Lotería Chicana » 2006

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August 31, 2006

Misperceptions

I’ve been having some interesting conversations on the way to and from the airport. These days I’m going to LAX so often that I don’t feel like bugging anyone for a ride, especially if I’m only going to be gone a day. I drive to a pay lot and then take their courtesy shuttle. When you arrive, they pick you up at the terminal. It’s all simple, and I don’t have to worry about giving anyone a headache on the way to/from LAX or at LAX itself.

The owners of the lot are Middle Eastern and the drivers are often Latino. I like the drivers. They’re nice to me. Perhaps it’s because as service people, I don’t ignore them. I ask, “¿de dónde eres?” A short question leads to a short conversation from the parking lot to the Southwest terminal. On Monday, I was the only person in the mini-bus. The young and handsome driver was from Costa Rica. We talked the whole way to the airport about English classes, school, Costa Rica and the World Cup. As we approached the Southwest terminal he asked, “y tienes novio?”

“No.”

“Tan bonita y sin novio, se me hace difícil creer.”

I smiled.

He unloaded my suitcase and walked me to the curb. I said goodbye and walked to the check-in desk so that I could check my small carry-on sized suitcase (damn no liquid or gel rules!). Sometimes a little flirting — or just a casual conversation — with a stranger is nice.

Yesterday evening, the middle-aged man who picked me up was from Nicaragua. He told me about his daughters, how all his wives (three!) had been Mexican and how he really loved Mexicans because they had done a lot for him.

He also asked questions, and was surprised by one of my answers.

“¿Cuántos años tienes?”

“Veinticinco… casi veintiséis. Mañana los cumpló.”

“¡Veintiséis! Tienes la cara de niña. Pensaba que tenías unos quince o dieciséis. ¿Qué comes?”

People guess my age in the -teens all the time. I’m used to it, but still amused. Why is it that the gap in my actual age and perceived age keeps growing? You think by the time I turned 26 people would actually guess that I was in my 20s.

Filed under: Randomness, Los Angeles | POSTED BY cindylu AT 3:29 pm | 6 Comments

August 28, 2006

Café, cultura y comunidad

There are aspects of living on the Westside I can’t stand. I hate the traffic. I don’t know where to find good tacos. I can’t make local calls without first dialing 310. And then there’s a shortage of independent coffee houses.

I’m not a coffee drinker, but I like coffee houses. I get a lot more work done in a coffee house, but most of the places around here are chain coffee houses. Two Coffee Beans and four Starbucks within a two mile radius (and I was three short according to the Starbucks Store Locator!). I go to the Starbucks a ten minute walk away (sorry, Oso). Half the time I get some sort of hook up without even flirting with the baristas.

A few months ago, Alfred visited Antigua Cultural Coffee House after classes at Cal State LA. He left that day with a second part-time job as a barista. For the next few weeks Alfred insisted that I stop by his new workplace. I wanted to stop by, but Antigua is 15 miles away in El Sereno, an East LA neighborhood. Travelling 15 LA miles for coffee and free wi-fi wasn’t worth the headache.

I finally followed Alfred’s advice and set up a coffee date with Chispa. I don’t see her enough even though she’s back in LA. After her law school graduation she hit the books studying for the Bar exam and stayed away from any social events . By the time she was done with the bar in late July, I was busy or out of town (what’s new?). We kept missing each other, in both senses of the word.

On Wednesday after work, I picked Chispa up at her parent’s place and we made the short drive to Antigua. When we arrived, the small café was relatively empty except for a few students working on their laptops. I looked around at the place and knew exactly why Alfred had recommended the café. Each wall of the orange-ish room drew me in. Dark wooden tables were set up along the left wall and center of the room. A few comfy seats and a couch were positioned near the door and window. Opposite the window was a short hallway and a small room functioning as a mini-store of artesanía típica. Mayan glyphs in a stair-like design framed the glass display counter. The long left wall was empty except for a dollar pinned in the middle. To our right, Yancey, one of four co-owners exited the kitchen to greet us and take our order.

We approached and tried to figure out what to drink. The menu was a treat in itself. Antigua’s drink sizes wouldn’t confuse me. Ce, ome and yei are the Nahuatl words for one, two and three.

Choosing a drink was tough. Chispa chose the Aztlan Dream, white chocolate, espresso, vanilla and steamed milk. We both giggled when we read that it was white chocolate. I asked Yancey for a chai latté, but he told me they were out. “The UPS guy was supposed to deliver it today,” he told me.

