Home > Wendy Does Waco
Eating local, literally
People who don’t know both places well might think that southern cooking in Texas is the same as southern cooking in the southeast, but they would be very, very wrong.
Grits are much harder to come by in Texas, as are fried green tomatoes and okra that still has some bite to it and has only been kissed by cornmeal and the fryer, not smothered by it.
So each time I go back to the Carolinas, it’s like a culinary homecoming as well. My best friend Amy was raised on her mom’s “macaroni pie” so she’s always happy to be my accomplice as we scope out the best places to get some southern cuisine.
Often, indulging in southern food means throwing any concern of health out the window. During my trip east last month though, I found it’s possible to do southern food with both a health and social conscience, as well.
In Asheville, we ate it Tupelo Honey Cafe, where I had goat cheese grits topped with sauteed greens, pinto beans, fried okra and fresh salsa. The cool twist to this decidedly classic southern faire? They use organic goods whenever they can. They support local farmers, use only free range chicken and eggs. The executive chef has even established a farm to provide the freshest ingredients to the table. And the food … was amazing.
I know what you’re thinking, in hippy, dippy, touchy, feely, tree-hugging Asheville, of course you’ll find restaurants like that. I thought the same thing, which is why I was pleasantly surprised to find a handful of restaurants in Greenville, SC (more business-like and conventional) boasting of the same pure, local, fresh approach.
I say, if Greenville and Asheville can pull it off, so can we. I’d say Homestead Heritage is leading this charge, and doing a great job with it. With the nearby resources of World Hunger Farm and now the city garden, I hope another restaurant will attempt the same endeavor.
I’d love to see a restaurant like this as a new addition to downtown. I know this (or heck, any restaurant) is no small venture. And I certainly don’t have the business acumen to pull it off. But I hope it’s an addition we will see as the area continues to grow.
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Taking care of business
It’s imperative that everyone go to the Dancing Bear Pub this weekend and raise a pint to the newest little bear, Paxton Ranger Dove. Congrats Paxton and Jackie, what a cutie!
In other news … The Dancing Bear Pub, at 12th and Speight, has got itself into a hairy situation this month, as it celebrates “Movember”, a moustache-growing charity event held this month to raise funds and awareness for men’s health.
They kicked the month off with shaves and the moustache growing has begun. Visit the pub, check out their mugs, donate to the cause (The Movember Foundation is a registered 501(c)(3) non-profit organization that runs the men’s health initiative, Movember.).
And for your amusement … me and Caitlin last year at a mustachioed friend’s birthday party at the Bear. Mine matched my hair too much … a little disturbing.
— The Gossip Bench on Austin Avenue is going out of business, so it’d be a good time to pick up Christmas presents for like 40 percent off. They’ve got a lot of that cowboy, iron, Texana kind of stuff.
— A sort of cowgirl chic store has gone in on Austin Avenue where It’s Personal used to be, I think the sign in the window said Rock Bottom is the name. Correct me if I’ve got that wrong.
— Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Se Cocina is now Sebas’ Cocina. I guess in reference to owner, Sebastian? I don’t get there much these days. I still LOVE the food and have always had great, attentive service, but the prices are crazy expensive. Two cheese enchiladas, rice and beans … $9.49! Grilled chicken or steak tacos with rice, charro beans, guac and pico garnish … $17.99! Umm, no.
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Your loss, downtown.
I’m crushed. Amidst everything that has been going wrong for months now, there has been one constant, small ray of light on my horizon. It was near certainty that I would qualify for one of the apartments at the Historic Lofts at Waco High.
No such luck.
We’ve been loosely saying that people with an income of between $20,000 and $30,000 are eligible and that is correct … sort of. Understand me: One person in an apartment CAN NOT make MORE than $21,168 a year. Your income limit may be as high as $32,000, IF 5 people live in your apartment.
Low paying as journalism is, I do make more than $21,000, so no nice new historic loft for me. I think the details of just how income restricted these apartments are has been lost on more people than me.
I said the words “low income housing” to the Chamber’s Chris McGowan, director of urban development, and he said, “affordable” was the word he would use. He said the financiers had led him to believe that it would be a place for eyoung professionals, just getting on their feet, new teachers, police officers.
No, I assured him, no teacher (starting salary of $39,000) or cop (starting at $40,000) will qualify to live there.
