10 Things I Learned During The Back-To-School Tax-Free Weekend in Texas

1. There’s really no reason to leave the house for 72 hours.

None. Getting out in this mess is just not worth it. Yes, you might save a few bucks, and who doesn’t want to do that right now, but the side-effects of venturing forth into the madness include frayed nerves, public-berating of unfocused relatives, the regretting of childbirth, and alcoholism. Is it really worth all that? If you end up being institutionalized, clutching discounted receipts and forever babbling about long check-out lines that speak of Satan, you really can’t enjoy those extra dollars in your checking account, now can you?

Sadly, despite the preceding two weeks of retailers blaring ads about the Tax-Free Extravaganza, it’s quite easy to forget that such a thing is taking place and simple tasks like running to get milk or return a rented jackhammer can turn into excursions of evil and face-clawing, because…

2. Everyone wants in on the parade.

Suddenly, even non-school-supply merchants start pretending that they are bastions of back-to-the-books bonanzas. Flyers arrive in your mailbox pronouncing that you can get deeply-discounted packages of notebook paper from home-improvement stores, dry-cleaners and gynecologists.

Amazingly, lots of folks buy into this below-the-belt luring, and rush to invade theoretical “tax-free weekend safe zones”, so you can’t even innocently pick up some pesticide for those red ants without climbing over screaming urchins who are slugging it out over the last remaining Dora the Explorer backpack.

3. The traffic is unreal.

Granted, any fool knows that you simply can’t go anywhere near shopping centers or strip malls during this weekend of insanity. But the frugal parents have to get to those places somehow, from wherever it is that they dwell, and this means that all highways and byways that get remotely near the malls will be cram-packed with soccer moms driving vans full of bouncing brats that are only excited about school supplies until they actually have to use them.

And don’t try using any alternate routes to get where you’re going, since those formerly-secretive avenues will be filled with those same vans, because the drivers are already slipping toward madness and they are desperate for any time-saving shortcut that might prevent them from doing something unspeakable that will be turned into a movie-of-the-week on Lifetime. Starring Tori Spelling, holding an apple pie in one hand and a machete in the other.

4. The school supply requirements are quite different from back in the day.

In my time, the shopping list was generally this: five shirts, two pairs of jeans, a pencil box, and some glue. Now I see shopping carts loaded with computers, netbooks, wireless phones (who do these children need to call?), backpacks that come equipped with ironing boards and wet bars, hundreds of those horrid stretchy bracelets for “social development”, and a personal assistant who will carry all this crap to school for them.

5. Some people have an unusual concept of proper school attire.

Maybe it’s just me, but one would think that an educational wardrobe for a third-grade girl should not include pint-size versions of halter-tops, navel-baring frocks, bustiers with the image of Lady Gaga on each cup, and gym shoes with stiletto heels. Then again, if Momma is pushing the shopping cart while dragging along a stripper pole just in case her services are needed, we probably have some apples that really didn’t fall far and it’s way too late for reformation.

6. Perhaps the need for some type of tax relief might have something to do with the parents not understanding value versus spending ability.

You’re going to buy that child a pair of Nike tennis shoes that costs $150 per foot? Are you kidding me? I can remember when my rent was less than $300. If you can justify that kind of expenditure in your budget, you clearly don’t need this weekend to help you get through it al. (And what extraordinary thing could that child possibly have done to deserve footwear that costs more than some Texas teachers’ salaries?)

Go back home and do something useful like teach your child to earn an allowance and buy his own damn shoes, and let the people who really do need the tax break spend less time standing in line behind you and the apparent long-lost child of a European royal family.

7. I’m amazed that Rick Perry still allows Texas to have this tax-free weekend.

Perhaps he does so for business reasons, there is that angle. But making it a little easier for the children of Texas to attend school must cause him considerable concern, because the last thing he needs for his political career is to have an educated public in this state. Just sayin.

8. One of the ripple effects of this weekend is that so many people are out and about that all the restaurants are crowded.

And this is the worst sin of all, as far as I’m concerned. Because when I want to eat, I should be able to do so without any undue impediments. It’s just better for everybody that my food requirements are met in a timely manner, trust me on this. I get a wee bit disgruntled when there isn’t a booth available at Applebee’s and we have to sit at one of those inane tables in the middle of the room, where the hell-raising beastly children can run past and whack my elbows because their parents are too busy on Facebook to remember that they still have offspring to raise properly.

9. Heat complicates things.

It’s 108 degrees, people. In the shade. No one should be doing anything right now. End of story. Why can’t we have a tax-free weekend when it’s cooler, like in November? Make those kids wear last year’s clothes for three months, maybe then they’ll be a little more appreciative of finally getting something new, and not expect Mommy to shell out for high-end couture just so they can look cute in Algebra I.