I shook my head, “I should call my brother and have him put some pressure on his driver friends.”

I scanned the ice blends. They all were tempting. I settled on mango mainly because I wanted to ask for a Chango Mango (mango puree blended with ice). We asked for a banana nut muffin. “Do you want it warmed up? Cut in half?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered for the two of us.

While Yancey got our drinks ready we chatted. Lots of questions. Lots of answers. Does Alfred still work here? Who painted the glyphs and Nahuatl numbers (bars and dots)? Do you girls live around here? What do you do? Do you want to be on the mailing list?

He explained why there was only $1 tacked in the middle of the wall. “Look at that, I get all kinds of artists wanting to put there stuff up in here and a 16 year old kid uses it just to put a $1. I can’t wait for this month to end.” For September, Antigua would display art from an LA artist whose name I already forgot, but whose work I’ve seen. We found out that Yancey was a Cal State LA alum and was in MEChA as a student. He wanted to give back to the community and expand to Highland Park, a predominantly Latino neighborhood north of Downtown. Check, out the bathrooms, look around, he recommended. Before we paid, he asked us to sign up for the email list. We obliged.

We took our seats with our drinks and began the long process of catching up. I’m sure we could have gone all night. There’s never a shortage of news, chisme, problems to work out and work to explain. I find her immigration law work fascinating. She finds my drama more entertaining than a novela. It took us forever to eat our muffin as taking time to chew would have disrupted our flow. We took a while to finish our drinks, a sip here and there. They were great too.

Soon Antigua filled up. Students sat with their laptops and drinks across from us. A family with kids sat behind us and the folks who were in the place when we arrived were still lounging in their seats and at their tables, still typing away at their laptops. We decided to leave and give up our tables to newly arriving customers.

Before we left, I followed Yancey’s recommendation and checked out the women’s bathroom. The decor was different. Flowers bordered the ceiling and a quote by Rigoberta Menchú Tum, Nobel Peace Prize laureate, graced the wall across from the toilet.

…instead of giving a rifle to somebody, build a school; instead of giving a rifle, build a community with adequate services. Instead of giving a rifle, develop an educational system that is not about conflict and violence, but one that promotes respect for values, for life, and respect for one’s elders. This requires a huge investment. Yet if we can invest in a different vision of peaceful coexistence, I think we can change the world, because every problem has a nonviolent answer (1996).

I left thinking of when I could escape the westside for some café/té y cultura. It’s rare that I can find a place that both inspires me and makes me feel at home.

Filed under: Cultura, Los Angeles | POSTED BY cindylu AT 2:05 pm | 8 Comments

August 27, 2006

On healing

One morning I entered the CPO to find a small bundle of sage tied together with red yarn. I looked around and saw three identical bundles on Rose, Paul and Nieema’s desks. Molly didn’t have one. Maybe we would be able to all get along and work together despite our rocky start.

From day 1 of directors training and one-on-one sessions with Henry, the outgoing director, I knew I’d need the professional and personal support of the four other SRC directors. “They’re the only people who will know what you’re going through,” Henry told me. “You’ll need them if you want to keep your sanity.” Henry had it easy. He and the four other directors liked each other. They were a team that could work together and spend a weekend camping in Zion National Park.

Our personalities were the biggest obstacle, but the SRC work space certainly didn’t help. Our desks were crammed into an area no larger than my living room. There was a good side to the tiny space. I didn’t have to leave my desk to talk to the other directors. I’d spin around to the left to watch Homestar Runner and Strong Bad cartoons on Paul’s computer then look to my right and ask Rose a question about the budget proposal I should have been writing. Our staffs of 4 to 14 students didn’t fit in the space, let alone our egos.

We felt pressure from anyone with authority over us to get along. The director of the office, student funding committee, and retention project advisor all wanted to know why the directors didn’t get along. They came to director’s meetings, spoke to us individually, and made us honestly address the problem. In the CPO, a place where the collective is valued more than the individual, it wasn’t enough for each director to be successful with his or her project. We had to work together, and like each other.

By February, seven months after we had started working together, everyone realized they had pushed too hard. Molly got up in the middle of a weekly directors meeting and left us with a few expletives. She grabbed her things and angrily stomped out of the office leaving behind more kind words. We never saw her again nor had the opportunity to make peace and heal our fractured relationship.

