My first impression of Houston was bleak. The airport I flew into (Hobby Airport) is old and very ugly, as was the adjacent Enterprise-Rent-A-Car, where I had a reservation for a compact car. As the saying goes, “Everything is bigger in Texas” and so I find myself, somehow, driving a mid-size SUV for the next month. It has a sun roof but no cup holders. I like it.
Making do, I held my soda cup between my legs as I attempted to navigate an old and ugly interstate system. As I continued driving, I had a growing and inexplicable discomfort about my surroundings - and about my pants, on which soda had splashed when I made a sharp turn. I couldn’t pin a word on the former feeling though. (Latter feeling = wet.) Everything seemed large and sprawling and random and tree-less. I couldn’t shake it, and later that night it hit me. “Placelessness.” I never got a feeling of actually being anywhere or passing anything.
1 comment:
About five years ago, as a senior in high school, I went on a school band trip to Dallas and experienced an almost identical crisis of place. Aside from the sharp divide between the shiny upper class blocks and the barren slums, it had no recognizable character. The streets were eerily empty half the time, and every place I went, from the symphony hall to the Hard Rock Cafe, felt oddly flavorless. It wasn't a City, just a city. Maybe there's something boring in the Texan water supply.
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