California on my Mind (mIND? MiNd? No I Don’t Mind! I No Longer Have The TIME! NOr The DiMe) I No Longer Have ONe! But Texas Always in my Heart???? Huh??? And OnCE a=GIN” fUK u word-de-Pressed! i CANnOT eDIit This!!!! Why Not???? Why The Fuk NOT???? Fuk U Word-Disstressed!

CaliI have spilled’d way too

Much Ink on California Yeah! I spent

Fuk California

Yeah! I spent one Night in The Hotel Del…

Back When, Way BaCk When!

When I was in SEAL Train’in’

So What????

The Hotel Del Did NOT

Impress Me!

Mother-fuck California!

Jes Kidd’n

I LoVe Her!

Almost hALF as Much as I Love TEXAS!

Aerosmith – Crazy 

GTT

More Texas

Less California

Loved it. Hated it. Few decades ago I could truthfully say, “Hey! I’ve spent half my life in California.” (See This Or This)

Now I can say, “Hey! I’ve spent most of my life in Dangerous Desolate Places.” (Middle East &  East Texas) That worm did turn some. (Go Here or There)

As a Native Texan, I am supposed to always hate California and yes, Yes to all you Texans out there: I know this. I get it. Put the rope down.

Yet I more love than hate California.

In California I learned to appreciate music, art, science, literature, hippies, beaches and blondes. My first kiss was not in California, but I didn’t miss that milestone by much–In California.

In Texas I learned to appreciate drankin’ whiskey and beer , smokin’ dope, playin’ football, chasin’ cheerleaders, and Raisin’ Hell.

Arriving home to Texas late 1968 folks made fun of my ‘California Accent’ if there even is such a thing. (There were no Valley Girls in the Sixties as far as I know). My ‘accent’ was ‘just the way normal people talked’ as far as I was concerned. Texans sounded funny to me (Blasphemy!)

My Attitude Adjustment didn’t take long to take.

In California I was a Little League Baseball Star. In Texas no one gave two shits about baseball. I had to learn football. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing, but I had all those baseball skills which were not worth a cup of spit in Texas.

I love Texas and don’t get me wrong. But once in a while, when I see a photo or a news bit showing San Francisco, or San Diego, or a beach, or a blonde… I hear this guy singing:

Sometimes I even hear this blonde singing:

And I tear up. (Just a little bit) but then I throw on some Bob Wills and Remember Who I am.

Bob Wills

And thus remembering, I go out and buy a case of Lone Star Long Necks and listen to this guy:

And I Thank The Spirit of Sam Houston I Am A Texan.

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