I Own a Ranch, Don’t You?

I’m a Texan. You may not think it at first glance. Sometimes I wear scarves tied tightly about the neck. Or flat, sensible shoes during the day. Even worse — I don’t wear makeup at the gym. Yes, I have the East Coast thing down to a tee. And I should. After all, I’ve spent the past 12 years hopping around New York, Boston and Washington, D.C. Let’s put it this way. When I order a bagel and schmear at Central Market, they still look at me kind of funny. But even after all my East-Coasting, I LOVE Texas. And Texans.

I love that Texans drink Red Bull before going to see Joel Osteen. (Helps the hangover.)

I love that Texans say neat phrases like, “Grandma may look old, but she’s gonna keep on keepin’ on.”

And I LOVE that Texans have ranches. Ah, the smell of a patent leather Manolo Blahnik setting foot on a ranch. But I have a beef, so to speak, with my fellow Lone Star state residents. OK, here goes …

Texans are using the word ranch much too liberally. Let me give you an example. A few weeks ago, I was invited to attend a certain “ranch” party.

“Wow, a ranch party,” I thought. “This should be a blast!” I quickly pulled out my black leather weekender bag and packed all the Western wear at my disposal:

My cowboy boots — hand-stitched Lucchese — hey, this ain’t my first rodeo, folks.

Jeans — the tight, slutty ones — perfect for a ranch party! I mean, what if Mr. Right is a cowboy?

A hat purchased from the Beretta gun store in Maryland — it’s an old hat, back from my staffer days when I worked on Capitol Hill. (P.S. Please don’t ask why I happened to be in the Beretta gun store in Maryland. It had to do with a member of Congress who needed some shells for skeet shooting, and I was sent to buy them. Because I’m that important.)

Mosquito repellant.

A digital camera — me as Georgia O’Keefe — taking landscape and flower shots of the “ranch.”

The invitation suggested an evening around the fire pit, a real barbecue and horseback riding.

A ranch party! Now, correct me if I’m wrong. In my mind, the word ranch evokes a certain image — an image of a large, to very large, to sickeningly large number of acres. Roaming on this tract of land should be cattle, deer, rattlesnakes, doves and wild hogs. And maybe a buffalo. There should be game fencing, hunting vehicles and a lovely limestone house done up in that chic Texas Hill Country style, complete with antlers hanging over the fireplace.

Pulling up to the “ranch,” I was greeted instead by a cottage — a cottage with a barbecue pit in the back, a quaint little swimming pool and a pony for children.

“Is this … the ranch?” I sputtered, hoping that I’d gotten the wrong house, the wrong town, the wrong invitation. “Yes, we just bought it last year! Tammy is thrilled because she gets to grow her own tomatoes!”

I remember swallowing hard. In the kitchen, there was a bag of Doritos. A blessing from God, I assume.

Everyone else at the ranch party was wearing regular clothes. Meanwhile, with my skintight jeans, boots and hat, I was doing my best Dolly Parton in “The Best Little Whorehouse” impression.

People stared. I tipped my hat, said “Howdy, folks!” and ate Doritos like it was my last meal.

“Some ranch,” I thought. “This is more like a ranch-ette. Or ranch-ini. But it’s no ranch, ranch.” So please. I beg of you. The next time you leave for your quaint little country house on 15 cute acres, please do not say: “Tammy and I are takin’ the kids out to the ranch this weekend. We’re throwing a party on Saturday. Wanna come?” Instead, call a spade a spade. “Tammy and I are takin’ the kids out to our other house this weekend. It sits on 15 acres in the country, and we love it because we can barbecue.”

The word ranch does not mean HOUSE WITH EXTRA BIG BACKYARD. Granted, there are some large backyards in Texas. But, I ask you …

When did Texans become the type of people who drive Toyota Tercels but carry key rings that read, “Hey, my other car is a Porsche!”?

The New Face of “Great Day Houston”

Deborah Duncan returns to the talk show stage

Local TV personality Deborah Duncan has returned to the talk show stage as host of KHOU’s morning show, “Great Day Houston.” The former news anchor and talk show host brings a wealth of experience and knowledge to morning TV.

“We are thrilled to have someone as well known and loved as Deborah take on this role,” KHOU General Manager Susan McEldoon said. “She has the right mix of energy, passion and experience for the job.”

