AAC in the snow

McKinney. Also in the snow.

A couple hours later…

Where's the AAC?

Not being in the Northeast has its merits sometimes.

And from my other brother, a view onto Fifth Ave.

I don’t care how many people get snowdays in New York today, this is not something I envy. I can only imagine what sort of mayhem would arise if this happened here. Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together… mass hysteria, for sure.

(Thanks to WH, MIV, and to MCR)

Maybe it’s a primitive thing, the sky is falling and all that, but unless you’re worried your going to ruin your leather shoes, please remember that rain is just water. And check the weather if your so concerned about your fancy loafers!

I drove to Dick’s Sporting Goods yesterday to buy some shells so I could do some skeet-shooting in the afternoon. Dick’s had a pretty good sale going on, so I stocked up.

I hope no one rear-ends the car...

All those little pellets in all those shells add up to a lot of weight. I guess it is lead, after all. With a trunkful of ordnance, I took off for Elm Fork, thinking that the overcast sky and intermittent rain would mean an empty skeet field for me.

I was right.

Sweet Ride.

They were closed.

As a result of the weather! Skeet is meant to simulate hunting. Where you’re outside. In the elements.

The nice young lady at the desk said that the machines would break the clays in the rain anyway. Well, that’s just shoddy workmanship, in my opinion. The machines are housed in, well, “houses”. Call me old-fashioned, but I thought houses have roofs. I’m a regular Frank Lloyd Wright. Anyway, maybe all the other Texans knew that this place would be closed and it’s my fault for not calling ahead, but I still don’t understand what the problem is. It’s just a little rain. Skin is waterproof. Not that I suggest shooting naked.

The distinction of the one is more important than the clarification between the two. Forgetting that we are way down on the latitude, I neglected one all-important facet of living below the Mason-Dixon: Waffle House.

God, I love Waffle House.

Manna

Really, just about anyone who has 1) been to a WH and 2) isn’t inclined to have a distinct amount of scorn for plastic picture menus and bolted-down seating loves Waffle House (NB: most people’s moms do not fit into either category).

Be an All-Star

What’s not to love? The coffee is pretty decent, the waffles really are good, and the price is always right. I bring this up since I recently had my older brother to stay for the weekend. Being my brother, he was eager to do things like eat BBQ, go to a hockey game, watch football, drink beer, and eat unhealthy breakfast foods. We did all of these.

However, our first brunch was not at Waffle House, but at Dallas’ own Pancake House. Apparently, it’s actually Oregon’s own Pancake House, but that’s not the point. The point is I’d never heard of Pancake House before. I’m from New York City where brunch consists of rolled up hundred dollar bills, topped with hollandaise and sprinkled with gold leaf. And by that, of course I mean a bagel with cream cheese. Or, depending on the line and the depth of the hangover, bacon, egg, and cheese on a kaiser roll.

Pancake house does make some mean pancakes; I had the buckwheat. And an omelet. And most of a waffle. And about 47 cups of good coffee. Really, the key to brunch for me is not hair-of-the-dog mimosas or bloodies – in fact, I seldom drink at brunch. Drinking, for me, is really a lunchtime thing. The key is cups of good coffee and cold water, both kept full. Service should be swift, but not too sloppy. I’m not looking for white aprons, but I don’t want white toast if I ask for wheat, damn it. Pancake House succeeded on all fronts, and the cost was low. Honestly, I don’t know how all the servers were in such good moods. Oh wait, yes I do: because they weren’t as hungover as we were. Seriously, Texas is now out of Shiner Bock.

Anyway, as I was driving my brother to airport, we decided to stop off at Waffle House on the way. There are several in Big D, but we stopped at the one just off 183 en route to DFW. It is a small, truck-stop version of WH. There are only booths and a counter – no tables and chairs like the many Waffle Houses I’ve sampled along 95. Service was, as always, prompt. It was also friendly. I could have done without the excessively hirsute arm of the server, but she was still very friendly.

