MadMup.com

The first two places I ate at in Dallas are places that I frequent here in Lafayette: Buffalo Wild Wings and Chick-Fil-A. I’m not complaining, mind you. Regular readers will know of my penchant for familiarity. I am not one for branching out. A very few of you will even know that new restaurants are a source of anxiety for me. For the rest of you I will just give this brief explanation: I don’t know how they work, so they confuse and terrify me.

I met Brian and Lisa at the rental car desk in the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport. I’d met Brian earlier this summer, of course, but this was my first time meeting Lisa outside of Azeroth. She was very smiley and nice and very quiet. Part of that was the tiredness from the trip and I suspect part of it was out of shyness from meeting Internetians.

DFW is a huge place. I suspect, actually, that Lafayette could fit within its boundaries with room to spare. It took a lengthy shuttle ride to get to the rental car desk, and once we got the car, it took 10+ minutes to get out of the airport. Brian was driving, so I was only sort of aware of my environment and where we were going, a fact that would come back to haunt me when I set out to meet Teri for lunch the next day.

We met Mike at the hotel and headed up to our room. (It should be noted that the desk clerk gave me an in-the-air celebratory fist pump when I used my Dallas Cowboys credit card to pay for the room.) There was a funny moment in the elevator when Lisa asked Brian to introduce her and Mike and we all sorta realized that Brian and Mike had never officially met before, either.

After getting our stuff settled we headed to lunch at the Buffalo Wild Wings right across the street. It’s one of Brian and Lisa’s favorite places, but they don’t have one in Albuquerque. After the uncertainty of driving in unfamiliar territory and meeting new-ish people, the known settings of the restaurant were comforting.

After lunch we headed to The Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza, a museum about President Kennedy’s fateful trip to Dallas on November 22, 1963. The exhibits did a good job of not sugar-coating his short-lived Presidency – it seems that so often when people talk about JFK it has this “he was the best President ever!” vibe to it, a vibe I’ve often felt was because he was assassinated. His term wasn’t without its troubles, though, and he wasn’t as roundly liked as I’ve always been led to believe he was. I really have no opinion on the matter, I was just impressed that the museum laid it out like that, more of a “complete story” thing.

The other thing that struck me while at the museum was because of a video that we stumbled across mid-way through its playing. It was about the impact of television on the events surrounding that time. For some reason, I knew that Jack Ruby’s shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald was televised, but I had forgotten or didn’t really know it was actually televised. There it was, though, right on screen – Oswald’s being escorted out, there’s a big group of people, and then Ruby steps forward and shoots. I’d seen the famous photograph, of course, but hadn’t thought about it being actually televised when it happened. Even with all the faked violence of televised movies and the normal nightly news there was something disturbing about seeing Oswald getting shot, even 43 years later. It was the first ever killing on live TV, and I don’t think there’ve been too many since.

The museum is actually on the sixth floor of the Book Depository where Oswald shot Kennedy from, and the actual window and surrounding area is plexiglassed off and set up exactly how it was that day, boxes of books set up all around. Conspiracy theories are addressed in the museum, but the overall feeling you get from the exhibits is that they support the findings of the Warren Report, that Oswald alone killed Kennedy.

Of course, I’m sure the main income for the museum is provided by conspiracy theorists coming to see where they’ve gotten it all wrong. In fact, there was a guy holding court in the museum telling a small gathering in that smarmy tone that all conspiracy theorists have about what really happened. I couldn’t listen to him for long before I got really irritated – that tone grates on me! – so I moved on in a hurry.

I love being in places where famous history happened. I try to imagine what it must have been like to be there that day, to see all of that as it happened. When we left the museum we drove down the street the parade drove down, right over the white X marks on the street showing the bullet trajectories. So surreal and strange to see oneself up against this event in history, so small in comparison.

That evening we met Kris, an old member of the THorum, for dinner. We couldn’t really decide where to go to eat, so we ended up at Chick-Fil-A. From there we went to a Fry’s Electronics, a kind of Best Buy on steroids, more Sam’s Club or Costco than anything. Apparently some of them are “themed,” and have spaceships crashed into them or somesuch, but this one was just normal: huge and full of stuff. I’d heard about them before, so I was glad to have the chance to go to one.

