Tag Archives: dallas

Return of the DART Queen

18 Nov

DFWDARTFor the first time in a year, I rode the train last night. Clad in a short sweater dress, knee high boots and thigh high fishnet stockings, I should have known better. As soon as I crossed the platform to nab a ticket, a man approached. Hs words I don’t recall: I just remember the sense of my personal space being invaded. I summoned my toughest sass and asked him to back up. He complied and began to ramble about how he wanted to know my name so he could tattoo it on his neck. Continue reading

Those Who Can

11 Aug

My family grows teachers.  My dad’s a teacher. My mom’s a teacher. Aunts and cousins, too. But I’ve always wrinkled my nose at the profession. Probably a result of an ill-seeded “those who can, do; those can’t, teach” planted by some haphazard farmer years ago.

So instead of following my parents into the world of lesson plans and chalkboards, I decided to major in business management. All the world’s a business, my 17-year-old self reasoned.  I figured if I understood the basic principles, I could simply apply them to my actual interests and skills.  Ironically, my journey away from the family business has led me through the back doors of countless classrooms. One in particular still sticks with me.  Continue reading

7089

21 Jan

The layer of litter iced Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard; Remnants of the morning’s South Dallas festivities. It seems like every metropolitan city in America has a street with the civil rights leader’s namesake. Usually it’s housed in the roughest side of town smack dab in the middle of raging poverty and unemployment.  The irony. I thought about this when I stumbled across King’s old black and white mugshot. The defiance in his eyes offered a hint of challenge to the King I was introduced to many Februarys ago in elementary school, one armed only with a dream and a Bible and a big voice.

Celebrating another year of living his dream.

 

What Would You Do?

18 Sep

https://i0.wp.com/thirty86.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/aids_cant_Cured.jpg I just re-read the tragic tale of Cicely Bolden, the 28-year-old Dallas mother stabbed to death by a lover after revealing she was HIV-positive. Her 7-year-old and 8-year-old children found her murdered when they came home from school. The story and the outpour of comments defending Bolden’s murderer have made me remember a movie screening I attended a year ago. The film begged the same question: what would you do if the person you loved or at the least made love with was HIV-positive. Continue reading

Bitten

28 Aug

The slivered moon grinned as we crossed the vacant parking lot. The wind tugged softly as I paused to digest the city’s skyline, a swirling silhouette of green, amber and blue.

“Come on,” he beckoned.

Breaking the city’s trance, I followed him into across the street and scaled a cement staircase, where a chorus of trees swayed softly in the night’s breeze. Fountains were all around. Fountain Park it was called. As glimmers of light danced in the streaming water, he grabbed my hand and led me over to an empty bench.

It was absolutely beautiful. And an absolute nightmare. Continue reading

Art That Talks Back

10 Dec

“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. Continue reading

Tex-Mex

21 Sep

“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?

Continue reading