El Paso, one more time

Rigors of the road, and can I call it the road, if it’s more about departure lounges and couch-surfing?

Two items, unrelated to each other. At all.
NASCAR meats, which really makes me wonder if I want fast bacon. I’m sure I’m missing a joke in there.

This quick bit was actually very related to being in El Paso since it addresses some of the concerns of real natives, but then, this is not a new issue for someone who spends any amount of time along the border, in border towns, or just South Texas in general.

File under stupid viral video:
Ad of some kind, and I liked the clip enough to check out the site. Never mind, just expensive housing, in London-town. But a cute clip. See what happens?

Carp fishing:
When I checked on Scott, Scorpio, Thursday morning, he’d just added another thirty-something pound carp to his total, definitely putting him in the hunt. I think, as of then, he was at the top of the leader board, and it looked like he was in the money for the week.

Astrology world:
That’s just strange – the “fasten seatbelts” light was on, yet, as I bounced around in the back of the plane’s galley, a client I hadn’t seen in years was trying to catch up with me.

Scorpion’s Sting:
There was a single scorpion loose in the house, it’s been squashed now. This isn’t a metaphor, or symbol, it was a little scorpion. Dead bug, now.

Which is why, as I was pulling on my boots, I remembered to tip the boots over before pulling them on, just to make sure someone didn’t crawl in while I was asleep.

Little Texas:
Breezing in on a wing and prayer, I circled around to double-back to the coffee shop for a morning wake-up. “Milagro Coffee y Mas,” and maybe I read that wrong, but that’s what it looked. Last time I was through there, it was slow, sleepy and slightly understated. I must’ve hit rush hour Friday morning. It’s that odd combination of ranchers, college students, and the “hard new Mexico line” that Joe Ely wrote a song about.

I kept thinking about that “hard New Mexico line” lyric. Got a song stuck in my head, and I wasn’t even listening to music, just tires on the interstate, rolling along. High clouds, light breeze, sort of from a southerly direction the broken jawline of the mountains, off in the east, a thin layer of New Mexico red dirt hanging in the air.

I must have several decades’ worth of experience in these lands – I had to grin at a certain boy scout ranch t-shirt. Been there, done that.

Mesilla Valley – the turn off for the Centre is by the Mesilla Valley Mall. But the name, without the “mall,” it means something. Carries some kind of historical echo. There’s a hard look to the people, a hard line to the stories, and maybe, the idea that “Everyone’s just trying to survive” is the key.

Or maybe not. Humid day by their standards, incredibly dry by my lame Central Texas “I live on the river” standards. Point-of-view, I guess.

Finis coronat opus.

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Copyright 2006 by Kramer Wetzel for astrofish.net. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without prior written consent from the author.

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