The Texan Connection
As a recent transplant to the Dallas – Fort Worth Metroplex (via Naples, Italy and the Pacific Northwest) I must agree with the state slogan of, “Texas, it’s like a whole other country.” It’s not only because the state is huge, or the fact that it has its own power grid. There is just something about Texas that sets it apart from other states. Every time I land in Dallas, for instance, I feel like I should get my passport stamped.

So how does all this fit in with the Gita Italiana? Well, I’ve discovered that the bel paese and the Lone Star State have a surprising amount of things in common. Don’t believe me? Read on!

Dallas skyscraper.

Iconic Shapes
If you pulled a tortilla chip out of a bag and it were shaped like either Texas or Italy, you might notice. You might even get a few bids if you placed that chip on eBay. At the very least, your friends would probably nod in agreement as you dipped it in salsa and took a bite. Try the same with a chip resembling Colorado or Belgium, however, and people will think you’re nuts. Those shapes are not nearly as striking or recognizable.

Texas and Italy, on the other hand, are like the geographical equivalents of Beyonce or Christine Hendricks; they are not afraid to flaunt their shape. While living in Naples, I even had people use my lower leg as a makeshift map from time to time. I confess that I am so bad at geography that this was the only way to get their point across, but hey, it worked. And while I still think there is a market for tights imprinted with a map of Italy, there is definitely a market for anything Texas-shaped. You name it, if there’s a way to produce a Texas-shaped version of a product, someone will do it, and Texans will buy it. I’ve seen Texas-shaped belt buckles, tattoos, muffins, swimming pools, crewcuts – there’s even a Flickr pool of Texas-shaped things.

I'm not sure how to pair wine with Chicken Fried Stuff.

Love of Wine
We all know that Italy produces some of the finest wines in the world, however Texas makes its share of vino, too. The state has over 200 family-owned vineyards, and a whole bunch of wineries. The city of Grapevine is named after the indigenous mustang grape (Vitis Mustangensis) and hosts the largest wine festival in the southwest. Meanwhile, DFW International Airport has an on-site winery, which offers the aptly named “Aero Port.”

I honestly can’t say yet how Texan wines compare to Italian ones (ask me again after Texas Wine Month this October) but I can tell you that the European wine industry will be forever grateful to a Texan named Thomas Munson. Munson developed a vine hearty enough to resist phylloxera, an aphid-like critter which wreaked havoc on grape harvests in the 19th century, so propose a toast to him the next time you open a tasty bottle of Italian red.

A sign at my favorite Chinese restaurant in Texas.

Unique Dialects
While living in Naples, I enjoyed learning phrases in Neapolitan dialect, as well as songs in dialect such as “O Sole Mio,” and “Funiculi, Funicula.” I was surprised, however, to learn that Texas has its own dialect. I am not just talking about the contagious Texan twang. Texas actually  has its own unique version of German, thanks to generations of immigrants. The German word for “skunk” is stinktier, for example, while the Tex-German variation is stinkkatze.

Wacky Men in Charge
It would take a lot to rival the buffoonery of Italy’s prime minister, Silvio Berlusconi, but from what I’ve seen here in Texas, Governor Rick Perry has his moments. Not only has Perry been dubbed “Governor Good Hair” due to his immaculate coiffure, but he’s been known to impulsively smooth the unruly locks of strangers in the audience during public appearances. Also, back in April of this year, Perry shot and killed a coyote … while out jogging! He claims the coyote was menacing his pooch, but I have my doubts. I’ve lived near coyotes before, and they are very skittish. In any case, who packs heat on their morning jog?

Confusing restroom sign in Dallas.

Freakishly Large Insects
If you’ve ever spent time in the Italian countryside, chances are you’ve seen those huge, black bumblees known as Calabrone. While your average bee buzzes like a Vespa (pun intended!) a Calabrone rumbles like a Harley Davidson, and just like a “hog”, you can hear them coming a mile away. Fortunately, Calabrone rarely sting humans.

