The stars at night. Are big and bright...

I'm proud to be an American.

But really, I'm honored to be a Texan.

I was in Trident Bookstore on Newbury St. the other day in Boston, passing time; I overheard the gentleman next to me at the coffee bar speaking to our waitress about Texas. She, the waitress, has plans to move to Austin. And he, the traveling musician, is from Fort Worth, TX. Eventually, the three of us came to the conclusion that we Texans are a breed of our own. Of course, in a state so vast, you find that there's quite a variety of types of Texans. Not sure which is my favorite; I've yet to meet them all.
Mr. Fort Worth (his actual name, I've forgotten) and I eventually went off on our own tangent reminiscing our home state. Of course, I've only been dearly departed for a week. Perhaps I'm now starting to realize how impending the move to Kansas City, Missouri is. The countdown is now down to weeks and soon to days. Clearly too soon. Mr. Ft Worth mentioned that he has a method to weed out Texan natives out of any crowd: Simply loudly sing "Deep in the Heart of Texas." Maybe sing it obnoxiously loud. He says it never fails. A Texan, if one is present, will start to clap. Quite the phenomenon.

Can I get a Yeehaw?