So what’s the point? Is there really a contest between Chez Waffle and Chez Pancake? Most Southerners might say no. Certainly, most Easterners would say no, and have been telling me so all week. According to PH’s map, there are locations all up and down the Eastern seaboard, from New York to Florida. Meanwhile, none of the states bordering the Great State of Texas have a Pancake House. Once again, this place is a bastion of wisdom and culinary delights.

1. I love New York.
2. It gets cold in Dallas.
3. It gets warm in Dallas.
4. The W Hotel Dallas has a helipad.

Now, some of these may not seem like epiphanies of any kind, but yesterday as I sat at my desk, a helicopter circled overhead and crashed into the W Hotel. OK, that’s a lie – it landed on the W. But, if you didn’t know there was a helipad up there, you might be confused – Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer-style.

Anyway, here’s a pic of the approach.

I’m not sure who was so special that they couldn’t take the elevator like everyone else, but watching a helicopter land on a building is awesome. Don’t ask me why. Also, the work ‘helipad’ is pretty sweet, too, let’s be honest. It’s like when Chinooks used to transport people to the Twin Towers, like in Coogan’s Bluff. Kinda.

Dirk and co.

This is really the only way to watch basketball. It gives you a sense of how big the players are, and how light he fouls are, in general. This game had a couple of highlights, not including the fact that my friend next to me caught two of the green mini-basketballs that Champ the Nightmare was throwing into the crowd. What makes it more impressive is that he caught one thrown by hand, and another shot from some huge air-powered mortar barrel. Along with a t-shirt cannon, this would make a great addition to the Free Stuff Payload Arsenal.

Holla "WE WANT PRE-NUP!"

Another highlight involved the Mavs Dancers.Yes, they’re lovely and mostly naked, but they’re no DCCs, nor even Ice Girls, for that matter. Nonetheless, the dancing is entertaining. However, right after these proud performers went out for the first time, the music start playing Gold Digger. That was a poor programming choice.

And remember our old friends the blimps? While I was desperately searching the rafters for the sextoy/burrito, the dog phallus/hot chili flew overhead and dropped a coupon into the row in front of me. Most people would wade through rivers of chum to get free shit, yet the gentlemen in front of us did not notice their coupon.

That ticket better be for a free $7 Miller Lite

It was eventually removed by them, or perhaps some sneaky person fiending Baby Back Ribs.

Finally – and I’m sorry I don’t have a photo of this – the halftime entertainment was Kobra Kai. I shit you not.

The JFK Memorial is a not-quite-stark white box, made of concrete, that rests just about two feet from the ground, seeming to float despite its bulk. The box is cleft on the North and South ends to create two towering halves that surround a slightly sunken central square in which rests the main dais. The dais is, as the information says, too low to be a table, to square to be a tomb, and too large to be merely a commemorative plaque. On the two sides facing the exits to the cenotaph is engraved “JOHN FITZGERALD KENNEDY” and painted gold to catch what light enters from the gaps, or manages to rappel its way down the massif.

This day, the anniversary, we were expecting not fanfare, but perhaps black ribbons or even a flag at half-mast. Maybe the flags were at half-staff, but I didn’t notice. There were few people save for what seemed like a couple of groups of tourists – families – snapping pictures. In fact, as we approached the memorial from the opposite side of the street, a large group of bicyclists, mostly dressed in Victorian garb, went past. The peloton seemed not to notice the memorial. In fact, it turns out it was a “tweed ride” and it’s only connection to Kennedy was that the group was rallying at the Grassy Knoll.

The Memorial was quiet, as I said, and a few small bouquets seemed lackadaisically placed atop the marble slab, along with a smattering of coins that gave it the air of a wishing well or busker’s hat. Two women, reading the information and inscriptions on the north side suddenly came to the realization that today was, in fact, the day. They seemed surprised.

