H-Town Concrete

To Dave and Erik and Brad (wherever you are)
I have seen Houston, Texas, and it is a more magnificent concrete jungle than I had expected. Although the seamy side looks as old-west as you can imagine in this industrial age, the food at Ninfas made it seem like a friendly oasis nonetheless.
There is strangely little foot traffic in town, most of the cars are stuck on the highways around the city's brassly buckled belt. Me and J are of course in a stylishly bleak hotel downtown, near Minute Maid park. All is well. Heading to Waco today for a very special Larry, I mean a very special Punky Brewster, I mean a very special holiday special with the press corps and tales that will warm your heart. You'll be reading all about it in the coming months. All of your complaining and heartbreak about our presence in Iraq and all of your loved ones who won't be coming home for the holidays. Unless you're of one of those families that are so historically linked to our country's fine tradition of warfare (every 7 years by average), look back on the efforts of your protests this past year and what do you have. No present under your tree. Your Santa, Senator Murtha has had his sled tires slashed and you get to cheer a phony election. Nobody's coming home, thank you W. I'd love to thank you in person I just might stop by and jam with your neighbors, really loud. We shall overcome!