60 Days

It has been approximately 60 days since I have written a post.

I feel like a traitor.

I have had good metroplexian experiences since my last post.

I have seen the Assassination City Roller Derby team play in Mesquite, I have experienced great local food, I have had funny DFW experiences.

We have all just survived an election that leaves our beautiful city an ornament in Rick Perry's nightmare of douchebaggery. To really fulfill the potential of this blog I should have been muckraking local candidates.

I should have been writing quite a bit.

There are restaurants and bars you need to know about. There are little nooks, crannies and anecdotes in this fair area which we inhabit.

I have been going through a slow and intimate investigation of this area's history, especially Dallas. It has been insightful and beautiful and given me great pride to live here. In this process I have met some local giants who need to be properly admired on this blog.

But the last 60 days have been at their most metroplexian because I have been way too fucking busy.

DFW grows so rapidly, and weathered the financial crisis as much as it did because people move here to make money. That was what brought me here.

As much as I love the locals, I really want to speak now for the new breed of Metroplexian: those of us who moved here because so much of the country is financially stagnant.

Those of us who may have thought the local bar scene only consisted of corporate bars like Chilli's or Applebee's.

Those of us who have spent a year or two thinking the local art scene consisted of the bourgeois art museums and thats it!

Those of us who read the Observer looking for insights and are given lower Greenville and confusing prophecies of a resurrection of Deep Ellum. Those of us who have never experienced the early 90's and late 80's glory days of Deep Ellum.

We are working our asses off. And driving. Driving over coil and coil of the vast serpentine expanse only to get closer to the being swallowed by the serpent.

It is painfully hard to find time to enjoy the finer things. It is a challenge that persists for those of us who are trying to take our piece of the Metroplexian pie.

Proximity is a bitch here. Everything is far away. And I have a strong suspicion that those of us who migrate here and probably the workaholic types, a breed of carpetbaggers trying to fatten up on a swell we barely understand.

Its a spartan thing to try to make a life in a city you didn't grow up in.

And as I try to put an end to my hiatus I salute you in mutual recoil.

Thats not to say the natives aren't hard working.

It is my prejudice that the DFW native works over 60 hours a week and then manages the vast labyrinth with enough energy to get drunk and build most of the cool things that I go sniffing around for.

They built this place after all, and by default the ripe soil we are all trying to reap from.

Time has a unique sense in these parts. We move in 30 mile strides, where I grew up that put you across farmland and in a separate city.

We work like aspiring robber barons, this definitely carries its own cosmic clock.

Time is crueler in DFW, kind of like summers.