Denzil Reviews Everything!!! (Sweet Tomatoes Restaurant)

Yes, every single thing... I'll review it... like the Dayquil I just took this morning to help with my cold, said it was non-drowsy... slept for 6 hours afterward. But it helped.

I wanted to talk about food.  There's not a place in this world where you can find massive amounts of food being trucked in than the city of Dallas.  There are restaurants everywhere, that is, everywhere there's not a Whole Foods or some specialty grocery store.  Seems that all people do here is eat.  And I'm okay with that.  My goal was to go to one restaurant a paycheck, try something new.  I'll do that, eventually, and I will finish when I'm Methuselah's age.

I have to say, I'm addicted to Sweet Tomatoes.  I think there's a misconception about me and food, that as long as it has cheese or comes in a box that can be warmed up in the microwave, I'm all set.  And while that's certainly true, there's always a question of flavor.  If I'm going to eat, I would really like to have something that tastes like something.  You find me something that is healthy, and tastes amazing, bonus points if it's cheap, and I'll be the healthiest person on Earth.  

I found the answer to this paradox in the glorified salad bar that is Sweet Tomatoes.  Take the idea that Golden Corral made and then refine it.  The difference being that, you pay the exact same price for either place to eat everything that you want, but at Golden Corral, you walk out absolutely stuffed, but then can't remember anything that you've eaten.  You've eaten a massive amount of food, but your body doesn't remember any of the flavors experienced.  My brother says of me (and he's right) that I remember the places I've been to by the things I eat there.  I can tell you the exact places and foods I ate that were the best "X" I've ever eaten.  And those come along so rarely, that those engrams are pasted into my memory as firmly as any "where were you when" scenarios. 

So I was fighting a cold in January and saw the promotion at Sweet Tomatoes of their (shock) Tomato Soup.  I had to have some.  So I filled up a plate with salad, a Romaine Asiago with Lemon, covered with a Lite Honey Mustard Dressing.  Each flavor you put on that salad adds or detracts from it.  Blue Cheese adds a tart, musty flavor right in the back of the throat, while the lemon is a tang on the top of the mouth.  I tried adding Balsamic Vinegar to it... bad idea... that was too much.  And the thing is... it's all that way. Everything in the restaurant has a flavor to it.  It's not trying to get you to buy a drink, not trying for filling you up, it's trying to get you to remember those flavors, perhaps, with a carbonated beverage, you'll remember them for an hour afterwards, but that's okay.  

The businessmen who run these eating places, they make things like Taco Bell's Steak Stacker, and put all this meat and cheese in it, and forget to add flavor.  IHOP's omelettes are huge, and bland, and I've been to plenty of Mexican restaurants where spices by the ton are added to a dish, but no flavor.  It just makes you thirsty (which, of course, is the idea).  Give me a place that values flavor over filling, and I'll eat there every day.  The olive oil on the cheese bread, the Rosemary in the Potato Leek Soup (needs a little more salt, though.) Fantastic stuff, each touching parts of the palette, each adding a memorable part of the meal.  That I don't get leftovers, and that I might have to eat later on that day, are both worth actually enjoying a meal.

One last thing, if you're reading this in February 2015, go get the Red Velvet Cake they have for dessert.... creme cheese frosting.... so good!!!  And there's always coupons, signing up online for them, and whatnot.  The closest one to my friends in Georgia is the one at Gwinnett Place Mall, or one at Perimeter Mall.  Go have soup and a salad... you'll be glad you did.

From One Cross to Another

For Thanksgiving this year, I went down to the town of Orange, Texas, where my Cousin lives and spent the weekend with her and her husband.  A little about travelling in the state of Texas... It is possible to go anywhere from anywhere, but not without avoiding the toll roads.  The astute driver will first consult many maps, go over all the backroads, and finally come up with great shortcuts that are free to drive on.  Thus Texas, who has put most of their revenue building for roads into these Toll Highways, will never make as much as they think because people will find a way around it.  The only option the state has is to basically make all highways into Toll Highways, which means that no one will ever go anywhere unless it's on Gravel roads.  I made it down to Orange from Dallas in 5 hours, 30 minutes.