10. Exxon Mobile and General Electric don’t have to pay taxes on squat. Ever.

And we only get one weekend? Just sayin.

10 Things You Should Know About Texas Barbecue

1. The intense and possibly gun-drawing pride.

As with most things, Texans are almost militantly proud of their barbecue. In the mind of a Texan, barbecue prepared anywhere else in the country or the world can’t even begin to compete. In fact, if you are visiting the state, and you stupidly happen to mention a fondness for barbecue from a foreign land like Kansas City, Atlanta or one of those trashy Carolina settlements, it is perfectly legal for you to be killed on the spot. The Texas Rangers will even hold you in place until the offended Texan can locate one of his many firearms and then terminate your daring rudeness.

2. Mooing, not oinking.

For a barbecue event of any kind to receive official Texas approval, a cow has to die. Beef is essential, and there are to be no refutations to this edict. Yes, you’re allowed to fiddle around with sausages and pulled pork, maybe even some chicken or turkey, all that lesser mess, as long as doing so doesn’t distract from the main attraction. Beef is king. This phrase can be found chiseled on many a gravestone in the Lone Star State.

After these two indisputable facts have been understood by all and the unbelievers have been dealt with, we then enter the section of Barbecue Law classified as “still Texan but some disagreement is allowed concerning the finer details”. You should be aware of all arguments in order to survive any social occasion…

3. Degree of moisture.

There are those who prefer that their barbecued meat contain so much juice that simply poking it with a fork can result in the total drenching of everyone in a five-table radius. Meat was meant to be succulent, brook no compromise. On the flip side, we have the Rawhide Rowdies who insist on a degree of juice-negating crispness that will leave you thirsty for the rest of your life. There is no middle ground, it’s either saturation or Sahara.

4. Appropriate time for sauciness.

Three camps here: Those who slavishly slather their meat with barbecue sauce from the time it is butchered through the entire cooking process and up to the moment just before a morsel enters your mouth. Next up are the folks who cook dryly but then offer up vats of simmering nectar for dunking and drowning at the table. Finally, we have the aficionados who affirm that meat and sauce should never meet or the world will end.

5. Slice-and-dice or the whole shebang.

This pertains to the sausages, and discussion only comes into play once you have satisfied the beef-must-be-the-main-feature regulation and the Texas Rangers have left the building. The actual cooking of sausages and links, of course, involves doing so with the tubes relatively intact. (Otherwise, you would have a mess that no one is happy about.) But for serving purposes, debate once again ensues.

One clan prefers that sausage be placed on their plate in the formative state, leaving it up to the consumer to either whip out an always-handy knife and proceed with the carving-fest, or gnaw at the entire tube, taking bites as needed. (Understandably, this method is very popular in Red Light districts.) The other clan clamors for the sausage to be pre-hacked, resulting in an array of meaty coinage that can then be drenched in sauce and speared with a fork or a finger or a grenade clip. Leftovers can be used as spares in a checkers game should someone drunkenly lose one of the original playing pieces. (These things happen.)

6. The productivity of ribs.

This factor is dependent on your degree of willingness to invest extensive physicality into your meal. Some folks will stop at nothing to get at the tender meat, spending hours gnawing at a bone to find the treasure. Others have busier schedules, and will often pass up this labor-intensive barbecue selection that can require you to rearrange your entire schedule to allow enough time for consumption.

7. Mustard or mayo when it comes to spuds.

You must have potato salad in some form, that much is non-negotiable. But the method of preparation is firmly divided into two camps. We have the creaminess converts, who insist that mayonnaise is an essential, preferably primary, ingredient for the potato salad to be deemed worthy. On the other side of the campground are the tangy touters, convinced that a salad is simply not edible unless things are spicy and yellow. Both parties agree, however, that the mixing of the two condiments is akin to devil’s work, and should never be attempted.

8. The coleslaw conundrum.

Once again, two distinct masses of followers. We have the folks who must have coleslaw with their barbecue, whether you make it with mayo, mustard or bacon grease. You cannot shirk this necessity, and the shame of not shredding cabbage when one should is cause for endless humiliation and life-long banishment. On the other page, we have the folks who will never eat anything that isn’t meat and/or potatoes, thus avoiding vegetables of any kind regardless of the preparation or presentation skills of the cook, the flow of alcohol, or local governmental rulings.

9. Bibs.

You never wear one. End of story. (Related note: Despite the lack of drippage protection, you must be willing to attack your meal with a gusto, using your bare hands whenever necessary, especially after you have knocked your cutlery to the floor in a power-play to grab the last remaining cut of brisket.)

