Say what you will about the politics of the place, sometimes only Texas does it right: delicious (ridiculously cheap) Vietnamese food. . . nude swimming in September. . . and line dancing.
And that was just my first day back home in Houston.
It's hard to beat the highlight: a recently opened gay dancehall named Neon Boots (though skinny dipping comes in close second). Situated next door to an elaborate go-kart course, Patsy Cline and Willie Nelson once performed in the same building. While the venue may have changed "orientations", the new owners keep the belt buckle bling bouncing off the ceiling. Faithful to its Country and Western roots, with just a few more "willies" on the wagon wheel perhaps (and a good balance of lesbians too), Neon Boots brings it home. . . down home. . . on the range.
In addition to a heaping handful of men in ten gallon hats, Neon Boots promises a wide assortment of cowboy decor to please the eye. Among my favorites: the state of Texas, upside down, painted in red, and spanning the entire width of the ceiling, and this pair of iridescent pink chaps hung on the wall with an autumn leaf accent:
"The original cocktail of freedom"
The best butt in Tex-ASS-- at least one ridiculously robust example, shit-kicker jeans to compliment. My shoddy attempt at a secret snapshot hardly does it justice.
If the whole experience wasn't surreal (and beautiful) enough, I found this image burning its way deep beyond my corneas from across from the bar: a news story on women weight lifting while pregnant.
Packed-out dance floor.