In her youth Duncan aspired to be a doctor. “I wanted to be a pediatric neurosurgeon, and part of the reason was I knew I could help people,” she says. “I wanted to do something noble.” However, her cousin convinced her to consider journalism. “You love everything,” the cousin observed. “You love politics, you love history, you love fashion — you enter things with an open mind.” Duncan took her cousin’s advice to heart and graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in radio, television and film.

Duncan attributes her open-mindedness to being raised in diverse environments in a military family. “I was born in Oklahoma City, but three months later we moved to Taiwan. I went to five different elementary schools,” she says. She learned to communicate with new people and adapt quickly to new environments — skills she would later use in her journalism career.

Duncan credits much of her success to seeing the human behind the name and title. “The thing about having been in this business for so long [is] nobody intimidates you, because you realize when you sit down with somebody that they’re just human beings.” She found that human connection with George W. Bush. During their interview he opened up to her about his concerns as a parent. “I interviewed him when he was governor, and [George W. Bush the parent] was a whole different person than [George W. Bush the President],” she says. She did not always have an indomitable spirit. In fact in her early days Duncan suffered from low self-esteem. She never imagined working in TV because she didn’t think she was pretty enough. Instead, Duncan put her degree to work at a radio station in Austin. As her career progressed she gained confidence in her journalistic abilities and her audience grew. When one of Austin’s local news anchors vacated her position for a new job, she encouraged Duncan to apply for the TV spot. She filled out an application and sent the news director a Chinese carry-out box containing a fortune cookie that read, “Confucius say: Hiring Deborah would be a very, very good idea.” The news director loved it and said, “I’m hoping you’ll use that kind of creativity to do your work as a reporter.”

Since then she has enjoyed success in television. Her career includes working as a news anchor and hosting several talk shows: “Our Home” on the Lifetime network, “Good Morning Texas,” a Dallas based talk show, and her own syndicated show, “The Debra Duncan Show,” on ABC. In her newest role as host of “Great Day Houston,” Duncan wants to explore topics and stories that don’t fit into a newscast. She’d like the show to become multi-segmented to provide in-depth coverage of things important to Houstonians — issues that directly affect people’s lives.

Many of her segments will focus on subjects that have significance in her personal life. As a mother, she hopes to bring insight to shows involving children and parenting. She says motherhood is “the most incredible experience ever.” The challenge is “to raise a child to go out into the world and contribute to it.” Her first episode focused on her battle with hypothyroidism. The segment pointed out how medicine hasn’t really caught up with how people are feeling. Doctors often prescribed Duncan medication for the symptoms of her illness and not the real illness. “People were glad to hear a real-life story,” she says. “We had so many emails thanking us [for sharing].”

Life experiences also propel her charity work. “You don’t choose your mission; your mission eventually chooses you,” she says. After her brother was killed by a drunk driver, Duncan joined Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) and she is now on the national board. Her passion against drug abuse has earned her a seat on the board of the Palmer Drug Abuse Program.

Talk show host, community activist and mom, Deborah Duncan certainly has her hands full, but she doesn’t feel overwhelmed. Her philosophy is simple: “The world is huge, but you only deal with your little part of it. You have to find your little part.” Considering Duncan’s television career has now spanned more than a decade, it seems she’s found her part. With all the experience, personality and passion Duncan brings to the show, it’s shaping up to be a great day for “Great Day Houston.”

Galveston, We Have a Problem The solution to Galveston’s economic slump is casinos

July is high tide for tourism in Galveston. At this time of year, Houstonians — and even some Tulsans and Topekans — trek to the island for sun and sand. The key words here are “at this time of year.” When the first frost hits the oleanders and the Rosenberg Monument is as chilled as a gin martini in the Pelican Club, vendors close their vending machines, lifeguards return to their careers as bouncers on lower Westheimer and Galveston falls dormant.

