A little bit of Texas goes a long way.

For those not familiar with the Great State of Texas (and no disrespect to ya’ll currently abiding there), it’s probably best to think of it more like a country. It actually was a country, a Republic, for about 9 years before it decided (for reasons many Texans still regret) to join the Union. It left the Union during the Civil War, but was forced to rejoin when that didn’t go according to plan. Still, for all intents and purposes, it acts like a country and only a minor oversight has prevented the issuing of passports instead of Driver’s Licenses to its denizens.

Much like walking past the perfume counter in a department store, the first thing that pummels your senses is the name and outline of the State. It’s plastered everywhere. Ordinary Texans are required by law to have at least two occurrences of the great state of Texas somewhere on their person at all times, visible to any Texas Ranger. For this reason, many people have gotten it tattooed on their bodies in obvious places so they only have to wear a Texas cap to be in compliance with the law. Those without tattoos or State sponsored piercings most often choose to wear the “Don’t Mess with Texas” T-shirt and a cap with something bovine on it. Cattle with long horns are acceptable and people who are pulled over wearing a “T,” are often let go with just a warning. Texas pride is not just serious business. It’s the law.

It’s nationalism on Red Bull.

As a sweaty stranger in this 110 degree strange land, the question might arise whether this Texas pride smacks of a kind of insecurity. After less than an hour inside the Great Nation of Texas, most travelers will notice they cannot exhale without CO2 hitting something with a Texas icon on it. The Lone Star emblem is pressed into thousands of miles of concrete with Freeway overpasses stamped with the Texas Star at every joint and support post. Billboards are seemingly required by law to mention or display Texas in all of their advertisements.

“ Welcome to the Land of the Lone Star Big Mac,”
a billboard for McDonalds reads. [No mention of the fact you’ll actually be eating one of the state icons.]

“ This Texas Bud’s For You,”
says a Budweiser sign as if it would seem an incomprehensible beverage without clear instructions specifically stating it was ready for consumption by Texans. [Not unexpectedly, Lone Star Beer doesn’t have this marketing challenge.]

Typical cinnamon candy packaging looks like this:

As far as most observers can tell, everything in Texas must, by law, be repackaged to let Texans know it’s Texan enough for Texans.

Upon arrival in people’s homes, one wonders if the law extends to private spaces as well. It’s rare to find a room without some Texas icon prominently displayed. At one point I retreated to the bathroom to give my senses a break and found cause to question my mental health upon discovering the Texas flag embossed on the toilet paper.

At no time were we ever allowed to forget we were in Texas.

Relatives arrived with some delicious Tex-Mex food that could only be cooked in a Texas shaped skillet. It confirmed again my theory about why they call the northern protrusion the Panhandle. T-bone steaks are similarly overrepresented on grills. After dinner, unsurprisingly at this point, there was a Texas shaped cake and forks with a tiny version of the State at the base.

In search of sanity and an attempt to stop the room from spinning, our California family began a quiet, secret game to find objects that had no reference to Texas. After approximately 72 minutes of searching, my son found a glass that was just a glass. Completely unadorned. It was like crawling through the desert only to discover what we expected to be a mirage was actually an oasis! We each took turns drinking water from it. We then escaped to a back room where we celebrated with quiet fist pumps and a crazy dance that no one saw and we will never speak of again.

Our lucidity stretched thin, it finally came time to return to California.

By this time we were savvy enough to have Texas displayed twice on each of our bodices as we passed through security. We breezed through after an eyebrow or two were raised upon seeing our California Driver’s licenses. By then, my Texas accent was in full bloom and I was able to explain, “We just live and work there. We mean no disrespect to The Great State of Texas.” I then sang a quick soulful version of “The Eyes of Texas” and do believe our TSA agent was a little glassy eyed as he let us pass. My, “I’m a Native Texan” T-shirt signed by Anna Nicole Smith probably helped a little too.

Landing at LAX, there was culture shock.

We were not entirely sure where we were. There were no California signs anywhere and we saw no outline of the state to reassure us. Like victims of a flash photo in a dark room, we staggered blindly toward the bus that would take us home, still seeing the retinal flare of the great state of Texas.

At Mick’s Macs we have Mac Pride but promise not to show you our tattoos.

All the best,

Mick