10. Finger-sucking.

This you do. You do not let slip any juices, sauces or liquid fat that may misbehave and adhere to your digits. You go after these escapees with a vengeance, sucking at your fingers with enough intensity to peel the chrome off a trailer hitch. If such behavior embarrasses you in any way, then you really shouldn’t have come into the restaurant. Or the state of Texas.

10 More Creative Ways to Beat the Texas Heat

1. Never leave the house.

For me, this one’s a no-brainer, since I don’t like leaving my Fortress of Solitude anyway, unless forced at gunpoint or there’s a really good sale at Pier 1. If you close all the curtains, you won’t see the heat-stricken birds dropping out of the sky, and if you keep the TV or stereo on, you won’t hear all the plants on the patio committing hari-kari because they are tired of drooping all the time and waiting for you to remember to water them.

2. Take it out on your significant other.

Of course, it’s not your partner’s fault that the sidewalks are melting. But you know that at some point during the day they are going to say something that sets you off, and since you’re already mad about your underwear being vacu-sealed to your crack, the resulting argument is going to be more explosive than normal. Be proactive. Attack first, getting out all the really good zingers before your partner has enough time to react and adequately counterpoint.

As a bonus side effect, your now-disgruntled partner may stomp out of the room. This is a good thing, at least for now. The fewer body-heat-churning humans in a given space, the better. You probably won’t get any slap-and-tickle for a few days, but it’s really too hot for that anyway, right? You can bang a gong in the Fall.

3. Watch “Titanic”.

Fast-forward past the boo-boo with the berg and the rude rich people that took all the good orchestra seats in the lifeboats. See all those folks floating in the water, clinging to things like toilet seats and croquet mallets? Those folks are really cold. As in dying because of it. Don’t you feel a little better now? Wouldn’t you rather be over-exerting your antiperspirant than bobbing about while your eyeballs freeze, and that annoying band keeps playing even though you know damn well they aren’t going to get paid overtime? Thought so.

4. Take advantage of your neighbor’s penchant for the latest gadgets.

You know the neighbor I’m talking about. The one who is outside right now, watering his lawn with that extra-fancy sprinkler thingy that squirts powerful water in 47 different directions. March over to his yard, snatch up the sprinkler contraption, and shove it down your pants. I assure you it will be quite refreshing and fun, assuming the jets hit all the good places and not the delicate spots.

If your neighbor expresses some form of dismay over your actions, don’t worry about it. A good friend supports you no matter what, and if he can’t find the decency to do that, then he can just move. But you should fight for custody of the sprinkler, which he probably won’t even want after you’re done.

5. Live in the freezer.

This is much easier, naturally, if you have one of those big-ass lean-over-and-reach-in coffin-shaped extravaganzas. But it can still be accomplished by climbing into the top section of your refrigerator. A little cramped, maybe, but eventually soothing. In either case, though, be prepared for irritating friends and relatives ripping open the door, looking for a rump roast, right as you are trying to take a shower or watch a Seinfeld rerun. People are always barging in without knocking, the bastards.

6. Attend a Tea Party planning session.

That’s gotta be one of the coldest rooms in the country, right? Bet they don’t even have to turn the AC on.

7. Work in a meat-packing warehouse.

Watch out for those hooks on the conveyor thing, though. That’s one E-ticket ride that’s not worth standing in line for. And if you’re a vegetarian, to maintain your integrity, you’ll have to work in the refrigeration section of a tofu processing plant. The sight of all that colorless jiggling may put you off after a while, but at least you’re not sweating.

8. Finally go off the deep end.

You’ve been halfway to Crazyville for a while now. Why not check off those last few miles and check in to a sanitarium? If you lose your mind, then you aren’t going to be aware of it being overheated or not. Yes, there will be some minor irritations, like restricted travel and a steady diet of pudding, and you can no longer play with sharp things or sign documents. But there’s a very big plus: You can finally say exactly what you want to say to people without consequence or the changing of legal wills.

I’d be fond of this option even if I didn’t live in Texas.

9. Drink excessively.

As in alcohol, not hydrating sports drinks or celebrity-endorsed vitamin water that is really from somebody’s garden hose in Chicken Scratch, Nebraska. Fire water is what does the trick. Comfortably numb. You won’t care that your body hasn’t been fully dry since April. Or about anything, really. Yay!

10. Leave the state.

Although this sounds similar to #8, we’re talking about an actual physical adjustment here, not a mental one. Throw all your important crap in the car, flip off your bad-egg neighbor and his toys, and drive to a state where people can identify white stuff falling from the sky and you will have an actual reason to wear the parka that has not been out of your closet since 1987.

Don’t bother to pack the less-important stuff. Hire someone for that. Let other people suffer in the triple-digit heat and claw at their faces because it hasn’t rained in three years. You’re going to a happy place. Breathe. Relax. Exfoliate.

And if you’ve been tippling the fire water, make sure you head in the right direction…