StoryCorps Historias is in East LA. I’m excited. Not only because I’ve heard some of the recently recorded stories on Latino USA, but also because my fellow blogger Alex is in town.

The MobileBooth will be open and ready for your cuentos and historias starting today, February 11th at the East LA Public Library (4837 E. Third St., Los Angeles, CA 90022). The final day in East LA is March 20th.

Some background:

StoryCorps Historias is an initiative to record the diverse stories and life experiences of Latinos in the United States. Sharing these stories celebrates our history, honors our heritage, and captures the true spirit of our community. It will also ensure that the voices of Latinos will be preserved and remembered for generations to come.

Sounds great, right?

To sign up, visit the reservations page. I’ve heard that all slots are currently full, but you can add yourself to the waitlist.

If you can’t get to the MobileBooth, I encourage you to check out the user-friendly DIY Guide to recording someone’s stories.

My mom didn’t watch much TV when I was growing up. In fact, I rarely saw her just sitting around doing nothing.

“No real work is done when you’re sitting,” she’d remind me as I’d take a seat while folding laundry.

Still, she did turn on the TV for background noise when she ironed. Most of the times it was the afternoon newscast. That was practical. She could get an update on rush hour traffic and know when to expect my dad and get the weather forecast.

In listening to these newscasts, I mistook the anchors’ “Southern California” for “sunny California.” This made much more sense to a kid growing up in the drought years as Tony! Toni! Tone! sang “It Never Rains (In Southern California)”.

I write all this to give you an idea of why I’d complain after four straight days of rain during dinner with my advisor and fellow grad students.

While my fellow advisees — tired of sloshing around campus, traffic and taking the bus in the rain — felt my pain, my advisor did not.

“You need to leave California, Cindy.”

She had just returned from a work trip to Michigan and surely some rain and lows in the 40s were little to complain about.

I pouted.

(more…)

It wasn’t too late when I left Hacienda Heights. Fifteen minutes later I was in East LA and slowing down for road construction on the 60 westbound. I decided to get off a few exits early and take a different route to my friend’s house.

I exited the freeway to find the normally busy intersection at Whittier and Lorena quiet at 11:30. I drove down 6th street as if going to my aunt’s house a few blocks away.

The light at the intersection of Lorena and 6th turned green and I started down the big hill on 6th. When I was a kid, I’d say “weeeee” as my mom or dad drove down the hill on the way to Grandma and Grandpa’s or Papá Chepe and Mamá Toni’s house.

This time was different. In the front and to my left I noticed two men. One pushed a shopping cart. The other charged toward my car, as if in anger. My heart quickened with fear, I made sure my doors were locked and stepped on the gas while sort of swerving around the man. I barely stopped at the stop sign up ahead.

Five minutes later after arriving at my friend’s house, my heart was still beating quickly.
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El Chavo told me not to take his post about the problem with Hacienda Heights personally. I told him: “maybe I should start writing negative posts about Lincoln Heights or other parts of the Eastside. I’ve been there enough times to make observations and form opinions about singular events.” I went through with it… sort of. I basically played Mad Libs with the original post. You know us kids raised in the suburbs, we’re so unoriginal and ready to copy the latest trend!

I’ve never talked shit about the neighborhoods to my east (or west, if I position myself in Hacienda Heights) on my blog/blogs I’ve contributed to. I had no reason to start bashing the Eastside or its neighborhoods. Some of my best friends and family were born, raised and still live in the Eastside. I didn’t want to ruin relationships or create hostilities with them.

However, it’s impossible for my sense of decency to keep quiet. The Eastside, particularly Lincoln Heights, creates odd behavior patterns, maybe perfectly reasonable within the context of their own reality but utterly absurd when exposed to the light of reason.

Take for example this banana peel spotted in the parking lot of a LH Big Saver Foods a few weeks ago. I don’t understand why the consumer of this banana could not just toss the peel in a garbage can rather than leave the peel on the ground. Maybe folks in LH missed the classic cartoon lesson — or have never played Mario Kart — banana peels are dangerous. Someone (that would be me) could slip and fall. Luckily, I have decent reflexes and caught my balance before taking a fall. I doubt an Abuelita out to buy some groceries would have been so lucky. She might have broken a hip bone. I don’t get it. Are there no garbage cans on Broadway or the Big Saver Foods grocery store? I have no idea, but whatever the “logic” that led to the careless parking lot disposal of this banana peel, it just points to some warped thinking happening on these streets (or cars, I guess a LH driver could have thrown the banana out of his/her car). Fucking negligent thinking.

