The First and Last

I am flying back to san Antonio on friday on everything opposite of a whim. It was a little strange reserving a flight from LAX to SAT, considering I did the opposite for about 18 months.  Several of my friends will be seen, merriment will be had on all accounts, and hopefully there will be a bit of a brainstorm.  Yes,  a plethora of merriment so huge that it will cause the nerdy guy in the corner to drop his nervous tic.  An interesting problem caused by this trip is how best to get to and fro the LAX airport, nevermind the fact that I have a car. Methinks it will take a cab there and a friend a back, thus cheapening the experience of a both-way taxi. Note that back in OK and TX, easy things like driving around are now the most difficult, but at least out here we have nice flora.

In the months that I was travelling back and from from SA to LA (still living in SA), I procurred several trinkets from the San Antonio airport before flying off. Under those conditions, these trinkets served as a ’slice of texas’ so that we would feel at home, and the Californians we worked with enjoyed seeing what we would show up with next in our bag of Texan magic.  Keeping these hokey little trinkets around has paid off, because now whenever I miss Tejas all I need to do is a take a look at the collection to appease my Texasn alibi.  Nodding his head like an idiot is Big Tex, a bobblehead with a cowboy hat, a gun, a bottle of beer, and of course grinning.  Left of Big Tex sits the rattler, a small painted wooden statue in an attacking pose despite Big Tex’s lasso. Vulnerable but standing lazily next to my rattler are two small leather boots that could use a good shine.  You now know about my Texas trinkets, the ridiculous collection of memorabilia that accompanies me on my personal desk rodeo.  Until earlier today I hadn’t thought anything about this, but I’m pretty sure at night they all come alive and fight it out thunderdome style. 

BY the time the fight subsides I’m sure Big Tex is drunk off his Whiskey.  Maybe that would explain the small puddle of upchucked booze on my mousepad.  Either that or the cleaning lady really needs to get herself under control.