My cousin's house had recently been burned to the ground by fire, and has now been rebuilt.  A marvelous abode, much like the house my friend A., has, with the raised ceiling and a den above the living room, much like a balcony over a sanctuary in a church. Getting out of my car in front of their house, I could smell the cool air blowing off the Gulf of Mexico, filled with a sweet odor, something

that I've only smelled once before in Jacksonville.  The area is more like Louisiana than Texas, the part east of Houston, which harbors the cities of Orange, Beaumont, and Port Arthur.  Connecting them are bridges of immense size, true monuments of human ingenuity, that allow barges to travel beneath them from the Sabine Lake to the Intercoastal Waterway to the Gulf.

The people of these towns brought with them the cultures of their homelands, combining with Texan, Mexican, and American customs to make a truly unique area.  You could travel to Nederland, and see the giant windmill signifying the Dutch ancestry of the citizens, or go eat in Chinese Restaurants with a decided Cajun flair.  We went to the  Stark Museum and saw the paintings of the Taos, Arizona artists collected by the Stark Family and shown in amazing galleries.  I liked the landscapes, as well as the pottery made by women of Newcomb College (part of Tulane's college for women at the time of the Civil War), with their rich blue colors and designs.  In the same area are architectural wonders restored by the Stark family. To quote Wikipedia: The First Presbyterian Church on Green Avenue uniquely captures the classic Greek Revival architecture. Completed in 1912, it was the first air-conditioned public building west of the Mississippi River and its dome is the only opalescent glass dome in the United States.  

I left on a Sunday, and a strong cold front was due to sweep through in a couple of days.  That, of course, meant that the winds would be out of the southeast, and it would bring warm air out of Mexico.  It was in the 70's, and I decided to see the Gulf of Mexico in all its glory.  I took 124 south from the small town of Winnie to High Island, and there it meets what used to be Highway 87, prior to the street being destroyed by Hurricane Ike.  The highway, right next to the beach, was never rebuilt.  Driving up over a hill, I suddenly see the Gulf of Mexico spread out upon the horizon, and it was an amazing sight.  We live on such a magnificent planet, something so unlike any other planet in the area, and there are times we have to step back and realize what we have here, how gorgeous it is, and how we can add to the beauty, and not take away from it. 

I parked in front of a huge wooden Cross, standing on the beach in memory of those affected by the tragedy.  I decided to leave my work keys in the car, and so I took apart my keychain, left my car keys in the car, and promptly locked it.  Of course, I realized my mistake, and after several seconds of berating myself, I realized that I had left the windows of my car down a little, so maybe it was possible to stick my hand (which didn't work, that hurt) or something else down into the door to unlock it.  I went down the beach looking for trash that had washed up that just might help me.  I found, after a time, the back part of a broken fishing rod (someone was having loads of luck that day), and thought it just might do it.  I returned to the car and, after a little maneuvering, managed to unlock my car.  

So, back to the beach, to the cross, to the stereo sound of waves crashing upon themselves, and upon the shoreline.  To the waterbirds that take flight, long wings and necks  like feathered dinosaurs, flying up and over the water and then back down shore where my walking wouldn't bother them.  To the shells that washed up on shore after so many years of being houses for mollusks, only to become a pathway for fishermen to bring their trucks, their poles, and drive down what was left of the highway to places where they might catch a fish or two.  Yes, back to the beach, and even though the water was cold (I took my shoes off and let the water crash into my toes), it was an amazing place to be.  

On the other side of the beach were giant horses, or that's what they seemed to be, just standing in grassy swampland, waiting to be activated again for the search of oil.  They stand solitary out there, and it reminded me of the all knowing cow that Robert Penn Warren wrote of in All the King's Men, the cow that you pass as you go west, on the train, the one that looks up at you as it's chewing its cud, and you wonder how many people it has seen and how many people have seen it, really seen it, not just passed by without a single thought.  How many fishermen have passed by these oil rigs, not paying any attention to them?  In thousands of years, when the highway and the crosses and the houses and the fishermen have all been blown away by time and wind and wave, the iron horses will stand, and future people will come and stand in front of them and wonder what these great machines saw, and who made them?

A mile east from one cross is another, one that used to be the carrier of telephone wires and cable wires, the voices of countless humans travelling down the beach.  Now, however, a bird perched on it, and next to it, a sign, signifying the McFadden National Wildlife Refuge.  Having walked a mile, from one cross to another, I decided to head back, for I had many miles to go before I got home.  I will, when the time comes, return to the Gulf, and bask in the sunshine and the sound of the water hitting the shore, and see the solitary iron horses, and the crosses and the fishermen.  I loved it.  

