Donde?

Just a reminder that, thanks to all of you glorious supposed Mexicans who give this corner of the internet a look every now and then, entries from this blog have been posted on various websites including:

http://www.hispanicla.com/

http://www.bilingualbraings.com/

and most recently - http://www.labeez.com/

Thanks for reading and check out these other sites because they have some interesting stuff.

-EricV123

Novelas: TV for Audiences who can be Satisfied

My grandmother would usually pick up my brother and I from school every afternoon. We were kids and in all probability annoying as hell but she pretty much gave us run of the house- baseball in the back yard, board games in the patio, action figures and toy cars… We seldom got in to trouble but when we did she certainly reminded us who was in charge. All afternoon she even gave us control of the TV. But that ended as soon as evening came and it was time for the novelas. My aunt would stop by. Mom would be over to pick us up after a long day of work. But before we left they had a cup of coffee and maybe some pan dulce and stopped to see something that could not be found on American television.

For a nation that is relatively wasteful in so many ways, we are sure to squeeze every last bit of value out of out entertainment. Some stick, like the 20+ James Bond movies out there. Some, like the last couple of seasons of Friends, hang around perhaps a bit longer than their sell-by date. And still others run the gamut until they become a parody of their origin; shows like The Real World and its spin-offs, or The Bachelore(tte). This is not the case with the telenovelas (novelas for short) that one will find on Univision or Telemundo. Though there have been some attempts to adopt the model for American audiences it is extremely difficult for consumers and providers to walk away from a hit show.

Here is how novelas work: by definition they are on a limited run, usually lasting less than a year. That might seem like just any old mini-series you’ve seen anywhere but the content differentiates the genre from that of a typical min-series. Novelas are always convoluted love stories with twists and turns in the plot. Generally you will see a couple kissing in the first few minutes of the program and something will happen to drive them apart. 120 episodes later they will be kissing again in the final scene. So you won’t find epic wars fought as in Battlestar Galactica, nor will you find stories of brotherhood as in Band of Brothers. The content is completely relegated to the soap opera type of plots with steamy love scenes and tales of lust and revenge. Again, unlike a typical soap opera there is a designated end planned from the very beginning. They can be period pieces or take place in a contemporary setting but the one thing you can count on is that it will end. You may fall in love with the characters and demand more but that simply isn’t the way these work.

American studios have tried to emulate the model of the novela on various occasions but the results have been rather disastrous. A small television unit called MyNetworkTV tried to use the format but interest fell off quickly after their first season. That may be because audiences weren’t interested in investing their time in something they knew would be over in a matter of months, or it could be because the shows simply weren’t any good. It takes an act of God and a bolt of lightning for a show to have a successful run even if it has major star power and a great time slot. Anyone remember the Cosby Mysteries? Or that one show Michael Richards had after Seinfeld? Whatever the case, the American attempts could not copy the success of their Latino counterparts.

This isn’t to say that the genre has not had a profound influence on American television. While shows like 90210 and Melrose Place were essentially prime time soap operas with characters whose histories the audience followed no matter how outlandish the plot might be, prior to the early 90s I am hard pressed to think of many shows with a season long story arch. Sitcoms like Three’s Company or Cheers were essentially stand alone half hour shows that could be plugged into the season in any order. Occasionally there were two-parters or very special episodes that would have some lasting effect that might be referred to in a later episode. But there wasn’t really a sense of the show being mapped out for the season with a specific goal that the audience is searching for. Moonlighting had the basic premise of a guy and a girl who should be together but were not… And audiences watched it in hopes that they would finally get together, not because they knew that’s what was supposed to happen at the end of season 2. Fast forward to the early 2000s to the appearance of Heroes, Desperate Housewives and 24. Both of these shows had a very specific story arch that would find a conclusion at the end of the season while setting up events for the season that followed. Audiences were captivated by the notion that their time spent in viewership would be rewarded with a conclusion to the story. Had any of these shows simply ended after their first season they would be regarded as culturally significant events that captivated a nation. Instead they are being milked for all they’re worth and have fallen into mediocrity, a step away from oblivion. Ugly Betty was originally supposed to be ABC’s attempt at an American novela but they decided they would rather ride it out until it eventually got cancelled due to dwindling ratings. Twice.

Like soccer, I’m not entirely sure why novelas won’t catch on in America. I guess it’s the same reason we have a fourth Indiana Jones movie and those last three Star Wars abortions. If we can squeeze a few more bucks out of a character, we probably will line up to see it. By the way, let me know how The Real Housewives of DC turns out.

King Taco

I don’t have the same tolerance for spicy foods that my father does. When he wants salsa he wants it so hot he is sweating by the time he gets through his meal. And then he wants a little bit more. I don’t like to need a towel to wipe my brow at the end of a meal but I like a little bit of kick and when I ask for something I want it spicy for real, not white-people spicy. Not Cheesecake Factory we-added-some-extra-black-pepper-and-a-touch-of-cayanne-pepper-spicy but something that is going to burn a little bit and will be made worse if you try to wash it away with water. You can get this at King Taco. You can get the spiciness my dad prefers but if you don’t want the burning depth of hell raging in your mouth you can get a decent kick as well. A good salsa makes all the difference in Mexican food. You could have the sweetest corn cakes, the most savory tamales, or the crispiest chips, but if you don’t have a spicy salsa then you are eating at El Torito or, if they’re still around, Alcapulco’s.

King Taco is on my list of musts every time I get back to Los Angeles, which is a few times per year. My family has been a loyal customer since my childhood. After visiting cousins or extended family, friends, after YMCA youth softball games or sometimes after an early Dodger game, stopping by King Taco- the one on Cypress or maybe the one on Third, depending on where we were coming from, was on the itinerary. Over the years as the brand expanded it got easier and easier to find one, much to my delight. Now they even have a spot in Dodger stadium and that pretty much rocks.

King Taco got its start back in 1969. Raul Martinez and his wife, Maria, lit the barbeque at the park (I’m guessing Leg Lake but that information wasn’t available), a bunch of guys playing soccer nearby finished up and passed by to see what smelled so good. They bought a bunch of tacos and BOOM! A legend was created. Five years later Raul and Maria bought an old ice-cream truck and converted it into a taco truck, an innovation that I think we all take for granted these days. Knowing their audience, Raul, Maria, and Raul father, parked the taco truck outside of a bar one night and had about $70 worth of sales. The next night they doubled that. Six months later the first King Taco restaurant with a permanent address opened at 1118 Cypress Ave. in Los Angeles. The rest is history and with just 21 locations from Commerce to Ontario everyone knows if you want a good taco you go to King Taco.

Part of the appeal is the value. Tacos are just a $1.25 and there is quite a variety to choose from. You can go with the simplicity and ease of carne asada, carnitas, or pollo, but for the real Mexicans, the ones who aren’t just supposed to be Mexican but actually know the Mexican National Anthem (I still have to learn that one), they offer lengua, cabeza, buche, and mollejo. I’d love to just tell those of you who don’t speak Spanish exactly what those are but part of the fun is figuring that out if it’s your first visit. I couldn’t in good conscience, ruin for you but I will say it might seem kind of rowdy if you aren’t terribly familiar with Mexican cuisine.

I may be confusing King Taco with Olvera street from my youth but I thought they used to feature Fanta and/or Orange Bang (along with Piña and Lemon Ole!) but they don’t seem to be on the menu anymore. They do, however, still serve aguas frescas which sounds very good during these summer months. Other menu items include tameles, sopes, and chicken but you go for the tacos. Just like even though Lawry’s Prime Rib has lobster, it’s not what you go there for. With King Taco you go for the tacos.

I won’t be making my way to Southern California for at least another couple of months but already my mouth is watering for some of those delicious tacos. So many nights heading back from Hollywood or wherever and taking an exit off the 60 freeway to pull up to the brightly lit sign with shaved heads and Dickies in front of low-riders on one side and LAPD or LA County Sheriffs on the other side. It’s a good mix. Oh, and if you are heading east on the 60, make sure you hit the right exit because if you can see it from the freeway then you’ve gone too far and you’ll have to back track.

The Mission

Like any well mannered young person moving to a new city to attend college, my priorities in my new home in San Francisco were as such: find a place to live, find a place to get food, and most importantly, find a place for cheap beer. Within the city limits of San Francisco that last requirement is found by so many dedicated students in the Mission District. Nestled pretty close to the center of the city, the Mission sits surrounded by SoMa to the west, Bernal Heights to the south, and the Castro to the east. For such a small city it has always been incredible to me how it can sustain so many distinct neighborhoods with their unique characteristics. Even the most aloof resident of the city (and there are many) can tell what part of the city they are in by the architecture, the shops and restaurants, the bars and attractions, the geography. The Sunset is not Twin Peaks. Pac Heights is not the Presidio. You try to stay away from Hunters Point. And still no one exactly knows where Excelsior is. When it comes to the Mission you will know you’re there by a few distinct traits beyond the cheap beer: due the geography of the city it is probably the warmest and sunniest part of the city; there are two BART (subway) stops; and it is the largest Latino community in the city.

