Texas

I used to work for a large corporation that would have district meetings once a year. They would basically close down the company and fly everybody in for the meetings. We were in the Southern District which was headquartered in Houston, Texas. So one year we were all flown into Houston, and bussed from the airport to the hotel. Except for a field trip to a cheesy bowling alley for some corporate team building, we were not allowed to leave and go sightseeing. So my entire impression of Houston was the airport, the highway filled with strip malls on the way to the hotel, and the neighborhood where the bowling alley was located. That neighborhood was what would be considered a slum here in Florida. I was told that it was not a Houston slum, but a nice neighborhood. My only other Texas experience was driving across the panhandle on US Route 66. That memory is of a very flat land without much vegetation, and one large sign that said Amarillo, with an arrow pointing left. So besides those images, all I can think of when I hear Texas mentioned is Kennedy being shot, George W. Bush, Rick Perry, and the most executions of prisoners by any state. Yet despite all those horrors, there is still one thing that comes from Texas that I love. It is something that I will never give up despite the fact that it might kill me. Blue Bell ice cream. We have a tub of Rum Raisin in the freezer right now and I am not returning it to the supermarket. I am not throwing it in the garbage. What I am going to do is eat it, the hell with listeria.

And now I would like to apologize in advance for tomorrows post if it includes a detailed account of a multitude of bathroom visits, whining about how sick I am, and whatever diatribe I will unleash on Texas. But no matter what happens, that Blue Bell rum raisin ice cream was delicious.