It was then time to drive back to Dallas, avoiding the Toll Roads, and, it being the Sunday after Thanksgiving, to stand the heavy traffic on the interstates with all the other people driving back from wherever to their homes to work the next day.  And my car died on me once, and I waited 15 minutes for it to cool down, rest, and then it started back up (it does that when I take road trips, and it'll do it again, I expect, but I can adapt, for now).  I was glad to get back home, to continue this journey.  If you ever get the chance, do head down to the small towns along the Gulf of Mexico.  You'll be glad you did. 

The Pursuit of Happiness

Hiking down the Champion Trail, completing what would look like a large snake on Google Earth, I looked over to the left of me, and the wind created waves on the lake where Farmers Branch and Elm Fork Trinity River meet.  Across the lake were large buildings, office buildings with the well known brands displayed proudly upon the apex of the structure. To the right of me, a neighborhood of spacious, well built houses around park lands and canals and sidewalks.  People rode bicycles or tended plants near the trail, and it all seemed peaceful and calm.

I wondered, "Is this Happiness?" Of course it is, the realization of an American Dream, a house, a job, a considerable amount of security, the ability, probably, to go wherever you want.  Now that's freedom.  "But," I asked, "I'm happy. Does all this make them any more happy with their lives?"  I have an apartment, and it's not big, nor do I have the elegant openness of the houses I saw, nor the office in a large, glass-filled building where, at my leisure, I can look out over the parks and the lake and the canals and see my house. But I have a job that I am happy with and grateful for.  What makes my happiness different from theirs? 

I remember back in Georgia, as I have talked about many times, that my stepdad drove an ice cream truck around the poorer neighborhoods of Rockdale County.  We actually sold more ice cream to the children in the trailer parks than in the affluent neighborhoods.  The people watching their large televisions or playing whatever console was out at the time would not have bothered with the ringing bells of the rickety old van when they could get ice cream out of their own freezers.  But in those small streets that wound their way through the mobile homes, the ice cream truck  distributed not only ice cream, but happiness.  They ate sugary goodness, then continued to play outside.  I never once saw those children unhappy.  For while I'm sure they were aware of those places where rich people lived, where they were was home for them.  It was their world, and the things they had were good.  I will not pretend to think that it was all roses and lollipops for them, either.  I'm sure some had parents that were abusive, or drank, or worked all night to provide a roof over their shoulders.  I'm sure they came home tired and had no time for their children.  But so, too, are the people who live in the opulent homes.  They could be abusive, or drink, or spend too much time at work, not able to see their kids.  The conditions in which they live might be different, but often, the emotions around them are the same.  

So, back to my own situation, yes, I am happy.  I thought about it further, and realized that the ability to be happy in this country is the main reason why so many people come here, legally or otherwise.  And that's a rather common thing to say... you hear it on the radio and the television all the time.  But I don't think that people really know what that means.  To people who live in those houses, to them, why would people cross a river with nothing but what they could carry just to come here? I mean, poverty (as we define it) is here as it is elsewhere?  The difference being that here, there is the opportunity for happiness.  It's an old argument, one that goes back to the Declaration of Independence.  "Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness."  The argument from the free market 

Trail underneath I-635. Dallas loves their bridges!

world is that our government provides for the opportunity for happiness, not necessarily that you will achieve it.  Honestly, happiness is relatively easy to achieve here, with a job, and the basic needs of survival met, the rest is the pursuit of being happy, comfortable with your life.  Any external force that interferes with this should be dealt with by the Federal Government.  I will admit that this is a little more liberal of a stance than what I would normally take, but every citizen should be afforded the "opportunity" to pursue happiness.  According to Maslow, this cannot happen until the basic needs of human survival are met.  Shelter, Warmth, Food.  I think this is ample justification for the programs that welfare extend to those people who might not have it otherwise.  And this is something that is taken advantage of and used for political gains, undoubtedly.  I do not agree with the extent that these programs are used, but that they are absolutely necessary, I will stand by and defend.  I would even go so far as to agree with the need for basic health care, the basics that keep us all healthy and able to pursue our goals.  Again, this is not to say that everyone should be taken care of completely for their entire lives, as we have had thrust upon us, but for children and those who cannot afford it, it's absolutely necessary.  

