Fine, Change Planes in Dallas, You’re a Texan

I’ve been in Houston for less than 3 hours, but according to the wise words of Hank Hill, Texan extrodinaire, I’m a Texan.

The first vehicle that drove by was a man in a pickup wearing a cowboy hat. A gal walking in front of me had on cowboy boots, denim Daisy Dukes with rhinestones on the pockets. The refineries are huge and go over forever. They’re hauntingly beautiful at night. And the airport has a cow in a spacesuit, with a Texas flag and a spacegun. So I know that I’m in the right place.

I ordered something from Taco Cabana, which I’d never heard of but seems to be a local 24-hr fav. My hotel has an astronaut welcoming me at the elevator so again, clearly I’m in the right place.

The guy at the car rental counter said he’d checked in 7 people going to NASA. Fellow tweeters? Who knows?

The biggest downside is that my smartphone had to be TOLD it was in the Central Time Zone. You call that smart?

Many of the tweeters who got here in time for dinner ate at Frenchie’s, which of course serves Italian food. But one person described it well as “the Brown Derby of space” because the walls are covered with signed memorabilia of the space crew who’ve eaten there. It’s an astronaut kind of thing.

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About rennawarren

I've won a spot for the STS-135 NASA Tweetup. I'm going to try to document the experience.
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