Essentially, with the addition of the Waco High units, downtown has become a land truly of the haves and have nots. The rest of us low-paid young professionals fall somewhere in the middle and are getting left out of the downtown adventure altogether.
Yes, this is personal for me. The one thing I was looking forward to has been eliminated and there aren’t a lot of other options out there. I don’t want a house or the financial complications or responsibility that come with it. I don’t want to overpay for a cookie-cutter apartment with crappy carpet toward the burbs. And I don’t want to be housepoor, sinking every cent of my salary into rent just to make my downtown dream a reality. But I do want to move past my little ghetto pad.
And then there’s the fact that almost nowhere else will have the character that the Waco High units have. I wish I had never seen them, with their glorious high ceilings, hardwood floors and historical flourishes. I’d’ve rocked one of those places in high style.
I’m sad and downtown Waco should be, too. I would have been an amazing addition to the burgeoning urban scene.
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Don’t be stupid. Buy books.
The 47th Annual Friends of the Waco-McLennan County Library book sale is Thursday and all of you should go. Because books are awesome, especially when they are this cheap.
Last year I got a book on Waco History that was written by a Baylor University professor and in it, she had written a little note to one of the Waco guys who is in the book, which I think makes it very cool. This author is still a Baylor prof, I should totally seek her out and try to get my own little personal inscription.
I think I bought maybe three books last year total, but the whole geeked-out experience was worth it, walking all the tables lined with books, touching the spines, reading the titles. And I should probably stop here before I make myself sound any stranger than I already have.
So there’s that …
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Gold and green and Waco all over
So, I don’t know if you heard, but on Tuesday, a Fort Worth couple welcomed their baby boy into the world and promptly branded him a Baylor University fan for life by naming him after injured quarterback Robert Griffin.
While Robert Griffin Hoskins may be wearing his Bear pride on his sleeve, or … um, his nametag, at least, for the rest of his life, the rest of us can make do with a nifty t-shirt. And I have to admit, there is some nifty gold and green love to be had out there now, for a price.
I recently stopped by the tent that has been set up on Saturdays by Vitek’s on Speight and saw some pretty sweet sic ‘em apparel. My fav was Bear Cotton’s grizzly bear head growling printed on an American Apparel Track T, $20. It doesn’t carry the BU brand anywhere which is also kind of nice. So it’s a Baylor shirt and it’s not, I mean, maybe you just like bears.
Another shirt sports a play on rock paper scissors with “rock paper sic’em” and hands giving a visual.
Congress Clothing on Speight also has some decent BU stuff, but I’ve got my eye on their Waco Tees. According to their web site, they still sell the oldie but goodie, “It’s all about the 254.” But I’m in love with the Waco wire shirt which sports grackles perched on electrical wires, spelling out WACO. Awesome. Now, if we can also get an ode to the crickets :)
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Pumpkin mush vs. people who make their own cheese. You decide.
Holy barbituates, could my last post have been more depressing? I think not.
I had to come back at ya with something more tongue and cheek. I mean, I may be depressed but I don’t need to be passing that on to my readers, lest yall go all emo and start wearing black skinny jeans and listening to (oh crap, quick, what’s an emo band name to insert here?).
Anyhow, it’s all gross and warm and moist today, but it’s fall nevertheless. And you know how I know its fall? Because everything is pumpkin flavored. Like, ridiculously so.
There are pumpkin coffees at Starbucks, which is probably fine, but I would rather my coffee smack me around than sweet-talk me. The pumpkin bread at Starbucks is a total thumbs up, though.
Then there’s the pumpkin blizzard at Dairy Queen, which is a risky choice. They mix soft serve with that mushy pumpkin stuff, so if it doesn’t mix thoroughly, you could end up with a mouthful of mushy pumpkin now and then (gag, blech).
I say skip the pumpkin flavoring and celebrate fall with a trip to Homestead Heritage. I know, I know, some of you say cult, but I say nice people who have a thing for braids, long skirts and hard work. And - most importantly - they make a wicked sweet potato jalapeno soup.
I took my mom and another new-to-Waco teacher out there recently and they totally geeked out. We walked around checking out everything from the spinning wheels to the fiery forges. By the end, my Mom was like, “where do I sign up?”. She loves long denim skirts and has always wanted to work a loom. I think she should go for it.
Me? How am I going to celebrate fall? I’m gonna skip town, yo. Next Wednesday, there’s a plane with my name on it headed for Greenville, SC. Four days of mountains and Asheville and leaves and ghost tours and boiled peanuts and best friends. I may not come back. Can you blame me?
