Welcome

I'm probably scaring the neighbors with my habit of going shirtless around the house, but (a) when you see the sun as little as I do, you have to take advantage, and (b) I live in freakin’ Hico. I usually have to dodge one or two chickens during my daily commute through town. We’re not going to be the subject of scandalous whispers at the Opera, are we? Enjoy my back hair.

So, with that in mind, It’s

NEWS FROM HICO V

Folks:
This’ll be the last one I number, since most notes from now will just go up on this blog. They’ll also be shorter. Maybe. Thanks for stopping by.

Cowze!!
I drive up to the farm cabin one day and notice these fence posts (metal t-posts, for those who like to hammer) are stuck in the ground around the cabin. I come in to the cabin and notice that, once again, Dad has put some construction material on top of my pool table. Yes, I realize that “table” is part of the word that makes up the item, I just wish that Dad would realize that the other part of the word meant that I had to spend $2,750 to buy and bring that sucker here. It’s not a @$%$@$ damn workbench.

So, while angrily but neatly removing items from table and putting them on the floor, my cell rings. I forget exactly what Dad wanted, but I remember the conversation ended with me asking about the fence posts. “Oh, that’s just if we decide we want cattle sometime.”

Two days later, an electric fence has gone up, and a herd of about 50 angus and hereford are milling (frolicking) about their most recent home. And I stare at them for a while (worried about the addition of cows to our nuptials) before I finally ease up.

Cows add scenery, and the smell stinks but is also familiar and homey to all Texans, so I can live with it. Maybe we can put bows on them for the wedding. I’ll give the idea to Meredith and then laugh at her while she goes out and tries to catch them.

Wedding
I haven’t shared all the plans for my upcoming betrothalistment. We’re getting married in August at First Methodist in Hico, followed by a reception at the new house at the farm. There’s been plenty of concern about hosting anything at the new place: It’s got about 10,000 kinks (doors that don’t open, floors that aren’t done, etc.) But it’s done enough to where we can pull off something pretty successfully, or die trying. Better than renting some place for $1,000 bucks when the money could go toward barbecue and beer.

Random politics
While trying out the new barbecue place in town, the girl at the counter asked me if I had been following the local election. I averted my eyes and said I was doing everything that I could to avoid politics. She probably thought I was strange, but I’m steering clear. The political groups in town are divided into two camps: The "monied but incompetent," and the "completely insane."

For a small taste -- during one meeting a man speaking out of turn was told he was out of order. At which point, another man in the crowd stood up and yelled, “No! You’re out of order!” (According to news reports -- I sure the hell don’t go)

I’ve often thought that there should be a saint that makes occasional appearances when you descend into the level of absolute cliché. He could just run into the room, give you a high five, and disappear. Would be a good sign that you should at least be original if you’re going to make a full-blown spectacle of yourself.

Anyway, the recent election seems to be a minor victory for the completely insane camp. A side vote, and the only one I cared about, is a defeat for me. The decision was whether or not to allow a store in town to sell beer. That went down in flames, meaning I still have to take an hour trip if I want to have a beer while watching Battlestar Gallactica. Sheesh. Oh well, at least the barbecue was deelicious.

For Mom
A good thing about getting married is that many items you have to take care of for the wedding also make decent gifts. Hence, our engagement shot doubled as a Mother’s day present. The photographer did a good job with the pictures and the print, giving me and Meredith a nice lustrous Playboy sheen. (I’m talking about the lighting, perverts.)

My favorite touch is the box I sent the pictures in. I had to get something quick and this was the only thing I could find that fit:



Yeah, the Civilization box was available, but Nothing says “Happy Mother’s Day” like a demon from an accidentally opened portal to hell.

Adios.