There’s something about history that changes how I think, at least for a while. Going from the museum to having dinner with friends seems now a harsh switching of gears. The last part of Proverbs 27:1 says “thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.” You might meet friends for dinner, you might go to a store, or you might be taking your last drive down Elm Street. You just never know.

The bravest thing I did this past weekend was meet an Internetian.

“But,” you say, “you’re always meeting Internetians!”

True enough, but this was different. Most of the Internetians (and, yes, I’m going to keep using that word until it passes into the vernacular!) I’ve met are people I’ve had extended Internet contact with for long periods of time and most of the time I’m meeting them in groups of two or more. The group dynamic makes it less likely that I’ll be required to say something and can stick to my tried-and-true method of wisecracking on what the other people say.

I’ve been reading the Cynical Tyrant’s blog for a few years now. You can find a link to her blog over there on the right-hand side of mine, and I’ve quoted her and linked to her on a few occasions. It’s rare that you’ll read a blog written by someone you don’t know, but a friend introduced me to her site and I enjoyed her writing right off the bat and have been a faithful reader ever since.

We’ve had occasion to converse via email and as my trip to Dallas got solidified and drew closer, she gave advice on neat things to see while in the area. It struck me that another neat thing to do would be to meet her for lunch. I worked up the nerve to ask her if she’d be willing to meet, figuring for sure she would naturally be frightened off by the random Internetian invite. I figure I’ve gone 34 years without ever going to Dallas, it might be another 34 years before I do so again, so I carped the heck out of the diem.

Surprisingly (to both of us, I think), she agreed. Perhaps she wondered what sort of person reads another person’s blog for so long, or perhaps she wondered why someone from another state might be a Cowboys fan. Maybe she’d never seen a real live Hoosier outside of captivity. The world may never know.

We met for lunch at Cafe Brazil, a coffeehouse-sorta place that serves breakfast all the time – perfect for a breakfast lover such as myself. It’s one of her favorite places to eat. She had an omelet, I had French toast with walnuts and a really great time.

Nervousness is a funny thing. We’re never sure when it’s going to show up or what form it’s going to take. Me, I babble on incessantly. I overtalk and overshare. Other people get hiccups or shake or rip apart straw wrappers or tap their foot. And everybody gets nervous about something: tests, meeting new people, singing in front of others, being subjected to questioning by lawyers – no one’s completely immune. Getting nervous about meeting another person is one of those things we should be able to conquer, though, I think. After all, the other person is just like us, what with the being human and all.

But there’s that fear: What if I make a faux pas? What if I embarrass myself? I mean, I could

• show up late because I got confused getting around Dallas, even if the map she gave me was straightforward and simple (Yep. Did that.)
• have a wrinkled shirt as a result of the combination of the seatbelt and humid weather (Check.)
• ramble on incessantly (What do you think?)
• talk with food in my mouth on more than one occasion (Oh, help me, did I ever.)

I’ve pretty much gotten to the point where I know I’m going to make mistakes in social settings, I’m going to embarrass myself. It’s best to just be aware it’ll happen and hope the other person(s) doesn’t run off screaming or write letters to the editor of the local newspaper about how awful I was. To her credit, she did neither of these things. (Actually, I can’t be positive about the letters to the editor, as I did not read the Dallas newspaper the following day.)

Take the normal everyday fears and mix in the fact that everyone knows every Internetian ever is a serial killer out for your kidneys and it could be a recipe for a nerve-wracking lunch.

Somehow, we got past all that and had a nice lunch together. I suspect it was the presence of Bob Vila that got us through. Well, that, and the fact that she’s pleasant, smart, witty, and (apparently) longsuffering.

Here’s me with my new friend Teri:

The look on my face is because I couldn’t tell when the camera was going off, and it bothered me when I first saw the picture. I’ve since come to realize that, well, I look that way 90% of the time, so at least it’s an accurate representation.

And in case you’re wondering: she left lunch with the exact same number of kidneys she arrived with, no more, no less.

I’m having difficulties figuring out how to blog my most recent Texas Trip. I don’t really want to do one big all-in-one post because it seems like too much happened to relegate it to some sort of list and I don’t want anything to get lost in the deluge of events. I hope to have a series of smaller posts over the next few days. Let’s start, shall we?

