Maybe It's Just Me But...

There was always something amiss about the families I saw on television as a child. I’m talking about shows like Growing Pains, Family Ties, The Wonder Years, even the Cosby Show. These were all loving families who often found themselves in humorous situations that got resolved over the span of a half an hour with the occasional very special episode that went for an hour. I had no problem with the premise of any of these shows. Nor was it the way no one ever really seemed to go to work- (Mrs. Huxtable has to have been the worst lawyer I’ve ever seen; I mean, did she ever work?) or hold a grudge. No, the one that threw me off as a child was that on the occasion that someone’s grandparents showed up, they showed up speaking English. I’m fairly certain that this seemed odd to me until I was at least 12 or 13 years old.

Growing up it was my grandmother who would pick me up from school and make sure I didn’t get into trouble until my parents got off of work. My grandparents did not speak much English and never really spoke it at home. My parents spoke both around the house but as my world extended beyond the home and into school my communication with others became dominantly English. My classmates were not predominantly Caucasian by any means, in fact more than half probably spoke Spanish at home as well, but class was taught in English, TV shows were in English, everything we read was in English… that’s just the way it went. Still, I knew that if I wanted a snack, a flour tortilla with butter or a burrito, and I was at grandma’s house, I asked in Spanish. The only other older people I knew at the time were distant relatives like other aunts and uncles, great-grandparents, or siblings of my grandparents. So you can understand my confusion when Kevin Arnold’s grandfather showed up speaking English- it was like nothing I had experienced in real life.

Maybe that’s part of the reason I have such an affinity for I Love Lucy- most of the time when Ricky’s relatives showed up they spoke little to no English. Maybe it seemed a bit more realistic to me.

When I was just a few years old my aunt married a white guy. Of course as a child you don’t think in terms of race or ethnicity- you can barely grasp the concept of boys and girls and even then all you’re sure of is that one wears dresses and the other does not. Decades later and I can’t say I’ve learned much more, but that’s a different story. Anyway, my tia married a nice man who didn’t speak Spanish around the house. Eventually his parents came around too, as did his sister and her family. They didn’t speak any Spanish either. His parents were the first older people I remember encountering who did not speak Spanish- or at least I didn’t have to speak Spanish to communicate with them. Not only that, but their English sounded different from the way everyone else I knew. Now, no one in my family speaks English with any type of discernable Mexican accent but it certainly does not sound like the English native of the suburbs, calm and lilting with ease of pace and tone that you will not find in the spoken English as a result of growing up in an urban setting. It was just something different and at the time I had no idea how to explain the difference I perceived. I can’t even say that I understood the difference or knew anything about it; I just knew that it was there.

Time went on and I spoke more and more English and less and less Spanish. In High School I took French and in college I took Italian. I had heard of others who had grown up speaking Spanish in the home only to struggle terribly in Spanish classes at school. I suppose this is the same reason students struggle with English- people just develop incorrect habits of speech no matter what the language. I can tell you that studying these other Latin based languages actually gave me a better understanding of both English and Spanish. Looking back I do wish I maintained a higher level of Spanish comprehension. It would be nice to have conversations with my elders that aren’t so limited by our lack of mutual understanding. In the mean time, I’ve still got I Love Lucy.

Dia de los Muertos

Halloween is soon approaching and various costume shops have popped up all around town. Grocery stores and places like Target are stocked up on gigantic bags of “fun-size” candy and everyone is getting ready to trick-or-treat. Plenty of people engage in Halloween traditions like carving up a jack o’ lantern, playing practical jokes to frighten one another, and going to haunted houses. Those of you who paid attention in history class you’ll remember that Halloween is the word we have for the phrase “All Hallows Eve,” also known as the day before All Saints Day which falls on November first. All Saints Day is a catholic holiday and is followed by All Souls Day. This one-two punch of holiness is collectively known as The Day of the Dead or Dia de los Muertos.

