Dr. Pepper

Somewhere in the air between here and Dallas I became aware I was entering the South. I cannot remember the last time I even heard of Dr. Pepper never mind hearing it ordered all around me. I suppose American Airlines must have to keep it stocked on all flights in or out of their Dallas/Ft. Worth hub. It was beautiful weather in Dallas, but I was repeatedly told with great emphasis that soon it would be HOT. The shuttle driver on the way in seemed uncomfortable with silence and so chatted along in correct but heavily accented English about the Grassy Knoll etc. Honestly I had forgotten there was any history of interest attached to Dallas and realized as we drove by that for me until that moment the Texas School Book Depository, knoll and all, had existed only in the past. Downtown Dallas is a timewarp mosaic with buildings here and there like the old court house firmly anchored at the turn of the century while others clearly reside in roughly the 1950's. The McDonald's and Greyhound stations are examples of this "time zone." Then there are jazzy examples of the 1960's still alive in bizarrely adorned parking garages and smoked glass buildings from the 70's all just sitting there waiting for their second wind.
A relocated Pittsburgher collected me one evening and showed me around the town a little bit. As is typical for Pittsburghers we went and ogled the blocks and blocks of fancy stores and jammed restaurants over flowing with under 30's. I was relieved to see that in this age bracket the hair in definitely done but not overly large. The effect was one of masses of Stepford women artfully rendered completely unnatural. Based on a picture in the Dallas Design Book in my hotel room big hair happens around age 40. The photo of real estate agents d'un certain age was enough to put me off pseudo-Chanel suits for ever and ever.

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