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Homeless in Waco
I never thought about the homeless much before I moved to Waco. I lived in the suburbs growing up. Homeless people to me were an “other,” an intangible.
Over the last 2 years and 11 months of working in downtown Waco, my naive, sheltered view has changed.
I read today that Leslie, Austin’s famous thong clad street person, was taken to the hospital in critical condition after being found unconscious.Leslie has gained attention in Austin, a self-proclaimed “weird” town, for his eccentricity. I hope he is alright, I know much of Austin has become attached to him.
But what happened to him got me thinking about Waco’s own homeless, some of whom I have become accustomed to seeing and worry went I haven’t seen them around in a while.
For many of us, we don’t chat with these people, or pass their cart in the grocery store, or eat at the same lunch venues, but they become a part of our Waco experience, nonetheless.
There’s one man, James, I think, who I always wonder about when the weather goes to extremes. He’s a walker. He walks everywhere. In the heat of the summer, I see him and wish he had somewhere air conditioned to go and take a load off. In the winter, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see him in a coat and hat.
One of the most amazingly compassionate people I have met in Waco is homelessness coordinator Teri Holtkamp. What she has taught me about homelessness has been eye-opening.
Homelessness is so much more real to me now. Maybe I even know someone who I fear one day will be one of the mentally ill homeless.
I should thank Waco for making me more compassionate to this problem. But part of me misses the naivete, misses my own little world where homelessness was a commercial on TV, not so real, so everyday and so heartbreaking.
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It was a dark and stormy night …
The weather and ghost TV shows and those cool fairytale pumpkins at HEB and my upcoming trip to the Carolinas all have me in a fall mood. But just in case you aren’t there yet, I’ve got a little tale for you …
It was a dark and stormy night …
Actually it was a dark and stormy morning the day that my friend and ghosthunter April Slaughter strolled around a famous Waco cemetery. (I’ve just always wanted to write that first sentence, an ode to the Peanuts comic strip.)
Let me back up for a minute first and tell you that April, who lives in Dallas, has mad ghosthunting chops. She and hubbie Allen are the founders and executive directors of The Paranormal Source, Inc. a nonprofit research and education corporation based in Dallas.
Before beginning her ghostly venture in the Lone Star state, however, April made a name for herself as a staff journalist for TAPS Paramagazine, which, yes, is part of the same organization that does the show Ghosthunters on the Scifi channel. (In the spirit of full disclosure I should go ahead and admit that I am a huge dork about paranormal stuff and a loyal fan of Ghosthunters.)
On top of that, April is now making a career out of paranormal investigation and seems to be a just a pretty sweet person.
She happened across the video I made at Waco’s Oakwood Cemetery last year and decided she wanted to visit. Not so much for paranormal reasons, but because she loves cemeteries.
The consummate paranormal professional though, she dutifully took her digital recorder along as she wandered the cement forest of angels and crypts and statues.
“I didn’t expect to get anything,” she said. But she did, a man’s voice, giving her a suggestion while she was over by Richard Coke’s grave.
And here is where I totally leave you hanging and tell you that if you want the details, you should pick up her book, Ghosthunting Texas. In it, she profiles 30 locations across the state that she visited which have ghostly lore.
April will be on a book tour this month, stopping in Austin, and the Dallas area.
April and I are of like minds about Oakwood.
“It’s a pretty neat cemetery, it’s actually one of my favorite,” April said. “Even if the place isn’t haunted, it’s worthy of going to see because of its history.”
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Walk like an Irish person (to the tune of Walk Like an Egyptian)
I can’t believe how cool it is, this early in the season. Of course, I know my saying that has just doomed us to a quick return of three digit degree days.
The rain, which is kind of nice, is keeping me inside for now. But I NEED to get out and get walking! This time last year, I was a walking fool. I remember, I walked to the cultural arts fest from my apartment. Not too shabby.
One of the things I noticed when I was in Ireland this summer was people walking everywhere. People in business clothes, moms with strollers, lots of useable sidewalks. It was inspiring. Of course the weather there is perfect for walking, so that’s one thing the Emerald Isle has over Waco.
On the day we got lost in Dublin, for like three hours, we at one point ended up in a suburb that, within walking distance, had a small grocery store, a doctor’s office, a pizza place and a couple of other businesses. It was a small shopping center, not super box stores and it was placed so perfectly, as if it was there to serve the surrounding townhouses and condos, which I’m assuming it was.