Those of you who really paid attention in history class will know that most of our Christian holidays are placed around ancient pagan celebrations. This doesn’t mean Christian holidays are without significance but rather that their calendar dates were selected out of pragmatism rather than marking the yearly anniversary of an historic event. For instance, say you’re from Spain and trying to convert a bunch of Aztecs to Christianity. Rather than telling an entire nation that their belief system is ridiculous you say, “Hey, instead of sacrificing virgins to the volcano on this day we paint eggs and pretend a giant, mutant rabbit hides them for children to find. Doesn’t that sound much better?” At first people are hesitant to follow along but when they notice that all the hot, young virgins are into it then the guys tend to follow along. My conservative, Christian, jr. high school did something similar. On Halloween they would hold a “Harvest Festival.” It was not a Halloween celebration per se but everyone wore costumes and played games and avoided witches and ghouls and smashing pumpkins and sacrificing virgins.

Like so many other things Mexican, Dia de los Muertos has its roots with the Aztec civilization. The observance goes back to a festival dedicated to the goddess Mictecacihuatl (great triple-word score for those of you playing scrabble!). She, along with her husband, Mictalntecuhtli, rule over the underworld and she, in particular, watches over the bones of the dead and together they make a lovely couple to have over for coffee and board games. She is the original form of a figure still looked to as Santa Muerte. Other indigenous civilizations such as the Olmec and Mayan and others had similar beliefs and observances but we’ll just lump them all together for now. Also, as I said above, Dia de los Muertos is typically celebrated on November 1st and November 2nd. That is because the first day is dedicated to remembering those who never had a full life, like children, and is thus more specifically referred to as the Day of the Innocents. Deceased adults are revered on the second day which is also called the Day of the Dead.

Despite what you may be thinking, Dia de los Muertos is not simply “Mexican Halloween.” Where Halloween celebrations tend to embrace and/or focus on the more macabre aspects of death with a play on fear and all things ghostly in a haunted house type of flavor, Dia de los Muertos is probably more akin to something like Memorial Day but rather than only remembering soldiers who have given their life it is a time to remember all those who have passed. The decorations associated with Dia de los Muertos do have some semblance to American Halloween decorations- skulls, tombstones, death, and things of that sort, they have a much less sinister connotation. Also, in contrast to Halloween where the point of the costumes is to trick or frighten lost souls back to their rightful place, Dia de los Muertos is a time to welcome visits from spirits of those who have gone on to the next life. During this visit you can ask the departed to relay messages and prayers. It is also customary to visit a grave and decorate it while bringing along some of that person’s favorite things and foods. This can also be done in the home. It is not uncommon to find a small altar with a picture of the deceased along with a cross and a picture or statue of the Virgin Mary. It’s a very interesting mix of how a pagan religious observance has melded with Christianity.

Another really cool looking aspect of Dia de los Muertos is the prevalence of skulls and skeletons. These are made in to costumes and decorations of all kinds. More importantly they are made in to candies and cakes. Take a walk along Olvera Street in Los Angeles, or though the Mission district of San Francisco and you will see people in costumes that resemble Jack Skelington from Disney’s “The Nightmare Before Christmas” except that he seems to be wearing some sort of mariachi suit. Then, of course, you’ll have to get a sugar skull and maybe a tamale. There are festivals and parades and all that. What I’ve realized is that recently the practice of kids going trick-or-treating has become popular in Mexico- it’s fascinating how the two cultures are reflecting one another.

There is no one answer to the question as to what Dia de los Muertos is all about. The mishmash of indigenous celebrations combined with a European influence is similar to celebrations found all over the world. I grew up trick-or-treating but I would be the last to turn down a sweet, sugary skull.

