Denison

The movie “The Social Network” was released on Friday. There was quite a lot of advance “buzz” about it, and it’s being shown in just about every movie theater in town. My favourite local theater is the Angelika, in Dallas – I refer to it as an “arts theater”, because it tends to show non-mainstream movies, except when a mainstream movie warrants exposure. This one does. There are enough reviews about it already, so there’s no point in adding mine, but I will say that 8.6/10 on IMDb.com is no mean feat, and I thought it was well worth the price of the ticket, and, more importantly, well worth 120 minutes of my time.

The Katy

Because I anticipated crowds, I went to an 11am performance. Before the movie started, an advert extolled the virtues of “Downtown Denison’s Arts & Cultural District”. Since I had an afternoon to fill, it seemed like a good idea to check it out. Denison is about 75 miles north of Dallas. It was founded in 1872, as a depot for “the Katy” railroad – that’s the Missouri-Kansas-Texas, or “the K-T”. It’s the birthplace of a few notable people – Dwight Eisenhower (the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces during WWII), John Hillerman (of Magnum P.I. fame), and, most recently, “Sully” Sullenberger, who “landed” US Airways flight 1549 in the Hudson River last year. Denison has suffered the fate of so many railroad towns, and the “historic downtown” area is depressed, and depressing.

A mural in Denison

It may seem that there’s no relationship between the movie and Denison, but there is. It’s history repeating itself. The railroads made people and cities rich, because they fulfilled a need at the time, as do internet social networks (or internet anything, for that matter) now. But we humans are fickle, slaves to fashion and “progress”. Just as Denison has been unable to reinvent itself as the railroads decline, or become more automated, so Facebook will ultimately be surpassed by the next generation of “killer apps”. The principals, of course, will get out long before they lose money – it’s the derivative industries, the supporting infrastructure, and the people that depend on it, that will be left holding the bag. It’s evolution, I suppose – the survival of the fittest. But sometimes I wonder just how fit we need to be …

A mural on Main Street

H

Granbury

The weather in October in Central Texas is beautiful. Summer’s furnace has finally burnt itself out, and it’s pleasantly warm throughout the day. The hotel is crowded because of the “Red  River Shootout” – the annual football game at the Cotton Bowl between two great rivals, the Sooners from Oklahoma University, and the Longhorns, from the University of Texas. So it was a good day to get out of Dallas.

The square in Granbury - the Nutt brothers were founders of the city

National Public Radio (NPR) is somewhat like BBC Radio 4. Intellectual content, lots of topical news, no commercials. But three times a year they have a “pledge drive” to raise money to keep the station running. Each pledge drive occupies probably a third of the air time for several weeks – we don’t know how lucky we are with the BBC. I think commercials would almost be preferable – at least they’re created by professionals, so you don’t have to listen to interminable repetitions of the number to call, and the amazing gifts they’ll give you in return for donations. I really need another coffee mug ... There’s a pledge drive going on right now for KERA, the local radio station, so I drove in blessed silence, with the windows down, hearing the sounds, smelling the smells, of the rural areas I passed through.

This is what you get for shouting at the sheriff

I thought I’d already been everywhere worth going to within easy reach, but today I went to Granbury, which I’ve passed by many times. I followed the signs to the “historic downtown district”, which is usually a town square left dilapidated and derelict after the arrival of Walmart and their cohorts. Not this time. Granbury is revitalized and vibrant. I had lunch in the patio area of one of the restaurants on the square – green leaf salad, with tomato, avocado, pine nuts, black olives and spring onions, sprinkled with parmesan cheese – with the warm sunlight filtering through the live oak trees. I’m always impressed that, even if you order a beer (as I did – a Shiner Bock), they still bring you a tall glass of iced water.

Apart from the Opera House, the gift shops, the coffee houses and cafes, the antique stores and the General Store, they have a museum. This was at one time lived in by the Sherriff, with the jailhouse upstairs. It was there that I learned that Jesse James was buried in the local cemetery – his “death” in 1882 was supposedly staged so that he could live out the rest of his life incognito. There are many such stories surrounding the colourful characters of the Old West – Billy the Kid is also reputedly buried locally, again after a mis-reported death. It wouldn’t be at all surprising if some of them were true, although, according to this legend, Jesse James would have been 103 when he died.

