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 Exposing the seamy underside of Dallas nightlife

Apartment in Manhattan:  $3,500.  Professionally moving my stuff:  $3,800.  Flight to LaGuardia:  $250.  Getting off Planet Dallas:  Priceless.

So Long and Thanks for the Mammaries  

Eleven is normally a good number.  In craps, itís a winner.  In sports, itís the number of players on a football team.  In life, itís when the chiquitas start showing up at bars.  But when it refers to the numbers of years youíve lived on Planet Dallas, it seems more like a prison sentence.

Maybe thatís because time on Planet D is like dog years.  Eleven years is really seventy-seven, which truly is a life sentence when youíre cellmates are Velveeta Kings and animal print wearing strippers.

Well, thankfully this convict has busted out and escaped.  After eleven long years in the Planet D lockup, I finally took my own advice and moved off Planet Dallas, going from the Big D (and the D stands for delusional? desperate? disillusioned? dysfunctional? disturbed? what?) to the Big Apple. 

In one four-hour flight, Iíve gone from a city that never sleeps (because of drugs) to a city that never sleeps because thereís actually shit going on.  From a city where you can stay out to 4:00 AM at a couple clubs, drinking water or Red Bull or doing drugs, to a city where you can stay out to 4:00 AM at every bar drinking whatever you want.  From a city that has a no culture to a city that defines culture.

But Iím not happy or anything.  Ecstatic is more like it.

Actually there are things Iíll miss about Planet D.  I just canít think of any right now.

Seriously, though, I will miss the many good friends Iíve made.  I wonít miss the pseudo-friends who ask me if I have a roll or a line or a cap for them simply because they saw me once at Seven. 

Iíll miss knowing all the door guys and never waiting or paying to get in.  I wonít miss going to those same bars over and over and over andÖ

Iíll miss $5.00 drinks.  I wonít miss drunk Velveeta Kings spilling them on my GF or me.

Iíll miss the eye candy Planet D offers a single guy.  I wonít miss that most of them had the intelligence of cotton candy or the stability of nitroglycerin.

Iíll miss all the great ammunition Planet D provides for a humor column.  I wonít miss seeing it night after night, week after week, year after year, decade afterÖ well actually Iím getting out after just one decade.

And of course Iíll miss writing Flash, though I will be doing special guest appearances from New York.  In fact, Iíve already discovered the New York version of 972: the bridge and tunnel crowd, people that live in the outer boroughs that come into Manhattan to party.  212ers are just as elitist as 214ers.  Iíll fit right in.

So be looking for the first Flash in the City episode coming soon.  Until then, goodbye, and Iím sure some of you are saying back, good riddance.


By the way, my partner in crime in the great escape to New York is a bleach blonde stripper with fake tits.  Oh, and she lived in 972 when I met her.  I guess the old saying Ďyou write what you knowí really is true.  Gotcha.

- Flash -




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