-original artwork of a bitchin' Dia de los Muertos themed lucha libre costume provided by nate garcia

Quinceañera

My first experience with a quinceañera celebration started with car trouble. I was driving along one day when I realized I had a flat tire. It was an older car and the tire iron that came with the jack was completely useless. It didn’t fit the bolts and because of that I couldn’t get the tire off. I was going to need some help. It was later in the afternoon but not so late that my parents would be home from work so I called a friend of mine to come and help me out. He showed up within a half hour but rather than help me change the wheel he exclaimed, “Hey, get in the car and we’ll be back in a little while. I have to do something at home!” So we ride on back to his house which was just a mile away and I come to see that several of his cousins gathered around the backyard and rehearsing a dance and a waltz. I didn’t know what it was all about so I just sat around and had a Tecate with salt and lime. They went on rehearsing the steps but it was off balance and the coordinator was getting more agitated as the night progressed. Apparently one of the cousins hadn’t shown up and there was a spot that needed to be filled.

And there I was. Sipping on my Tecate.

None of my younger female cousins had yet reached the age of 15 so this was all new to me. I was reluctant at first but the coordinator was really pretty so I relented. The quinceañera was in just four days and we had tonight and the next night to make sure we had all of the steps down. I should also mention that my hesitation to dance in front of a people was due to the fact that I dance about as well as I sing… which is about as well as I play hockey and let me ask you this: Have you ever seen a Mexican play hockey? I didn’t think so. But in the end everything went off without a hitch and I got my introduction to being part of a quinceañera celebration. This was quite a few years ago and all I really remember from the party was that we went to church beforehand, the quinceañera wore a beautiful white dress, I wore a tuxedo, and there was a whole lot of food and tequila. Needless to say I was missing out on a few things.

I performed in a waltz for the celebration of my friend’s sister’s fifteenth birthday. She has a court, not unlike a homecoming queen, that is there to celebrate wtih her. This celebration has roots that go back over 2000 years. It is an amalgam of empires from the Aztecs to the Spanish and the French. Most cultures have some sort of coming-of-age celebration. In America we have sweet sixteen celebrations where young ladies get to be the center of attention. Though most popular in the south, we also have cotillion where debutants join society not as a girl but as a young lady. There are also Bar and Bat-mitzvah celebrations. These types of occasions are found all over the world. The one most familiar to Latin America began with the Aztecs and their celebration of a young girl becoming a woman. And by becoming a woman they meant that she was ready to start making babies. Once the Spanish got involved they replaced the temples with Catholic churches and made this celebration into a very important crossroads for the young lady- she could choose to be a normal woman and raise a family or she could choose a monastic style of life and become a nun.

The distinction of having the celebration at the age of 15 comes from the French in the late 19th century during an era called Porfiriato, which is their equivalent to the Victorian age in English speaking countries. It is named for Mexican President Porfirio Diaz who had a great admiration of French culture and thus brought over a style of European music called Vals (waltz) and the term Chambelan. Like Cinco de Mayo, the quince años celebration is becoming more popular here in the United States than it is in Latin America. Like any great celebration in Mexico, like baptisms, weddings, etc, these parties are often reflective of the family socio-economic status. Here in the states they are great way for Americanized immigrants to maintain a connection to their Mexican heritage (much like referring everyone you know to this website).

A Quinceañera usually consists of some specific traits. Because the Spanish tied the occasion to the church it is customary that before the party there will be a church service where the young lady reaffirms her faith. It is customary for her to receive gifts reflective of the religious aspect like a cross, a rosary, or a Bible. Also, because of the religious aspect, the quinceañera celebration is a big deal for the godparents. Their duty is to the spiritual development and upbringing of the child and the quinceañera celebration is where the child becomes a woman and so celebrates the culmination of the godparent’s duties. During the event the Quinceañera, which is actually the title of the young lady celebrating her coming-of-age, will wear a white dress which is something like a wedding dress. Other traditions vary but often represent her father releasing her into the word as a woman. Sometimes she will wear simple flats which her father will replace with heels. She may carry a doll dress just like her which her father will replace with heels. Or there could be the father/daughter dance where midway he will pass her on to her escort, the Chambelan, while they dance a vals (waltz).

