If you drive through the coastal plains of Texas, you’ll see a few standard images. Cows behind barbed wire fences. Gas station and barbecue restaurant combos. And around this time of year, you’ll see young suburban families desperately pleading with little Ambreighlynne to LOOK AT THE GOD DAMNED CAMERA as they trespass to get the locally coveted “Toddler Among Bluebonnets” photo.
The state flower of Texas is the bluebonnet. It’s a bright blue wildflower that grows in friendly territory, such as busy highway medians and other people’s land.
Listen here, y’all: do not pick bluebonnets under any circumstances.
Ask any Texan. Or don’t, as “asking” isn’t a prerequisite for getting Texas-specific information from Texans. Posing your cherubic tykes with bluebonnets may be mandatory, but picking bluebonnets is illegal.
I’m noticing a lot of surface-level, clichéd “masculinity” being bandied about lately.
Maybe our current polarizing political climate is to blame. Perhaps it’s just because I’ve been more attuned to it recently.
Or maybe it’s because “everyone these days are weak little momma’s boys who need a swift steel-toed work boot to the rear end,” according to one angry dude’s comment on my Twitter feed.
Whatever it is, it’s time for real men to defend real masculinity against those who would seek to define it by its most stereotypical tropes. And we shall defend it with BRUTE FORCE! *adjusts crotch and spits on the ground.
Damn, no, scratch that. Sorry. Continue reading
“Like a castle in his corner in a medieval game, I foresee terrible trouble and I stay here just the same.” – Steely Dan, “Dirty Work”
Fact 1: Steely Dan is named after a sex toy.
Fact 2: That song is about a guy feeling used, and stuck, in a relationship where he’s the side dude. (Is “side dude” the male equivalent of “side chick?” I am not up with the permutations of today’s lingo, probably because I say shit like “permutations” and “lingo.”)
Fact 3: It’s an apt and poetic way to describe the feeling of knowing you’re doing wrong while standing in to witness the impending doom you’ve participated in creating. Continue reading
I rarely feel anxiety anymore, at least not to the level that it affects my day-to-day life. I stress the word “anymore,” because for much of my life, my stomach was in a knot. As a sophomore in high school, I threw up almost daily. It wasn’t because I was physically sick. It was because my stress outpaced my coping mechanisms.