48 Hours on the Buffalo Bayou

I'm in Houston for the third time this year and in my fourth city and less than two weeks. (Sorry, I didn't have second to write about Denver, Oklahoma City and DC this round.) For a Texas city, there are actually some things I like about Houston, old trees being one of them. Lots and lots of trees, actually, compared to most of what I know of Texas. There is not that much bio-diversity in Texas, but at least Houston has a little more than Dallas. So, I can take some comfort of knowing that I did my electoral duty way in advance of the big day tomorrow.

Speaking at a gathering of surprisingly non-Red State Houstonians tonight, I heard an odd strain of conversation about the difference between men and women. Women, not surprisingly, they claimed are nurturing and community builders. Men need ot have force upon force, thus justifying soccer and martial arts instead of wars. Isn't sex between two men another way? I opted not to share that option in the mahogany floored dining room of River Oaks.

One thing that I actually like about Houston and Dallas is that they are cities where an architect like Phillip Johnson can dump some of his worst architecture. One can forgive the Pennzoil Plaza, but The Crescent is another thing. It looks like the place where the Marie Antoinette Barbie would live. Or perhaps they will put the Hairdo Hall of Fame there. But Houston does have some interestingly daring architecture. Just because it's daring does not mean that it's good. It's sort of like taking the dare to eat fried worms or stick a wet digit in a socket. You'll get a charge but may regret it. All the same, I prefer visiting Houston over Dallas, though the weather sucks in both places. Though to say I'd rather live in Houston than Dallas is like saying trying to ponder whether I'd rather have sex with Mark Foley or Ted Haggard. Given that choice I'd rather take up knitting.