I first heard Shakira in 1995 while accompanying my mother as she ran some errands. Sitting in the backseat of the car, I took interest in a song which began to play on the radio. The musical style of the song was familiar; similar to the songstress aesthetic of the 90's crafted by artists such as Joan Osborne, Alanis Morissette, and Jewel. However, the voice was not familiar whatsoever. What was more surprising is that she was singing in Spanish.
James Earl Jones is perhaps one of America's best-known, and most talented, actors. He's starred in iconic roles, set the bar with his performances, and he is immediately recognizable no matter what he's appearing in. However, while his face and voice are unmistakable to the movie-going public, there are a lot of things that Jones has done which his fans might not know about.
Disney fans are some of the most dedicated fans in all of Hollywood. Maybe it’s because we start watching Disney movies at such a young age, whether it was princesses or animated cars, which builds our relationship with the brand essentially from birth. Regardless, people are extremely loyal to the franchise that started with a mouse.
Since being back in home, I have been working with temp agencies. I don't want the commitment of a full-time job because I've been hooked on travel. I take any job that comes up; bar work, waitressing at weddings, teaching, activity camps. Anything to help me purchase that next flight out of here...
In the 1980s crime in New York City had reached almost epidemic proportions. Apparently, New York was suffering by increased immigration and as a result a much younger population and, added to that, New Yorkers were hit hard by welfare cuts. It wasn’t safe to travel the subway and you would be advised not to go to certain areas, particularly after dark. Yet, by the end of the 1990s the city had cleaned up its act and saw a dramatic fall in the rate of crime.
My torn coat flaps in the vicious breeze as I walk slowly back home, my four year old brother running and skipping ahead, oblivious to our suffering. Pain shoots through my empty belly as I jolt and shake with each jagged step. My skin feels burnt, despite the cold, as I stride to what I humbly call my home. Disappointment reddens my face every time I walk the broken garden path to my front door. The door is dull and weathered, the lock all but broken. My sunken eyes blur as I notice the torn curtains and empty closets. I check for letters then hurry inside to start dinner for my little brother. My father is in the army. He will not be back for supper. I pour water into an iron pot and open the pantry door. I stare at the same thing I stare at every day. Nothing. I stifle a sob, not wanting the carefree nature of my brother to be corrupted by my hopelessness. My mother is dead. She was shot protecting the daughter of two complete strangers. The fruits of a country too long at war. She will not be home for supper.