I have digressed some, but that's okay.  My main thought was that I am just as happy living my life right now as the people living in those houses and working in those buildings.  I know I've had a lot of stressful things that have happened to me (my Cousin who is a psychologist pointed out that of the list of the most stressful things that can happen to a person, I've had most of them happen to me in the past couple of years). I think I've come through the fire , with Help, of course, very nicely, and that, with that same Help, I can overcome any obstacles in my way.  The journey that I'm on, one that, in the end, will result in my independence, in my "growing up" as it were (you know that's not going to happen fully, but a little maturing wouldn't hurt), is just starting.  The one lesson that a lot of people need to learn is that looking up at the houses on the hill, or the towers of offices and the opulent stores that sell temporary satisfaction, all these things are just that, temporary, and there's little of that which is different from what I already have.  What ultimately improves that happiness is what I do with it.  From the people I meet to the things that I do, that will provide happiness, not the material objects I have around me.  Again, this sounds like a common theme, realized over and over again in sit-coms and cartoons, but it's the truth, and is something that is so hard to realize.  Not when every window out in the world broadcasts what you don't have, and how wonderfully happy those people are that do have it.  It's not the "haves" and "have nots,"  but the "lives" and the "lives not."  I would rather live, and be happy, in my small abode, than toil and strain, simply to get more of what is out there, and not be happy at all.  As Candide said, I am happy simply "tending my garden."  That is what I intend to do.  

Roadrunners, The Galleria, and Global Warming...

In other words, it's time for a "things that bug me!" post.  That's right, once again I find things that irritate the fire out of me, and I let you know what they are! Aren't you excited? I knew you would be.  And this episode is the special Texas edition.

In the last episode, I talked about my Blessed Flyswatter.  You know, the one I can't find in all my boxes and shelves because I. Don't. Need. It. Here. Either the Arts at Midtown Apartments have amazing pest control specialists (and they probably do. I've seen a cricket, and a couple of little bugs inside my apartment, and absolutely nothing outside.  In fact, the whole time I've been here (a month now), I've seen exactly one cockroach (but more on that in a minute).  We have two stray cats on the premises, or at least, I think they're strays, probably belong to someone around here. I've seen no stray dogs. In a huge city like Dallas.  I saw a skunk once, while I was driving home from the college. Never seen one of those before.

The reason I bring this up is that in Texas, as you know, everything is bigger (and that's a stereotype with loads of truth in it). In Texas it's what eats the cockroaches that is a pest.  I need to send these things over to Georgia... they'd have an absolute feast!  Thing is, I don't know what they're called. but they're everywhere.  Birds.  About the size of blackbirds, but they don't fly, and are brown-ish.  They have their mouths open constantly (mainly because it's probably 110 degrees near the pavement), and they make insanely loud squawking sounds.  I call them roadrunners, not because they are, but because the run on the road.  They sweep the streets clean of bugs, leftover food, anything they can devour.  Even the bugs off of cars.  And they're not scared of you at all.  They stand on the sidewalk and watch you pass, about like the buzzards do in Georgia.  And they're everywhere!  I guess it's a mixed blessing, to have no bugs, but lots of large birds around.  (after some looking, I think they're called "Great-Tailed Grackles," and from the description that wikipedia gives them, it makes sense.  A pack of Grackles is called an "annoyance."   It says they're not afraid of humans and make loud, raucous sounds.

***
Couple weekends ago I took a two minute trip west to the Galleria Mall, the opulent center of human decadence located conveniently right next to my apartment.  I even dressed up to go in, thinking it would be better than shorts and a t-shirt.  Four floors, with the bottom being an ice rink and food court, and the other floors ascending as they decreased in price.  On the main floor is Nordstroms,
along with alternating shops that sell the finest of women's clothing and purse/handbags stores.  Fine jewelry, watches, accessories for the latest Apple products... all of which is totally worthless to me.  The one store I was delighted to find was one owned by Papryus.  Borders carried a line of Papryus products, and I was glad to find such great greeting cards within such a short distance of my house.  I would definitely go back to that store for birthday cards and, of course, for amazingly sparkly wrapping paper.  :)


The upper floor is where the normal mall stores are: Spencer's, Hot Topic, Subway.  Packed within this area are all the people who, like me, couldn't afford the lower floors but have to buy something while at the Galleria Mall so they could say they did it.  I declined that opportunity, at least for now, and I do understand the attraction for seeing how the rich spend their money.  However, I feel much more at home at the Valley View Center on the other side of my street, or even at the Thrift Shops over on Harry Hines, where, amongst the loud Spanish Pop songs and screaming children and toys all over the floor, I found some great Jeans for $4.00 a piece, ones that I can wear when it gets cold around here (which I hope never happens.)
***