The area has had a Spanish influence since 1776 when Spanish priest Francisco Palou founded the Mission for which the city is named- after St. Francisco de Assisi. Prior to that the area had been inhabited by the Yeluma Indians for over 2000 years but as everyone knows, whenever you mix Europeans and natives… one of them is going to disappear and it will probably the ones who haven’t been making use of gun powder for 1000 years. The Mission that currently stands was built in 1783, probably with forced Indian slave labor. The surrounding area with owned by various Spanish rancheros with names that are still important to the city of San Francisco like Valencia, Bernal, Noe, Guerrero- these are currently names of streets and neighborhoods throughout the city. Eventually the land was ceded in the deal that ended the Mexican-American War. The Gold Rush came and went and along with the rest of the city, the Mission District grew economically by leaps and bounds; it was home to California’s very first professional baseball stadium and had a couple of others over the following century which were home to teams like the San Francisco Seals and the Mission Reds.

Throughout most of the 19th and well into the 20th century, the Mission was mainly a German and Irish community. After the earthquake of 1906 so much of the city’s economic and commercial center in the downtown and financial districts had been destroyed or disrupted that the Mission became the main commercial thoroughfare for a short time. The area saw an influx of Polish immigrants as well but like so many other places, once World War II arrived everything changed.

When so many men left to join the war effort, their families returned to their families or simply moved on. As such this left a void in the housing market and prices and populations dropped. Enter a new group of immigrants, the Mexicans. The Germans, Irish, and Poles had left and the Mexicans seized the opportunity for inexpensive housing. This started happening in the 40s and went well into the 60s and the neighborhood has been a Hispanic community ever since. In the 1980s, civil unrest and instability in the Central America brought many more immigrants to these here United States and many of them reside in the Mission District which is why their Mexican food is substantially subpar when compared to Southern California efforts, but it is probably the best place to get a plate of pupusas.

Over the past decade or so, since it has become the trend for young urban white people to gentrify neighborhoods because it’s “more real” (see Brooklyn; see Oakland; see Echo Park), the Mission has seen a dramatic increase in the white population along with increased housing prices- even Dave Eggers’ charitable foundation, 826 Valencia, is based there. Despite this, the district remains a destination for Hispanic immigrants.

A few things to see and do whilst in the Mission include a visit to actual mission which still stands on Dolores Street, not far from Dolores Park. My favorite rock climbing gym, Mission Cliffs is there. And the Mission is home to many Latino art galleries and cultural centers like Galeria de la Raza, and so many murals all over the neighborhood that were commissioned by the Chicano Art Mural Movement of the 1970s. The Mission has become synonymous with great burritos, too. In fact, there is a restaurant not far from my place in Upper West Side Manhattan that boasts “San Francisco Mission Style Burritos”. Mission and Valencia streets are home to dozens upon dozens of bars, bookstores and restaurants that are host to the annually literary event LitQuake in October. It was home to a punk scene for a while and was even characterized as a Bohemian community akin to Greenwich Village though it’s difficult for any neighborhood close to Haight and Ashbury to co-opt that moniker.

So the Mission isn’t exactly a Mexican neighborhood anymore but it does have strong Mexican ties and a rich heritage. One of the drawbacks to San Francisco’s fantastic BART system is that it ceases to run by 1:00am on the weekends. With the bars going until 2:00am this can cause a crisis of priority. Countless times I’ve found myself enjoying a cold beverage with friends as single tolling of a bell drew near. One more, my friends would say- and I would relent. Then, with just moments to make the last train, I’d run out of Zeitgeist or the Latin-American Club or the Elbo Room, as fast as I could. Half the time I made it, saving myself a $25 cab ride home. The other half of the time my comrades would smile as I walked back into the bar with a bacon wrapped hot dog in my hands as I’d sit down to another beer.

The Crying Woman

As you stroll along the lakeside you listen to the gentle lapping of the water on the shore. The moon glows in a blood-orange hue just above the horizon as dusk falls over you. In the distance fireflies bounce and bob over the tall grasses that peek out along the waterfront. The ground is moist beneath your feet and the soil softens beneath your every step as you walk along, admiring the moon’s reflection over the lake, the chirping of the crickets, and the occasional call of an owl. But then something seems off. You suddenly feel warm over one side of your neck and you look over your shoulder; it’s the unmistakable sensation of the invisible pressure of someone else’s gaze falling upon you. You know you’re being watched. The speed of your steps increases. More than just speeding up, a draft washes over you, blowing against you, trying to push you back but you press on. You’re almost running now and it’s at this point that you realize you only hear the crunch of the grass and soil beneath your feet. No more chirping crickets. No more hooting owls. The water is completely still as you come to a standstill. Where did the fireflies go? All you hear is your own breathing coming in shaking, stammering, gulps. Then you hear something else. It could be your mind playing tricks on you but you hold your breath to make sure. It starts off like a moaning but that’s only because it sounds muffled, off in the distance. You want to run but you don’t know where the sound is coming from and it’s impossible to tell if you’d be running towards it or away from it. The moaning gets louder but it isn’t just moaning. The pain is the same but it is something more. Wailing. Weeping. As though the world around you is crying for something that’s happened. Or. Something that’s about to happen. Something that cannot be stopped or prevented. It’s the crying of a woman who has lost everything. Soon the crying is everywhere- it’s upon you. And it’s the last thing you hear…

La Llorona is a cautionary tale told throughout Latin America. Think of it as the Sleepy Hollow story of the Spanish speaking world.

There are many different versions of the story but the bare bones of it is this: There was a woman who killed her own children to be with the man she desired. She was subsequently spurned by her lover and as a result she killed herself. However, because of her atrocities she is forced to wander (usually near a body of water), weeping for what she had done, weeping for her lost children and looking to replace them. She is looking for her children and will often take children who misbehave or wander off.

Needless to say it has scared the hell out of many, many children.

It is difficult to say exactly where this story originated as there are examples of similar tales all over the world. Among the ancient Greek gods, the big guy, Zeus, had an affair with Lamia. When Hera, Zeus’ wife, learned of the affair she forced him to give up his relationship to Lamia who was then forced to eat her own children. Out of jealousy, Lamia preys on human children and eats any that she catches. The Greeks have some pretty messed up stories. Other variations of La Llorona’s story say that those who hear her weeping are marked for death, not unlike those who hear the wailing of the Gaelic Banshee. Other possible origins of the story point to the Spanish invasion of the Aztec empire. Some say the goddess Cihuacoatl is weeping for the fall of her people. Others point to La Malinche, a native woman who served as an interpreter for Cortes and turned her back on Mexico. Though there is no hard evidence to support it, some say she bore the conquistador a child and was later abandonded.

An interesting website that provides more detailed aspects of the current legend of La Llorona can be found at www.lallorona.com/la_index.html. It tells different stories of La Llorona as a witch, a harlot, a siren, and a virgin. They get a little creepy so don’t read them late at night by yourself.

As for why the story exists, like most stories it is probably a cautionary tale. On one level it is meant to keep children from wandering off. Like the boogey man or Michael Jackson, these characters are meant to frighten children and keep them away from strangers. It is also a warning for young women to either avoid being enticed by the wrong man, or to remember the sacred duties of a mother. Pre-Columbian women had a lot more power and influence than their conquered descendants. The European conquerors did not have the same idea of the sacred feminine that the indigenous peoples of the Americas had and as such did many things to destroy their ideas of the role women should have in society. That’s just the way it went and the story of La Llorona, a woman who is forced to an eternity of misery because of her failure as a wife and mother, may have been a part of that.

Whatever the origin of the story, it is a scary one. It’s certainly enough incentive to keep it in your pants a little while longer. Because if you’re getting down to it and the woman starts weeping… well, I can’t imagine any good will come of that.

So What's Up With This Arizona Law?

One of the big issues concerning Mexican Americans lately is the passage of the immigration reform law in Arizona. Needless to say plenty of people having been asking EricV123 just what he thinks of the law and what it means to Mexicans on this side of the border both here legally and illegally. Now, I do not want to make this a political blog, nor do I wish to advocate one side over the other but to ignore the subject all together would be an egregious oversight on my part.
So let’s examine what the argument it. The text of the law, in its entirety, can be found here: http://www.azleg.gov/legtext/49leg/2r/bills/sb1070s.pdf. It’s only about 17 pages and half of that is filled with superfluous language. The gist of it is this: if police are stopping someone for a crime or violation of the law, this could be an infraction, misdemeanor, or worse, if after detaining someone for committing an offense then if the officer suspects the person of being in the country illegally the officer may and shall demand proof of legal residence which should be carried on the person. The law clearly states that race must not be the sole consideration.