Galveston used to be the diamond in Texas’ crown until Houston, that sleepy fishing village 50 miles to the north, became the state’s upstart usurper. The Galveston Pavilion became the first structure to use electricity; the town got the first telephone and hosted the first baseball game in the state. The Galveston News, the state’s oldest continuing daily newspaper (1842), was running its presses when most Texans were running to save their scalps. The BOIs (Born on the Island, a select group that includes billionaire George Mitchell and Astros’ pitcher Brandon Backe) are proud of their little island, but even the most avid supporters agree Galveston could use a boost. There are several things to be concerned about. The population is declining –61,809 in 1970 to 57,614 in 2000 to today’s 57,466. In 1870, Galveston was the largest city in Texas; now it isn’t even the largest city in Galveston County. League City’s population surpassed the island’s between 2000 and 2005. Job growth has been slow in recent years, rising from 24,913 in 2006 to 25,102 in 2007, a jump of 189 newly created valet parkers and manicurists. The famed Beach Party Weekend is dead. In 2008, the spring break for black college students drew its smallest crowd in 23 years. It drew 200,000 partiers in years gone by; this year’s traffic flow of 46,000 across the Causeway was not much above average for a spring weekend. Finally, the island’s violent crime rate is increasing.

Galveston, we have a problem. But through the years Galveston has endured more catastrophes and tragedies than any city in Texas, unless you’re a Houston sports fan. The town’s first European visitor, a shipwreck survivor, was greeted by the only cannibalistic Indians in America. Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca wasn’t eaten by the Karankawas, probably because they discovered his name meant Head of a Cow. Even cannibals have taste. The island has survived occupation by Jean Laffite, who set up a pirate camp called Campeachy, mutiny by sailors of the Texas Navy, and was the only place in Texas captured and occupied by Union troops.

In 1867 the town suffered a terrible yellow fever epidemic, which affected about 75 percent of the population and killed 20 people per day. The fatal blow to the city’s growth was the Galveston Storm of 1900, which killed nearly10,000 people. We keep being told by Cajuns that Katrina was “the worst and most deadly natural disaster in our nation’s history.” That is self-important twaddle. The Galveston Storm leveled an entire city and killed far more people than Katrina (1,836). Everything’s bigger in Texas.

The problems that ail Galveston today can’t be solved with a vaccine and a hearty spirit. They need money. But remember Rule Number 1 around here: Don’t complain unless you have a solution; and, as usual, we do. In a word, casinos.

The port city had always been a free-wheeling place with ships, sailors and Marines hitting town. According to the Handbook of Texas, during Prohibition it really got hopping under the guidance of the Maceo family. Illegal gambling and saloons boomed, along with prostitution in the lower realms of town. Citizens tolerated and supported the illegal activities; they took pride in living in “the free state of Galveston.”

Today, Texans still love to gamble. Texans do gamble. Casinos are tucked near the Texas border in southern and northern Louisiana, just above the Red River on Indian reservations in Oklahoma, and a mile or so west of El Paso in New Mexico. The two major casinos in southern Louisiana, Coushatta and L’Auberge du Lac, daily, if not hourly, send buses to fetch Houstonians (or reel in the fat fish). Oklahoma Indian tribes send a dozen buses to get Texans daily, but only five pick up Oklahomans. Operators of these gambling establishments say that 85 – 90 percent of their patrons are from the Lone Star State.

Texas Indians tried to enter the casino business, but the lethal combination of Tom DeLay and Jack Abramoff made sure out-of-state casinos had no competition within Texas. Today 48 states have some kind of gambling operations; thirty-eight of them, including Texas, have lotteries that annually generate $16 billion for the states. The 2007 American Gaming Association (AGA) survey of the commercial casino industry reports gross gaming revenue reached $34.13 billion, up from $19.7 billion in 1998. During that time, gaming tax revenues contributed by commercial casinos to state and local governments more than doubled, from $2.5 billion in 1998 to $5.79 billion in 2007. Chump change for our native brethren. Gambling operations by the nation’s nearly 225 casino-operating tribes are now a $22 billion–a-year industry, richer than Nevada casinos. All of which leaves Texas outside the velvet ropes.

We say Galveston should become the Strip on the Strand. The island paradise has ocean breezes, sandy beaches, great seafood and, in case of slot overdose or roulette rash, there is UTMB. Our proposal is to line Stewart Beach, which is safely behind the seawall, with high-rise condos and hotels with pools, restaurants, meeting rooms and night clubs for big name entertainment like the Houston Livestock Show &Rodeo’s own Dancing With the Steers. And of course, we’d have big casinos, which would pay for everything else, even after sending millions to local and state tax coffers. We can’t tell our good friends down south how to run their city any more than we would want them to tell us how to pump more benzene into the air. But someday our city limit signs might read, “Houston City Limits — Gateway to Galveston.” Hello, Mister Chips.