Fried pie

Jesse James' grave

On the way back through Weatherford, I stopped at Baker’s Ribs to get a “fried pie” – an Oklahoma delicacy. Yes, it’s exactly what it looks like – deep-fried, fruit-filled pastry.

It’s a wonder I’m still alive, the stuff I eat …

Two movies

Today I went to see two movies, which is something I haven’t done for a long time. The second was to make up for the first.

“Sweetgrass” (7.6/10, according to imdb.com) is a movie (ha!) about sheepherding cowboys in Montana. That’s it. There’s nothing else. No discernible plot, almost no dialogue, no music, almost no sweeping vistas of the majestic scenery. There are lots of close-ups of sheep, though, if that’s a redeeming factor for you – it wasn’t for me. That’s $8 and 101 minutes of my life I’ll never get back. The only thing worse than the incessant bleating of a flock of hundreds of sheep was the inane dialogue – if I wanted to listen to pointless conversation, I could hang out at the bus station for free. The director, if indeed there was one, must have spent most of the time asleep or drunk (which I would have been if I was involved). A Montana sheepherder’s life is demanding, but dull and uninteresting – as was this movie.

“Chloe” (6.8/10) stars Liam Neeson and Julianne Moore, both of whom I admire greatly. It was well acted, with good dialogue and an interesting plot that took an unexpected twist towards the end. I can’t say too much without spoiling it, should you decide to see it, but it definitely made up for the previous disaster. And Amanda Seyfried is very easy on the eyes.

Dallas Cowboys

The “Dallas” Cowboys haven’t, strictly speaking, been in Dallas for almost 40 years. They started playing in 1960 at the Cotton Bowl, just a few miles from downtown Dallas. In 1971, they moved to the Texas Stadium, in Irving. Although Irving has been described as a “suburb of Dallas”, and is definitely part of the area usually referred to as “the DFW metroplex”, it is a city in its own right. Last year, the team moved to the newly built Cowboys Stadium, in Arlington, which is “centrally located between Dallas and Fort Worth”, having been offered financial incentives that few could refuse (including Jerry Jones, the current owner). It’s one of the most valuable sports franchises in the world, second only to the Manchester United football team, and you don’t get to that position without cool-headed and ruthless financial acumen.

Protest sign ...

... and a 100 yards down the road

 I drove past the shell of the old Texas Stadium this morning – it’s only a few miles from the hotel – and was saddened to think that it will be completely demolished on April 11^th. They auctioned off the stadium seats, the scoreboard, the clocks, the chandeliers, and anything else that didn’t move. As I drove past, I was listening to Brulé’s Buffalo Moon – Brulé are a native American band – and an interesting juxtaposition of ideas occurred to me.

Native American culture is gaining momentum here, as well it should. There is a story behind the band, but it is not my place to tell it. The music represented, for me, something agelessly spiritual, and the stadium, something purely temporal. It seems as though we build things just so that we can tear them down, like a child with a sandcastle; as if we are emphasizing our mortality, writing it bold, italicizing and then underlining it. The native spirituality predates the corruption of Christianity, in which we have descended from illumination to evangelism, from learning to lust, from cathedrals to child-molesting.

We no longer have the stomach for majesty, the heart for love, or the will to survive. We will continue to rape and pillage until there is nothing left to rape and pillage, or until, as is more likely, nature tires of our futile attempts to circumvent her need to contain our voracity.

Infuriating, isn’t it?

Indian Market

Today the temperature has been around 75°F; this time last week it was half that. What a difference a week can make! It’s warm enough to venture out – it certainly wasn’t last weekend (bearing in mind that I have no coat on this trip).

This weekend was the annual Indian Market in the Arlington Convention Center – American Indian, that is. Arlington is an interesting city. It’s considered part of the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex, and is home to the Rangers baseball team, UTA (the University of Texas at Arlington), Six Flags (a theme park), Hurricane Harbor (a huger water park), and, most recently, the Dallas Cowboys (after they stole them from the city of Irving).

