It's no secret, I know, that I am a cowboy. I mean, I don't ride horses or herd cattle. I don't wear western outfits or boots or hats. I don't carry guns or knives. I don't chew tobacco. I'm not much for country music. I don't often camp out on the prairie. I hang out in a coffee shop for at least an hour almost every single day. I'm more often sitting at a computer than not. I drive a small economy car for three hours a day to my middle-management computer job and listen to MP3s the entire time I'm on the road. I'd rather write poetry or sketch pictures than drink whiskey or get into brawls. Nevertheless, I was born in Texas and I've lived here for most of my life. Sure, there were a few years when I was a child and I lived in a van with my hippie parents traveling around the western states. And yes, I did spend a few months when I was eighteen in South America working with a volunteer service organization. With those few exceptions, however, I've lived my whole life in Texas. This qualifies me to be a cowboy. I have my membership card and qualify for the cowboy discount offered by merchants all over the world. Just the other day I saved 12% on my KT Tunstall purchase from iTunes. Why? Because I am a cowboy. Jealous much? Hello, friends. How are you today? Later. Love. P. S. - What are the chances? Wendy (The Psycho Therapist) left two comments on my This is the Song post last night. The second of them was the 6000th comment on this manifestation of my blog. I usually give a $20 gift certificate to the commenter who leaves a comment whose count is a multiple of 1000. This time I will not even try, however, since Wendy was also the 5000th commenter and I couldn't get her to accept the gift certificate that time. So, I'll just say thanks to her for coming around from time to time. Thanks, Wendy. And thanks, everyone, for stopping by. |