Hope, Help and Forgiveness are Back in Houston

Native Houstonian on her New York Times best seller

Native Houstonian Marianne Williamson, author, international lecturer, spiritual guru and activist, is back. Her ninth book, “The Age of Miracles: Embracing the New Midlife,” has just climbed to No. 2 on the New York Times Best Sellers list.

She has a very busy life. While her 17-year-old daughter is her top priority, she currently hosts a daily radio show on “Oprah &Friends” XM radio channel, leads monthly tele-classes and has speaking engagements all over the world.

Williamson said she always had an interest in esoteric and philosophical issues, but when she found “A Course in Miracles” in 1977, her life changed. “A Course in Miracles,” written by Jewish psychologist Dr. Helen Schucman, is a three book series based on forgiveness. It is not a religion, but a self-study program of spiritual psychotherapy based on universal spiritual themes. Williamson defines it as “a practical goal for the attainment of inner peace through the practice of forgiveness — a method for choosing love over fear.” Williamson’s books, lectures and radio show are based on “A Course in Miracles.”

Williamson was raised by her Jewish parents in Houston. She attended Pershing Junior High and Bellaire High School before going to Pomona College in Claremont, California, where she worked “at just about everything,” including cocktail waitress and jazz singer. She says like most people in their 20s, her life was full of “so much fun and misery.”

She began teaching from “A Course in Miracles” at the Los Angeles Philosophical Research Society. She taught for free while supporting herself with temp work. Finally, after two years of volunteering, she began to receive a paycheck for her lectures. During the next 12 years she became a minister in the Unity Church. Her lectures developed a following and she gained celebrity friends including Elizabeth Taylor and Oprah Winfrey. People talked about her, and she soon experienced success with her cassette tapes, books and seminars on both coasts.

In her new book, Williamson admits it was hard turning 50 and facing the fact that youth was irrevocably over. “It’s still a shock!” she says. “Youth is so much a part of your identity, and we don’t have an exact definition for the years that come after — like a second puberty — switching from one persona to another. Life is not less fascinating and fabulous; just different. It’s a new season. We need a new conversation, a new reference, a new way to think and talk about age.”

Williamson says the dilemma confronting those who are older is what to do with the time they have left. “It’s the power of thought that determines whether we give up or finally get going. What we’ve called ‘middle age’ need not be a turning point toward death,” she says. “It can be a turning point toward life — life as we’ve never known it.”

Another challenge is to avoid negative thoughts like “I’m over the hill,” “No one will hire me,” or “I’ve missed my chance.” She says spiritual work trains the mind to counter the dominant thoughts of the world. “At any point, life will be what we program it to be,” she says. “Our very cells respond to the thoughts we think. With every word, silent or spoken, we participate in the body’s functioning. We participate in the functioning of the universe itself. If our consciousness grows lighter, then so does everything with and around us. This means, of course, that with every thought, we can start to re-create our life.”

Williamson believes the physical self ages; the spiritual self does not. “No matter who you are, no matter how old you are, in the present, all things are possible.” She also feels we have a huge impact on others through simple actions — a smile, a kind word, a courteous gesture. “These small things can make such a difference in someone’s day, in someone’s life, in our own life!”

The main theme in Williamson’s work is forgiveness. “Forgiveness involves faith in a love that is greater than hatred and a willingness to see the light, the innocence in someone’s soul even when his or her personality has harbored darkness. Forgiveness does not mean that someone did not act horribly; it means that we choose not to focus on their guilt. In doing so, we not only free them from the weight of our condemnation, but we free ourselves as well. That is the miracle of forgiveness!”

Outside of her professional life she is involved in charitable work throughout the country. In 1989, she founded Project Angel Food, a meals-on-wheels program that serves homebound people with AIDS, which now serves over 1,000 people daily. In recent years she founded and serves as president of The Peace Alliance, a grassroots campaign supporting legislation currently before Congress to establish a U. S. Department of Peace.

