Some Fine Legacy

I know I can be cynical and I can be negative, but the truth is, I love this city. I love Houston and I loved the last version of it, too. I even loved the version that we had before that.

You see, every few years here in Houston, we rip down the whole town. In its place, we build a new town entirely from scratch. Nothing remains except the potholes. What stood before is gone. Forgotten.

For us, this is an exciting process. It keeps us all on our toes.

Around here, a restaurant will boast “SERVING HOUSTON SINCE 2011!!!” on its marquee in bold letters with three exclamation points. An historical preservation district will consist of two old houses up on blocks in the middle of a sea of new construction townhomes.

Why, even as I write these words, right at this very moment, Houston is engaged in what might be our most ambitious project yet: We’re bulldozing everything within fifteen miles of downtown and replacing it with $1 million, three-and-a-half story townhomes and something called “luxury apartments.”

Armchair Physics

The scientific community was slow in embracing Katy’s Couch Theory.

To tell you the God’s honest truth, the theory did make much of an impact until around the middle of the twenty-first century. Scientists – even scientists who are physicists like the ones we were dealing with – have always been a notoriously stuffy crowd. They’re stuck in their ruts. They’re impervious to the smallest of changes. Real revolutions in thought are often beyond the capacity of their eggtastic noggins.

This holds true even when the theorizer in question is a scientist of some renown, armed with charts and graphs and laboratory results, with studies and journal articles, protractors and an army of vacantly nodding interns. But if the theorizer should happen to be a semi-literate, intermittently homeless ragamuffin without one iota of scientific training to her name, then, well…

Suffice it to say that the scientific community was slow in embracing Katy’s Couch Theory.