I love that idea, being able to put that much purposeful walking into your life. It always seems less like exercise if you’re walking to get somewhere. I’ll be a little closer to that if I can get an apartment in old Waco High. Those lofts will be finished in December and I’ve got my fingers crossed that I’ll qualify for one. Then, I’ll be able to walk to work, at least. That’s something. If we could get the small store downtown that developers have enticed us with, it would be even better.
Caitlin has asked me to walk the bear trail, but the thought of being passed by nubile young co-eds getting their daily run in makes me want to cry into my orthopedic walking shoes (not that I have those or anything).
Regardless of where or how, I must begin busting a move. So hang in there, weather!
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Instant caffeine ‘VIA’ Starbucks
I want to thank the Starbucks in Hewitt for being the one bright spot in my soul sucking excuse for a day Tuesday.
I ran in just to get an iced black tea the size of my head, but ended up bringing Starbucks new instant coffee back to the office for co-workers to sample.
Yes, I said instant coffee. Before you hurl jars of Sanka and Nescafe at my head, hear me out.
One of my favorite things about my trip to Ireland — besides the scones and fresh cream and clean air and great accents — was the instant coffee that the hotels placed in the room along with a hot pot. The brand was Bewleys and Mom and I were amazed to find that it tasted like regular coffee. I kept popping into little grocery stores hoping to walk out with a box of the instant packets. I never found them though, so I had to hoard the hotel’s. Ya know, like when you really like the shampoo, so you hide it in your suitcase so they’ll give you more every day?
So now Starbucks has come out with VIA, which comes in Italian Roast or Colombian and, I’m sorry, but just is NOT horrible.
Thank you to the adorable barrista who let me try it in the store and then gave me a few sample cups to pour my friends a taste when I got back to the office.
The New York Daily Hews wrote about a bunch of New Yorkers trying and hating it, but really, what do New Yorkers ever like except … New York? No, it’s not the perfect cup of Americano that I fell in love with at a precious store called Avoca in Dublin, but it’ll do in a pinch.
Try it yourself. Starbucks is doing taste tests on Friday. If you end up in Hewitt, tell them I sent you. (Not that they have any idea who I am, but whatever)
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More Random
— Raise your hand if you’re as shocked as I am to hear that the Luby’s in Waco has closed.
The day I heard, I was inconsolable. A fellow reporter did not understand my grief, but how could she, not being from Texas. I used to go with my grandparents, they knew the owner of the Luby’s in Wichita Falls. Grandad ALWAYS got liver and onions because my Nanny wouldn’t make that at home — she said it smelled too bad.
Aside from loving their cabbage and baked fish w/ almonds, I didn’t have a particular attachment to the Waco Luby’s. But I’m saddened when any Luby’s goes under, and I’m saddened to have to go to Bellmead for comfort food now. Anyone else in mourning, or am I the lone freak in town?
— On another note, several people over the last month have asked me about the black gentleman who wears robes, carries a staff and prays on his knees at various locations around town. Sometimes he prays in front of the Trib. I like to imagine he’s praying for us. I figure we need it.
I don’t know who he is. If anyone knows, please enlighten us.
— Yet another note, I’m totally bored and uninspired these days and, dare I say it, simply unhappy, which I would like to point out is not really the same thing as depressed. I don’t require meds, I require a change. A change in what, has yet to be determined.
I’m trying to make some new connections in town, something which Twitter has been good for.
Anyway, so there’s that. Just wanted you to know I wasn’t going to give you some lame excuse for not blogging, like, “My dog ate my internet connection.” Nope. I just suck lately. Bear with me.
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A graduate degree won’t save my brains.
I’m proud to say that I’ve almost completely rid myself of my previous desire to finish my master’s degree in English. And I feel like I have my experience in Waco to thank for it. Well, that … and zombies.
My mom and dad both have advanced degrees and, boy-howdy, I do love me some English. But, let’s be logical. I only really want to continue my adventure in academia because I love literature classes. I’m pretty sure I could feed that nerdy need by sitting in on a class or two.
Plus, as if I wasn’t useless enough in my career as a newspaper journalist, I want to make myself even more disposable? I liken myself to being a polar bear hairstylist who goes back to school for a doctorate in dead languages.
