I miss it (a little)
Megan DeWald-Kline
Issue date: 10/30/07 Section: Opinion
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Riding the New York City subway system offers some thrills, but one of the eeriest experiences occurs when two trains whiz past each other in the underground tunnel. The image out the window is like a strobe-lit elevator car, full of bored and listless people swaying to the rhythm of an electric rail, gliding by. I, along with every passenger with any sense of self-preservation, have my iPod buds singing melodies into my ears, and when I am honored with the aforementioned experience, I feel like I am in a music video. Or a horror film, depending on which music happens to be playing at the moment.
Yet despite this inimitable exposure to the New York State of Mind, I often miss Houston. Of course, now I'm too sophisticated to be quoted as admitting that fact (so a published column seems a foolish place for such a confession), but it is true. I miss the exhilaration of driving down Westheimer, never quite knowing what awaits me that day. Will it be the BMW driver who cuts across four lanes without glancing in her mirror just in time to turn into the Starbucks drive-thru? Will it be the Ford semi-monster-truck that revs its engine at the stoplight, glancing from side to side, wondering who is going to take the bait? Best of all, will it be one of those rare times when all the stars align and the traffic lights turn green when they see me coming?
There's something to be said about this city, even if the International Olympic Committee has too much of a discerning eye to see it. I know of few other places in the world where one's eyeglasses can become so chilled sitting inside a building during the summer that one's lenses immediately fog upon stepping outside into a blisteringly hot and humid day. Plus, Houston has that lack of zoning laws that allow an apartment complex to reside next to a coffeehouse that's next to a school that's next to a pawn shop. And don't get me started on the extreme sport that consists of driving down the Katy Freeway during a Houston downpour, especially now that the lanes change daily, and it's like a real life video game ((Earn Your) Halo, or something).
Yet despite this inimitable exposure to the New York State of Mind, I often miss Houston. Of course, now I'm too sophisticated to be quoted as admitting that fact (so a published column seems a foolish place for such a confession), but it is true. I miss the exhilaration of driving down Westheimer, never quite knowing what awaits me that day. Will it be the BMW driver who cuts across four lanes without glancing in her mirror just in time to turn into the Starbucks drive-thru? Will it be the Ford semi-monster-truck that revs its engine at the stoplight, glancing from side to side, wondering who is going to take the bait? Best of all, will it be one of those rare times when all the stars align and the traffic lights turn green when they see me coming?
There's something to be said about this city, even if the International Olympic Committee has too much of a discerning eye to see it. I know of few other places in the world where one's eyeglasses can become so chilled sitting inside a building during the summer that one's lenses immediately fog upon stepping outside into a blisteringly hot and humid day. Plus, Houston has that lack of zoning laws that allow an apartment complex to reside next to a coffeehouse that's next to a school that's next to a pawn shop. And don't get me started on the extreme sport that consists of driving down the Katy Freeway during a Houston downpour, especially now that the lanes change daily, and it's like a real life video game ((Earn Your) Halo, or something).