Entry #45

Entry #45

Friday, February 24

10:00 a.m. The cover of this week’s HereHouston features a woman with a zebra-patterned blazer, a rhinestone belt, a chunky turquoise necklace, and a coordinating rhinestone-studded cowboy hat. Who is this sparkly gal? None other than the Vice President of the annual Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo.

We happened to be in town for the rodeo last year, our first visit ever to Houston, so we figured we'd immerse ourselves into the culture here, beginning with "the largest livestock exhibition and rodeo in the world."

Upon seeing the majority of people in traditional cowboy attire, we figured everyone in Houston dressed like this. Little did we know that this wasn’t actually the case. We attempted to stay for the “big show,” but we were so high up in the stadium, we might as well have been watching from a plane. We left after about twenty minutes of squinting.

I asked Noah and Aidan if they wanted to return to the rodeo this year, if only to see the animal exhibits. Noah’s response was a definitive “No.” Last time we went, he had his hands on his face during the calf roping, couldn't stomach the giant Beef Exhibit, let alone seeing animals in overly crowded pens. Aidan doesn't have much choice—his class will be going there on a field trip next week.

According to Houstonrodeo.org, the amount of animal cruelty that occurs at rodeos is significant and profoundly disturbing. Reading about the way that naturally docile farm animals are forced into aggressive behavior has curbed my desire to attend this cultural event. Guess that means I won't be getting any chocolate-covered pickles this year, a new rodeo specialty.

Saturday, February 25

10:30 a.m. Our next door neighbor just became a grandmother for the first time and is understandably very excited. While her daughter lives across the U.S., this didn’t stop her from posting a lawn sign announcing “It’s a Boy!”, along with a bunch of helium balloons. I thought this was kind of odd since her daughter isn't even here to see it. David said, “That’s the way people announce things around here.” It's true. Lawn signs abound.

6:45 p.m. Yesterday was “Go Texan Day,” kind of a Cowboy’s Halloween if you will. I just learned about it through my brother-in-law, who lives in Pittsburgh and avidly reads the New York Times. Talk about a roundabout way of learning about something happening right in your own backyard.

“On the Friday before the annual Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo gets under way, tens of thousands of Houstonians head to their schools and offices in newly purchased cowboy hats, cowboy boots and jeans. They dress, in other words, as if they’re from Texas, which they are, though it is easy to forget that simple fact in the state’s biggest city...As Don B. Graham, a former president of the Texas Institute of Letters and longtime observer of Texas culture, put it in a recent essay, ‘Here’s a rule of thumb: Any time you read a novel set in Houston and there are tumbleweeds tumbling through the city, you know you’re in faux Texasville..’” —Manny Fernandez, New York Times, 2/24/12

We had a family over for brunch this morning, so I asked them if they dressed up for Go Texans Day. “Oh yes!” said the dad, a fifty-something geologist from New York. “I wore my cowboys boots, black jeans, white linen shirt, bolo tie, horny toad cuff links, black leather vest, and a black cowboy hat.” “I was soooo embarrassed,” said his tie-dye clad teenage daughter, cringing.

While preparing brunch, I noticed that the cantaloupe I was cutting up smelled strongly of chemicals. There are limited organic offerings at the local grocery store, and this unnaturally large melon was not among them. Still, I didn't expect it to smell like pesticide. David suggested that maybe my “sniffer” was off-kilter because I’ve been under the weather, so I proceeded to sample a piece. It tasted like bug repellent with a slightly fruity aftertaste. Needless to say, I didn't serve it. I don’t think I’ll be purchasing a Land of the Lost-size melon anytime soon.

5:00 p.m. Noah and I once again volunteered for Operation Pets Alive at an adoption event in nearby Spring. What’s bizarre about this area is that while it borders The Woodlands, it's distinctly different in atmosphere: more Bubba, less Stepford. Lots of truck parts stores, small houses turned into second-hand shops and dog grooming salons, folks sitting in lawn chairs on the side of the road selling firewood, local honey, or litters of puppies.

I took one of the many shelter dogs for a walk and spotted the ultimate fixer home for sale. All that was left of it was a foundation and a roof—literally nothing in between. As you can see, not a lot of head room. But hey, it’s got potential, right?