***

According to Adrienne Borden and Steve Coyote, “the botanical name for “true” sage is Salvia (e.g. Salvia officinalis, Garden Sage, or Salvia apiana, White Sage).” The term comes from the Latin salvare, to heal. It sounds and looks like salve, a remedy that heals or soothes. Sage is used in smudging ceremonies to drive away bad spirits, feelings and influences.

If I would have known this as an 18 year old, my first encounter with sage would have made more sense. I was about to leave to a MEChA conference in Phoenix with several other Mechistas. As usual, we had a short “talking circle” before leaving and folks would pass around the sage. I followed the lead of the older students who fanned the smoke from the sage toward their bodies starting at their feet and going up to their heads. Then, each person would say a few words hoping for a safe and productive trip. It wasn’t a smudging ceremony, but we were doing the same thing. We wanted to drive away any negative energy or feelings that could spoil our trip.

***

Three years later, I still have the sage Molly gave me. I’ve burned it lately in the hopes that it will help me heal. I need to rid myself of feelings of anger, sadness and resentment.

Sage brings me a sense of peace and calm, yet the women who gave it to me made my life more stressful and ultimately left it in a violent and abrupt manner. Ironic, isn’t it?

Filed under: Cultura, Escuela | POSTED BY cindylu AT 12:21 pm | 1 Comment

August 25, 2006

Report from South Campus

I really like my job. I haven’t been able to say that in the past two years. I didn’t hate my job or even dislike it, but I didn’t actually like being a researcher who just worked with numbers and databases. That’s cool for some people, but not for me.

I’ve been working here since April. The job came at a tough time in my life, sort of a crossroads with lots of changes in relationships, goals and all that. This job has helped me get through that. I don’t think I’m excellent at what I do. I screwed up royally a few months ago by sending letters to the wrong students. Fulano de tal got a letter addressed to Fulanita. The letters had the same information and it was fixable, but I still felt dumb. Normally, I’m hearing praise. My supervisor and the director of the program both think I’m doing an excellent job, have everything under control, and am doing exactly what they hired me to do.

All summer long, I’ve been meeting and advising the students I’ll get to know better once the school year starts. There are about 100 first year students in the program and about 30 second year students. That’s a lot. I’m used to working with caseloads of about 50 or 60.

The best part, of course has been working with the students. It’s great to work through problems together and help them figure something out. Still, there are things I don’t like. I feel like I’m doing too much telling and not enough asking. That’s not the way I learned or even like to advise or counsel students.

I don’t know why they want to major in the sciences aside from a short paragraph they wrote on their applications. I don’t know too much about their future goals, where they’re coming from, what initially sparked their interests, or what they’re excited and worried about. Instead, I speak to a student on the phone and want to immediately ask, “what’s your student ID number?”

As a student, I still hate identifying myself by a number, but as someone who works with students and has access to their records, I know the easiest way to help them begins with being able to access those records. Having the ID number is the most accurate way to identify the student.

As time goes on, I think I’ll be putting to use the skills I learned at the old job. Many of the students I once counseled have with met their goals and graduated. It felt great to see them walk across the stage at the Raza Graduation. Hearing, “I couldn’t have done this without you” felt even better. I can’t wait to have that sort of impact on people’s lives again.

Filed under: Escuela | POSTED BY cindylu AT 4:35 pm | 3 Comments

August 23, 2006

Mil palabras: flora y fuego

Balneario Quinta Mosqueda, Guanajuato

¿Hay alguna duda porqué me encanta Guanajuato tanto? Hay belleza por todas partes, desde los paisajes de cerros verdes hasta las caras de mis parientes.

[Are there any doubts as to why I love Guanajuato so much? There’s beauty everywhere, from views of the lush green hills to the faces of my relatives.]

Filed under: Mexico, Fotos | POSTED BY cindylu AT 10:40 am | 4 Comments

August 21, 2006

Love high

Ernie and I used to always be paired up to read the first and second readings at wedding, anniversary and quinceañera Masses. It started when we were 12 and 11 years old, respectively. We both read scripture for the Old Testament and Papá Chepe and Mamá Toni’s 50th wedding anniversary Mass.

The last time we read together was at our cousin Tony’s wedding in August 2002. We joked about always being paired up, partners in crime. Well, not really.

Ernie has a new lifelong partner. On Saturday he and Tamara said their vows in front of numerous friends and family members and later celebrated it with a mariachi and the dollar dance.