Sounds fine, right? I mean, after all, the innocent have nothing to fear, am I right?



Except that they do. Now I’ve got pretty fair skin and speak English with no discernable Mexican accent. But I’ve got some friends and family who have darker skin than I do and speak with a different cadence, say words with a different inflection that makes their English sound a little more Mexican. Say one of these people was to suddenly have a craving for a delicious, cool, refreshing bottle of Gatorade on a hot Arizona day. It’s 105 degrees out and they’ve been sitting around in their shorts all day. The 7-11 is just two blocks away so our friend grabs a five dollar bill off the counter and shoves it in his pocket and jumps on his bicycle to pedal just a few hundred yards away. On the way he slows at the intersection and when he doesn’t see any cars in either direction he scoots across, just like he’s done a million times before, just like you me, or anyone has ever done. Whether the light is red or green, especially here in New York or in every suburb across America, when there aren’t any cars around you just go. But this time there is a cop sitting behind the billboard so he jumps out to write up a ticket. No ID, no wallet, just a $5 bill in your pocket… you’ve got dark skin and use a different syntax in your English that he does… now the cop wants to see your green card. But you’re a citizen, you tell him. You live right down the street. Oh yeah? Prove it. Maybe the cop happens to be having a good day and is nice enough to drive you over to your house and knock on the door- but you already told him no one is home. And he is not about to enter a house without cause on the word of a suspected illegal alien. So guess what, we’ll just take you to jail until we can sort this thing out. Maybe a few hours, maybe a couple of days later you get to go home. Sorry for the inconvenience, sir. Have a nice day.

This sort of anecdotal story has already happened to friends of friends and is likely to happen more often in the weeks to come… But racial profiling is against the rules according to the law. And the policeman wasn’t racially profiling but had a suspicion after he saw the young man riding his bike across an intersection on a red light.

Here’s the problem- the letter of the law seemingly has no racial prejudice. The letter of the law says nothing about skin color or national origin. Theoretically if a British tourist crosses the street having left his passport in the hotel he could very well be deported. But let’s all be honest with ourselves, the spirit of the law is targeting Mexican immigrants. The law is intended to root out Mexicans who may be here illegally- and even that I don’t have to big a problem with. I would prefer that people who were here illegally were given greater opportunity to integrate fully and become either legal residents or American citizens because for the most of these people, their crime is not being able to wait long enough or have enough money to bribe a corrupt government (Mexico’s) and so they came looking for a better life and greater opportunity. But I’m realistic. The means and the structure to welcome people in droves- the way we did at Ellis Island so many years ago, just doesn’t exist.

No, for me the problem is that this law forces law abiding, tax-paying, hard working citizens, to be treated as second class citizens because of how they look or speak. Sure the law says race alone cannot be the only consideration but it stipulates the use of “reasonable suspicion” which is entirely up to the officer. The law does not specify what “reasonable suspicion” entails. So if someone who looks or sounds different happens to forget her purse at work, leaves his wallet at the gym, and crosses the street at the wrong place… he or she is shit out of luck until they can prove they have the right to be here. Any officer will tell you (especially Highway Patrol), if watch someone long enough, probably just a few minutes, there will probably have a reason to pull them over. Police officers have a very unique power. They have the power to remove someone’s freedom. We grant them this power to do their job effectively along with several other powers. When someone if breaking the law we expect our police force to act accordingly. Is detaining for several days a guy going to the corner store without his wallet an appropriate use of that power? Especially if he actually is a US citizen?

This is different from wire-taps on people who are communicating with known terror connections. This is different from racial profiling at the airport because face it, we get more people trying to blow stuff up from certain countries in the middle east than we do from Switzerland. In those cases there is an immediate danger of the wanton killing of innocent people. Arizonans have every right to secure their international border when the Federal government fails to do so. And they should. And when someone commits a crime, not spitting your gum out into the gutter or jay-walking, but a real crime, and it turns out the person is here illegally, then, by all means deport his ass.

But forcing our American Citizens to “carry papers” at all times is just as morally reprehensible to the internment of our Japanese citizens during World War 2.

Many Jim Crow laws said nothing about race. Saying you have to pass a reading test to vote, that doesn’t say anything about race. Saying you are exempt from those types of tests if your grandfather could vote… nothing about race there either.
EricV123 says, let’s stop playing verbal gymnastics and getting into semantic arguments when we all know that this law violates the liberties of American citizens on the perceived basis of national origin and that is simply, plainly, totally, wrong.

Olvera Street

Before the traffic and highways, before the movie studios and fancy shops and restaurants, before anything that would really identify the city as what it is today, Los Angeles was a small village known to its inhabitants as El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles del Rio de Porciuncula (The Village of Our Lady, Queen of the Angels of the River Porciuncula). It was a tiny settlement of Spanish settlers founded in the area not far from where the 60, 5, 101, and 710 freeways converge. The area remained under Spanish rule until Mexico’s independence (not May 5th) and became part of these United States in 1848. Los Angeles was a sleepy little town with some farm land and cattle ranches, but was not a commercial center. The city lacks a natural port, mineral or fuel reserves, steady rain or irrigation, or anything that makes a major city like New York, San Francisco or Chicago. The city was mostly built on advertising hype and promises of sunshine- for a great look at how Los Angeles was “made” read Carey McWilliams’ Southern California: An Island on the Land. But before the great influx of so many diverse peoples and cultures, before the railroads and the cars brought people from all over, it was a small gathering of adobe buildings, a church, and a red brick plaza. Remnants of this land before America still exist in the heart Downtown Los Angeles at Olvera Street, the oldest street in the city.

As the city grew into the 20th century and the focus was on modernization and growth, Olvera Street, originally known as Wine Street (or Vine Street), fell into disrepair and became, at best, a dirt alley the hidden and neglected in the towering shadows of progress. During this time thousands of people were running towards the American Dream from all over the world and for most Mexicans the destination was Los Angeles.

There would be no Olvera Street today if not for the efforts of Christine Sterling, a wealthy socialite from San Francisco who was residing in the Chavez Ravine area. There were plans for the area to be razed when she took notice of the area in 1926. The place was dark and dirty and home to the element of society that seeks out dark and dirty places. But beneath the dank and din she noticed the Plaza Church that had been built in 1822. She also must have realized that the ancient adobe structure in the center was the home of Francisco Avila, a wealthy ranchero and one-time mayor of Los Angeles. His home was built in 1818 making that particular building the oldest residence within the city limits. Miss Sterling recognized what the street would have been in its heyday realized what a shame it would be to have the oldest and possibly most culturally significant part of the city torn down. Having the money and connections to get real results one can say that she single handedly saved Olvera Street from Los Angeles. She got word to Harry Chandler, who ran the LA Times, got up in front of the City Council, and even managed to get prison inmates to assist with the project. Sterling envisioned a thriving marketplace that would be a romantic cultural center for Mexican and Los Angeleno history. And she was right.

In the end the entire marketplace was rebuilt into a thriving Mexican American marketplace. She even lived in the Francisco Avila Adobe house up until her death in 1963. Today it is designated as a Historic Landmark. Some of my fondest childhood memories come from when my parents would take my brother and I along to a particular restaurant called La Luz del Dia where we would climb the staircase along side the kitchen where we would peer over the railing to watch the women clap balls of masa between their palms to make the delicious tortillas that accompany every dish. Olvera Street has some of the best taquitos, champurrado, tamales, menudo… you name it, you’ll find it- and it will be pretty tasty. There are shops of all kinds from candles and cheap toys to leather goods and candy stores. There are frequent tours, shows, lectures, and events being held all the time.

When I was in grade school I remember our class went on a field trip to Olvera Street by train. We took the train from the Fullerton Train Station to Union Station just across the street from Olvera. It was fun at the time but now that I’m older I realize that my school is much closer to Los Angeles than it is to Fullerton but I guess it was just part of the experience. A couple of other fantastic places to visit near the antique alley are Philippe’s, the home of the French Dip Sandwich (watch out for the hot mustard), the aforementioned Union Train Station, The Museum of Contemporary Art is nearby, as are numerous theaters and concert halls like the Disney Concert Hall. Amid all the hustle and bustle, the offices and cars and museums and everything else going on at such a fast pace all around Los Angeles, everyone should make at least one pilgrimage to see where it all started.

It Isn't Independence Day?

With Cinco de Mayo fast approaching I am reminded of the many times my grandparents would regale me with stories of how when the holiday would roll around, back in the old country, they would round up the kids, my parents and aunts and uncles and cousins, and head over to El Torito or Chevy’s or TGIFridays to drink margaritas and take shots of Cuervo Gold, or maybe head over to Chili’s to celebrate around an order of skillet queso. Yes, these are the time honored traditions used to celebrate Mexican independence day.

