mi ninez loca

terra is 14 months and it is odd to realize how deficient her long term memory is at this point. soon, she will lose all recollection of this time, of these first three years or so, really. (Ah, but i will remember.)

this and a friend's blog entry have had me thinking about my earliest times of consciousness, specifically what i remember and how different the world was through my eyes.

when i was three and four i lived with my grandpa and his next wife after my grandma, lupe. lupe was from mexico and for all intents and purposes, she was my mother figure from 3-8.

i remember spending my days at lupe's feet. wherever she was in the house, i tended to play on the floor near her, and this was usually in the kitchen. the smell of albondigas and menudo and pozole were so familiar to me i thought something was wrong when i would go into someone else's house and it did not smell the same.

i remember holidays, how i had to get up early with lupe and go from one end of la puente to the other to aunt virginia's house so they could start making tamales at 4:30am. aunt virginia's tv seemed to only get channel 9, which in those days was known as khj, so i would get a blanket and curl up on the floor in front of shows that were not cartoons and held no value to me whatsoever, (but everyone was sleeping and the outdoors was frosty so my choices were limited.)

i remember my cousin rudy eventually waking up on those holiday mornings and emerging from his room for me to pester. he was a bohemian, i think now in retrospect. i mean, he fits all the criteria. he was never in good standing with his family. he played the guitar. he was smarter and more insightful than everyone else as far as i was concerned. i remember years later when he moved to el monte and we visited him once and his tiny apartment was overrun with clothes and junk and food wrappers and how everyone verbally chastised him for this behavior. i think his mind was on higher things than tidiness.

rudy taught me how to play chess. he taught me well, too. we played virtually every time i showed up at his house, on east prichard street, and i remembered all through my adolesence and still play and have taught others. i read somewhere that chess exercises the brain in such a way it allows certain synapses to remain working substantially later into life than what happens in the brains of those who never played the game.

thank you, rudy. what ever happened to you? my inner child misses you.

i remember wrestling with lupe's youngest son, the only one who was still around for me; luis. everyone in the family called him squeaky-i do not remember why. it is a sad thing to lose memories. it is not so sad it makes one want to cry but it is sad. you feel as though you didn't care so much to have lost your grasp on the handles of factoids, to have let these little treasures slip away when you weren't paying attention.

luis used to torture me affectionately. he'd pin me and tap my sternum until i thought my head might explode. he'd let loogies drip out of his mouth and dangle over my face before sucking them back up, (usually.) in addition to pendejo, cabron, puto, dont-do, and chinga tu madre, he most definitely taught me how to say "tio?!"

relatives tell me i was fluent in spanish when i was four and five, but i don't recall that. i remember being comfortable with certain words for certain times of the day or certain events but both of my vocabularies were fairly limited in those days.

my best friend on greycliff avenue in those days was raymond, who lived down the street and was one year younger than me. no one in his house spoke english except him so when i showed up at his door, there was always a limited conversation of recognition and fetching raymond. i think he learned his english from me and he never could say lupe. for some reason he called her snoopy.

there were twins a few houses up the street from me named rafael and gustavo but they were two years older than me. still, they were good friends to me and i wonder what happened to those guys.

i loved that neighborhood. years later i moved to downtown la and lived there and in hollywood from 9-11. my mom's husband was mexican and the neighborhood was mexican and all of our friends were mexican but it was different from la puente. puente trese was like a street gang on training wheels compared to alpine, the members of which were ubiquitous in my life during those years. some got shot, some went to jail, but always the turnstile of people arriving and leaving and when those years concluded and i moved in with my uncle mark, he had just bought the house on greycliff avenue from my grandpa so lo and behold, i was back in la puente. back at del valle elementary school, (except on thursdays when i bussed to nelson school for an extra learning period.)

but lupe was no longer with me. she and my grandpa had moved to montebello. i came to a startling conclusion when i returned to my old neighborhood, i now lived with white people. to compensate for such misfortune, i did everything i could to look mexican. i begged for a black pair of hush puppies and i tried hard to wear an outfit with a button-down, blue shirt that i most identified as the uniform of my people.

to the kids in la puente, i wanted them to know i had came from la. i wanted them to know i had done time in mclaren hall in el monte. i was 11, this was the 6th grade, and i needed to out-mexican these kids by being harder then them. sure enough, with an attitude like that, i started getting into a lot of fights. i beat up a white kid named mark and two days later his older brother and another kid pummeled me but good. (i had to make up a skateboard accident to hide my new tendencies from an aunt and uncle i needed to impress.)

