I've made it a point to outline my opinions as to the differences between Oklahoma and Texas in the 13 months I've been back in the Sooner State. For example, Oklahomans are much friendlier than the residents of any other state I've ever been to.

Salt of the Earth people. They'll offer you their last beer, help you pull your car from a ditch, and when they ram their pickup into you in the middle of a busy intersection, they won't drive off.*

* = as opposed to Dallas, where my buddy T and I once saw a pickup demolish a car at the intersection of Central Expressway and Lemmon Avenue in Dallas and then drive off like nothing ever happened.

Still, Oklahoma ain't perfect.

The roads stink. Hey, give us credit. Half of OKC is under construction, it seems. However, the highway roads in most parts of the state are third-worldish.

The barbecue is subpar. Way subpar. Of course, I lived in Texas, where barbecue is an art form, even at the chain restaurants such as Dickey's and Spring Creek.

That's not to mention the best barbecue joint ever IMHO, Mikeska's.

Finally, our electric service in this state is akin to playing the child's board game, "Operation." One wrong move, and everything is screwed.

So it was on Saturday night, the evening of my 36th birthday. Mom, C and I were at the house, getting ready to delve into another wonderful episode of "Grey's Anatomy," Season 1, when the lights went out.

And stayed out.

And stayed out until the heat and humidity from the outdoors welcomed themselves inside like Kato Kaelin did with O.J., as his guest, before the former football legend went all crazy with his Ginsu knife set.

Alas, while all the other redneck neighbors in Henryetta turned on generators and gathered outside for free-reign, beer-soaked piss breaks, we thought the only sensible thing to do was get in a beautifully air-conditioned car.

Strike one for the environment, baby.

Not much of a further point to this story, really. We were hot and wanted air, so we drove to Okmulgee, which at the time had its electricity, and browsed neighborhoods, both good and bad. Believe me, Okmulgee has a few really bad neighborhoods.

We went there, and I did my best to keep Mom and her bottle of bourbon from showing themselves off outside the front-seat passenger's window. Let's just say she heeded instruction well, meaning that my threat to tell the authorities about her cross-continental monkey importation incident of the late 1970s had a significant impact on her decision-making.*

* = I am totally just kidding.

It was I who brought in 370 Kenyan chimps into northern California. The rest was history.

Again, I am not sure why I type in the very first thing that enters my brain. Perhaps, I should refrain from doing so, submitting to my better senses in the hopes that I can provide this space with some much-needed structure and coherency.*

* = Probably will never happen.