The final straw, the proverbial writing on the wall for me about whether to finish my English degree, came when I read World War Z, Max Brooks’ genius tale of the zombie apocalypse.
In his book, Brooks addresses the fact that professionals with all these high dollar intellectual jobs were rendered useless during the apocalypse and they basically had to learn new skills that were more useful. That’s when I realized how ill-prepared I am to battle legions of the undead. And I believe that ill-preparedness would grow exponentially were I to finish my degree.
So, instead, I’m eager to be more useful. I’m thinking about looking into classes at McLennan Community College, classes on woodworking, survival, the slaying of Satan’s minions. These things seem worthwhile, not to mention I’d be working with my hands and getting exercise!
Sure, my friends at Baylor, with their many, many years of classes, spar in pub conversation about lofty topics, while Caitlin and I talk about peanut butter. But whose cell-y will be blowing up when my friends are beset upon by brain-eaters. That’s right, I’ll be the belle of the ball then.
So, artisans, teachers and the usefully skilled among me — who wants to teach me to hunt? to garden? to fashion my own spears and lop off heads? I’m ready to learn.
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You say classroom, I say dilapidated den of grossness. Tomato, tom(ah)to
I went to check out my mom’s room at Tennyson Middle School yesterday and, I don’t know how to put this … IT IS HEINOUS.
I know Mom had been talking about how she needed to buy some contact paper and do some cleaning, but she failed to mention that Napalm would also be required to make any improvement.
The room has that old three quarter tile (which is kind of retro cute) but in some places it’s falling off in huge chunks, leaving plaster dust all over. Mom said she was told they waxed the floors, but there is NO way that floor has seen wax. Or a mop. Also, hers is the room where all of the broken desks were stored, clearly. Not one desk matches, much less looks safe to sit in.
Mom is being upbeat about what she can do to fix it up, which is fine, because I have no problem opening my big mouth here and saying something about the conditions.
Yes, Waco school district passed a bond issue that will pay for a few new schools and improvements for others. Unfortunately, I don’t remember the fixing up of room 210 being on that list of projects. I’m not pointing a finger in regards to this room because, honestly, I wouldn’t know where to point it.
The new principal, who (bless her heart) just inherited all this this summer, said she’ll find money for desks for mom’s room. I’ll work with Mom this weekend to fix the place up. I have visions of posting cool quotes around the room and maybe even securing a Coraline “READ” poster.
All you teachers out there, my heart goes out to you as you get ready for another year by trying to turn a dead, rotting sow’s ear into a silk purse. If you have any suggestions for inexpensive, last minute sprucing up of a room, please pass it on. And have a great year!
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Time for the tide to turn
I need to issue a huge apology to anyone who knows me, knows of me or even just lives in my town. If you have had any bad luck recently, it’s possible that it’s entirely my fault.
I’ve observed recently that everything seems to be turning to poo. No less than three friends or family members have cancer. A few other people I know are having major marital woes. More can’t find jobs. And still others have jobs, but are freaked out about the direction and future of said job or career.
Bemoaning these woes to Caitlin the other day, she helpfully pointed out that the common denominator in all this bit of bad stretch is (drum roll please) ME. She jests, but for real, there is some very bad juju going around and it needs to stop.
To top it off, I found out last night that while I was in Ireland, my dad’s garage burned to the ground taking with it the motor home, a bunch of their stuff and every single keepsake or childhood memento I had — awards (for UIL mime, journalism, writing), poems, drawings, papers, my tooth fairy pillow, stuffed animals, my diploma, yearbooks, high school letter (track & field) and more. I was storing all that stuff there because my apartment is too small to keep it with me.
I would like to crawl under a rock and wait out this storm of crap, but I have this silly thing called “work” that I have to go to every day, that requires me to “get up” and “participate in life.” geesh.
A friend at work told me last week not to lose faith. That advice feels like it has come a little late.
I’ve decided, for now, to quit looking up and start looking around. Let’s work together to make good things happen. I have no idea what that means, but let’s do it, k?
You could start by telling me something good. Comment or email me and let me know something positive that is going on. I’ve got no Pollyanna left in me, so somebody cowboy up and step into that role for us, please.
Step 2 in this spirit lifting adventure is a bit more hands-on (and totally self-serving). Help me replenish my keepsakes. If you’re so inclined, grab some crayons and paper and draw me a picture, make me an award, email me a poem. I’ll start a new collection of keepsakes here at my desk.