In December 2006, a Newsweek poll named Williamson one of the 50 most influential baby boomers. Four of her books have held the No. 1 spot on the New York Times Best Sellers list: “A Return to Love,” “The Healing of America,” “A Woman’s Worth” and “Illuminata: A Return to Prayer.” She has been described as a gifted writer and brilliant speaker. When asked to describe herself she said, “Woman!” without hesitation. “‘A Course in Miracles’ poses the question, ‘What do labels mean?’ But I would say that I am a teacher, lecturer, political activist.”

Marianne Williamson is not only back on the best sellers list, she is back in Houston. You can hear her radio show on XM156 and can submit questions through www.oprah.com.

I Own a Ranch, Don’t You?

I’m a Texan. You may not think it at first glance. Sometimes I wear scarves tied tightly about the neck. Or flat, sensible shoes during the day. Even worse — I don’t wear makeup at the gym. Yes, I have the East Coast thing down to a tee. And I should. After all, I’ve spent the past 12 years hopping around New York, Boston and Washington, D.C. Let’s put it this way. When I order a bagel and schmear at Central Market, they still look at me kind of funny. But even after all my East-Coasting, I LOVE Texas. And Texans.

I love that Texans drink Red Bull before going to see Joel Osteen. (Helps the hangover.)

I love that Texans say neat phrases like, “Grandma may look old, but she’s gonna keep on keepin’ on.”

And I LOVE that Texans have ranches. Ah, the smell of a patent leather Manolo Blahnik setting foot on a ranch. But I have a beef, so to speak, with my fellow Lone Star state residents. OK, here goes …

Texans are using the word ranch much too liberally. Let me give you an example. A few weeks ago, I was invited to attend a certain “ranch” party.

“Wow, a ranch party,” I thought. “This should be a blast!” I quickly pulled out my black leather weekender bag and packed all the Western wear at my disposal:

My cowboy boots — hand-stitched Lucchese — hey, this ain’t my first rodeo, folks.

Jeans — the tight, slutty ones — perfect for a ranch party! I mean, what if Mr. Right is a cowboy?

A hat purchased from the Beretta gun store in Maryland — it’s an old hat, back from my staffer days when I worked on Capitol Hill. (P.S. Please don’t ask why I happened to be in the Beretta gun store in Maryland. It had to do with a member of Congress who needed some shells for skeet shooting, and I was sent to buy them. Because I’m that important.)

Mosquito repellant.

A digital camera — me as Georgia O’Keefe — taking landscape and flower shots of the “ranch.”

The invitation suggested an evening around the fire pit, a real barbecue and horseback riding.

A ranch party! Now, correct me if I’m wrong. In my mind, the word ranch evokes a certain image — an image of a large, to very large, to sickeningly large number of acres. Roaming on this tract of land should be cattle, deer, rattlesnakes, doves and wild hogs. And maybe a buffalo. There should be game fencing, hunting vehicles and a lovely limestone house done up in that chic Texas Hill Country style, complete with antlers hanging over the fireplace.

Pulling up to the “ranch,” I was greeted instead by a cottage — a cottage with a barbecue pit in the back, a quaint little swimming pool and a pony for children.

“Is this … the ranch?” I sputtered, hoping that I’d gotten the wrong house, the wrong town, the wrong invitation. “Yes, we just bought it last year! Tammy is thrilled because she gets to grow her own tomatoes!”

I remember swallowing hard. In the kitchen, there was a bag of Doritos. A blessing from God, I assume.

Everyone else at the ranch party was wearing regular clothes. Meanwhile, with my skintight jeans, boots and hat, I was doing my best Dolly Parton in “The Best Little Whorehouse” impression.

People stared. I tipped my hat, said “Howdy, folks!” and ate Doritos like it was my last meal.

“Some ranch,” I thought. “This is more like a ranch-ette. Or ranch-ini. But it’s no ranch, ranch.” So please. I beg of you. The next time you leave for your quaint little country house on 15 cute acres, please do not say: “Tammy and I are takin’ the kids out to the ranch this weekend. We’re throwing a party on Saturday. Wanna come?” Instead, call a spade a spade. “Tammy and I are takin’ the kids out to our other house this weekend. It sits on 15 acres in the country, and we love it because we can barbecue.”

The word ranch does not mean HOUSE WITH EXTRA BIG BACKYARD. Granted, there are some large backyards in Texas. But, I ask you …

When did Texans become the type of people who drive Toyota Tercels but carry key rings that read, “Hey, my other car is a Porsche!”?