Dallas, it seems, still bears a heavy weight. Downtown has some elegant buildings, but there is a certain silence and seediness. If not seediness, there is a stillness that exists downtown like a moment frozen in time. Like that gunshot was a shutter release, forever cementing Dallas in a foggy void, like a grainy photo. That vacuity was never more evident that yesterday. A 1965 Mustang parked nearby seemed to further the notion that nearly 50 years hadn’t elapsed in this city.

The city is trying to overcome the stigma that I think is attached to it. It bears a heavy cross and I think that there is an intentional lack of publicity around the anniversary. Perhaps we came too late in the day. The Observer claims there were ‘scores’ of tourists. The Sixth Floor Museum seemed to have a small crowd outside, but was by no means scores of people. The Cowboys game had ended so there wasn’t really a reason for people not to be outside.

Maybe, much like Ground Zero in New York City has become hallowed ground, yet ground that many New Yorkers feel too gutted to visit regularly, the JFK Memorial is still too haunting for some.

Ducks by the Boathouse

Filter Bldg

Fences Heading up to the Retaining Wall

Silhouette on the Retaining Wall

See, Dallas Has Seasons!

Teetering Teens

A Bit of Surmise on a Weekday Afternoon

Marina

This day is actually shaping up a bit. I may head out to fire off a few rounds at Elm Fork…

As you may know, the AAC is just a short walk from my front door. So far, I have been there to see a couple of hockey games and a basketball game. Dallas is a great sports town, and I’ve enjoyed going to the games. The venue itself is well-appointed and comfortable, and care has been taken to make sure that the views from the seats are generally decent. This past weekend, I went to the AAC for a wholly different event: the rodeo.

My two friends and I arrived about 40 minutes late (due to the car-buying process taking a while. I am now mobile in this city). We got some beer and peanuts and headed to the upper ring where our tickets granted us general admission. We found seats on just above the chutes and were surprised to see sheep out on the dirt. The sheep were being wrangled by a collie. The collie was being ridden by a monkey. Whiplash the Cowboy Monkey.

If you’re anything like me – that is, easily amused – this is an awesome prospect. Now, the dog was doing all the work, and I’m pretty sure ol’ Whiplash was just hanging on for dear monkey life. The act was winding down and the announcer told us about the finale. Whiplash had already wrangled the five sheep into a small rope circle. He was now going to corral them behind their small metal trailer. Each sheep then goes up a ramp onto the top of the hitch, where they would then drop down through a door in the trailer roof and be driven off to thunderous applause.

Whiplash, in his red suit and white, managed to get the sheep toward the trailer. A farmhand had setup the ramp and the sheep, simple as they are started up it as Whiplash and his mount directed them. The ramp is narrow and the sheep have to go one at a time. The first one made it up and dropped into the trailer as the second was close behind. As the third sheep charged up it, the ramp came off and the poor animal smacked headlong into the back of the trailer while the following sheep careened into the back of her and they all panicked. The collie managed to get them all up as the ramp was reset, but it made for some interesting rodeo-ing.

Next up was some saddle- and bareback-bronc riding. On the bucking bronco, the rider must continually spur the shoulders of the horse, requiring the cowboy to lean way back. Most of the riders wear a strange neck guard to prevent whiplash as they lie across the back of the horse. It gives them the appearance of someone about to sleep on an airplane.

After the bronc events (which, truthfully, don’t hold a candle to bull-riding) was something called “mutton busting”. Mutton busting basically serves to answer the question “How the fuck do you get into riding wild animals for a living?” In mutton busting, children (most of whom seem to be the sons and daughters of cowboys), don vests and hockey helmets, grab onto a sheep, and hold on for dear life. They are scored quickly over the PA, though it’s more for them to get a sense of accomplishment for not having died at the hands of a reasonably stupid animal. As the event progresses, the sheep collect near a handler at the far end of the rodeo floor once they have spilled their rider. So, after a few rounds, there are several sheep standing together. They instinctively go to one another, so as the flock grows, the released sheep-with-rider start careening towards the others, often with hilarious results as the sheep with the human baggage often crashes into the others or hits the brakes, sending the youngster flying. I have to say, the kids loved it. Not a tear was shed.