And then, of course, this is followed by food and drink and shots and a big bowl of menudo the next morning.

For those of you wondering what became of my car, my buddy and I returned and were unable to get the wheel off. I came the next day with my dad and a different tire iron and we changed it without incident.

The Dodgers

I have many fond childhood memories of Dodger games. I was never a big baseball fan growing up. Even now I have trouble calling it a sport where the only two options for a player are to be either an overweight, overpaid lump that parks himself in some corner of the field, or to be some roided out, overpaid mutant. Either way, going Dodger games was never about the game.

It was about the food.

You go for the Dodger Dog (grilled, not steamed), peanuts, Carnation Ice-milk, sneaking a taste of dad’s beer etc… This was years ago when the menu was much more concise. Last time I went to a game there were personal pizzas, King Taco, Krispy Kreme, and now there’s probably sushi and rack of lamb. In any event, the game was always incidental to the occasion. Dodgers games are an inexpensive and local opportunity for Mexicans to get the family and friends together without having to entertain one another. No one needs to kill a pig or spend the entire night prior making tamales. Clean up is handled by a third party and because of the price of beer it’s rare that your dad and your tio will get too drunk and end up getting in a fight.

Mexicans have a complicated relationship with the Dodgers. Dodger Stadium stands in Chavez Ravine, which years ago was a community of Mexican immigrants. For decades the city and developers wanted the land and were willing to do just about anything to get it short of paying the tenants anything close to what the land was worth. There is plenty of literature about the Battle of Chavez Ravine but for a great comprehensive history of Southern California I would look to a book by Carey McWilliams called Southern California: An Island on the Land. Chavez Ravine is also a significant locale that is associated with the Zoot Suit Riots. In the end the Mexican community was forced to relocate and Dodger Stadium was erected.

Not the type of people to hold a grudge, plenty of Mexicans make it out to Dodger games and help make every home opener a sell-out. Much of that capacity crowd is found in the Pavilion.

The Pavilion makes up the seating behind the outfield and since these tickets have always been relatively inexpensive (currently $13) they attract a crowd looking for a value. If you’ve got five kids and ten nieces and nephews fresh out of catechism, this probably applies to you. As such, the patrons of this seating area tend to get a little rambunctious which is why they stopped selling beer there for quite some time. Now, on certain game days, you can get a ticket for $30 that comes with all you can eat hot dogs, nachos, cokes, water and peanuts. You still have to buy the beer. In my personal opinion I think it’s great that you can still get into a ballgame anywhere for just $9- that’s for a seat in the nosebleeds purchased at least a day ahead of time, and this is at the third oldest ballpark in the Major League.

I also do not want to fail to mention the incredible contribution of famed Mexican Dodger pitcher Fernando Valenzuela. He was known for his wicked screw-ball and is the only pitcher to have won both Rookie of the Year and the Cy Young award ushering in an era of Fernandomania. He helped the Dodgers clinch the 1981 World Series and went on to set a number of records. Fernando "El Toro" Valenzuela went on to play for other teams in other ballparks but he became a legend playing at Dodger Stadium.

After the game everyone piles into the car, maybe you fill up at the 76 station in back of the parking lot and ride the slow wave of traffic back onto the 101 freeway. If you were smart you hit up Phillipe’s for a French dip sandwich before the game. And if you’re brave you’ll stop by the Original Tommy’s on W Beverly on the way home.

Tequila

First and foremost there are 3 things I want you all to know about tequila:

1) Cuervo Gold is not a premium tequila.
2) Tequila is not meant to be taken as a shot every time you drink it.
3) Your buddies from San Diego State who “totally drank the worm from the bottle of tequila,” they’re lying to you.

