Dallas, Texas, on a Tuesday Night

Last Tuesday evening I was bored and hungry.

I convinced a friend to accompany me to the West Village, where I could satisfy my urge for brisket tacos from Taco Diner (the urge for these particular tacos was the only factor in my decision to trek to West Village; my choice had nothing to do with the possibility of what we might see at West Village, namely-- tall, surgically-enhanced women in short skirts). Honestly, I was just plain hungry....

We enjoyed a relatively uneventful dinner on the patio (the outdoor tables at Taco Diner are actually on the curb, but the tacos are so tasty that the bumper of a BMW 725 stopping a mere two inches from the back of your head is considered nothing more than a mild nuisance).

It was barely 9pm when we finished our meal, and neither of us was in the mood to be in bed at 9:30, so we decided to walk down the street to a watering hole called The Quarter.

I was quite surprised at the number of people enjoying themselves on the McKinney Avenue patios. Not much amazes me anymore, but I was mildly amazed by the (literally) hundreds of people out cavorting on a Tuesday night. Does anybody here have a day job?? Do they have that much disposable income?? The scene was almost identical to a Friday-at-6pm-Happy Hour. And since Friday happy hour is one of the best times to study the jungle known as Dallas Nightlife, I justified my impending late-night carousing and chicanery by convincing myself that I was conducting 'just another sociology experiment.'

With such a fertile people-studying opportunity literally thrown at their feet, how could any self-respecting --though unaccredited-- sociologist pass up such a lucrative chance to advance their studies?!

This night was a gold mine for crowd watching.

I had not planned on making this Tuesday night a 'night on the town.' I had only desired to fill my stomach with something besides the usual tuna and crackers. It was Tuesday night, for crying out loud! I had been at work all day! I had to be at work all of the following day! But if you can't beat 'em (and judging from the sheer number of people at this particular bar, I couldn't possibly have beaten them), join 'em. So I claimed my seat in the corner-- in prime position to observe all of the shenanigans-- ordered a few cocktails, and began the study.

To explore the nightlife in the Uptown area of Dallas is to be bombarded with a litany of questions and contradictions: Is this person really who they say they are??? Is this person masking horrible insecurities by wearing Prada and spending hundreds of dollars on booze on a weeknight??? Are those real???

For example: He's driving a Mercedes convertible, he's liberal with his bar tab, and he's rather adept at manually inspecting the waitress's backside (not to mention, any other woman within arm's reach). These traits all say, "Free-spending millionaire bachelor." But look closely-- the tapered-leg pleated Dockers, hanging-over-the-belt gut, and miserable $31,000 H.R. job all reveal the "divorced for the past 18 years, stuck in 1987-fashion sense, just looking for someone to do my laundry" middle-aged, desperate man.

Or: The bulging biceps, designer jeans, and self-assured way of approaching groups of unsuspecting women at the bar all say, "Young, confident, gets-what-he-wants, fashionable urban man." However, closer inspection reveals the truth: the 2-sizes-too-small Urban Outfitters Tshirt, half-pound of hair product, Kenny Chesney shell necklace, and homies in the corner playing Golden Tee all scream, "23-year-old ex-SMU frat boy still living off of Dad's money and waiting until 'next semester' to go to Law School."

If only these frauds would take a cue from me, and live an honest, genuine life! I'm a true role model; what you see is what you get.

For example: the perennially-empty passenger seat of my Honda and the maxed-out credit card reserving my bar tab both say, "broke and lonely public-school teacher; date at your own risk!!" And astoundingly, the brain filled with nothing more than useless 1980s sports trivia and my shameless wearing of the exact same haircut I wore in high school scream, "broke and lonely public-school teacher; stay back 12 feet!!"

Close enough...