The winner was a little red-headed kid who, after hanging on past the buzzer, got bucked off and tumbled over onto his back. He lay still for a moment while we all thought he was hurt. Then, he started doing snow-angels in the dirt. Dirt-angels. The kid couldn’t have been more than 7 or 8 and there he was, showboating for the crowd of thousands. Below is a video of some mutton bustin, courtesy of YouTube user jkewish.

Finally, we got to the bull-riding. I went to the PBR event at MSG this past winter with my brothers and we vowed to go every chance we could. Bull-riding is so much better than bronco because, well, the chances of death are far higher. Bulls are bigger, meaner, and better equipped to perforate humans.

This particular bull-riding was pretty quiet. Only one cowboy managed to stay put for eight seconds in the final round. However, one cowboy got tossed pretty soon out of the gate and the rodeo clowns swooped in (sadly, the clowns were not dressed as clowns). As the bull neared the downed rider, one of the clowns tried to direct the beast away. However, being a one-ton animal with a rope around its manhood, it was not having any of that. It lowered its head and got under the poor clown, lifting him. As he was now mostly prone across the bull’s head, the clown was pretty helpless. While kicking the now-fetal-positioned rider, the bull then threw the clown up in the air.

Have you ever seen Michael Jordan dunk in slow-motion? It’s amazing. Just when you think he’s going to start his descent back to earth, he just keeps elevating. Rising and rising. That’s what this was like. This poor bastard was easily eight feet in the air. On the jumbotron replay, he went OUT OF THE FRAME. Had I been down on the dirt and not messing my shorts, I could have walked right underneath his airborne self and passed by untouched. The clown landed fairly unpleasantly on his side. I think he was mostly winded, but he basically just fell nearly ten feet squarely on his ribcage. He walked away and wasn’t gored, so it was the highlight of the night.

$30 got me:

• one (1) sheep crash
• about seven (7) children falling off sheep, with apparent parental consent
• one (1) airborne rodeo clown

It was well worth it.

Mutton Bustin'!

The parade started at City Hall at 11am. There was a flyover by three T38s/F5s to start the ceremony. There was also a finger-four flyover by four prop-wing planes. I’m not sure what they were but they were round-tipped and straight-winged (looked like P-40s maybe). As they sped over the skyline, one trailed smoke, though there was no ‘fallen flier’ formation. Fighters are awesome.

There were a lot of high school marching bands, almost all of which had some sort of JROTC unit as well. A few marched crisply and in-step, but most seemed comprised mostly of kids who were unsure of whether they wanted to be there. It is always moving to me to see the old WWII vets. There are fewer and fewer every year and while some are still very active and with it, so to speak, many more seem frail and sad. However, it is reassuring to see people collect on the sidewalks on a Wednesday to wave, and to cheer, and to actually yell “thank you” to many of the older vets.

There was also a formation of the All-American Cowgirl Chicks and a pick-up truck pulling the Stars’ Ice Girls on inline skates which seemed to be just popular amongst the fans as many of the military vehicles.

A large float that said “We Support Our Troops” along hte side carried an enormous Liberty Bell replica. The sign in front said “Let Freedom Ring”. Fine, but also on the float, flanking the bell fore and aft, facing the crownd were two huge replicas of the 10 commandment tablets. Romans 8:28-31. Hm. Interesting. Nice. Doesn’t sound at all like radical Islam.

There were a few nice old cars, including an array of Corvettes – past and present – at the beginning of the parade. I love to see the older vets in those fancy cars, I think they must get a kick out of it. Anyway, here’s to our vets, past and present and even future.