To all those going through hell right now, just keep going and know that I am hoping for better things and brighter days for you :)
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Waco Tribune-Nightclub. Think about it.
We have new owners and they want to make money and I’m down with that. Because if they make money, maybe I can go to the dentist. So I figure the best place to start this new gravy train is with ideas, lots of them, preferably good ones. And I’ve got a doozie.
I noticed recently that a new nightclub, the Bump ‘N Grind, has opened a couple of blocks from my apartment. Once I got over what a great name that is, I was hit with a second wave of amusement, for the Bump ‘N Grind (Love. It.) shares building space with the publication, the Waco Citizen.
And the Trib just so happens to have a large space, formerly called the pressroom. That’s right, our press operations moved to Austin, leaving that area slightly less useful than it was (I’m guessing). Hire a DJ and charge a cover and I think we’ve got a lucrative side business on our hands.
Think of the possibilities, it could even be newspaper themed, the entry hand stamp an old letter from the days of type setting. Instead of Ladies nights, we could have Subscribers nights. And names? The Late Edition. Deadline. Off the Record.
I’m a genius, right?
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Ireland is perfect. But I’m a Mogwai.
I joke and I whine, but don’t let my snarklets and pithy perceptions lead you astray — Ireland was amazing.
Ireland was great. I was the stress ball. I breed stress like a Mogwai, figuratively erupting with furry balls of stress at the slightest provocation. (Imagine I said “literally” and giggle at the word picture with me)
So yes, I cried, like once, while driving. NOT ALL DAY LIKE MY MOM KEEPS TELLING EVERYONE! (get that, Mom?)
But it was gorgeous, especially Islandmagee. Rolling hills of every shade of green. Sheep dotting every hillside. Cows, fat and happy. The clouds hung so low, they nearly touched the hills, giving me the impression that they for sure are the resting place of ancient Irish Gods who can’t bear to be too far from the land.
On the West Coast, at Galway, the Atlantic Ocean thrashes the coast line, at once seductive and foreboding. We walked the narrow medieval streets that made up the once-walled city.
And I stood on the Hill of Tara, a sacred place ancient high kings and political figures through the centuries. This is where I took my favorite picture, of my feet on sacred Ireland soil, shamrocks popping up around my toes.
So yes, Ireland is everything it claims to be and more and I will go back. Our trip was quirky and challenging, much like everything in my life. Tidbits:
Our first Dublin hotel was in an old Masonic school for female orphans. We ate Mom’s birthday dinner there for what we thought was a reasonable price. It ended up being $96. Lesson 1— Memorize the Dollar to Euro/Sterling rate and calculate in your head before you buy/eat anything. (Unless you’re way rich, then do what you want)
Our second hotel in Dublin, I’m pretty sure is a super gay-friendly hotel, though I could be wrong. A cab driver informed us that the adjacent restaurant is a famous gay bar. The hotel is also in the theater district and several nearby establishments sport rainbow flags. Whatever. I chose it because it was well-decorated. Go figure.
In Dublin, eat Indian food. There seems to be a healthy Indian population, so much that even the corner stores sell chicken curry. The Indian food is awesome. Get your fill, because Waco still doesn’t have any.
Don’t eat the “black pudding” unless you’re down with blood sausage. Do drink the coffee. try an Americano and ask for cream. They give you a bowl of actual freshly whipped, unsweetened cream — My new favorite thing.
Ok, I’m going to stop myself before this turns into a Rick Steves episode. The last thing I’ll leave you with is the observation that some things are the same no matter where you go.
Walking home from Grafton Street Saturday night, I watched girls in short dresses get their heels stuck in the medieval bricks that pave the Temple Bar area. I looked at my watch and muttered and “ohhhh” of recognition.
“What time is it?” Mom asked.
“Well,” I said, looking around, “Apparently, it’s just about Ho:thirty.”
Indeed, some things are universal.
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Reppin’ the ‘co … and the U.S.
I never thought I’d be so happy to see the green and gold as I was yesterday.
Walking down Temple Bar St. I passed a red-headed young man in a Baylor shirt. “Baylor!” I shouted and made a bee-line toward him, like he was my brother from another mother. (I figured it was a safe move, I mean, you probably wouldn’t be sporting Baylor gear half way around the world unless you meant it)
The young man, indeed, was a Plano boy, BU grad now in grad school at Penn State, spending the summer working at Trinity University in Dublin. While I was tickled to find a Texan in Temple Bar, I think I was as tickled to chat with an American.