Let’s take that last part first. It is a fairly common misconception that one can find a worm in a bottle of tequila but I’m afraid unless it crawled in after you opened the bottle it’s not likely to happen. What you’re probably drinking is mescal, another type of Mexican liquor that like tequila is made from the agave plant. As mescal is bottled a cured worm, usually the larva of an agave snout weevil or the caterpillar of a certain type of moth that is found near agave plants, is added for flavor and aesthetic. For tequila it’s actually illegal to add a worm.

Now, getting back to those first two points- Cuervo Gold is an absolutely horrible tasting swill that I would never recommend to anyone. It is quite possibly the most vile thing I have ever put in my mouth and I have some really messed up friends with whom I’ve gotten pretty drunk. To those who make the point that Cuervo Gold is the most popular tequila in the world, that fact simply makes it the McDonalds of tequila. At best it should be used in margaritas in order to mask the taste and odor. It is this type of hangover in a bottle that is responsible for that face young college students make and why they so desperately need that accompanying salt and lime. Good tequila should not taste like flaming sewage, it should be smooth with a distinct flavor.

Before we get in to what makes a good tequila good, let’s learn a little bit about where it comes from. Tequila by definition comes from the area surrounding the city of Tequila located northwest of Guadalajara. It is only produced in the state of Jalisco and a few limited regions in other states. Tequila is made from the blue agave plant and it should be 100% blue agave. Some lesser tequilas are only around 51% agave which means the rest is sugars and syrup and other wretch inducing additives. According to the always reliable Wikipedia, Aztecs had been making a fermented drink from the plant well before the Spanish arrived. Once the Spanish ran out of their classy European booze they started going native with their alcohol consumption.

Around ten years ago it was difficult to find a decent tequila in America. It was relegated to Mexican restaurants and cheap cantinas outside of Vegas. As the liquor started to gain some prominence and popularity larger corporations started to take notice and wanted to get in on the action and tequila was no longer just a game for small, family-owned distilleries. The money those corporations have spent on marketing and advertising now make it possible for you and I to go to the bar and order a shot of ultra-premium tequila at $20. God bless progress!

Here’s a really easy breakdown of the different types of tequila a brand will offer: Silver is bottled soon after it’s distilled, spending at most a couple of months in steel barrels. Gold is what you get when you blend silver with a reposado or añejo. Reposado is aged for at least two months but less than a year in oak barrels. And añejo is aged at least one year but less than three in oak barrels. A few years ago distillers started offering extra añejo which is aged at least three years. Here’s what all that means- the silver tastes most like the fermented agave, some might say the pure taste of tequila. As it ages in the barrels the tequila takes on the taste of the barrel and the alcohol matures in a way that makes the alcohol richer and more complex. It’s not uncommon for these barrels to have been used in the production of whiskey or bourbon. As for color, the silver is obviously clear and the others can come in various shades of amber.

A delicious tequila does not have to be swallowed from a shot glass. Something like Casa Noble should be sipped from a tumbler or even on the rocks. In Mexico it is often accompanied by a chaser called sangrita. The whole process of salt and lime bookending a shot is a way for the youngsters to get used to the burn. These training wheels are for the boys learning to be men at a quinceañera, so you, USC frat boy, be a man and lose the fruit! Tequila is also used for a number of cocktails besides margaritas, like tequila sunrise and adios mother fuckers. Give ‘em a try!

So in conclusion let me leave you with a few thoughts. Spend more than $15 on a bottle of tequila and more than $3 for a shot. You’ll thank me in the morning. You don’t always have to take a shot of tequila. Get a good one and you can savor the smoky aroma and hint of vanilla in something like Don Julio 1942. Remember, if it’s got a worm it’s not tequila. And finally, leave the fruit on the side, gentlemen. Enjoy the tequila for what it is or don’t enjoy it at all.
Salud!

Hola.

