I can’t roll my R’s. I’m a native Spanish speaker who can’t roll his R’s. Never been able to do it. That, combined with the fact that my life is now lived almost entirely in English, means my Spanish no longer sounds native. A few weeks ago a Texan told me that his Spanish is better than mine. At first I said to myself, “This schmuck has some gall.” But then I thought about it, and you know what? Maybe he’s right. Maybe my Spanish is now Spanglish. And if it is, I’ll own it. …
Christine’s humble cabin bakes in the Texas sun, 12 miles west of the town of Brenham. At 62, she scrapes by with an income of less than $1,000 a month, and her home is testament to her poverty. Her generosity, however, is great. She took me in for a couple of nights, shared her homemade wine with me, and we even cooked meals with mushrooms and vegetables that grow on her land. …
Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.
I fell ill this week. Every year, for the last ten years, I’ve been stricken by tonsillitis. Sometimes it happens twice a year, and in 2007/2008 I got it three times in 12 months. I considered getting a tonsillectomy in New York before I hit the road, but the ENT doctor I saw discouraged it. I had been dreading getting it on the road, and alas, it has happened. My doctor called in a prescription for antibiotics, however, and I am already feeling better. The fever, at least, is gone. I will be able to keep going toward Austin this weekend. …
I left two abs in the Carolinas. Lost a couple more in Georgia. Six months in the South means my six-pack is gone. And it hasn’t been lack of exercise. It’s the food—the delicious, but for the most part unhealthy, food I’ve been eating. …
Cheap drinks, live music, and bras hanging on clotheslines over the dance floor. Welcome to the Flora-Bama, the diviest dive bar I’ve ever set foot in. Located right by the Florida-Alabama state line, this joint is at the heart of the “Redneck Riviera.” Some 300 miles west in Lafayette, Louisiana—an almost straight shot on I-10 (or Hwy. 90 if, like me, you avoid interstates)—you’ll find the Blue Moon Saloon. If you’re in the mood for some good Cajun music, this is the place to go. The Flora-Bama and the Blue Moon have become two of my favorite bars on Earth, and I hereby declare them the best bars in the South. …
ArticlesFeuilletonFriday, December 3, 2010 How One Family Created Chinese America
PoetryThis week in L.A.From the green room
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