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Page last updated:
2008-02-23
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I humbly began my entry into the world from an undisclosed Catholic hospital in Dallas. In the dark of night, while the nuns were sleeping, my Southern Baptist parents whisked me away in a blanket for a 12-hour-long purifying ritual involving the singing of every verse of "Kum Ba Yah" and copious readings of Jack Chick tracts. It was all downhill from there.
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Little Baby Me
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I grew up in Denton, a dreadful little city 40 miles northwest of Dallas that has more than a passing horrific social resemblance to that in The Stepford Wives. Back then, there wasn't a plentiful supply of cheap labor. My parents made the most of this by giving me a lengthy list of chores—the full completion of which was required for my meager 39-cent-a-week allowance. (No, they didn't have five-cent hamburgers back then--I'm not that old!) I wasn't exactly a fashion plate—my mother had decided, at my birth, to purchase all the clothes I'd need until I was 18. If it was cheap and a no-name brand, I wore it. My mother cut my hair herself (eek!), since they hadn't invented the Flowbee (a bizarre gadget you connect to your vacuum clean that cuts your hair) yet. Another horrific reality: Being forced to listed to The Carpenters and massive doses of easy-listening musical tripe provided on records and 8-track tapes. I'm not sure how I survived, but I did, somehow. Of course, the emotional scars continue to haunt me to this day!
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"What's Denton like?" you ask? The townspeople are very progressive—the city slogan is, "We're Bringing Denton into the 19th Century!" Growing up, I had the delightful opportunity of dining at the city's Sambo's restaurant (sort of a Denny's knock-off)—filled with drawings of Little Black Sambo from the infamous kids' book. Things haven't changed—one Denton citizen looking through a book on vacations in Fort Lauderdale, Florida recently said, "Gays, gays, gays! It's all gays there. That's disgusting! And there's Cubans everywhere. They say the sinks even smell like Cubans." And the people of Denton still wonder why it's some rinky-dink town! Their wonderful far right-wing politics also bring a special "Old World Charm" to living there. You get a flavor for Denton (a bad one) by looking at numerous signs that someone with more money than sense has put up, which say things like, "Taxes=Communism!"
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The people of Denton
say, "Welcome!"
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I would describe
Denton as being
"relatively charm-free"
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If you've never been to Denton, there's not much there for those under 18 (or any age, for that matter). For fun, high school students spend weekends circling the McDonald's parking lot in their pickup trucks. Old folks sit and watch the grass grow. That's why Dentonites flock to nearby Lewisville to shop and to Dallas for fun—even the citizens don't want to be in Denton! The city's only saving grace is its two colleges—which bring over 44,000 students from across the world and inject some intelligence into the city. I shudder to imagine how much worse it would be without them. There's also an Orwellian sense about the place, with hundreds of video cameras mounted atop the traffic lights to give you a sense that they're watching your every move. What most people don't know is that almost all of these are fake props that don't actually do diddly-squat. I guess you can never have too much paranoia.
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My solution to this insanity was to dig a tunnel with a spoon and burrow outside the city limits, past the attack dogs and armed guards, in 1988, in search of life in civilized society. Four years later, at Trinity University in San Antonio, I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Political Science and a minor in Religion. I was the President of Students for the Ethical Treatment of Animals for two years and President of the campus Young Democrats for one year, both of which gave me a chance to raise a little Hell.
From there, it was off to Southern Methodist University Law School in University Park (a wealthy suburb of Dallas) for a couple of years. For inquiring minds, this involves classes where you read 1500-page-long books filled with dull legal decisions that could've been summed up on a few note cards. But, even though I eventually decided that law wasn't my bag and left the school, it still taught me a lot of valuable legal principles. Plus, it lets me rag on Judge Judy when she makes a wrong decision.
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Run—it's
the Landlady
From Hell!
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During my time at SMU and for the five years afterwards, I lived in a small apartment complex, which was attractive and was an excellent price—or so it seemed at first. I soon found out why. It was run by the Landlady From Hell—a cranky old biddy whose nose was constantly in everyone's business! Because she had no life, she was constantly imagining freaky scenarios about her tenants. When one frat boy living there received a Hallmark card envelope, it "was probably filled with drugs—I think he's a dealer!", and she told him to move out immediately. Another tenant went on vacation, and she rifled through his belongings and called all his girlfriends—telling them about each other—because, "He could have been dead—he didn't even call me to tell me he'd left!" One had a cold sore on her lip: "She has The Herpes, you know." She liked to peek through our windows to see what was going on. She'd call the tenants' parents and tell them what the tenants were doing. ("He's been drinking!" "She had a man over last night!" "I think he's smoking The Marijuana!") Armed with her annoying poodle and a cane, she was the embodiment of evil. She'd glare at you with The Evil Eye, and I'm surprised we didn't all turn to stone!
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After working for three years for a nutty psychiatrist who delighted in mentally tormenting his employees, I enrolled in the Cohort MBA Program at the University of Texas at Dallas, and I graduated in June 2000 with a Master of Business Administration degree. It was time to escape the Landlady and move to new digs—this time in slightly-East Dallas, right outside of the upscale area called "Uptown." My part of town is what polite folks call "multicultural." It's what my friends call "scary." Hey, it's not everywhere that you get to see people smoking Crack out in the apartment complex parking lot! And there were so many neighbors shooting guns off on New Year's Eve that I hid on the floor of the closet, lest I become the city's latest crime statistic. Recently, I've adopted a cat named Joey that wants us to move to better digs.
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I don't think we're
in Kansas anymore!
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In my spare time, I like to go out clubbing, watch movies (see my list of faves on this site!), surf the Web incessantly, work on this Web site every now and then, go to the theater, and hang out with friends. Nuff said!
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