All this talk of “no liquids on flights!” had me wondering how I was going to make this trip. Years ago I made the switch to gel deodorants because I got tired of the white “regular” stuff – it’s way too messy and gunky. Spray deodorants are no good, either: too cold and don’t seem to do the trick. Gels are just about right for me. Sadly, I’ve recently had to find a new one, as the one I’d been using stopped being effective. It was a rather involved process that I thought about blogging, but ultimately decided it was too unsavory a topic. Frankly, even this amount of discussion is too much, in my opinion! For a more detailed (and gross) explanation of why people need to occasionally change deodorant, go here.

I also use hair gel. How else to achieve this hair-combed-forward-but-bangs-upturned look? Mousse? Hairspray? No thanks. Gel is it for me. I used cheap “L.A. Looks” type stuff for the longest time but made the switch to a more-expensive salon brand (that I can’t remember the name of right now) when I got mocked for having a big bottle of bright yellow hair gel in my bathroom. I chose this particular brand because it’s what the girl (Kelsey) at my haircutting place (seems unmanly to call it a “salon”) used after cutting my hair and I liked the smell of it. I guess it holds fine, so that’s just a bonus. And now that I’ve mentioned it, talking about liking the smell of my hair gel also sounds unmanly. Hmm.

I use regular toothpaste, though it has gel parts to it. It’s some sort of fancy Aquafresh that has an orange look and taste to it. All I know is that it makes my teeth feel awesome when I use it. It’s good stuff.

I decided to use my standard “Well, let’s just see” approach and packed it all up in my shaving kit bag inside my carry-on bag. I have one bag that’s for clothes and toiletries (a word I dislike!) and a backpack that’s for all my electronical diversions and for books. I figured if they didn’t want me to have the stuff, they’d take it.

I flew out at 7:something on Saturday morning with no problems at all. Bags went through the x-ray, I went through the metal detector and had to go back through sans belt. That, by the way, is my least favorite part of the process. I don’t mind taking off my shoes, but taking off my belt and putting it back on there in the airport seems more… personal. It’s like I’m undressing and dressing in front of everyone. I don’t like it, not one bit. But they didn’t take my gels!

I changed flights and continued on to Dallas – all while having gels and pastes in my carry-on bag! I felt a little guilty, but I was glad I wouldn’t have to try to find a store and re-buy all my stuff when I got to my destination.

I utilized the various gels while I was in Dallas, a bit more thankful for them than normal.

On my return trip yesterday I didn’t do anything different except to remove my belt and pack it away so I wouldn’t have to take it off in the airport. This time, though, my carry-on bag was pulled to the side. “We need to look inside this, sir.”

Uh oh. Busted by The Man.

“Oh, okay. Sure.”

Out comes all my stuff: belt, dirty clothes, clean clothes… and shaving kit.

Deodorant: “Can’t have this.”
Hair gel: “Nope.”
Toothpaste: “This either.”

Me: “Really? Huh.” This, folks, is a master actor at work.

Him: “Nope. No liquids, gels, or pastes, except prescriptions and yadda yadda yadda other stuff.”

Me: “Wow. Huh. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pull anything!” I totally was, but I don’t think that would’ve been wise to say. “Yeah, I was trying to sneak gels onto the plane” doesn’t get as many laughs as you might think it should.

So he took it all away to some undisclosed location. I’m guessing to some sort of holding area for the employee auction later on. I continued on my way, eventually getting back home – but not before stopping at Wal-Mart to buy replacement gels. They had my toothpaste and my newly-found deodorant, but not my fancy hair gel. I had to buy some cheap stuff, but at least this time I got the bright blue rather than the bright yellow. I’ll get the good stuff when next I get my hair cut.

Stupid terrorists. The way I figure it, they owe me $12 so far. And for what? To make me afraid to fly? Sorry, but that ship has sailed. Enclosed spaces, sudden movements, and loud noises took care of that long ago. If it ever happens that I come across a terrorist on a flight, I’m going to glue him to his seat, hands permanently stuck in a Macauley Culkin-like fashion to his face. All with the gel-based superglue I’ll have sneaked aboard.