“Whatever you are, be a good one,” I reminded myself as ladies clad in thongs alone strutted, bounced and swiveled beneath the flashing lights. I tried not to judge. In another life, that could me scampering up the pole.
The reporter in me wanted to know these anonymous beauties’ backstories: what were their childhood dreams? What their family and friends think about their places of employment? Who are they outside of the strip club, when they are off-duty and clothed? (more…)
“Hey you, what are you looking at,” the mannequin barked in a thick French accent.
I simply shrugged off his words. By then, I had grown accustomed to the roaming eyes and random utterings of the 30 life-size dolls donning Jean Paul Gaultier’s duds.
It was “Night at the Museum” mannequin-style.
The much awaited exhibit in the Dallas Museum of Art projects pouts, snarls and smiles on the blank mannequins’ faces. Speaker systems rigged with a revolving list of phrases and questions give voices to the stiff creatures. One would expect nothing less from the eccentric designer’s namesake exhibition. (more…)
I w
oke up this morning at 5, surprised to find myself curled up on the couch in the living room. Yesterday’s 10 -5 shift at the mall and an evening gig covering a local arts event had taken its toll. Around 10 p.m., I entered the warm house, ate and collapsed to the tune of “Stepping to the Bad Side” from DreamGirls lulling in the background. (more…)
The scent of Rudy’s signature chicken wafted throughout the rattling city bus.
“Mmmmmmmm,” I moaned while hungrily sniffing the air.
The culprit was a young girl with burgundy hair hunched over the front seat, guardedly nibbling away.
Gotta love it.
In Dallas, many jokingly dub it Rudy’s “crack chicken,” because on any given day at any given time, rain or shine, passersby will find a faithful line of customers weaving down the meager restaurant’s stairs and a constant stream of cars in a drive-thru queue that almost always spills out into the bustling street. (more…)
Menacing eyes, evil grins and whispers of world domination readily identify villains in the world of Hollywood. But in reality, spotting a ne’er-do-well is a much murkier task; the dividing line between heroes and villains, saviors and victims often weaves, twists, and turns, blurring the distance between the two. Those heralded as heroes sometimes engage in questionable acts to meet their goals. In such instances, good intentions justify the unsavory behaviors. But do good intentions conquer all? (more…)
“What’s the meaning of your dreads,” a man asked in an accent I couldn’t place.
It’s a question I get all the time. But whenever the asker bears a foreign accent, it’s almost always a trick question. One that regardless of the reply, seems to be deemed faulty or frivolous.
Not that I don’t have my reasons. It is the manifestation of my Black pride, my finger in the face of everyone who denounces nappy hair something that must be flattened and otherwise altered to be acceptable. But most importantly, it is the ultimate commitment of the noncommittal woman. (more…)
