I once dragged massive muscleman Matt to Bass Hall for a swanky Sunday matinee concert with Pink Martini.
Matt’s ginger mohawk turned heads all over Fort Worth.
After a few slinky foxtrots, Martini bandleader Thomas Lauderdale broke for intermission. So Matt and I took in a moment of afternoon sunshine.
And there on the sidewalk stood a tuxedoed — and pink mohawked — Lauderdale inhaling a cigarette.
In true Portlandia style, Lauderdale also had a vintage Polaroid slung around his bow-tied neck.
Our conversation quickly drifted to the symphony’s distractingly handsome cellist, who was also enjoying a smoke break just a few feet away.
Lauderdale's swagger is oh-so-subtle.
The bandleader slightly nodded. And the cellist — a North Texan hired for the afternoon gig — strolled over to say, “Howdy.”
I hammed it up for Lauderdale, who captured Yours Truly, shamelessly photobombing while sandwiched between two bearded hunks.
Lauderdale is a class act.
He handed me the Polaroid. All while smiling at Matt...
I photographed Matt, too.
Matt was transitioning from computer design to med school. From hardcore evangelical to furry “bear-lebrity.” From single stud to relationship.
Many Oak Cliff homeowners transform their properties into microchurches.
In my neighborhood, a front lawn once glowed with a red-neon crucifix .
I pulled the car over, and Matt jumped into action.