October 2018
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October 2018 Obligated in part by being the Mayor, I write all sorts of nice things about Dallas. But, it actually is a safe, largely sane and great place to live, an island in the storm of real-world untidiness. While we lack the Naked Bicycle Ride of Portland, Voodoo Donuts or the world’s largest fungus (in the Blue Mountains in case you want to visit it), we celebrate the delectable glories of small town life, Main Street America, in all sorts of ways. To illustrate, my wife dressed up in a slightly scary costume a few days ago to cruise downtown of Dallas as the City Coroner, Daisy Drinker, for the Murder Mystery (we generally have to fake mur- ders here). A whole bunch of people – hundreds – showed up to try to figure out who-done-it and some guessed correctly it was, not the butler, but Lorenzo Vino, with his degree in Fermentation and in love with the irritating Amber Hopps. Not exactly murder on the Orient Express, but engaging nonetheless. Even Jim the Rock, was briefly a suspect for, as you know, basalt has a dark side. Which reminds me, in ancient times when Main Street was two-way, it was great fun to pull practical jokes on one another like what we once did to Bud Foster, of Foster’s Sporting Goods. Bud had a cherished duck lake just out of town on which he lavished much attention all year with the intent of attracting ducks during hunting season. Being hunted was not particularly popular with ducks, so they made it a practice to avoid his lake on Wednesdays and Sundays, his hunting days at the lake. He used to complain of this paucity of quackers, which set us up perfectly for visiting his lake on Tuesdays and Saturdays to scatter empty shotgun shells and duck feathers about the shore. It took him a few weeks to catch on, but in the meantime, it was quite good fun to listen to Bud curse the ”[explicative] poachers.” So, having again exceeded my quota of 320 words, off I go for another month. See you around town, Main Street maybe. .