Something stuck out about Ernie’s wedding. Perhaps I’ve never been close enough to the bride and groom to notice, but Ernie and Tamara looked different. I haven’t known Tamara too long, but I grew up with my cousin and we’re fairly close. I had never seen him look the way he did on Saturday as he looked at Tamara and said his vows. The best way I can describe it was simply a natural love high. Another aunt said it looked as if someone had given them love pills.

It was rather sweet.

Filed under: Familia | POSTED BY cindylu AT 4:35 pm | 3 Comments

August 16, 2006

Mil palabras: los tlatoanis del barrio

The Knitting Factory, Hollywood

Visual proof that I didn’t make up the story below. Jeanalee and I really did meet Quique, Joselo and Meme from Café Tacuba on Saturday night. Thanks to the friend of a friend who had his camera and was nice enough to snap a shot of us with my favorite rockstars.

Filed under: Música, Fotos | POSTED BY cindylu AT 12:38 am | 6 Comments

August 13, 2006

Hoy es el día más es espetacular, el más bello que hay

I learned last night that I should never leave my camera in my car simply because I don’t want to have to carry anything on me at a concert. When I locked up my car, I had my friend, Jeanalee put my ID, money and keys in her pocket. At the last minute, she changed her flight to leave Oakland with me and return to LA on Saturday night. Jeanalee agreed to come with me to see Los Liquits (sorry, we missed Los Abandoned) at the Knitting Factory in Hollywood, and I know she’s glad she made the choice.

I could have taken some great shots of Los Liquits guys in action. The Knitting Factory is a small venue, and the show wasn’t too crowded so even though I arrived a couple songs after they had started, I still could have made my way to the stage with no trouble. Los Liquits’ shows are just like their music: fun and a little weird, but the fun kind of weird. The guys have a great stage presence. Photos of Los Liquits would have been nice, but their music is good enough for me.

I really missed my camera when a minute after entering the room, I found myself standing next to Enrique “Quique” Rángel. Yes, the bassist from Café Tacuba. When I saw him, he looked really familiar, but he looked too normal to be a major rock star. He was just standing there watching the show, drink in hand. He wore an off white sweater vest, a white shirt underneath, dark pants and carried what looked like a camera bag. His hair is what gave him away. He had long bangs to the right, a little curly. He actually looked younger than I thought.

When some other kids came up to him, I realized I was right. He was Quique. I told Jeanalee who thought it was cool. A little later, Quique went back to the bar and I was surprised once again. To my left walking near the stairs to the second floor I saw a man dressed in black with shoulder-length hair straight hair. His height and lanky frame gave him away. It was Emmanuel “Meme” del Real.

Once again, I yelled in to Jeanalee’s ear while dancing to “Desde Que” that Meme was here too. It made sense, I told her since Meme produced some of Jardín and two years ago when I saw them in San Diego, Los Liquits opened up or them and Maldita Vecindad. Behind me, other kids had noticed los Tacubos and were snapping pictures with them. It was then that I felt dumb, but I tried to rationalize leaving my camera in my car by telling myself that I already have a photo with los Tacubos and seeing them at the same small show was great enough.

The night only got better. Los Liquits rocked, of course, and played all my favorites. And Joselo showed up with a woman (his wife? girlfriend?). He stood a few feet behind Jeanalee and I. Quique and Meme stood out somewhat simply bsaed on age… and the fact that people kept pointing at them and asking them for photos. However, Joselo can’t really hide. He has glasses and dreadlocks, something not common among Mexican and Chicana/o kids in LA. Once again, I pointed him out to Jeanalee and she noted that the other two could be a little incognito, but not Joselo. She was right.

A few songs later, Liquits ended their show, but most people didn’t empty the room. Would you leave the room where your favorite band was just chilling and having drinks?

I didn’t know what to do. Should I talk to them? What would I say?

I got the nerve to talk to Meme (at the time Joselo and his girlfriend were with Quique and they were talking to some guys). This was the best part, of course.

I was so starstruck, which I’m sure didn’t help my pocha Spanish, yet Meme was totally chill, nice and rather humble. I introduced myself and tried to introduce Jeanalee but momentarily forgot her name. She stood by my side as I asked Meme a few questions and then proceeded to gush on about how their music means so much to me.

I asked Meme about when they would release their next album. He confirmed what I had read and said that they were currently working on something which would be released next year. I was confused, did he mean 2007 or 2008? He cleared it up, 2007. I then asked when they’d be on tour again and he said after the release of the new album (duh). I told him that my year felt incomplete without seeing them play.

