for all.
Regarding Presents: This morning Velvet declared that he would know for sure if the One True Santa Claus existed if there was a chocolate orange in his stocking. Mudgie distracted him with the project of finding the "Yes, Virginia" editorial while my sister and I dashed off to the CVS to buy one. Fortuanetely, KPP and I were quickly able to locate the necessary object, buy it, get back to the homestead and deposit it into Velvet's stocking thereby proving once and for all that the One True Santa is a loving, indulgent grown-up.
Another day, we will prove that the direct connection between The One True Santa Claus and Jesus and/or God has destroyed the faith of generations of Christians. In the meantime, we'll enjoy the candy