Dear Texas and Florida, Just Make Out Already. Do It for Valentine's Day.
I'm in a 20-year-long joint custody situation with Florida and Texas. So when Florida Congressman Alcee Hastings called Texas a "crazy state" that he would never visit, I knew he was just protecting his heart. Florida doth protest too much.
These two wacky panhandles were made for each other -- they're the swamp-pit-stained Ross and Rachel of the continental U.S. They're a double-Gemini power couple. OK Cupid would insist they date because they're simply too damaged to see any other U.S. property.
Call it Stockholm syndrome, fine. But I love those two crazy, mixed-up states. If they'd just realize how much they have in common, I think romance will handle the rest.
You were both founded on a bandit attitude. Your early pioneers were running from something, hustling someone or looking for a big score. Then, they bred. That ancestral line of snake-oil salesman DNA chugs through every dust bowl, small-town bar and major city business investment -- which coincidentally is why you both have pretty legit corruption problems.
An Evening With Kim Fields
TicketsFri., Nov. 4, 8:15pm
24-HOUR FILMFEAST Featuring the Films of Thomas Allen Harris
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Casa Manana Presents Million Dollar Quartet
TicketsSat., Nov. 5, 2:00pm
Scott Joplin Chamber Orchestra Of Houston
TicketsSat., Nov. 5, 5:00pm
MARIA BAMFORD LIVE
TicketsSat., Nov. 5, 8:00pm
Nature hates you. Texas has tornado flare-ups and erratic bouts of frackquakes. Florida's been diagnosed with hyperactive hurricanes and chronic sinkholes. Eventually this inherent Man vs. Nature plotline will be resolved for each of you, whether you like it or not. Until then, let's celebrate your shared love of margaritas.
You're both huge pains in the country's ass. Florida can't get an election right. From dangling chads to suspiciously counted touch-screens, The Nation's Dong has a rotten tip. In Texas, generations of nationally agreed-upon lawmaking are simply ignored. Stand your ground? Yes. Unless your ground is a vagina -- in which case it's public property.
Your remote areas are terrifying. Ever been to Central Florida? Don't. How about Siri-less rural Texas? Same. Unless you're managing a meth lab disguised as a trailer park, you have no business poking around any town of population 1,000 or less.
You're both enamored by flamboyant displays of wealth. Are you an eccentric millionaire looking to open a big-cat sanctuary, a 14K-gold glitter factory or a privately funded NASA knock-off? I have two states you should meet.
You both try to secede when things don't go your way. Florida and Texas would make for an openly hostile, schizophrenic dinner party. Their liberal areas are off-the-charts, geographic equals to that college freshman who needs to be really out there, really fast. (Neck tattoos for everyone!) On the flip side, the rest of the state is more like the grumpy balcony muppets, but less cuddly and humorous and way more litigious. Those super-white conservatives just love to draft secession documents. To which the rest of us say, "Cool. Scram."
Other shit you're both super into. Turquoise. Guns. Snakes [rattle and python, respectively]. Trying to speak Spanish and failing. Redneck humor (Central Florida only). Rap. Decorative pillows. Not caring about the environment. Conspiracies. Monster trucks. Drunk moms. Babies in hot cars. Fireworks. Psychics. EDM and glowing things. Theme parks/traveling carnivals. Not winter. Astronauts. Not recycling. Paranoia. And more guns.
Texas, Florida -- Do us all a favor and give this romance a shot. I'll even buy your Valentine's dinner. Surf and turf? Perfect.
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