OK, here’s the thing about that: May 5th is not Mexican Independence Day. Beyond that, I’ve already been over what a cheap and disgusting swill that is the product of Jose Cuervo. Those chain “neighborhood grills” and cantinas… their celebrations for “Drinko de Mayo” are somewhat less than authentic. And lastly, Cinco de Mayo is not really a widely celebrated holiday in Mexico and here’s why-

Imagine you are in Canada in the winter, say mid-January, and while strolling through the exciting and inviting streets of Toronto you notice lots of red white and blue adorning the windows and doors of many of the shops and restaurants with exciting fliers promoting festivities on January 26th with promises of Jack Daniels and apple pie and cheeseburgers, you’d probably want to know what it was all about so you ask one of the natives. Eh, he’d reply, what’s all this shite aboot, you say? Why it’s the 26th of January, of course! Isn’t that American Independence Day, eh? What a hoser- you don’t even know your own holidays! January 26th, for all of you non-history majors, is the end of the Battle of New Orleans which was the last major battle in the War of 1812. It’s significant because it was an American victory in a war where the British pretty much bitch slapped us, and also because the battle took place after the war was over (no email in those days). But despite the significance of that particular battle, not really significant in the long run to American history. There was no territory that was won or lost. There were no advantages or advancements made. It really has no real bearing on modern America whatsoever except that it ushered in an era of national pride for several years until the eruption of the civil war. Cinco de Mayo is sort of the same thing.

Mexico’s Independence Day is September 16th. It’s a national holiday and celebrated nationwide. Cinco de Mayo is celebrated somewhat in the state of Puebla because it commemorates the Battle of Puebla in 1862 where the Mexican Army, which was more like a militia made of farmers and laborers, held off the invading French Army. The Mexicans were greatly outnumbered by a better equipped opponent who had not been defeated in 50 years. Since then, no country in the Americas has been invaded by a country from another continent.

Despite the great victory on this day there are a few reasons why the holiday is virtually ignored south of the border. First, is defeating the French really that big of an accomplishment? Not so much. But beyond that, the Battle of Puebla merely delayed the inevitable. Soon after that battle the French sacked Mexico City. Within a year the French occupied Mexico and installed their own guy, Maximilian I, as Emperor of Mexico. And the reason the Mexicans were at war with the French in the first place is not exactly the most honorable reason to go to war: the Mexicans stopped paying money they owed to France. Mexico owed money to several countries and stopped paying all of them because there simply wasn’t any to pay. France originally attacked to force payment of the debt but decided to take over instead- think of the current state of the auto industry, banks, and health care system. So, no, it was not a battle with great and long lasting results for the Mexican people. Eventually France was pressured by the United States to get off our continent and by 1867 they made their way out. Maximilian was deposed and executed as well. Moral of the story: be careful when you borrow money; don’t be French.

So clearly there is plenty of reason as to why this is not a point of pride in Mexico outside of Puebla. But why the prevalent celebration in America? That answer isn’t so clear. Some say Americans have been commemorating the date since 1863, just one year after the battle, to acknowledge the Mexican resistance against France. Beyond that it seems to have become one of those days that, while seemingly arbitrary in America, is used as an excuse to celebrate one particular culture and a reason to drink very very much. Like St. Patrick’s Day, Chinese New Year, or Oktoberfest, on Cinco de Mayo everyone can be a little bit Mexican (except in Arizona where the new Juan Crow law states you had better have your papers on you if you intend to go around supposing to be Mexican).

EricV123 is not a big believer in partying on May 5th because it doesn’t really mean that much to me. Again, were any of you out celebrating on January 26th? But if you must exude your mexicanity I do have a couple of recommendations. If you are in Los Angeles head on over to Olvera Street, the oldest street in California, for some genuine Mexican-American culture and some of the best taquitos and handmade tortillas ever. In San Francisco go see what the Mission has to offer. If you are in Phoenix, stay inside lest you get rounded up and deported for not having your identification on you. Also, on the west side of LA, head on over to Pink Taco, a Mexican-American themed cantina at the Westfield Shopping center on the border of Century City and Beverly Hills. Tell Amy the bartender that EricV123 sent you. You’ll recognize her by her big… uh… eyes.

Just don't be these guys.

Beware The Red Grasshopper!

If you were born after 1985 and did not have an aunt or grandmother who watched Spanish language television, you probably have no idea who El Chapulin Colorado is. For a more contemporary example in the English speaking, American world he has been caricatured on The Simpson’s by the loveable Bumblebee Man. As for yours truly, I remember spending hours in front of the television, many of them over the years, literally rolling on the floor laughing (this was many years before “rofl” was used as an expression [or the existence of IM or text message for that matter]) at the heroic antics of El Chapulin.

So who is El Chapulin Colorado? His name translated means “The Red (colored) grasshopper”. An interesting side note is that the word for grasshopper in this case, chapulin, as actually exclusive to Mexican use. Its etymology comes from an Aztec or Nahuatl word according to the infallible resource, Wikipedia. The Spain-Spanish word for grasshopper is saltamontes. But El Chapulin is more than just his name- he’s a superhero. Sort of. He is recognized by his red and yellow costume (no cape), marvelous antennae, and his heroic chest adorned by a yellow heart bearing the letters “CH”, but believe you me, he is much better than sugar. He also wields a hammer, not unlike the Mighty Thor, called his chipote chillon (squeaky mallet). No matter where his adventures took him he was instantly recognized. Seriously. It could be the past or the present. It could be London or China. It could be the planet Venus. He could be fighting martians… They all know and respect El Chapulin. His powers seem to include, but are not limited to: flight, teleportation, and his vinyl antennae would blink whenever trouble was near- a grasshopper sense, if you will.

Despite all of his noble attributes, most of his success in battling evil doers came by chance, mistake, or simple coincidence. Think Real American Hero, but more brilliant. He even had his own introduction and set of catchphrases to assist in his heroic witty banter. He was introduced, Más ágil que una tortuga, más fuerte que un ratón, más noble que una lechuga, su escudo es un corazón... ¡Es el Chapulín Colorado!
(More agile than a turtle, stronger than a mouse, nobler than lettuce, his shield is a heart... It's the Red Grasshopper!)

Some of his choice lines include:
• "¡Síganme los buenos!" ("Good guys, follow my lead!") — as he would sometimes later on walk into a wall or fell from where he was standing. It would occasionally prompt the villains to say later on "¡Síganme los malos!" ("Bad guys, follow my lead!")
• "Lo sospeché desde un principio" ("I suspected it all along") — which he would say after someone pointed out something obvious that he had missed
• "Lo hice intencionalmente, para..." ("I did it intentionally, to...")- to justify a dumb action, for example: "I did it intentionally to calculate the resistance of the wall", after walking straight into it.
• "Todos mis movimientos están fríamente calculados" ("All my movements are coldly calculated") – his explanation for falling on his face, breaking something valuable, etc. May be spoken stand-alone, but always follows the previous quote.
• "Se aprovechan de mi nobleza" ("They take advantage of my nobility") — which he would usually say after an insult, like "We should've called Superman or Batman...", or when he is forced to do something against his will)
• "Yo opino..." ("In my opinion...") — a phrase always left unfinished because someone always interrupts him. Sometimes with "¡No opines, Chapulín!" ("Don't give your opinion, Grasshopper!"), but mostly with others insisting on their point, not letting him bring it up again.
• Also, in trying to provide advice, he would take two traditional two-part Spanish sayings and mix them up, always beginning with "Como dice el viejo y conocido refrán..." ("As the old and well-known saying goes..."). For example, "Cría cuervos y te sacarán los ojos" ("Raise crows and they'll pluck your eyes out"; i.e., what goes around comes around) and "Crea fama y échate a dormir" ("Make a name for yourself and then go to sleep"; i.e., once you have made a reputation for yourself, things will take care of themselves) become "Cría cuervos y echate a dormir... No, no, no... Crea buena fama y te sacaran los ojos... No... (in this part, he begins to mix both wrongly said quotes creating an elongated phrase confusing both himself and his listeners) "Bueno, la idea es esa." ("Raise ravens and then go to sleep... No, no, no... Make a good name for yourself and they'll peck out your eyes... No... (in this part, he begins to mix both wrongly said quotes creating an elongated phrase confusing both himself and his listeners) Well, that's the idea.")
• "Que no cunda el pánico" ("Nobody panic") would become "Que no panda el cúnico" ("Pabody nonic").

