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Six-Thirty and I'm exhaling a deep cough in an unexpected nap that overcame me after getting home from work, sometimes it's hard to find the right words to describe the sudden precipitous feeeling that a nap may come on and next thing I'm deep in. The TV continued its lecture at nobody and through that sometimes I caught snippets of things maybe imagined and maybe overheard. The yellow announcer yelled over the mic in a shrill intonation about barbecue and great americans and how in this show you may not think that the man barbecuin' might be that much of an amazing american. But then they found out his home in New Braunfels Texas was created from an an old nuclear cooling water storage tower. The brown steel and grey concrete structure rose steeply from the texan waste and seemed a marvel of technology frozen on the diode screen with the wacky texan with his white BBQ hat and his wife and his saucemop waving frantically in his hand behind his blonde wife in her red tight jeans and cliche white knotted buttondown shirt. Apparently there was a competition between this man and another for amazin' American(!) and the crew followed with their cameras, cords, elctrical boxes with flashing red and green lights into the concrete edifice and followed slowly up its spiral of walkways for possibly an hour to the top where an "executive" suite was for the man and his wife and their perfect children and even a dog, not the sort of lap dogs that don't offen me, but a great border collie or great dane or great beagle or some such other great dog. Still when I woke up, I thought it had happened and instinctively opened the computer and began to search for New Braunfels barbecue man in the search engine.