the culmination of all this was a fight with the school bully, a kid named jimmy who was seriously a foot taller than me. he had stalked me for about a week and i got tired of looking over my shoulder so one day after i school i tore of in his direction, sprinting from across the playground and screaming at the top of my lungs too. he turned and adopted an odd look. he was surprised and it was like he didn't know what to do. he put his hands up as if to box and braced himself and i remember jumping up on him, clasping my legs around his torso, (we fell,) and i started punching him on both sides of his grotesque chranium. it didn't last long. the screaming and the interminable sprint attracted much attention and i was pulled off him quickly but he had a bloody nose and was crying, literally, crying, in front of everyone who was there. i was still raging but i can remember the recognition that he was crying making me feel like quite the little champ.

not long after that a kid popped me in the eye and i had to tell my uncle it was from a fight. i painted myself the victim and wasn't punished in any way but i think my aunt and uncle moved us to covina in part because they thought the brown neighborhood was a little rough. . .

and it was in covina i lost my mexijo. (my mexican mojo.) covina had maybe 20% mexican families but the other 79% were white. white like dirt bikes and boats and long hair on boys and baseball not beisbol. white like led zeppelin-these people had never even heard of the chi-lites. the vitalis, ricky ricardo flip i had in the front of my hair was suddenly out of style and i'm pretty sure i was voted on to covina people magazine's ten worst dressed list.

but then one day i realized, i really am white. i really am, and was. the 25% of me that is of filipino descent may have given me a skin color similar to that of my mexican brethren and i suppose the white kids identified with me even less than the mexican kids, but 75% of me is white. (mostly irish with perhaps a bit of either german or english or welsch, or all three, and possibly a sliver of native american cherokee a few generations back on the white side but basically, a big mix of paleskin.)

i adapted quickly. i ran for class president, (basically as "the new kid,") and lost by 3%, (to the white girl i had a crush on; sally.) i played little league baseball and because of my own personal development, everything was just getting better in those days.

my little chicanito self fell away from me like a favorite coat that suddenly lost its lustre and just didn't quite fit anymore. in my heart, it remained; my love of the mexican culture, (as i knew it.)

i often tell people today i was mexican from 3 to 11, or that i was once a mexican, migrant farm worker. i cherish the memories i retain. i hold on to the idea that as a 6 or 7-year-old boy i lived in a mobile home in nipomo and bussed into santa maria to go to school and we picked strawberries when they were in season and potatoes when they were, and my uncle george dug for clams at 5am at pismo beach and how ricky went off to the marine corps and suzy drove a little blue karman ghia and how connie used to take me to the beach with her and the smell of fresh tortillas and authentic mexican foods and the sounds of their rolling r's when they would refer to the barrrrrio or when luis taught me to say viva la raza and the 'r' was hard, rolled like a taquito, and 'z' sounded like the 's' in style.

i don't miss it. i only cherish it. i miss my people, the ones i lost contact with because of the behavior of ridiculous adults.

i heard both uncles and one of my aunts all succumbed to diabetes. both my uncle manuel and uncle george lost limbs before ultimately dying. my aunt aurora is supposedly still living in santa maria, likely in the same house right across the street from the park with the rocket with the slide in it. i hope she is well and i hope robert and isaac, my once "cousins," are also thriving.

i have not seen nor heard from connie nor luis nor any of the others in close to 20 years.

in my 30s i remember looking around one day and realizing all of my friends i hung out with on a day-to-day basis were mexican and it did not surprise me.

my mexican friend who writes like garcia-lorca and who wears his mexicanness right next to his heart on his sleeve like a badge of honor, takes me back with his writing. (every time.) and i have to say, it's good to remember. it's good to have a history even if it is just your own and not that of a race of people.

persons of the year?