His show originally started running in 1970 in Mexico. It was aired for many years to follow in countries all over the world. It was actually a pioneer in using Chroma-Key (blue screen) visual effects that might look cheesy now but at the time were about as cutting edge as it got. After the initial run of half-hour shows, El Chapulin eventually found his way into doing miniature adventures and skits on the show, El Chavo del Ocho, which is a whole other animal.
I encourage you to learn more about Mexico’s greatest superhero at http://www.chespirito.org/.

Here's a classic clip concerning the mystery of the missing eggs. Trust me... this was groundbreaking stuff.

Snack Time

I’ve never eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

There. I said it.

Every time I tell someone that little tidbit about myself it is met with stares of disbelief: widening eyes, mouth slightly agape, if they are holding a mug sometimes it will fall from their loosened grip and crash to the floor, coffee with the pungent scent of bourbon splashing about (my friends are drinkers)… People look at me as though I were raised on another planet. “How can you have never eaten a PB&J?” they ask. “You’re lying, you liar! Why would you lie like that?”

But it’s true. I’ve never had that staple of American snacks. I don’t think I had a grilled cheese sandwich until I was in my early teens, either. I’m not one for apple pie or bagels and other people find that distressing as well. For that matter, I’ve never watched an entire episode of the Brady Bunch either. This fact is often met with accusations of being a communist sympathizer.

So the question is, what did I eat?

My folks will be the first to tell you that I was an extremely finicky eater. Everything had to be as plain and boring as a meal at Applebee’s. Hamburgers, just the meat and the bun. Pizza, everything peeled off they slice from the cheese and toppings to the sauce- it may as well have been a tortilla with a hint of tomato. No seafood. I hated trying new things. Luckily much has changed in that respect since my childhood and I am a big fan of food. If it walks on God’s green earth, I’ll probably eat it someday.

The snacks I ate as a child were, despite my Orange County upbringing, rooted in my ancestry. With mom and dad at work all day, my brother and I would spend our days away from school with our grandmother. Our snacks were flour tortillas with butter, bean burritos, or maybe a quesadilla from time to time. Nothing takes me back like a flour tortilla heated over the range until it gets a slightly crispy and flakey texture, then smothered with butter and rolled tightly with a napkin at the bottom to keep the butter from dripping out. Sopa de fideo was another one. It’s just a simple noodle soup but the preparation is distinctly Mexican. You take some vermicelli noodles and brown them up in a sauce pan, from there you add some water and tomato sauce or paste or puree or however you want to make it. It can have onions, ground beef, chili, garlic… it can be made any number of ways but I just remember the way my grandma makes it.

My grandmother on my father’s side, whom I see less frequently, is one of the most amazing cooks who has ever existed. Her tortillas are the stuff dreams and clogged arteries are made of. When you throw them on the skillet, usually a blackened cast-iron pan that has a permanent home over one of the burners on any Mexican family stove, you can actually hear the tortilla sizzle from the amount of shortening she uses. Her tamales, gorditas (smaller, fat tortillas that are either topped or filled with meat, cheese, beans, or whatever you like), her refried beans, they’re to die for. And these were just the simple snacks she made. When it came time for the big events, holidays and birthdays, she really went all out.

Of course there are also the little store bought snacks, some of which I really enjoyed, others I did not. While the ice-cream man did drive through the neighborhood we just as often sought the paleta cart at the park after a soccer game or on a sunny afternoon at Leg Lake park. A cool and refreshing Orange Bang (or Lemon Olé or Piña) was the drink of choice at the Green Burrito before it was purchased by Carl’s Jr. At Super A Foods, particularly the one in Pico Rivera, across from Smith Park, one could get some pan dulce, some saladitas, maybe some Nila wafers or choco-milk to accompany your Pan Bimbo… My mom says she used to like the pickled pig’s feet as a child but I just think that is pretty wretched.

So I may not know PB&J and I may have been a late comer to grilled cheese sandwiches, but I knew all about tortillas with butter, bean burritos and the Chapulin Colorado.

Loteria!

There is a reason Bingo is typically played by senior citizens in the rec-room of a church on Saturday afternoons. It’s boring. You sit around with your marker or checks and your squares of cardboard with numbers scattered randomly over it. Someone up at the front of the room tumbles a container of numbered ping pong balls and drones out a new number every few moments. You sit and wait. You sit and stare, listening for the chance to mark a number on your square, passing the time, letting it float away while you engage in an activity just captivating enough to keep you from falling asleep… Someone gets five numbers in a row or column or angle and then you start it all over again as you wait out the last remaining moments of your life that comes in between your nightly, blissful release of sleep. Bingo is depressing.

But it doesn’t have to be! Imagine if instead of calling a number like B-12, the person drawing recited a poem. Your card, rather than a grid of numbers resembling an Excel spreadsheet, is full of colorful drawings so familiar that they have become iconic representations that you now find on t-shirts and posters. Imagine if Bingo were fun! This is the game of Loteria.

The basic premise of the game is exactly like Bingo. You get a card with a 4x4 grid of colorful drawings of items, people and animals. Rather than pulling ping-pong balls out of a bucket there is a deck of cards that corresponds to the pictures on your board. And just like its boring, American counterpart, the goal is to get a row or a column or an angle across the board. Oh yeah, and rather than using a marker or a check, my family always uses pinto beans to mark our progress but you can also use bottle caps or little rocks or anything you like.

Loteria is Spanish for lottery and the first games of this type came over from Spain in the 1700s. At first they were hobbies of the wealthy but eventually they found their way in local fairs and parties. Different companies and artists have over time put their own spin on the characters and the cards, just as has been done with playing cards for poker or variations on the Monopoly board game. However, the most popular and enduring set, the Loteria game that EVERYONE has and plays and is familiar with is made by Pasatiempos Gallo, SA de CV (known as Don Clemente Inc in America). They have been producing the game since 1887.

When playing, rather than just naming the item or character on the card that has been drawn, it is not uncommon for the speaker to use a riddle or poem to describe it. For instance, the poem associate with El Borracho, The Drunk goes:

¡Ah, qué borracho tan necio, ya no lo puedo aguantar!
Oh, what a foolish drunk, I can no longer stand him!
For El Violoncello:

Creciendo se fue hasta el cielo, y como no fue violín, tuvo que ser violoncello.
He rose up to the heavens, and since there was no violin, he had to play the cello

These are not the most profound little sayings, but they’re fun and can be improvised in any way.

Loteria is a fun and simple game where all of my cousins can play together on Christmas or Thanksgiving. This is not so with the Wii where we can only play four at a time at best. No, no, we need something that can get around ten people of all ages, all at once. You can also mix it up by betting on which card will be drawn, playing several boards at once, and of course, making it into a drinking game. Mexicans typically don’t need a game to drink but I guess for those of you who aren’t Mexican (and just supposed to be) you can add this to your themed party along with a piñata and a sombreros next to the margarita machine. Though if you really want to make your party authentic, kill a pig in the morning and make some delicious carnitas in the evening… I dare you. Oh yeah, and save the blood for cooking.

Zoot Suit Riot

The Zoot Suit should probably fall under the category of “I was supposed to be Mexican” rather than “I am supposed to be Mexican” but it carries a certain relevance because it is a huge part of Mexican-American history that I have alluded to in other posts. Zoot suits are basically just like any other suit, characterized by a jacket, trousers, sometimes a vest, and often worn with a nice woven shirt and topped off with a hat, often a felt hat or a fedora, and finished off with a gold chain and pointy leather shoes. There is the play, Zoot Suit, which was turned into a film starring Edward James Olmos (see: American Me; see: Stand and Deliver) about the Zoot Suit Riots that took place in Los Angeles during World War II.

The zoot suit, or traje pachuco, was co-opted by Mexican youths from the black community. Black celebrities like Cab Calloway and various jazz musicians during the Harlem Renaissance wore the suits, which they called “drapes,” were aptly characterized by a young Malcom X: “a killer-diller coat with a drape shape, reet pleats, and and shoulders padded like a lunatic’s cell.” A variation of the suit was also worn in 1930s England by teenagers who called themselves “Teddy boys”. Their zoot suits were often brightly colored and had velvet lapels to which all I can say is… well, just leave it to the British to do something like that.

Pachuco’s adopted the style and to this day maintains an influence in Mexican culture in America, particularly in Southern California. Those who “lean like a cholo” do so because the original pachucos leaned back to maintain those pleats in their slacks. The late 90s saw a brief mainstream revival of the style and attitude, again centered in Los Angeles, during what has been called the swing revival/cocktail movement when big bands and swing music were again en vogue; Swingers is a great example of the era. The origin of the name “Zoot Suit” is probably from the hard “s” sound that native Spanish speakers might use when pronouncing the word “suit” in English and thus is simply the same word repeated twice, once with a heavy Spanish accent and once without.

