Hello, Big D! Can I call you Big D? I've called you many things in the past, the most of which were not flattering. I've often spit when saying your name and offered you to Southern Oklahoma on many an occasion. I may have even said that DFW was an acronym for Dumb F**k Wonderland or Depressing F**king Weather, but never Doesn't Wear Fur (see post: Dallas Fashion). Don't take that too personally, Big D, I just like acronyms. (see post: Rhymes with Blog)
I'm not sure any of my previous hatred for you was well founded. My trips to Dallas and it's surrounding Metroplex, which Texas Monthly recently informed me is the nation's fifth-largest, in the past have all been pleasant. Visits to family, extended family, and friends and an almost forgotten Art Institute Summer Camp many years ago are all happy entries in the disarray that is my memory. Rhondy and I saw the legendary guitarist Slash at a dive in Deep Ellem some years ago.
I will say that although your Mavs have knocked my Rockets out of the conference semis twice and my Spurs once, the Spurs did beat you twice to go on to win the championship. I thank you for that. You will continue to be my third favorite Texas NBA team. I will admit to being a past Cowboys fan, by proxy of being a Deion Sanders' fan, in the early-mid nineties (and also because Emmitt Smith's dad was nice to me at a card show). Don't expect that to ever happen again. Especially as long as you employ that unacceptable excuse for human lifeform TO. I suppose I can support the Rangers as they are in the American League and my Astros are in the National. And I have no problem what so ever with the Stars.
I do, however, have a problem with your highways, D. I have had many a nervous breakdown attempting to merge in the 100 feet of concrete provided before being forced to exit or crash. Why do you have to make merging so damned difficult? Can you work on this for me?
The purpose of my letter, D, is to propose a fresh start. I am now a resident of your fair city and would like to find the good in it. Yes, you killed a Kennedy, your freeways and the people on them are mean and horrible, and you are the home to the highest concentration of fur wearing snobs in the country. Buuut... you also gave us the Old 97s, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Ross Perot, Steve Miller, Pantera, the brothers Wilson (Owen, Luke, Andrew), and Dusty Hill. Also, and perhaps most importantly: me. OK, I wasn't born in Dallas. But some 26 years ago my parents met, married, and conceived in the Big D before having the good sense to move to Houston and eventually Katy, Texas. Sorry, old habits, you know how it is...
So, D, I propose a truce. I'll be nice to you, if you are nice to me. I leave you with the words of an other famous Dallasite and true fashionista, Vanilla Ice.
"Word to your mother."