At the market, I discovered two bands – well, one performer and one band – that I’ve never heard of before. Arvel Bird’s grandmother was a Paiute Indian; his grandfather was a Scot.  His music is an interesting fusion of Native American rhythm and Celtic melody and lyricism. Brulé are a Native American rock band, who seem to be doing for that culture what Runrig did for theirs.

I bought CDs from both, stood in line for autographs, and after a lunch of Indian Tacos and Dr Pepper, hit the road to listen to the music. The trees are starting to green, and the purple crape myrtle is blossoming – signs that Spring may yet be attainable, after a winter that seems to have been universally unpleasant.

I drove West on I-30 to Weatherford, where I had to stop to take a picture of an interesting mural on the side of an antique store on Main Street; then north to Springtown (home of Shinola’s Texas Café – an excellent diner); and finally east back to the hotel. Just enough time to listen to both CDs.

It’s hard to beat driving Texas country roads on a warm sunny day, listening to inspiring music.

Cheerleaders

It’s weekend again, and the weather in Texas is still dismal. Last month was apparently the coldest January on record. The hotel is full of young girls with names like Britney and Kassandra – apparently  the national championships of the NCA (National Cheerleaders Association) are being held in the Dallas Convention Center. Girls are chasing each other through the corridors, the floor is covered with popcorn, and it’s impossible to find a table at breakfast, even if you didn’t mind sitting amidst the noise. Strangely, they’re mostly chaperoned by seriously obese mothers bulging out of the same t-shirts that their daughters are wearing – living vicariously, I suppose.

But I’ve never been to either the Dallas Convention Center or a cheerleading competition, so I thought I’d check it out. My interest was short-lived – it was $5 to park, and $20 to go in. I’m curious, but not that curious. The trip wasn’t wasted, however, as I found a wonderful sculpture of an old-time cattle drive that I hadn’t seen before.

Crossing the river ...

... and watching the herd

 While in Dallas, I stopped at the Farmers’ Market and bought some tangerines. On the way out, I picked up a medium horchata, to quench my thirst, from a Mexican snack stand.

For a while, I’ve wanted to see Crazy Heart, the movie for which Jeff Bridges has been nominated for an Oscar. The matinee performance was only $5. Excellent value – a great movie, with great music, and some memorable lyrics: “Funny how falling feels like flying … for a little while”. If you liked The Wrestler, you’d like this. But I have to tell you that old people in the movie theater are worse than teenagers. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself asking them to shut up.

Lunch was Chow Mein and Orange Chicken, washed down with Dr Pepper, from the Panda Express, and then back to the hotel to listen to A Prairie Home Companion. If I don’t get out on a good road trip soon, I’ll go stir crazy …

Snow

It’s been an odd week, weather-wise. Yesterday it was reported that 49 of the 50 United States had snow on the ground (I’m sure you can guess the odd one out). And Dallas had 12 inches of snow, which is unprecedented. The pictures are from the 6^th floor window of American Airlines headquarters, on a day when almost 20% of their flights were cancelled due to the weather.

 

So I’m limited to the local area for the weekend, and my thoughts turn to food. I’ve read recently that a new product – “Taste No. 5” – is about to be introduced to Waitrose supermarkets in the UK. It’s apparently been around in Japan for 100 years, and is only now poised to stun British taste buds. When I googled it, I found myself at an online Daily Mail page, with Taste No. 5 advertized on one side of the page, and K-Y Jelly on the other. Now, there’s two products you wouldn’t want to get mixed up …

While confined to my hotel room, I watched what is euphemistically called a cooking program on PBS. They were making roasted tomato salsa, which sounds quite appetizing. “We’ll start with two cans of roasted tomatoes”. Hmmm … if you’re going to do that, why not just start with two cans of roasted tomato salsa? Never mind – they ultimately blended their way to the finished article. And what did they do with it? They added it to “Mac and Cheese”! Now it seems to me that that adding good food to crap is like multiplying by zero – you always finish up with zero.

America is astonishingly oblivious to anything that is happening around them, and in their arrogance (appearing to the world, as Guy Forsyth says, like a “spoiled drunk 15-year-old waving a gun in their face”) are destined to go the same way as the Roman Empire (I’m not the first to make this observation – Michael Moore, in “Capitalism” captured the analogy convincingly in the first few minutes).

If you’re planning to visit the US to “find America”, I think you may already be too late.