One thing I have loved here in Dallas is the 100 degree temperatures.  With relatively lower humidity than the saunas that are prevalent in Georgia.  I walk outside and feel the warm (to hot), crisp, air, and it warms the muscles, the skin, relaxes it.  It's amazing that such a ball of fire as the Sun, 8 light-minutes away from Earth, can generate that much heat.  It reminds me of my now long gone Large Dangerous Space Heater which I loved so very much.  Without the humidity, you sweat more here, but it evaporates, keeps you cooler when the Dallas winds go sweeping down the plains (oh, wrong state).  And every single person I know would think I was the craziest person on the face of the planet for liking warm temperatures... I mean, it's getting hotter, isn't it? We're going to bake in an oven of our own making? Global War... I mean, Climate Change... is going to do irreparable harm, and the only way we can fix it is to let the Government tax, regulate, and force us to be kinder to our environment.  After all, they know best, don't they???

Truthfully, do I think that we have had something to do with affecting the overall climate of the Earth? Probably.  I don't know what that is, as I have little proof and even fewer reasons to go looking for that proof.  But... do I want the Government to control everything that I do, consume, and waste, all in the name of protecting Mother Earth?  Of course not!! I will leave my lights on if I want, and sleep with icicles hanging off my feet if I so choose.  And I will pay for that in the electricity bill that I get each month (which, in Georgia, was in the summer around $350).

I say all this because the college that my bookstore serves is requiring every student in the school to read Global Weirdness, and wanting every professor, whether it's an English or History or Science or Math professor to use it in some way.  And I can see how it can work, I took Environmental Algebra at GC&SU, and made an A in the course. It was very enjoyable.  I only hope that in those classes, they are providing the students with a balanced look at the issue, showing evidence that, perhaps the world isn't going to bake in an oven as quickly or as dangerously as they think.  They could easily show how climate change oscillates from one century to the next, cooling and warming, and depending on forces like El Niño, climate is changed more by natural phenomenon than the things we are doing.


The main reason I couldn't care less about the whole Environmental movement is that sometimes the real goals are cloaked in the humanitarian mission of saving the planet.  Control, Power, Money...and the people who are ambitious for them, can easily use the Evironment as a tool to gain them.  And besides, let's be honest about our reasons for doing things.  Do I want to go back to incandescent light bulbs? Heck no... I had to change them every two weeks in fixtures that were impossible to undo.  Put an LED in there, save money, save time, and I can be lazy and not have to change it for years.  That's environmentalism for you.  If the college turns off the AC in a building because they are trying to "conserve" and be "green" about things, that's a load of compost.  They do it to save money. And that's fine.  Just tell us that you're saving money, and not because of some altruistic sense of duty toward this rock we live on.  I'd do a lot of things to help the environment (and I've seen the many things that liter, light pollution, noise pollution, water pollution (the rivers in Dallas are Green), do to our world, and I don't like it. But that's not enough for me.  Give me an incentive to take that extra step.  Saving money, or saving time, or letting me be just a little bit more lazy when I don't have to unscrew that light bulb.  That's all I want.  And that's the true answer to that riddle.... "As few as possible."  And while we're at it, let's go shop online and not have to worry about spending electricity and other utilities to power that thing to my east.  What savings that would create! We pick and choose, when it suits us.  

Valley View and Pan Pipes

I recently took a 2 minute drive east and took a leisurely walk around Valley View Center.  It's a mall, much like the Macon Mall in Georgia, or Crossroads mall in Oklahoma City, which, in the prime of its existence, was the most attractive shopping destination in Dallas. But bigger and better things are built. Superhighways of goods flow across the Internet, and towers of glass and steel rise above the horizon, leaving the flat shopping paradise behind.  They have a web site dedicated just to those slabs of granite, Deadmalls,, that paint in detail the dying world of shopping malls.  But where people see crime infested corners and empty shops, bringing poverty and depression, I see a world filled with potential.  Perhaps those in this part of the world do, too.  For what is now inside Valley View Center is worth the notice of any traveler to Dallas.