While most of the Irish have been SUPER nice and accommodating, we’ve taken some flack from some Englishmen, just for our country of origin. While Mom was surprised by the attitude, I wasn’t. I find that being from Waco and getting funky reactions from telling people that, has equipped me well for whatever tude people might throw at me. Who could’ve imagined that would come in handy?
A comment here and there, I let roll off my back. But the other night we shared a dinner table with an English man who flew his mistress to Dublin for just one night. At first, I would defend against his jibes, then I gave it up, quit talking and just focused on dinner and my Mom. He derided us for being “typical” Americans having always vacationed in Mexico and the Caribbean, rather than overseas and also suggested that our customs system is flawed because we don’t pay deference to English people when “we are more like you Americans than anyone.”
Whatever. This guy was mostly just a snob. Mom and I talked about it later and I found myself saying the same things I say after meeting someone who has negative conceptions about Waco: They don’t know me or how I live or what the people where I’m from are like. It’s snobbery and stereotyping and plain ignorant. It would be as much of an offense for me to assume all Englishmen are like this older gentleman. Something I’ve no intention of doing. Another thing I’ve learned from my current home, you don’t live in Waco and throw stones.
Anyway, just an observation. More to come. Don’t worry green and gold, and red, white and blue — I’ve got your back.
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Ireland is ‘driving’ me insane
I’m not really an “extreme” kind of girl. Ask my friends.
Does Wendy fancy a night at the museum and a glass of wine? Take out and netflix from her leather chair? Yes and Yes! How about jumping via bungee cord off a tall building? Umm, no.
Somehow though, I managed to sign up for an extreme tour of Ireland. Which is to say, I rented a car. A car which, after driving 932 miles across Ireland in the last three days, my Mom and I returned to the agency today… in extreme worse for wear.
I drove the first day, from Dublin to Belfast and on up to a little peninsula called Islandmagee, where our ancestors said goodye to in the late 1700s. Now I know why they left … the roads are too narrow and the drivers are maniacs. (ok, maybe I’m projecting at this point)
Mom took the wheel the next day, taking us on an amazing excursion from Belfast to Galway. We got to see a lot of Galway, as we got lost there several times. Exhausted and flustered we headed back to Dublin the next day, where we spent well over two hours driving around downtown looking for the car rental place.
I had three maps to go by and stopped a few times for directions and still, we could not get there. I begged Mom to just park the car somewhere and let’s just walk away from it, call the agents and they can come pick it up. Or pull up behind a Taxi and pay him to lead us to it. At one point, I jumped out to go get directions and was gone so long, Mom said she was sure I had just snapped and was wandering the streets. She has no idea how almost right she was.
Finally, we washed our hands of the car (the hubcap and fender looked like that before we got it, I swear!). The cabbie who took us to the hotel said we wouldn’t believe how many foreigners have the same experience. Yes, I would believe.
Tomorrow we’re taking a tour to castles and tombs and other old things. That’s all fine and good, I’m just happy not to be in a car the size of a monster truck tire, or one of those battery powered cars for toddlers.
Gonna make the most of our last few days in Ireland. But I can’t lie. I miss my car, my safe Explorer Sport turtle shell. And I miss parking lots, places to pull in and catch your breath, check the map and turn around when you’re lost.
So next week, if you pass by a parked Explorer, with a girl crying softly behind the wheel, tears of happiness, you’ll know I’m back in town.
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John Young is leaving and that makes me sad
It’s a sad day, indeed, when the Waco Tribune-Herald says goodbye to John Young.
Young, our famous (nay, infamous?) editorial page editor and columnist is leaving us this week. He’s been with the Trib since 1984 and has brought the paper much attention, cred, a certain cache, via his unparalleled opinion page and columns.
Oh yeah, I’m definitely a fan.
I previously worked at papers where editorial responsibilities were shoved off on editors who had no time or inclination to get out in the community and form their own opinions.
I was amazed when I came here to find that I was often sent to John for background on issues or phone numbers for key sources. He has been an invaluable help to me as I tackled various topics. Frankly, it’s just been nice to have another person in the newsroom who completely dorks out over education issues. John’s support of public schools and despisal of standardized testing are no secret. The Waco ISD school board honored him with a plaque last week, a thank you for his dedication to education.
