Despite the fact that the Texans I met were the politest people ever -- except for the ones that were smoking, and what is up with that? Jesus, glance at a Texan blowing cigar smoke in your face and he acts like you tried to abort his grandchild -- but generally, I have to say, Texans were just so astoundingly polite I couldn't get over it. Kept looking around for the hidden camera. You're really going to be this nice to me? I kept thinking? Can't you see my Birkenstocks? My ratty jeans? Don't you know I'm a lie-beral?
But they were sweet to me anyway. It was so pleasant.
And despite this, and despite the wonders of the H-E-B, which was truly wonderful -- we found, in fact, the Kosher H-E-B, which had a whole Passover section, the likes of which drove mr. delagar to tears, yes, indeed, he wandered through its aisles saying, "Oh. Oh. Look. Real KFP wine! Look! Matzo stacked high as your head! Look at that brisket! Look!"
Despite all this, and despite the fact that in the Kosher H-E-B you could also buy Boarshead pickles one at a time out of a barrel right there in the deli section, despite all that, Texas is off the list. I won't be looking for a job in Texas.
Two reasons: (1) Wind. Good Lord, the wind never stops in Texas. I would go insane. And (2) Traffic. Same thing. Everywhere we went, San Antonia, Dallas, Austin, no matter what time it was, traffic snarls everywhere.
"I suppose it's a trade off," I told mr. delagar. "We can live in Pork Smith (which is what mr. delagar has started calling Fort Smith) and have nothing and no traffic, or live in an actual place which has B&N bookstores and Sam Ash music stores and the H-E-B and traffic jams 24/7."
"This isn't traffic," mr. delagar said. "You want traffic, try Jersey."
Jersey is off the list too.
12 hours ago