I told Meme that Café Tacuba’s music really means a lot to me. I don’t think I can voice the impact it’s had on my life, either in English or in Spanish. In particular though, Meme’s words have touched me even more. He wrote “Las Flores” a rather short 2 minute and 12 second song that oozes pure high-energy happiness. I love Las Flores, it’s my favorite song of all time, just as Re is my favorite album. I told Meme about my love of “Las Flores” and he just nodded. I continued in Spanish, “I don’t know if you guys know what your music means to your fans, how it makes them feel.” Meme replied, “we don’t know what you feel.” I hope he does now, at least from me.

I thanked Meme again. Mucho gusto seemed like an understatement. My knees were weak (really, they were), and I was still so amazed. I’ve met Café Tacuba before, but it was so rushed. All we got was a picture. Cool enough, but this was better.

Thanks to Jeanalee who found a friend from school in the audience, we got a picture with other Tacubos. A friend of a friend took a picture and soon Jeanalee and I will have a photo to remind us of the night we found ourselves enjoying the same music in a small venue with the greatest Mexican rock band.

On my way home, I called anyone I thought would appreciate the excitement of meeting Café Tacuba. I called my cousin Rene, roommate Isa who was with Gabby, another good friend. I called Lori and Adrian and left messages. Gabby was funny, “that would be like me meeting Chris Martin at McDonalds.”

Jeanalee and I listened to Re on the way home. We were tired, but so happy. I dropped her off at her Westwood apartment and then went home, still with the goofy smile on my face.

I was almost home when I realized something. I didn’t get to see Café Tacuba play, but meeting them and actually having a short conversation with Meme was better. My year is complete.

Filed under: Música | POSTED BY cindylu AT 11:50 am | 9 Comments

August 9, 2006

Mil palabras: cinco días

Beatriz’s Quinceañera

On Monday, when I checked in at the airport just outside of León, the guy at the Continental desk asked me, “¿no quieres quedarte en México otra día?” I thought he was joking and didn’t reply, but went on with an enticing offer. They needed more passengers for the next day or needed to free up room on the flight to LA that evening. As expected, the airline offered compensation and would also cover the costs of staying an extra day.

Of course, I wanted to say yes. I would have gladly stayed another day, week or month. It seemed as if everyone in Guanajuato, thought I needed to make my trip longer. Five days goes by so fast especially when there are so many people to see and places to go.

“No puedo, necesito regresar al trabajo” I finally replied.

It may have been quick, but I took a vacation long enough to make me feel better. I would have stayed longer, but back in June when I booked my flight I scheduled it around work presentations I can’t miss. Beatriz’s quinceañera was just an excuse for something I really needed, but I’m really glad I made the time to get to know her and my other cousins better.

Filed under: Mexico, Fotos | POSTED BY cindylu AT 5:01 pm | 5 Comments

August 4, 2006

Lost and forgotten

As usual, need to get back to some huge family gathering. I sent my dad the following email yesterday afternoon. I thought he might be amused.

They lost my clothes!

Well, not really but the plane was really tiny and apparently all the luggage didn’t fit. It probably didn’t help that I was one of the last people to check in and got to the gate 3 minutes before they started boarding.

I have to wait until tomorrow to get clean chonis and stuff. At least I have my toothbrush and camera. I just had clothes in the suitcase, I guess it’s not that bad. The worst thing isn’t that it happened, but I felt that it might happen and thought to myself that I should pack a pair of chonis, clean socks, bra and tshirt in my carryon bag in case this happened. But I didn’t. D’oh!

Love,
your jet-setting daughter

As with all my travels, I’m always doing things at the last minute. It was about 11 when I got to the airport and I had a 12:40 flight. Oops.

The plane really was tiny. I don’t think it fit more than 60 or 70 people. I’m short, but even I felt like the ceiling was way too low. The aisle was narrow and one side was one seat and the other two seats. I seriously thought I was going to have some sort of panic attack because I hate tiny, enclosed spaces. But I survived and took a nap with Ozo, the monkey, as my pillow.

My clothes arrived earlier than I expected at 2:30 am today. I opened the door to the room where I was staying with my tia Angeles and found my suitcase. Cool. Clean clothes!

I didn’t tell my dad that I was more upset about forgetting to bring my 256 mb memory stick for my camera. It’s at home in my laptop. All I have is a small 16 mb memory stick. I can take 24 pictures. I’ll try to make them good.

Filed under: Randomness, Mexico | POSTED BY cindylu AT 5:06 pm | 3 Comments

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