I almost considered picking up the peel and disposing of it properly, but neh pollos, who knows what kinda germs are on that banana peel. I didn’t even have my Purell in my purse.

If people can build opinions about Hacienda Heights from a lone Christmas tree tossed to the curb on Christmas afternoon, isn’t it appropriate that I be able to form an opinion from some random sighting on my way out to a delicious dinner in LH? I think the notion of justice demands I create a similar prejudice, just to be fair.

Since April, I’d been avoiding Chavez Ravine. I wasn’t dealing with guilt over the history of the area. I saw Culture Clash’s play five years ago and dealt with it all then. Plus, I grew up without the knowledge of the history. All I knew were the names of my favorite players and all those guys who won Rookie of the Year in the ’90s (Eric Karros, Mike Piazza, Raul Mondesi, Hideo Nomo and Todd Hollandsworth).

My avoidance wasn’t even about the hassle of getting to/in/and out of the place. The happiness I feel in the stadium cancels out the frustration of getting in.

No, I was staying away because I didn’t like owner Frank McCourt’s business model of increasing admission and parking prices as well as creating more luxury seating. Last year, I only went when someone else was trying to pass off some tickets. Yeah, I can be coda…

But my boycott was half-assed, like a lot of other things I do. If a friend offered to buy tickets or needed to pass off some tickets, I’d gladly take them.

I was offered tickets last week for fantastic seats for the first game of the Freeway Series against the Anaheim Angels (eff that LA Angels of Anaheim crap).

Photos after the jump.

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It was the last day of jury duty. We, the jurors, deliberated for a little over an hour and then called the bailiff to let her know we’d come to a decision. Half an hour later, all attorneys and defendants were ready for us to file out in to the jury box.

As we took our seats, the judge noted, “let the record show that all jurors and alternates are present… and one die hard Laker fan.”

The courtroom broke out into nervous laughter.

“Is that on the record?” juror #3, sitting directly to my right, asked.

“Yes,” the judge responded with a boyish smile.

That was it for the jokes and we got to business.

I sat next to juror #3, a tall, athletic Afro-Panamanian in his 60s, for our nine day stint on jury duty. I never learned his name, but did learn a lot about him. After seeing the Panamanian flag hanging from his rear-view mirror and learning he didn’t need to listen to the court-appointed interpreter to understand the testimony of a Spanish-speaking witness, I figured out he was from Panama. He passed out shiny purple and gold fliers and told the rest of the jury about his tax preparation business. The office doubled as a museum housing his Laker gear. Yes, he gave tours.

Oh yeah, he was diehard Laker fan. It’s on the record!

He distinguished himself from fair-weather fans (*raises hand*) by asserting that he was a Laker fan even during their slump in the 60s. But he didn’t have to say anything. His zealousness was clear.

Every single day he wore Laker gear from head to toe. Yes, even shoes. The cap came off only while in court. He always read the sports section for the latest news and analysis on the Lakers’ playoff run. If he forgot sports section, he’d ask to borrow mine. He had two flags — ubiquitous during the Lakers’ 3-peat in 2000, 2001, and 2002 — on his car. I suspect they never came off during the off-season or even the regular season.

I wonder if juror #3, felt sick after tonight’s game.

I know I did.

Sigh.

First Tía Chucha’s Centro Cultural and Bookstore was booted from it’s original location in San Fernando. The space is now reportedly a laundromat.

Now, Antigua Cultural Coffee House will close the doors of its El Sereno location. They’re “getting evicted or just simply not being granted a contract extension.” In three weeks they’ll be gone… but never fear, their Cypress Park location will open later this summer.

In his email (posted after the jump), Yancey, co-owner of Antigua, calls his coffee shop “the envy of the West side.” I can’t argue with that as evidenced by my reaction after my first visit. Since then, I’ve found a coffee shop where the owner notices when I haven’t visited in a while. It’s cool, but it’s no Antigua.

I visited Antigua a few weeks ago for a monthly meet up with fellow Latin@ bloggers. The meetings are a fun time to just catch up, support independent small businesses on the Eastside and talk about current issues. The next gathering will be at Antigua on Wednesday June 18th at 7 pm. For more info, check out Eastside Scene.