I will miss his institutional knowledge of Waco, especially the history and goings on of the school district.
Aside from all that, though, I’ll miss dropping his name. I’ve been very proud to share a newsroom with this man whom everyone knows. So many know and love him. Some may know and hate him. Either way is fine with me. He has ruffled feathers and made people think. Excellent qualities in an editor, columnist and human being, for that matter.
I love the piece Texas Monthly wrote on John.
Gary Cartwright said: “Yes, he is mild mannered, conscientious, and thoughtful, a family man in worn shoes who takes in stray dogs and cats and eats lunch at his desk, but in the harsh light of day he is exceedingly tart of tongue, boldly opinionated, and apparently fearless (or possibly addled). In other words, he’s a perfect nominee to replace the sadly departed Molly Ivins as the bee in the Texas establishment’s bonnet.”
I simply couldn’t have said it better. I would just add:
It’s a sad day, indeed, when the Waco Tribune-Herald says goodbye to John Young.
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Hi Mom.
So, what do I get for actually bringing someone to Waco? anything? Because I did. Her name is Mom.
Actually, you can call her Wendy’s Mom. I’ve known her a long time and except for a few issues (that licensed professionals and several bottles of wine have helped me deal with), she’s a pretty cool person.
Mom was living in San Antonio, which some of you like to call “a neat town,” but which I prefer to call … something which the Trib’s new owner would probably rather I not write. Moving right along … For nearly three years, I’ve been talking up Waco to said mother and I guess something finally sunk in.
She interviewed and landed a job at Tennyson Middle School. It’s going International Baccalaureate next year and I think she’ll love that.
Right now, she’s looking for a place to live.
I’ve already introduced her to some Waco essentials — The Dancing Bear pub, the Taj-ma-HEB, Golden’s Bookstore, my friends. We’ll do Cameron Park when my back is done being jacked up and I’ve already convinced her she needs to be a volunteer usher at the Hippodrome.
The theme for “Mom comes to Waco” is high quality, low-drama. While I think I’m a pretty good Waco ambassador, I am not Mom age. Scratch that, I’m not MY Mom’s age.
This is where I invite you all to welcome my Mom (be nice!) and offer any advice you may have for a Mom-age person new to the area.
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Layoffs, deaths … to be redeemed by .. disco?
I’m sure you’ve all heard around town or read in the paper about our 43 layoffs and the decommissioning of our printing press. Sounds depressing? That’s because, IT IS. I think the word “decommissioning” is partially to blame for the morose factor. I mean, it sounds like we’re going to take the press out back and shoot it.
It’s sad for reals though, the loss of the people and of the press. I’ve always thought of the press as the heart, the steam engine, the warp core, if you will, of the newspaper.
But I still have a job, and it’s still a job I love, so that’s something. And I’m trying to be positive and keep telling myself that I will eventually stop hearing the storm trooper’s march as I walk into the newsroom every morning. (the Star Wars theme music is in my head, of course, they’re not piping it through the PA system. THAT would be cruel and unusual)
And should my luck run out eventually and the Trib tell me my words are no longer needed, I Hope Waco will do what it can to absorb me. I could substitute teach, freelance bad love poems around Valentine’s Day, peddle city tours out of my 10 year old Explorer (I have air conditioning now!).
Just as we tried to catch our breaths from the layoffs, Farrah Fawcett died, followed swiftly by Michael Jackson. Then I went to Wichita Falls to visit my grandparents ( a blog post to follow) and spent this week with my mom who came to visit me in Waco.
I’m exhausted. No rest for the weary, though. Caitlin is taking me to see Earth, Wind and Fire and Chicago in Grand Prairie Saturday — an early birthday present.
I’ve got some stuff to catch up with on the blog. Hope to do that next week. Next week, I was also thinking perhaps some Waco people should congregate at a set time and place seemingly out of nowhere. Hmmmmm …
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The best texmex food in all of central mtx. is casa de castillo just off sanger 2 blocks west of valley mills
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You have to be kidding! La Fiesta is hands down the best mexfood in Waco. We have tried most of the Mexican restaurant in Waco that includes Ninfa’s and Conquistador.
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Ashville? Isn’t that where the writer (of the thirties) Thomas Wolfe was from?? Did he not write *You Can’t Go Home Again?? <><
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And Waco Trib is Crow Bait and El Diablo is Lead Boil. KDF, I’ll let you try to figure out Fallen Yolk.
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