Michigan is the Texas of the north. We’re a border state. Without the aid of computer-generated border lines, you can spot Michigan from those marble-y satellite images of Earth–just like Texas. We’re both notable peninsulas. We’re big. We have our crazy celebrities. We’re easily parodied and fiercely adored for cliches (Ruin porn is actually drawing some photographers to Detroit). Ann Arbor is our Austin. Our accents might not be as fun to imitate, but one word: Mitten.
As a Michiganian (Someone actually conducted a poll of Michigan dwellers of Michiganian vs. Michigander. Michigander is more popular, marginally.), in a spirit of solidarity, this weekend I made Texas sheet cake and spent an hour attempting to learn the basics of Texas Hold ’em.
Texas sheet cake can be served with strawberries. Like a deconstructed version of a decadent chocolate-dipped Valentine confection.
Before taking up residence in Michigan, and although never having lived in Texas, I grew up below the Mason-Dixon line (specifically Virginia). In the Bible Belt, I was unschooled about “rock music,” swearing, dancing, cable and poker. As a result, I remain someone who has questionable taste in music, am the language-equivalent of “what not to wear” when I attempt to swear, love to dance, spent close to 10 hours watching random programs when I first realized my apartment had pirated cable, but had never tackled the gambling. Until now.
Aside from reverse psychology to keep people away from practical high-stakes math probability and memory strategies, I’m not sure how Texas Hold ‘Em could be more harmful than perhaps, an affinity for DC Talk or Jars of Clay.
The last time I was in Texas was for Teach-for-America in-service in July. The air conditioning in the dorms forced me to purchase a blanket at Target.
On yet another freezing rain / snow day in Michigan, the parallels paradoxically merge.