If you’ve never been to Antigua or met really cool bloggers (ahem!), you should stop by. Chances are Ed will be making me blush when he praises my blogging skills for the 31st time. Not that I mind, you know.

Email announcement from Yancey, co-owner of Antigua after the jump.
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Uh oh. Fire at Universal Studios.

For those of you familiar with the back lot tour at Universal Studios, the following attractions and parts of the back lot were destroyed:

destroying a soundstage, the theme park’s King Kong attraction, a video vault and sets such as the Courthouse Square seen in “Back to the Future” and the New York streetscape from “Bruce Almighty.”

The smoke from all those burning plastic videos (forty to fifty thousand) is causing health concerns for neighbors in Toluca Lake.

Sigh. Fire season in LA sucks. Hope all the firefighters battling the blaze are safe. According to LA Observed (linked above) four were being treated for heat exhaustion or burns.

The new Simpsons ride was not affected.

I celebrated my release from jury duty yesterday afternoon by eating a delicious brownie and finally talking about the trial. As you might expect, I hated being silenced about my experience and the trial.

The trial revolved around four 20/21 year old Latino defendants charged with gang loitering. One defendant was charged with a second count for violation of a gang injunction. Both crimes are misdemeanors.

According to the prosecution, the four defendants (plus two others) were members of a gang near LAX. On November 17, 2007, they were loitering at the corner of a park. The sheriff’s deputies who detained them and also testified witnessed them throwing gang signs, showing off their tattoos and calling out their gang’s name. They did this with the intent to establish their dominance in that neighborhood and publicize the gang. This caused non-gang members to be intimidated. The defense countered that some of the young men were (a) not active gang members (or were never jumped in), (b) all four of the young men were not at the park on that afternoon, (c) the young men were arrested at different locations in their neighborhood (not in a group), and (d) the district attorney’s office and sheriff’s department targeted these young men as part of a current push to enforce gang injunctions. After a couples hours of deliberation, we found all four defendants not guilty. I don’t think the guys were angels. If I saw them on the street in a group, I’m sure I’d feel intimidated and avoid them too. However, the prosecution’s case and the evidence didn’t get us past the standard of reasonable doubt so we returned a verdict of not guilty on all counts.
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I’ve lived in the same place for 7.5 years. In that time, I’ve had the same neighbors in the units across and above me. There are 8 apartments in each of the two buildings, both managed by the same company. We share a driveway so we see each other come and go, wander around and smoke a cigarette, hang out on the balcony, pick up our email or barbecue behind the cars in the carport.

Of all the people who live in the two buildings, I only know two names. It’s the same with Isa, my roommate. We keep to ourselves. This feels odd considering I came from a neighborhood where we knew our neighbors quite well. I mean, one neighbor held a small 4th of July block party.

The only names I know are those for Carlos, the building manager. We need to talk to him to fix stuff, like our bathtub that won’t drain making it impossible to shower. And there’s Yuri, who lives with his family across the hall from us. When he was in middle school, he used to ask for help on his homework. He’s no longer a kid. I know when he gets home ’cause I can hear his hip hop music blasting from his car.

I don’t know the Latinos living upstairs nor the elderly woman across from them. She’s the one I wonder about these days. The woman in unit #3 drove a green sedan with a Culver City Senior Citizens decal on the window. I’d only see her mid-morning when she’d return from errands. If she had groceries, sometimes she’d ask for help getting them up the stairs. I’d help, of course. Of course, I never knew her name.

I haven’t seen her car in a while. I haven’t seen her in a while. Yesterday, I noticed men moving away furniture out of her apartment. When I returned from a May Day activities and a meeting on campus, I noticed furniture out on the curb waiting to be picked up by the trash collectors.

I came back in and asked Isa, “do you know what happened to the woman upstairs?”

We both agreed it was weird that the Latina woman upstairs was driving the green sedan. Neither of us had seen her green sedan or her in a while.

“Do you think she died?” I asked Isa.

“Possibly.”

“How sad… we don’t even know,” she said.

“Yeah.”

I had a weird vision of seeing her taken away in an ambulance, but then remembered that was a scene in Dagoberto Gilb’s The Flowers.

I’ll find out what happened. I’ll just talk to my neighbors.