Dodger Stadium sits on Chavez Ravine where many Mexican immigrants used to reside. During the Great Depression there was already a great deal of racial tension as many Americans felt that these immigrants were taking jobs away from them. I’m glad to see that we’ve come so far since then. Outside of Mexico, Los Angeles had the highest concentration of Mexicans, and most of them were relegated to the poorest areas and because of discrimination and propaganda were seen as invading outsiders and were forced to work for very low wages. Just like every oppressed culture before and since, these Mexicans created and preserved their own culture- style, dance, language, and dress, which for the youths was all about the zoot suit. Beyond that there were a couple of events that brought Los Angeles to the boiling point.

In 1942 nine men were accused of murdering Jose Diaz at Sleepy Lagoon. This is the story that is the focus of the play, Zoot Suit. During the trial, in order to prevent the defendants from “misleading the witnesses,” none of them were permitted to wash or cut their hair or change their clothes. The nine were convicted and sentenced to long prison sentences though eventually each conviction was overturned. Of course this is the very short version of the case and I highly recommend everyone to take a deeper look into this very interesting case.

The second incident occurred on May 30, 1943. Many military personnel were stationed in Southern California, most of them on their way to the war in the Pacific. No one knows who threw the first punch but there was an altercation between some sailors and some pachucos that led to the start of the riots four days later. June 3, 1943 a group of sailors again got into a fracas with a group of pachucos, this time the sailors claimed they had been jumped, and with this last straw the LAPD jumped into the fray. Hundreds of servicemen and both on and off-duty police officers jumped into pick-ups and taxi cabs and went around beating up and arresting anyone and everyone who looked Mexican or was wearing a zoot suit. Zoot suits were torn off of whoever was wearing them and burned in the street. At this, the Zoot Suits decided to fight back and for the next several days were the Zoot Suit Riots.

More than 150 people were injured and 500 “latinos” were arrested, charged with everything from vagrancy to rioting. The local press extolled the attacks by the servicemen for the cleansing effect of their attacks. Zoot suits were banned by a city ordinance. The press called it a suppression of criminal acts by the Mexican community. When First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt called them what they were, race-riots resulting from long term discrimination against Mexican-Americans, the Los Angeles Times wrote a scathing editorial, accusing Mrs. Roosevelt of having communist ties and stirring up race discord.

Eventually, like powdered wigs and cravats, zoot suits simply fell out of fashion. They are still worn from time to time by pachucos and vatos who want to dress up. And shops like El Pachuco in Fullerton provide a wide array of colors and accessories. But clearly the zoot suit was more than just a mode of fashion, at least for a time. Zoot suits were a marker of rebellion to some, and an indicator of identity to others. Whether it was worn to provoke or inspire is regardless of the fact that they are some sharp looking suits.

If a bunch of guys from the city want to be hoodlums or thugs, join a gang or cause trouble, or just be part of a scene, there really isn’t much I can do affect that. But I’ve got to tell you, I would much rather see a bunch of guys hanging around in suits, even if they are ill-fitting suits, than pants that could house several animals, and prints in which a clown would feel silly. At least you can respect someone who takes pride in how they dress.

El Cholo

If you’ve lived in, visited, or even just driven through East LA, you’ve probably seen a cholo. Cholo culture has many aspects and variations on the style. Sometimes a cholo will have a shaved head. Or he might have a long black mane pulled back in a tight ponytail. A mustache is not uncommon. Various tattoos may adorn the cholo’s body, usually in tribute to Nuestra Senora, the Raiders, his own last name, or a picture of his heina. Baggy clothes are also the norm but the style of loose fitting clothing is quite different from the urban hip-hop scene. When a vato wants to look good, he doesn’t look for baggier clothing and shiny, plastic bling. No, the vato is more likely to use some extra Tres Flores in his hair, make sure his mustache is trimmed, and while the clothes may still be oversized, he’ll want to look sharp which means pressed trousers, clean shoes, a starched shirt with suspenders, and a small gold chain that is visible when the vato leans back and looks out at the world before him. Casual wear consists of khaki chinos or very long shorts, Dickies that reach to or below the mid-calf, a white t-shirt or tank top, and on top of that maybe a long sleeve shirt that is only buttoned at the top. You can find him in a low-rider Chevy or Cadillac, on a low-rider bicycle, or kicking rocks. A bandana over the forehead, low to the eyes is typical as well, as is a hairnet, but of course not both at the same time. Plaid flannel jackets come out when the weather gets cold. Oh yeah, and knee-high white tube socks. Can’t forget the socks.

Cholo style is heavily associated with gang culture and this association is not unfounded. I’ve got a few primos who got into their fair share of trouble coming up in East LA. Luckily my parents had the drive and ability to see to it that their progeny did not grow up calling one another “ese”. Despite the bad seeds who might ruin a party, these are the guys with tear-drop tattoos and a big black 13 on their chest, there is some overlap with legitimate styles and cultures like the low-rider scene, various styles of art including graffiti art like Chaka and the tattoo art of the Mister Cartoon. A great example of how these characteristics merge with various aspects of black culture and Caucasian “style” would be to take a look at the Long Beach Dub scene that was enormously popular in the west coast during the late 1990s. But for a good, hard look at how the Mexican street gang culture has pervaded a segment of society, watch the 1993 film Blood In, Blood Out (Bound By Honor) or American Me from 1992.

The etymology of the term “cholo” is somewhat ambiguous and the way I am defining it is exclusive to the southwest, Southern California in particular. Anywhere else the term is used it is generally meant to refer to indigenous peoples, those of mixed race, and in its first written usage going back to the early 1600s was synonymous with “mulatto”. During the ethnic power movements of the 1960s the term was used as a point of pride but in general the title has negative connotations. Prior to that, the cholo scene seems to have evolved out of the pachuco fashion from the 1940s. I’ll spend some time on the Zoot Suit in the future, but this appears to be the starting point for what would become cholos. This is why the fancier cholos will wear the creased pants and may go for the fedora over the bandana from time to time.

Cholos like to drink and smoke (it’s not all Cheech and Chong but that is the ideal). If they are in a gang or rely on the streets to survive then it isn’t likely that they have finished high school- these are of course generalizations and not hard and fast rules. As such they will have their own localized method of speech, a spanglish all its own. This isn’t the typical spanglish where one might say carro instead of coche, or always answer with “que” when “mande usted” would be more appropriate. No, this is more like saying “watcha,” or “trucha”. They’ve also got a penchant for mariachi music though everyone has always got their own taste, from hip-hop to reggae and rock. And of course, there are the women, the cholas.

Oh, the cholas. A cholo likes a girl whose hair looks wet but when you touch it, it’s crunchy. Dark lipstick, eyebrows that were drawn in with pencil (or a Sharpie marker), and clothing not terribly dissimilar to their male counterparts; these styles have actually found their way into the mainstream as they have at times been picked up by pop stars like Gwen Stefani, Fergie, and Kat Von D. Typically the cholas are girlfriends or sisters of cholos but they have been known to be some pretty rough and tumble chicas in their own right.

So what do you do if you run on to a cholo or group of cholos? For the most part, just like anyone else you pass by on the street if you ignore them they will ignore you. But if by chance they want to engage in scintillating conversation they are likely to ask you where you are from. They are not planning a trip soon, nor are they eager to exchange pleasantries about the subtle differences from one sociological sample to the next. If a cholo asks you where you’re from your reply should always be “Nowhere. I’m from nowhere”. Just wanted to give you a heads up on that one. In the event you believe you will be deep in cholo territory for any extended period of time you may want to have some Raiders gear on or near you at all times so that a) they may take you for one of them, or b) you can give it as a peace offering or use it to distract them while you pull the knife out of your leg.

Also, don’t let their love of all things Raiders fool you into thinking you can have a chat with them about the NFL. You must never talk to them about football in any greater depth than by simply saying you love the Raiders. This is for two reasons: the Raiders suck and haven’t had a winning season in nearly a decade, and despite their professed adoration for them, cholos don’t know shit about the Raiders other than the colors and the logos.

Also, do not confuse the cholos I've described here with the Los Angeles and La Habra restuarant, El Cholo, which serves a delightful deep fried ice-cream.

CHAKA!!!

Did you ever ride in a car on or near a freeway in Los Angeles? It could be the 101, 605, 60, 405… You name it. Did you ever glance over at an overpass or an on-ramp? If you have been near a wall of concrete within the limits of Los Angeles County over the last 30 years you have probably seen his name. More than likely you’ve seen his name so many times it has blended in with the landscape like Golden Arches or yellow shells that reach high above the highway down every stretch. His art is not quite the street inspired art of Basquiat. He isn’t a “clever” one-liner like Banksy. His art is what it is. In most cases it’s simply his name in various stylized fonts and representations. His name is his expression. His name is his reaction. His name is Chaka.