I’m supposed to be Mexican. At least that’s what my parents tell me but the truth is I seem to have more in common with the website StuffWhitePeopleLike.com than I do with the list of topics you will find here on this blog. Truth is I’ve never had a strong sense of connection to my Mexican heritage. I have no longing to immerse myself in Mexican history or savor the rich culture that she, like any country, has to offer. I was born and raised here in the United States of America and I am very proud and happy to be in a country of such incredible opportunity. Over the course of my upbringing my parents have tried to instill some aspects of Mexican culture but for the most part their efforts have fallen on deaf ears. There are a few things that were always a part of my life that are inextricably Mexican: I had a piñata at every birthday party, a flour tortilla with butter has always been the perfect snack, and we always have tamales at Christmas.
The purpose of this blog is find a way to make all of this Mexican-ness accessible to a guy who, despite the black hair and dark eyes, grew up in America as any typical American without really having any strong ties to a place my parents left behind. I went to high school in Orange County, CA (one of the few white, republican strongholds in the state). I enjoyed being a mallrat and all the luxuries of middle-class suburbia. Neither I nor my parents speak English with any type of discernable Mexican accent. We have enjoyed everything that America says we should be enjoying from trips to Disneyland and fine restaurants to big-screen televisions and designer clothes. At the same time we’ve had plenty of birthday parties at the park where me and my 30 cousins (I’m not exaggerating) would have the room to run around and play. Other members of my family are much more Mexican than I. They have a better grasp of the Spanish language, they are more cognizant Mexican culture and are more likely to be presumed “Mexican”. Amongst people I meet many of the speculations regarding my ethnicity have included Italian, Jewish, Arabic, and even white. Hopefully over the course of this little project I, along with the readers of this blog, will have a better understanding and more profound connection to what it means to be a product of Mexico living in America.

I suppose the best place to start is at the beginning. My family’s story is not unlike thousands of others. My parents came to Mexico as children. Legally, as far as I’ve been told. My grandparents, seeking more opportunity and a better life, looked to America as do just about everyone else in the world. My father tells me it was his mother that pushed his father to get the family north of the border- it quite the paradox that such a male-dominant society produces such strong women. He tells me of the long hours spent waiting for a visa at the immigration office, day after day after day until finally he and his family got the go-ahead to move to the United States. “I thought I was in heaven,” he says, about entering America and seeing San Diego for the first time. “I had never seen so many lights.” He in his early teens, his three older siblings, and his parents were Americans now and without speaking a word of English or having a job waiting or a place to live now had to make it work. My mother’s story is not drastically different. Her father went first. He had a suitcase, a bus ride to Los Angeles, and skills as a tailor. Nothing else. Also, not a lick of English. He found work where he could, eventually sending enough money to his wife and three kids to get them over on this side of the border to join him. Like many Mexican immigrants they settled in East Los Angles and that was their new world. Duty to the family said go to work- education is a luxury and it was not uncommon for many to forego the high school education and find a job. My parents worked plenty of shit jobs- sometimes right along side their parents. Luckily my parents completed their education and had the drive and determination to find something outside of East LA.

My folks met, fell in love, and got married and had two children conceived legitimately! There’s something about catholic, Mexican, women where just looking at them funny tends to get them pregnant. My brother and I did not grow up anywhere near the inner city of Los Angeles. We never found ourselves in dangerous neighborhoods or anything like that. We were given every opportunity that my grandparents were searching for: a safe place to grow up, opportunities for education and employment, and an infrastructure that is not plagued by corruption at nearly every level. My grandparents and parents sought the American Dream but in the process, in the struggle to get our piece of the land of Milk and Honey, we may have neglected some of the great things they had to leave behind.

Over the course of this blog I hope to bring some of those things to light. We will cover Mexican topics such as Mariachi music, Quinceaneras, and tequila (those can all go together!); we’ll cover Mexican-American topics like the Raiders, East LA, and Cesar Chavez; and we’ll cover some of those things that fall somewhere in the middle like Burritos, Cinco de Mayo (it is not Mexican independence day), and Caesar Salad. Check in at least once a week.