Travis has instituted My Town Mondays with a link to all who participate. I am late in the day, but it is still Monday. Man, try and mix e-filing your taxes with My Town Mondays.
San Angelo is in West Texas. The land is flat and the wind is fast. To those who don't know me and to those who do, I will talk of this love in my bones every chance I am given. To those on the outside, San Angelo is an acquired taste, like crawfish or dark green corduroy pants. But once you taste and decide it's for you it will be a lifelong desire to return and be one with the cicada hum and the dust that lingers on your boots.
San Angelo is small by most town's measurements. We fluctuate between 100,000 and 100,004. The school systems record losses in net students most years and the one's that stay will ask the newbies Why San Angelo? You are either on your way out or on your way back. The young are leaving and the wise are returning...or pining about returning.
Most folks outside of West Texas think they know a great steakhouse when they smell it. Most would be mistaken. Twin Mountain Steak House or Western Skies. Those are your choices for a real live West Texas experience. Once you eat at either joint, their steaks are your new benchmarks. It's a hard cold fact once you leave, to get great steak the way steak was intended to be eaten, you have to return.
There isn't much to do in San Angelo other than eating or seeing friends or eating some more, and that's why the restaurants are stellar. And while I do love me some Fuentes Downtown (Mexican) or fine steaks (see above), San Angelo was where I was introduced to one of my greatest enduring loves: Sonic Drive In.
Sonic is still around and I visit at least once a week...in a bad week. Their onion rings are to die for, as is pretty much everything on the menu.
Back in the day they had roller skating carhops and the drinks came with plastic monkey and mermaids attached to the rim of your drink. As kids we thought we were so grown up when we pulled in on a Friday night and ordered a Coke to keep our bourbon in, that we conveniently stored under our front seat unbeknownst to our parents.
This was back in my redneck days, my days of stupidity cubed, my days of drinking and driving and what the hell was a seatbelt?! Forgive me.
We used to be known as the Mohair Capitol of the WORLD! THE WORLD People! Thankfully, I never, ever, not once, wore anything that had an inkling of being made of mohair. Dang, that stuff is itchy and smelly when wettish.
Today we have a festival in which we let sheep run through our downtown streets. The strays and stragglers get roped by strategically placed Boy Scouts. Come on, who wouldn't love that action?!
Next week, I will be more prepared for My Town Monday and will regale you with water sports or Rodeo Week, or perhaps our past that's filled with prostitutes and gamblers!
I can see you all a'quiver....