Texas wants you anyway

I’m in the land of Lyle Lovett, Super XX Man, and Townes Van Zandt. That’s right, I’m in Texas. But honestly, I can’t tell. I’m inside this office-plex most hours of the day. Today I escaped for 30 minutes to bring back sandwiches for lunch. I’m DYING to see Austin and go hear some live music. But that won’t happen for a while. Maybe not even during this trip.

Long hectic days were made even more torturous as I felt DEAD-tired on Friday and Saturday. But I finally perked up again today (Sunday). It must have been a cup of atomic strength coffee that I had – because I wasn’t feeling so hot during the first few hours at work. Must have hit the right neural receptor. The normal busy-ness is going on – the same ole problems, a few congressional inquiries, lack of information, and absence of good communications makes placating DC difficult. But at least masses of people’s lives aren’t endangered by our bumbling this time around.

I’ve been to Georgia, Mississippi and now to Texas – and my affection for the South continues to grow. This does not mean that I want to live in the South, but my romantic notions of ‘The South’ that I have developed through literature and music helps me notice the picturesque through the ugly. For instance, in the mornings, there was a big red sun hanging low in the sky over the parking lot of the Cabot Lodge in Jackson, MS. As I backed out of my parking space, Lucinda Williams could be heard singing ‘big-red sun blues’ in my head. And there was a large Federal staging area (where we send all the trucks of the supplies) near Meridian, MS. Every time I deal with an issue related to Meridian, I hear Emmylou Harris sing the melancholy chorus of her song “Red-Dirt Girl.” (Look up the lyrics to this song and listen to this whole album– it’s one of my favourites) And when my colleagues went for a beer after work, I could hear the HEM cover of the Johnny Cash tune, ‘Jackson.’

When you find me down in Jackson,
I’ll be dancin’ on a pony keg.

If ‘the South’ at the interchange of I20 and I55 in Jackson still manages to inspire other writers and musicians to this very day, well, there’s a reason why I’m not a writer or a musician. Now, that I’m headed to Texas, I’ve got Lyle Lovett on the brain.

You say you're not from Texas
Man as if I couldn't tell
You think you pull your boots on right
And wear your hat so well

So pardon me my laughter
'Cause I sure do understand
Even Moses got excited
When he saw the promised land

That's right you're not from Texas
That's right you're not from Texas
That's right you're not from Texas
But Texas wants you anyway