Turns out that Texas has its share of big bees, too. Lately I’ve spied Cicada Killer Wasps in our yard. As the name suggests, this creature kills cicadas (which, I might add, is another hefty-sized bug.) Cicada Killers are an impressive 2″ long and thankfully, like the Calabrone, they have better things to do than sting you. I still tend to shriek and run the other way, though, whenever I see one.

Texans leads the USA in wind power.

Regional Pride
More than anything else, both Texas and Italy share a deeply rooted sense of pride, and locals are eager to share their traditions with you.  Nor is Texas afraid to take on what it finds cool about Italy and put a Lone Star spin on it. There are plenty of Texan towns named after Italian cities: Italy, Florence and Naples, to name a few. Dallas has a mozzarella company, as well as one of the few Vera Pizza Napoletana (VPN) certified restaurants in the USA, while the Kimbell Museum in Fort Worth is home to the only Michelangelo painting in the Americas. I still get a kick out the Maccaroni Grill, an Italian restaurant where the ladies room is labelled, “Uomini.” (Pretty confusing, since that means “men” in Italian.)

The Texan love of Italy runs deep, but doesn’t veer into wannabe behavior.  One incident in particular summed this up for me, it was when the waiter at an Italian place in Dallas exclaimed, “Mangia, y’all!” after setting our entree on the table. At that moment I realized that no matter how passionate this guy was about Italian cuisine, he was still Texan through and through.

So there you have it, a brief sojourn off the boot and over to the land of cowboy boots, where there is more in common than you might expect!

p.s. I want to thank Michelle for inviting me on her Gita Italiana. She was the first expat I connected with online while living in Italy. From Bleeding Espresso, I quickly found Cherrye Moore, another expat who just so happens to hail from the great state of Texas. Although we’ve never met in person, those two are a continuing source of inspiration to me. :)

Texas Toast hails from New York? photo by Tui Cameron

Texas Toast, it’s a common sight around here, “here” being Texas. So what’s this New York connection claiming to be “the original Texas Toast”? I may have unearthed a conspiracy, folks, the culinary equivalent of a chupacabra. Could it be mafia-related? Should I even be asking these questions? If any Texans out there know what’s up, please fill me in. Otherwise, I shall continue my investigation into this matter, and will report my findings in further blog posts, brave cub reporter that I am.

While cruising the NaBloPoMo blog roll, I realized that I probably should have put my blog in the Psychotic Ranting / Anonymous Foaming section, since there’s a lot of playful writing in that category, and it’s not as scary and wigged out as the heading leads you to believe. Here’s an example, which I found at Random Bloggicles.

Frankie Valli says that “grease” is The Word…

The Trashmen say that “bird” is The Word…

Which is it?! Two words can’t be “The Word” can they?

I’m not so sure that anyone has thought this through before.

“Grease” has groove and meaning… “Grease” is the time, is the place, is the motion… “Grease” is the way we are feeling…

But everybody’s talkin’ about the “bird…”

So which is the true word?

Some people say that The Bible is the true word. But I say they are insane… Really? The Bible is the word? That’s not possible! You know why? “The Bible” is a PHRASE! And a phrase is not a word!!! HAHAH!!!

So who is correct? Frankie Valli or The Trashmen?

Sadly, Random Bloggicles does not have a way to leave comments on her blog (that I can find, anyway), or to even email her. I don’t understand blogs that don’t allow comments, actually. To me, that would be my offline journal, something kept to myself. When I babble on my blog, it’s an open letter, a conversation waiting to happen – or not.

I notice fewer comments on people’s blogs this time around with NaBloPoMo, although it looks like plenty of people have signed up for it. This is the 4th year in a row that I’ve done it, and maybe the momentum will pick up, but it seems like people are sticking to their own blogs more than usual, instead of getting out there, mixing, mingling, and posting on other NaBloPoMo participants blogs as much as usual.

I hope I’m wrong, and that things will pick up as the month progresses!