"For being shrewd about doing good, for rewiring politics and re-engineering justice, for making mercy smarter and hope strategic and then daring the rest of us to follow, Bill and Melinda Gates and Bono are Time's Persons of the Year."

i am not clear as to how i feel about this situation. on the one hand, i have adored bono for years. i like his music and i like his positivity, (for lack of a better word.) i also like my pc. i was pried away from my mac by lower prices, the business world and compatibility issues but i have adapted and i enjoy the modern conveniences and nuances of the information age.

on the other hand, i do not care for the wealthy class and clearly, these two cats are as wealthy as it gets. time calls the three of them, (melinda gates, bill's wife, being included,) "good samaritans." this is the news magazine passing judgment, (and it may be correct.)

still, just the other day i saw something on tv while watching a football game about how much cash the nfl and its partners have donated in charity this year and i was disgusted, completely and thoroughly disgusted.

i am sick of corporations lauding themselves for their charitable donations. i don't care if it is microsoft or general motors or the nba.

i don't give money to charity and i am not apologizing for it. i barely get by as it is. i would love to give money to charities i deem worthy of a donation but as it is, corporations are constantly trying to gouge me to increase their own profit margins and pad their coffers.

fuck them. fuck the corporation. it is time for us to get a grip on these institutions used to hide small, evil men.

when i hear about the massive donation this or that corporation made to some charity or another, (likely another entity not to be trusted,) i imagine the profit margin that allows for such a gift. it is the same with marketing campaigns.

marketing costs money so when i see a company spending a lot of marketing dollars, it pisses me off. imagine that profit margin. imagine how much they are over-charging you for their product. fuckin' creeps. (at least bono and u2's only royalty for their ipod commercials was in exposure and to mac's credit, they did not pay a whopping amount of cash to the artist.)

most people i associate with cannot go to a ball game, (nba, nfl, and the mlb, specifically, with the nhl and mls not far behind,) because they are priced out of the market. (forget season tickets.) i rely on gifts from the corporation to go to games.

i love to see a game and will enjoy most sports but i cannot afford to purchase my own tickets. my company has season tickets for the dodgers and i usually get those four seats 2-3 times per year. (the people i invite received the gift from the corporation just like i did.) i have relatives who often kick me down tickets to go see games that are paid for by their corporations.

i would like to buy myself a ticket to go see a game but by and large, i can't afford it. from all this i deduce the profit margins of corporations are too high.

so is bill (and melinda,) gates the good samaritan or the richest man in the world and are these mutually exclusive clubs? he got that rich by having a healthy profit margin, even though i love my yahoo music engine i listen to on my pc with windows xp. he has certainly spent a lot of money in advertising, (and paid the stones at least a couple of times.)

is there a rationale that suggests he needed to spend the advertising dollars to crush his competitors so he could be in the position to be the good samaritan? would the same sort of rationale exist for the profit margin? in order to grow the business, does the corporation have to behave in the ways we have come to expect, (i.e. high profit margins, large advertising budgets...)?

surely u2 and bono could have behaved more altruistically by demanding smaller profit margins for their records. but how reasonable is that? i think it is fair and reasonable to want to get to a place where you do not have to worry about money, or, that is, to worry about paying bills. I don't begrudge anyone who wants to work as hard as the guys in u2 do for making more money than me.

i like that u2/bono started www.one.org. it gives the individual both a chance to give to charity and a chance to "act locally," (as they say.) further, i trust this particular charity more than i do others because of the people involved. his work with data and jubilee 2000, (to say nothing of the live aid famine relief efforts,) is wonderful stuff. bono is truly a good samaritan. further, he works so hard, that is, his time is in such high demand, i admire his dedication.

bono has become the stuart smalley of crusading rock stars. he seems to lack the ability to offend. and i think back to when he was the young, angry rock star and i realize his anger was always against something everyone could agree with him on, (except perhaps a handful of north irish, protestant, terrorists.) i would this aspect of him were different, but then, he would not be bono.

it pains me he does not rage against agents of injustice, especially gven his position. but then, woulld he be in his position if he did? (that is a rhetorical question. no. he would not.)

i wish bono's reaction was not this big "i am so humbled," thing. it seems faux to me, which is oddly often other's complaint about him and something i am apt to defend him on usually. but this time, it is as if he is claiming to be unaware of who he is and what he does, as if there are a host of others in the world who are as effectively doing good in so many areas. then again, he has been so effective at controlling his image, i feel like i'm demanding perfection by being even this slightest bit critical.

so time's criteria for person of the year is based on who has affected the world most in that year. i remember the year it was the ayatollah khomeini, which reminds me the person is not expected to be admirable. w/ that in mind, i come full circle and can agree that time has made reasonable choices. cheers to these three and time's momentary diversion.