Hoodometry

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.

Tex-Mex

“Ah-pe-yee-do?” I read, dragging the word out in a way that would make any Spanish teacher cringe.

“Doesn’t that mean last name?” I asked the CVS cashier who had just handed me a reward card application. . .in Spanish, and pointed out the areas I needed to fill in.

I was embarrassed. Not only had my three years of high school Spanish failed me, but I was being reminded of its loss in a public. Can’t I get a frigging form in English?

When the Campaign Ends (And Work Begins)

It’s finally here. After weeks of promises, debates and yard sign battles, today the politicians seeking election or re-election in the city of Dallas can finally put a sock in it.

And actually get to work.

The Lone Response

Annoying city and state representatives is not my idea of fun.

So when I write a letter to Austin, you know the legislative landscape must be on the cusp of diaster.

Here’s a quick recap: Texas has a $27 billion dollar deficit. Legislators are looking for ways to cut spending. Education and social services, including all public libraries, are lying on the cutting blocks.

I emailed the letter linked here to five people, the state governor, the infamous Rick Perry, his lieutenant governor, David Dewhurst, House Speaker Joe Straus,  State Representative Barbara Caraway and Senator Royce West.

As Seen on TV

The same jitters that jolted me awake in the dewy dawn of day in elementary school had revisited me once more. Except this time, I’m 23 and the rattling nerves mark my first REAL day of work, instead of my first day of school.