Upon entering, you see that the shops are indeed closed. Go on a Sunday, like I did, and the entire mall is basically empty. But the few signs of life are vibrant, colorful. A church gathers in one small shop and sings patriotic hymns, praying for our nation. An artist works in his shop, preparing paintings for the next week.  The lights from the dance studio are on, thought no one is inside, and the lady on the second floor selling fake Peruvian jewelry has Incan Pan Flute music playing, and it echoes throughout the empty hallways.

Upstairs, the mall has been turned into an art gallery, each framed and ready to sell, for the right price. It's here that my dad would have felt right at home. He was a sprinkler engineer, and designed pipe layouts for skyscrapers like the Peachtree Tower in Atlanta, and the giant glass greenhouse and Arboretum in Oklahoma City. In his mind, the steel beams ran through the walls, across floors and elevators, and in those urban landscapes, I'm sure he saw the construction of those buildings in his mind. Why not see the ideal structures erected inside your mind while the real ones, imperfect maybe, slowly assemble up from the rock and the noise of the construction crew. He would have seen these paintings, of urban landscapes such as those of Ozz Franca, a Brazilian painter who drew abstract landscapes of towers and bridges (as well as Native American portraits), and he would have loved them. The fantasy works that might as well have illustrated the covers of his science fiction novels, the geometric designs filled with color and depth... these are the things he would have loved.  I hung (or will hang) the ones my dad had in their bedroom in my living room.

I know that James (a co-worker from Borders) would have loved the gigantic space to work and create art and sell it to the world.  The idea is amazing, that the owners of this mall could turn it into a service based center for arts and movement, the tactile creations when we move our bodies and create.  They have a boxing ring there, for lessons, and a place for martial arts. There are soothing spas for the masseuse who has learned to press stress from the body. And all the while, the music of the pan pipes play, and the colors from the murals dance. There is no other place, except the dirt trails that meander through the forests, where I could be utterly at peace.  It's evident that the Hispanic culture has influenced the culture around here, but also that of Japan and China, and that of America. 

As I left, I found a Western shop, where cowboy hats could be bought, and boots, and jeans. All symbols of the Nostalgic American West. It is a part of this country, just as the Mexican culture and the Japanese culture are as well. We think of Hispanics and we immediately think of those who would cross over the Rio Grande, smuggling drugs and bringing their crime-ridden pasts with them. But remember that also, they bring with them a vibrant culture of food (which I'm sure I'll sample much of), art, music, and a hard work ethic. Let's not throw the amazing things humans can do out with the vices and flaws that we all have.  I'm not saying we should just give everyone amnesty (in fact, I have no real solution to the problems facing our country today). Perhaps, though, if we went inside this center of beauty in the middle of Dallas, and saw the colors of paint dipped onto easels, and heard the melodies of the Incan Pan Pipes, maybe some thoughts would come to us.  It's worth a try.   

Letter from the Apartment

Silly morning rains... I was sitting in a chair next to the pool in the apartment complex where I live now. Dallas, Texas. I was waiting for my laundry to finish, and it was so peaceful that I thought, "This is a perfect place to write blogs." So I went back to my bedroom and got my AlphaSmart 3000, which is a cordless typewriter with a usb plug, and I started walking back to the pool when it started sprinkling.  Looks like it's stopped now...

Now, back by the pool. I was reading a book, as well, and I didn't want the pages to get wet. I've said before that reading a book is much like taking a dip in this pool in front of me. You can only stay underwater for so long, then you have to come up for air. Same thing with books. For me, I can only read for so long, then I have to come up to reality for a time, to breathe, to relaign myself with this world and place.

I think the same thing goes with television series as well.  I haven't hooked up the cable or Internet yet, so I've been watching seasons of Star Trek DS9 while unpacking boxes and the like.  I remember thinking, as I drifted off to sleep that night that, there was no need for my brother to send the things I had forgotten in Georgia, that he could just beam them over.  Problem was, I'm not in the 24th century, nor have transporters been invented yet.  A shame, it would have made moving much simpler.  Of course, if that economy was here, now, I wouldn't have this job.  Textbooks would be on tablets (more so than they are now... as life imitates fiction), and there would be no need to buy them. I can't help but think that the world of the Federation, with the technological breakthroughs that they would have, the whole idea of Capitalism would fall by the wayside. I know that some references are made to credits and rations when it came to Transporter usage and trade with other races... but the society would work on a service base, not one of marketing goods and materials.  Only what you could make yourself through your own skills would be marketable through some kid of market.  Like Cisko's father's restaraunt in New Orleans, for instance. But I've digressed. I'm sure enough theses have been written on the economy of Rodenberry's world that I have nothing to add.

