I live in Texas

Say it slow. I...Live...In...Texas.
Hmmph. doesn't sound any better.
So, here I am, ONE FREAKING MONTH after getting here, and now I FINALLY have internet access. As for the quality of Verizon DSL, I cannot commend them enough. No really, i can't even commend them at all. The monsterous trial that was simply getting a phone was really, in the end quite funny. That is, if you happen to hate me, and find my suffering amusing. Which I don't.
But, ah, lest I forget, this is about TEXAS. I capitalize TEXAS not to place some emphasis upon it being read, but instead because everything is bigger and better in TEXAS. It's just a fantastic, big ol' state. Or so, at least, the denizens believe. There is a genuine sentiment among a fair proportion of the populace here that they live in the Best Place on Earth. As one fellow I met put it, "I've never left Texas, and I never will. It's a great state! Where else can you find so much in just one state?" It's true, too! Well, really, it's true if by "so much" you mean square mileage. Hoooboy! Texas sure has a lot of that. As for being chock full of interesting, fun things? Well, maybe if you're willing to drive a few hours. But what's the advantage of saying that you can do a great number of activities without leavingthe borders of your state when it is the equivalent of driving to a whole other state in terms of convienient distance.
Besides, I suppose it makes a sort of sense to cultivate a deep, deep, extremely irrational love for a deserted wastelend when the time commitment involved in escaping it essentially renders you a permanent resident.
But more about me.
As we finally drove across the TEXAS border, I noticed the spectre of several birds of prey hovering high above the road. Interested, I called Mary in her car to get an idea of what they were. In her professional opinion? Buzzards, likely.
How appropriate, I thought. Shortly, we decided to make a rest stop, and pulled off into a wooded area with parking and, ahem, "facilities." As I walked in the faux mission-style bathroom/vending machine hut, I was immediately confronted by a lifesize mosaic of a man wearing a cowboy hat, carrying a rifle and a knife. Behind him was what appeared to be The Alamo, and next to him was a dog. I could only surmise that it was James Bowie, based on the style of the knife he held.
Regrettably, the dog went unidentified.
I could not help but feel that there was something undeniably Texan about the mosaic, as though the prideful effort to memorialize Texas's great heroes was so urgent that it made sense to put those memorials wherever possible, even if they get flecked with urine in the process.
AS I left, I ran into Mary leaving the Women's Room.
"Was there a mural?" I asked.
"Yeah, some guy."
"Did he have a knife?"
"I think so."
"Hmmm. Must've been James again."
And why was it Mr. Bowie? Were there no women to commemorate on the wall of the women's restroom?
Back on the road, I rolled down my window to aid my flagging air conditioner by giving it a break. Seeing a pack of Bikers approaching behind me, I accelerated to pass a SUV so that I could cut over to let them pass. To the side of the road a dead armadillo spun about gently on it's armored back. As I passed the SUV, I glanced at the driver.
In the back seat was a skeleton. In the front was a man in what appeared to be full civil war regalia, wearing what I believe were union colors. He nodded at me, and in the back seat the skeleton shifted, whacking it's skull against the glass. I pulled in ahead of the SUV, and the Bikers roared slowly past on my left. One grinned at me, and I believe winked before racing ahead.
The sun shone overhead mericlessly. A Bank on the side of the road informed me it was 97 degrees. We stopped at a light, and with a fluttering of wings a raven flew in my open window. It landed in the passenger seat, hopped about, and regarded me with one eye.
"Doom! Doom! Death!" it cried.
Welcome to Texas.
Aw, I'm just kidding.
The biker didn't wink at me.
I've named the raven Harald.