It’s impossible to say exactly when graffiti art goes from vandalism to collectible. When it comes to something as subjective as art, coming from a place like the streets of Los Angeles, it usually takes a nod from the likes of Ashton Kutcher or Christina Aguilara. On one hand it truly is a form expression by an impoverished or frustrated segment of society that is reacting to a number of factors from lack of opportunity to racism and prejudice or maybe even out of boredom and lack of supervision or the presence of one or both parental figures. Graffiti by definition is an act of vandalism where one person deliberately places their own message over an intended message. A person has to have the belief that their own personal message, be it their tagger name or an elaborate painting or simply a coded message for someone else to see, is more important that the intentions of the person who had that particular wall built or that particular set of concrete erected. Outside of the legality of tagging or graffiti there is the moral and ethical standpoint: if a community is composed almost entirely of one particular group of people and an outsider, an interloper, an invader (as they might be seen) from another group and another place decides to build something at the expense of the native group, who has the greater right to the visual representation of said location? It can be seen as petulant and juvenile, clinging to a sense of angst that one generally outgrows. You never hear of someone in their 40s getting caught for tagging.

There are varying degrees of graffiti. There is much that is associated with gang culture and that type of graffiti requires little explanation. It is usually ugly and very simple in style with little to offer and is usually intended as a means of communication indicating a territorial marking or used to pass a message. On the other side there is a sense that the artist behind it is looking to create rather than destroy. In all honesty most graffiti art is not what I would call art at all. It is often very boring and predicated upon nothing. It has no style or sense of history, rather it is stylized but fails to really build on anything that has been done before. It becomes a cycle of different people doing the same thing over and over again. This is not an unfamiliar concept to the art world. Andy Warhol took familiar images and silk screened them over and over and over until they became art. This is not unlike what Chaka did but rather than using an established image he made his own and put it everywhere until it became meaningless and meaningful at the same time. It became more than a senseless and isolated act of vandalism and became something of a brand not entirely unlike the swoosh on your shoes, the horse on the hood of a fast car, the bunny profile on your dad’s magazine, or those four little window panes on the bottom left corner of your screen for 90% of you.

Chaka is thought to have committed over 20,000 acts of vandalism with everything from a Sharpie to a can of paint. In 90s he was finally caught and Daniel “Chaka” Ramos was tried and convicted and did some jail time. When he emerged he was the new cause célèbre of the art world as were so many graffiti artists of the time. As an interesting side note it is rumored he tagged the courthouse elevator during the course of his trial. Now people pay him to paint their walls or, short of that, canvases to hang on their walls. He’s had gallery shows and I’m sure he’s got something up in a museum somewhere. His art still doesn’t do much for me but I think it’s a splendid example of self publicity of an anonymous persona.

Keep an eye out next time you’re headed down that stretch of the 605 freeway, just south of the 60 as you’re heading through Pico Rivera. Next time you watch the video for Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit, take a gander at Dave Grohl's bass drum. I think you might spot a familiar name.

Do They Celebrate That Over There Too?

Throughout my life I have often been unable to answer the question, “Do they celebrate that in Mexico”? With so many holidays throughout the year I’ve had that very same quandary myself. Of course certain American National holidays like 4th of July and Presidents Day are exclusive to these here United States while Mexico celebrates the anniversary of their own independence and has their own set of national holidays. Others that are founded in the Christian tradition are also pretty obvious as those who colonized the Americas from one end to the other were all Christian. Of course, as demonstrated with Christmas, the extent to which these events are celebrated may vary. There are some holidays that one might think are great big festivals in Mexico (like Cinco de Mayo), but they are not. And then there are those that fall in to a gray area. Canada celebrates Boxing Day but we don’t. We celebrate Labor Day and Valentine’s Day, one a secular holiday and the other a semi-Christian holiday, but what about other places?

The simple and boring thing to do would be to make a list of all the holidays that are celebrated both here and south of the border but no one wants that. Instead how about we just look at a couple of the ones that come to me off the top of my head?

Valentine’s Day happens to be one of those special occasions that comes into question and, as a matter of fact, it is celebrated in Mexico though the emphasis is a little different. Dia del Amor y la Amistad has it right there in the name: Day of Love and Friendship. While there is the romantic aspect of the holiday, where couples make the extra effort to be that much more amorous with one another, the day is also a celebration of platonic relationships where friends may simply do a few extra nice things for each other.

Mexico has a version of Labor Day recognized on the first of May. They also celebrate Columbus Day on October 12th. Is Flag Day a real holiday? I don’t have an answer for you guys on that one but it is on the calendar both here and in the United Mexican States. Because America has exerted such cultural influence worldwide many of our celebrations have been adopted or emulated across the globe. Unfortunately it doesn’t go the other way quite so much and that’s a shame because I think we’re missing out on so many potential days off. Mexico has so many more days dedicated to saints than we do; we really only get Saints Valentine and Patrick while they get Antonio de Abad (where you can bring in your animals to the church to be blessed- how has this not caught on in San Francisco or the Upper East side?), Saints Joseph, John the Baptist, and of course All Saints Day.

One on which I get questions every year is Cinco de Mayo. The assumption is that this is a huge, nation-wide celebration that unites all of Mexico. This is not really the case. When this day approaches I will tell you why this is the case and explain why Americans partying on Cinco de Mayo is sort of like if Canadians suddenly started drinking every January 8th to commemorate the Battle of New Orleans at the end of the War of 1812. Until then, just sit tight in knowing that it is not Mexican Independence Day (September 16th).

In the mean time, I encourage you all so find any justifiable occasion to raise a glass and say "Salud!"

Futbol (Not Football)

In nearly every country in the world the most popular sport with the greatest and most popular star athletes is soccer. Every country, that is, except for these here United States. For whatever reason it has never taken on the same fervor here that is so prevalent across the globe. I don’t know what the exact reason is for this. I was never that in to soccer coming up because no one was really all that in to soccer. Sure I played on teams as a child but professional soccer matches were not televised nor did they get any mention during the sports segment of the news. Time I’ve spent abroad has at times coincided with some pretty big tournaments like the World Cup and the Euro Cup and sitting in the pubs and cafes watching these games was as exciting and enthralling as any Super Bowl or Championship series I’ve seen here in America. It is certainly a hell of a lot more engaging than watching baseball or golf on TV. For the life of me I do not understand why soccer has failed to take hold in America but I have a few theories. It could be that because soccer matches only have one break with no “time-outs” it does present a challenge for selling advertising spots. Halftime is the only opportunity to run commercials and although this is a much more cynical explanation it is a possibility. Another reason might simply be the American mode of thinking. In country founded by people looking to separate from European models and built by those looking for the next big thing, the newest frontier, the greatest opportunity matched only by the risk… Well, I guess what I’m getting at is that American audiences are rarely satisfied with a tie score and have little patience for low scoring games. At least hockey games come with fights.

You say football anywhere besides here and people think soccer. I’m not even sure how we got the name soccer though I understand the word originated in England to distinguish the sport from American football which was gaining popularity here. Even in Mexico where it might make more sense to call it pelota de pye, they call it futbol.

The game we know as soccer does come from Europe though there have been sports associated with kicking or carrying a ball in the Americas going back to the Aztecs. They did have courts or fields with circular goals at either end but it would be presumptuous to say this game influenced soccer because the sport as we know it is generally thought to have been brought over from Europe. The first recorded organized games with an agreed upon set of rules comes from England. It is widely believed that soccer was brought to Mexico by Cornish miners in the late 19th century. It was not much later that a league came about.

Futbol became a professional sport in 1943 and its most successful team with has been Guadalajara with 11 championship titles. Before that there had been professional teams but the league that is in place now has began in 1943. Internationally Mexico has hosted the World Cup twice but has never won but they do have a very respectable team.

Here in the United States soccer has been around for just as long but did not really start gaining popularity until we hosted the 1994 World Cup. The US soccer team did surprisingly well, advancing to the quarter finals but losing to Germany who would eventually take second place. A couple of years later Major League Soccer got its start and many of the members of the US national team took spots in the ten inaugural teams. The US Women’s soccer team has been a powerhouse in recent years and has garnered much international recognition by winning two Women’s World Cup championships in the past ten years. Popularity of the new league went up and down with the national team’s success (or lack thereof at various times) but overall has gone way up from where it was. In California in particular a couple of recent events have greatly increased the exposure of the sport. There was the addition of the expansion team Chivas USA (the Chivas is a very popular team in Mexico), and the recruitment of international star David Beckham. Some would argue that bringing Beckham on board is sort of like the equivalent of taking Brett Favre over to play in Europe’s NFL- he’s kind of past his prime but still has some skill and definitely will draw a crowd. Even still, despite its recent rise in attendance and viewership, the American soccer program is still in its infancy compared to the rest of the world.