Like I said, I haven't had Internet at my apartment since I moved in, and while that will change in couple of weeks, I've not had a place to work on blogs, save for the Subway next to the bookstore, which has a row of computers. It's been a pain, but, no major withdrawls, since I can access it from time to time.

Dallas' summers are dry (except for the occassional summer storms which, when it rains, forms a private lake outside my apartment. I'm sure if a Tropical system ever parks over Texas like Alberto did in Georgia in 94, I would have flooding issues. But for now, I wont worry about it. The hot summers are tempered by low humidity and a nice breeze that keeps 100 degrees not feeling so bad.  It would be unbearable in the humid, muggy, Georgia climate.

***

My apt. is underneath the left chimney in front of the
building on the left side. 

I'm very satisfied with the apartment complex I've moved into. The Arts At Midtown right next to the Galleria Mall. Very quiet, great security, I feel at peace here.  Moving into an apartment, however, teaches you certain things. Living by myself, I didn't realize that there's no reason to have 50 cups or three sets of silverware (which was too heavy for the board shelf it was on, and came crashing down inside the cupboard one afternoon). I use the dishwasher (I have a dishwasher!!) and clean the same three plates and the same two or three cups and silverware that I use every three or so days.  So unless I have a large gathering (not going to happen...), all these dishes will remain stashed away.  I think laundry room ettiquite is not practiced in most places. In a laundry room with 10 washers (and 4 are out of order) and 8 dryers, it's not necessary to bring 6 loads of laundry to do all at once. Do a couple a day, or whatever, and let more people clean their clothes.  I only have three loads total, and so I've done two on Sunday, and I'll do the other tomorrow.

I'm in building S.

All the things I talked about several years ago about the way a town should be built is realized here in North Dallas. Apartments, houses, all right next to shopping centers, parks, colleges, and offices, all so that you never have to drive more than 10 minutes to work.  Assuming that I never drove out of the area around me, I could easily fill my tank up every two or three weeks, and that would be sufficient for my needs. Or, I could walk, or tke the DART bus. But with the amount of gas I save just by being right here, I doubt it would be necessary. I could walk about 10 minutes and get to a Target, Burger King, Macdonalds, two shopping malls, quite a few other restaurants, and probably a bank, if I wanted to switch. Not to mention the parks around where I work, with miles of trails.  This is the way a town was supposed to be constructed.

***

Yeah, I know, no big philosophical musings in this blog, just the act of living my life in a new place, and being on my own to do it.  Perhaps just surviving is the greatest happiness we could have, and no lofty ideals should ever climb above that.  I keep thinking back to Voltaire's Candide, where his answer to the best of all possible worlds is simply to live in a house and till one's gardens.  I don't have any gardens to till, but I know it's a metaphoric garden. My little spot in this world is my garden, and I shall nuture it and watch it grow.

Lessons learned on a Road Trip...

Recently I took a road trip to Dallas, Texas for a job interview.  It was an amazing trip, sort of one of my hikes on the trails around here, but on a bigger scale.  Now, granted, I would much rather see the scenery of this great land by foot, but since I haven't won the lottery yet (and won't, since I don't play), I saw the short, quick version.  Absolutely magnificent, and the lessons I learned while doing it are well worth mentioning.

Never take "Not Exactly."



And that's not just on Rental Cars.  The only thing that non-brand names are better and more
satisfying are the store brand jars of jelly.  And mayonnaise.  But not rental cars.  I understand that there's not an option sometimes, and cheaper is the only way to go.  Turns out, this time, it was definitely not cheaper.  I chose SixT Auto Rental (it's a European thing) because the online quotes were much cheaper than the more recognizable brands.  Turns out... that's because the other costs weren't even on the website... they added them later...