When I was a kid up in eastern Washington, I often carried pebbles in my pocket to toss ahead of me before stepping into tall grass. Sometimes I’d hear a rattler slithering out of the way afterwards. My little dog was good, too. She’d run ahead and keep the trail cleared of any snakes. I didn’t realize people ever shot snakes; so when I saw this ad for a snake gun proudly displayed in a shop window, it caught my eye.

The ad amuses me because the guy they drew looks a bit like Hunter S. Thompson. I can just envision a graphic novel penned in Hunter-esque prose about a macho Texan snake hunter. This main character would have a basement armory featuring weapons for all sorts of specialized nuisances, everything from mime attacks to bomb-laden armadillos.

At some point in the wacked out story, the protagonist would be so full of fear and loathing that he’d blurt out some of Thompson’s famous lines, stuff like: “I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me,” and “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”

Tex and I ventured into the shop, which was full of interesting knick-knacks, antiques, and post-Christmas deals. The whole time we wandered around, the man behind the counter was on the phone with various people. Every conversation was about guns.

The man behind the counter was still on the phone, blabbing on about firearms as he rang up my purchase, which was not a gun. At one point, however, he set a pistol on the countertop. The barrel pointed right at Tex’s belly. We exchanged nervous glances, before Tex gingerly turned the weapon around.

After he hung up the phone, the man behind the counter apologized, then took a moment to admire the string of beads I’d purchased. “Well, aren’t these just darling?” he remarked, while tucking them into a little bag.

I wanted to ask if he’d ever shot a snake, but I chickened out. Maybe next time.

I expected a lot of nationalism when I moved to Texas, y’know, plenty of flags a-waving, and those culturally myopic “God Bless America” bumper stickers, as though the supreme universal deity cares only for my country. (Hey, I love America, too, but if God plays favorites, I’m gonna tell his mom.) Anyway, patriotism, I understand.

What I did not expect was the Tex-centricness of this particular state. In retrospect, the amount of Texas-shaped things I saw within moments of getting off the plane should have clued me in. On the way to baggage claim, I saw everything from belt buckles, cookies, tattoos, gold pendants, even a dachsund – no, not a Texan-shaped dachsund – but one wearing a sweater with a Texan star proudly stitched on the side.

Yes, it’s pretty hard to forget you are in Texas when you are in Texas; even with a severe head injury, I’ll wager you could figure that one out.

So the other day at Sam’s Club, I came across these Tex-Centric books and laughed. Wait, no, I guffawed (it sounds more Texan to guffaw, doesn’t it?) At any rate, I knew that I must quickly snap some pix to share with those of you who – gasp – live elsewhere.

First off, we have the “Texan Mother Goose,” which features such tales as “Mary Had a White-Faced Calf,” and “There Was an Old Cowgirl Who Lived in a Boot.”

Next, I saw the “Texas Aesop’s Fables,” which features such stories as “The Cowpoke Who Fooled His Friends.”

Next, we have the “Trucker’s Night Before Christmas,” which is written by the same guy who did the Texan Aesop’s fables, so while not all truckers are Texan, there is surely a connection.

Lastly, I came across this little gem, called “Ten Redneck Babies.” What might this be? Why, it’s a a book to teach younguns how to count. Stuff like: “5 redneck babies chomped watermelon. One made tracks – where to? No tellin’!”

Seems that there’s a lot to being Texan. I have much to learn. Wonder where the Texas books for adults are? Hmmm…

What do you mean, you go to Curves? 24 Hour Fitness? LA Fitness? That’s sissy talk. Around these here parts, we take physical fitness seriously. That’s right. We are hardcore, hence the name.

I haven’t actually been inside Hardcore Fitness, I merely snapped this shot as we drove by, but it’s all too easy to envision a Spartan interior, with plenty of cement and jutting corners. The dressing room benches are cold hard slabs, nothing cushy anywhere. Cold showers, for sure, and let’s not forget the lurching, no-necked, roid-filled trainers with monosyllabic names who barely move their lips when they talk, and sound more like grunting elks than humans. You rarely understand what they say, but are too afraid to ask for explanations.

Of course, this being 2009, they now have a day spa, and a juice bar…