This year’s World Cup is going to be held in South Africa while the usual suspects like Brazil and Portugal are expected to do well there are still high hopes for the teams here in North America. Mexico and America are the second highest ranked teams in their respective groups but neither team is favored to win it all by any means. Still, it should be fun to watch.

On a personal note, every Mexican kid has played soccer growing up. I may have gone to school in Orange County but I knew the basics of soccer far before I understood football or basketball. This could also be due to my near complete lack of physical prowess but to my credit I did score the winning goal of the only game my junior high school team won. It wasn’t the highlight of my entire athletic career but it’s up there.

I'm Supposed to Appear Mexican

I’ve been told I don’t look Mexican.

I suppose I don’t carry many of the characteristics that come to mind when one thinks of the physical attributes of our cousins south of the border. Usually when one thinks “Mexican” one thinks of any of the following traits: tan skin, dark eyes and hair, probably on the shorter side, Mexicans are not known for being particularly thin or large when it comes to body types, and I could go on. As for myself, I have the dark eyes and hair but definitely not the tan skin. I’m not tall but not all that short. On the occasion we’d stop by the Calimax in Tijuana I felt like I could be on the Olympic basketball team. When people do take a stab at guess where my forefathers come from I typically get guess from the Mediterranean like Italian or Turkish or Israeli. I’ve gotten many countries from South America, the Caribbean and even the generic “white”.

Perhaps I don’t carry many of the stereotypical traits, I’m no Eric Estrada or Don Francisco, but then neither is Linda Carter (and Wonder Woman just happens to be half Mexican). I’ve touched on the many influences on Mexican people plenty of times before when it comes to food and celebration but not the physical traits of the people. What is a Mexican supposed to look like?

My closest friends, like me, are the children of Mexican immigrants. One of them has skin that, while not as light as mine, is still pretty fair. He’s 6’3”. The other is about my height but has reddish brown hair almost as red as his mother’s who also happens to have green eyes. Anyone remember that show Gilmore Girls? The girl who plays the daughter, Alexis Bledel, is a very fair skinned young woman has very very blue eyes. These are just a few examples of different Mexicans can appear. We could be that blond haired dude with the green eyes. We could be that guy with the dreadlocks who might be black (that’s actually my cousin Eddie). We could be in your kitchen right now!

So where do all these different looks come from? All over! Obviously there were the indigenous people who already lived what we call Mexico and the western United States all the way down through South America. These were different cultures with their own varied physical traits and aspects and are the reason I can barely grow facial hair today. Without getting in a big demographic and anthropological analysis I can say that these indigenous peoples greatly influenced the idea of what a prototypical Mexican is supposed to look like. Since it is Spanish that is mostly spoken in Mexico (each of the specific native groups still thriving in Mexico has their own language) we tend to only think of people from Spain who colonized the land. When they decided to go native, akin to John Rolfe and Pocahontas, we called their progeny “mestizos”. The word is derived from the Latin word for “mixed” but its use was synonymous with calling someone a bastard. The connotation of the word has changed since then and now simply refers to one who is of both European and native ancestry.

Even when we look at the Spanish we can clearly see that they do not look Mexican. For all intents and purposes they are white, Europeans. That just leads to more and more lines of ancestry as Spain was at various times dominated by Jews, Moors, Romans etc… A not uncommon Mexican last name is Delao (or De La O) which comes from the Irish who came to Mexico. There were Germans, Portuguese, and even Chinese who travelled south from San Francisco once the railroads were built. If America is a melting pot then Mexico is a thick soup. I like to think of it as a nice fondue set filled with nacho cheese.

Anyway, Mexicans clearly come in all shapes and sizes, shades and colors. We’re not just tan and exotic looking like Selma Hayek, we’re also svelte and fair like Alexis Bledel. But we can also be exactly what you think. Like Paul Rodriguez.

Felize Navidad

Mexican Christmas is definitely more fun that American Christmas. This is not a subjective statement but one that is made on purely objective observations. Holiday shopping, taking your picture with Santa, getting a Christmas tree and decorating the house; these are all the staples of a typical Christmas in an American household. There is no disputing the value and enjoyment of caroling and making hot cocoa and sipping a bit too much eggnog at the office party or ugly sweater party. But when it comes to your typical “White Christmas” it’s really just one day of celebrating. You either have a Christmas dinner on the eve of the holiday and spend the 25th relaxing and perhaps heading out to a movie, or you do it all on the 25th. Not that there is anything wrong with that. It’s a lovely way to spend a day with family and friends. You might even make it out to Church for midnight service. It’s lovely, but it’s just one day. Not so with the Mexicans. Just like any other celebration, if it only lasts for one day (this is anything from a wedding to a baptism) it is a pretty small celebration.

Keeping in step with the commitment to a party, Christmas in Mexico has at least a solid nine days of celebration. There are more if you want to commit to them but it can get exhausting. One word that everyone who is supposed to be Mexican must know: Posadas. This bumps up one day of Christmas to nine days of going door to door looking for a place to party- it’s supposed to symbolize Mary and Joseph’s arrival in Bethlehem and looking for a place to stay; luckily we never had to spend the night in the stables. I don’t have a lot of experience with the Posadas. I remember as a kid, a couple of times we went up to the California Mission of San Juan Bautista to catch a Christmas play about a miracle, the appearance of the Lady of Guadalupe on the cloak of Juan Diego. Sometimes we’d get there a few days early to see the town, grab a bite to eat, and of course join in some of the singing and walking from place to place in the nights leading up to the performance. It was cold and sometimes wet but the town was decorated from top to bottom as we’d march along with a Styrofoam cup of champurrado in my hands. My brother and I, as well as the two children of the family friends that would often accompany us, would more often than not complain but the truth is it was fun we all have fond memories of looking down the valley from the mission over the San Andreas fault, piling in to the chapel at night to catch the show which we caught sometimes in English, sometimes in Spanish.

But I digress… One think I want to mention before I forget is that piñatas are not just for birthdays. Piñatas are great for any occasion! Sometimes I’d like to bring one home and tie it up in my apartment just because it’s a sunny Tuesday. Sadly I don’t have a bat to swing at it. Christmas piñatas are not out of the ordinary and if you see one as a party, be nice and let the little kids go first. Their tiny, ineffectual little swings are no threat to you. Once it starts getting to the bigger kids, the ten year olds, if there are more than a couple of them then you may as well have a seat because there is no way you’re getting a swing.

The issue of Santa Claus is an interesting one. Traditionally it is Nino Dios, baby Jesus, who brings gifts to all of the good boys and girls but Santa Claus has Hollywood backing him so his presence is felt more and more throughout the globe. Also, while a Nativity Scene is standard at any Mexican home, the baby Jesus is placed in the manger on Christmas Eve to commemorate the completion of the celebration.

As far as food goes I can’t think of any that are Christmas specific. Certainly there are decorated treats like cookies and cakes but nothing like the Yule Log in France or eggnog here in America. By the way, why is eggnog only available around the holidays? Is it something specific to the recipe? And why are there no other types of nog? I’m sure vanilla nog or orange nog or chocolate nog would be quite delicious. Anyway, as far as Mexican Christmas goes one of the foods that remains a constant is tamales. These require plenty of preparation and it is something in which everyone can get involved. The night before Christmas one can find all the women of the family making the tamales in the kitchen whilst the men are outside squeezing limes and dashing salt on to their Tecate.

I know what you’re thinking, nine days of singing and drinking culminating in a day of tamales and piñatas; it’s more than the human body can take! But wait, there’s more! Once you’ve got the hang of Beginning Mexican Christmas and intermediate Mexican Christmas, next comes Advanced Mexican Christmas. The first day of celebration actually comes on December 12th, a full four days before the Posadas begin. This is the day of the Virgin of Guadalupe who I mentioned above. From there are the Posadas, then Christmas Eve. At midnight you see if anyone is sober enough to drive and whoever is closest gets to drive everyone to midnight mass. Christmas Day comes with tamales and piñatas but it isn’t finished yet. Dec 28th is the Day of the Holy Innocents where we commemorate the deaths of the children ordered by King Herod upon hearing that the King of the Jews had been born (are we remembering Sunday school, everybody?). For some reason this day is celebrated in the same vein as April Fools Day where people play practical jokes on one another. Maybe not the most appropriate way to recognize the deaths of thousands of children but what do you expect? Everyone has been drinking for nearly two weeks. New Years comes and goes but it’s still not over yet. The final day of Christmas celebrations comes on January 6th, the Day of the Three Kings. This is the day we recognize the Three Wise Men and the gifts they presented to the baby Jesus. It is not uncommon for this to be the day when children receive gifts as opposed to Christmas Day.

So there it is, nearly a solid month of parties and drinking and gifts. 8 days of Chanukah has got nothing on this. You can keep your Miracles on 34th Street and your Wonderful Life, I’ll take a brown Christmas over a white Christmas any year.