The additional fees made the rental the same price as those of the other national rentals, whose prices were clearly stated on their websites.  Also, the additional $250 deposit was not stated at all at the website.  Finally, the employees at the return/pick up lot were friendly, but not particularly professional, with one of the workers saying that the car they had picked out for me was one that she was going to use later.  The driver that brought the cleaned car to me stepped out of the vehicle eating a bag of cheetos, with all that orange dust on his hands.  Not at all what a customer wants to see.  The car was fine, as was the return process itself afterwards.  I still don't know how the deposit situation shook out, as the invoice said nothing about it, and the additional $100 I had to pay will have to come out of that, since the credit card I used only had what I thought I was actually paying on it.  Next time, I will not go with "Not Exactly."

Then, when I got to the motel (I used Super 8), the very kind front desk person informed me that the credit card I used wouldn't work.  So I pulled out my debit card.... it wouldn't work either :O (that's me making the big Macaulay Culkin shocked face!) Out of money in a big city 1000 miles away, and at Midnight.  So I call my brother (1:00 AM Eastern) and woke him up and explained the problem.  Fortunately, he was able to re-reserve the room and I walked into a musty, smoke-filled (it was not supposed to be smoked in) room which I cleared out by turning the AC on.  Unfortunately, the AC went into the curtain which blew out when I turned the air on.  And there was no way of keeping the curtain from doing that.  So I used, for once in my life, the Gideon's Bible to trap the curtain against the window (I'm going to Hell, I know). I went to sleep using my internal alarm clock (which always works) knowing that I'd probably have danishes and maybe even eggs in the breakfast room that was right next door to my room.  Next morning, I find cold cereal, pancake batter, and packaged cinnamon rolls.  I just took a pastry and went back to my room.

AudioBooks Rock!!!

By the time I reached Birmingham (after a wonderful breakfast buffet at the Shoney's in Anniston (everyone stop there on the way out on 20, keep the place in business!), my music had failed me, and I was feeling my eyes unfocus and me getting droopy.  So, I decided, that wasn't going to work, and I popped in the 1st CD of David Weber's Off Armageddon Reef I stayed awake throughout the rest of my trip, all the rest of the 1,721 miles.  I never thought that Audiobooks would keep me awake more than singing at the top of my lungs to my favorite songs, but it absolutely delivers.  It's a completely different part of the brain, and I could easily "read" while driving, keeping alert and focusing on the road while my inner "eye" focused on the images being formed in my head.  It kept the people chained to the cave wall busy while the real person traveled topside (Plato).

Book Review: Off Armageddon Reef by David Weber

The book itself is the start of a series that takes place on a island-covered world, post human destruction by a formidable, but slow, alien race.  David Weber constructs an entire sociological structure, religion, economy, everything, and while some people probably are going to criticize Weber for page after page of describing the tenets of The Church of God Awaiting, I found it fascinating. Pausing the plot to build a world makes the best books, in my mind.  Some of the books I've loved, I'd rather get rid of the plot entirely. See Neal Stephenson's Ananthem where the plot basically gets in the way of amazing philosophical dialogue. When I travel back to Dallas to begin my new job, I will put the sequel into my mp3 player and will stay awake the whole time.

Everyone! Go to Braums!

It has the best everything... fries, burgers, ice cream... because it's all fresh.  They only exist within a 300 mile radius of Tuttle, Oklahoma.  I won't deny that being in the "Braums Zone" had some influence on taking the job in Dallas.  And the food was as superb as I remember.  My friend C., whose house got flattened in the Moore tornado, is the head of Public Relations for Braums, which makes me insanely jealous, and is so ironic since her main love is training and running marathons across the country.  The nearest one is about 5 minutes from Brookhaven College, which is where I'll be working as the Assistant Manager of the Bookstore.

Dallas has it together!

The transportation system in Dallas is complex, and while things are constantly under construction, they have a plan to better the transportation around the city. The HOV lanes are actually on bridges above the interstates, and they have their own exits and such.  The buses run everywhere throughout the city, and passes are affordable (especially if you take into account gas prices nowadays).  With my apartment being next to various stores, I won't have to drive much of anywhere except 5 minutes to work, so it will save on gas, and if I want to go someplace, I can hop on the bus system and travel anywhere.  Or drive out to the lakes, the parks, or to any number of places in Texas and Oklahoma where my friends and family are living.  The Lakehouse my grandmother used to own is only 1.5 hours north, on the Lake of the Arbuckles.

Vicksburg, MS over the Mississippi River.

I'm so excited to be taking this new path in my life.  Everybody wish me luck, and I'll blog again on from the Lone Star State.  Farewell Georgia (which isn't true, it's only a 12 hour drive), and Hello Texas!!