My cousin, Valerie, celebrates her 15th birthday today. She’s the youngest of the cousins on my mom’s side, but towers over most of us.
On Saturday, family and friends will gather at her home to celebrate. She bought a special dress for the occasion, a white cocktail dress. She won’t have a Mass nor court of chambelanes y damas. There’s no waltz, but she will dance with her father and padrino. Of course, there will still be food, drink and dancing.
I like the bending and adaptation of tradition. In fact, I think every quinceañera I’ve been to is different from previous ones. I’ve seen to co-quinceañeras, quinceañeras celebrated during the 16th birthday, full courts (14 couples), courts of just girls, courts of just guys (Lori and I did this), seen girls wear white gowns as well as colored gowns, seen a waltz, seen a choreographed modern dance, seen slide shows, and more.
But there’s constants. The girls are always surrounded by proud parents, friends and extended family.
And the party is fun.
Question of the week: Did you have a special celebration for your fifteenth birthday? What was it like? For guys, were you ever a chambelán? What was that like?
I love Julieta Venegas, but my codo kept me from buying tickets to her show at Club Nokia. I hope that one of the music blogs would have a ticket give away. I entered a couple through La Banda Elástica and The Scenestar, but didn’t win. But my friend, Jake, did (and only because I posted a link about the Scenestar contest on Facebook). Unfortunately, his wife had a conflict with a graduation. That meant he needed to find another fan. That’s where I gladly step in.
I was excited for the show all day. Not only was I going to see Julieta, but Ximena Sariñana would be opening for her. I’d been following Ximena for a few years and really enjoyed her debut, Mediocre as well as her guest vocals with Volovan (“La Luna”) and Plastilina Mosh (“Pervert Pop Song”).
Ximena seemed genuinely excited to open up for Julieta and called herself a fan. She sang some of her new songs in English as well as “Monitor” over a loop. She closed off with the haunting “Mediocre”.
Half an hour later, Julieta came on stage accompanied by an 8-piece band. She wore a black tunic with some weird gathering that hid her baby bump and navy blue leggings. She looked a little eccentric but cute. She played guitar and keyboard — not accordion — for some of the songs. Most of the time she was singing and dancing, which the adoring crowd loved. She spoke in between the songs about some of the meaning behind them. She dedicated “Un Lugar” to all the migrants and those fighting against SB 1070. She told Mexicans to keep their heads up, “los Mexicanos tenemos mucho de ser orgulloso… Frida Kahlo, Pedro Infante, José Alfredo Jiménez. Vamos a salir adelante.” She dedicated “Revolución” to Soda Stereo frontman Gustavo Cerati, who underwent brain surgery on Wednesday to remove a blood clot. I was happy to see another Tijuanense, Ceci Bastida, reprise her role as part of Julieta’s band, albeit as a guest on a couple of songs.
“In their honor we will pass the DREAM Act soon and very soon.” - Kent Wong
When I saw Matias at dinner on Sunday, he looked tired and weighed down with grief over the loss of two of his best friends. Despite this, he offered some advice and shared what he’d learned as a former chair of IDEAS (an advocacy group for undocumented students) and as an organizer for the DREAM Act. Before leaving, he reminded the new crop of student leaders of the memorial service for Tam Tran and Cinthya Felix.
“It’s in the Grand Salon right now, but we’re trying to get a larger venue.”
That didn’t surprise me. The Grand Salon fits 160 people and the event page on Facebook already showed a couple hundred who planned to attend. By morning, he venue was changed to Moore 100, a lecture hall which seats 419 people.
I showed up at 3:20. The room was already filling up. I found a seat next to my friend, Jessie, and waited for the memorial to begin. Soon, all seats were filled and latecomers crowded around the doors or sat in the aisles.
Kent Wong, the director of the UCLA Labor Center emceed. First he introduced Tam and Cinthya’s best friends, Dana and Susan. The two spoke together about the foursome’s bond. “We came as a four-pack,” Dana said about the group that could have been the poster children for diversity at UCLA. Susan and Dana reminisced about their Monday night fried chicken dinners and retold silly anecdotes about the two women many knew as filmmakers and advocates for undocumented youth. Susan told us that Cinthya outreached to high school students even though she really didn’t like kids. Everyone laughed. The full lecture hall broke out in laughter again when Heather admitted that many thought that she and Tam were a couple because they both had short hair and were inseparable. Dana and Tam worked on their papers together. “When we got stuck with writer’s block, we’d just switch papers,” she admitted sheepishly to the crowd which included administrators and faculty. “But it was okay, because we were the same person.”
It is with great sadness that I regret to inform everyone of the passing of Tam Tran and Cinthya Felix. These women were nationally active in the undocumented students Civil Rights Movement through their fight for the DREAM Act. Both were UCLA undergraduates and as graduate students Tam was a Doctoral Student in American Civilization at Brown University, while Cinthya was studying Public Health at Columbia University. These women were amazing activists and put themselves at great risk to fight for this just cause. Cinthya was a working class student from East Los Angeles, California and attended Garfield High School and Tam’s family had been displaced as a result of the Vietnam War and was from Garden Grove, CA. There is much more information in the links below about their lives.
Like many who havewrittenabout Tam and Cinthya’s passing, I didn’t know them personally. I knew of these two young leaders by simply being a fellow UCLA student leader and a supporter of the DREAM Act (both the federal and California versions).
Still, I was inspired by their courage to speak out and tell their stories.
Even though Tam and Cinthya passed on way too soon, I have no doubt they will continue to inspire more DREAMers.
A memorial service will be held on Monday May 17 from 3-5 pm in the Kerckhoff Grand Salon at UCLA.
“Wow, you couldn’t have picked anyone further away,” Juan said.
“Yeah,” I replied.
My cousin is right. Sean is far away — 2,400 or 2,800 miles (depending on your mode of transportation).
We let seven weeks pass without seeing each other. That was tough, but unavoidable with a busy April schedule which included travel to Michigan and working a couple of weekends. Now that we can plan better, our visits will be much more frequent.
The trip was great, even when I mysteriously hurt my back in the middle of a play. I spent most of the next few days in bed with Sean at the ready to get me whatever I needed. He did a great job taking care of me. I’m lucky.
A few trip photos after the jump to prove I wasn’t bedridden the whole time.
There’s a post somewhere in my drafts folder titled “xs.” That’s about buying a size small red sundress only to find that it was too big. Somewhere in the same file, I started writing another post about meeting my goal weight, maintaining that for 6 weeks (actually 7), and at the end of that achieving Lifetime membership through Weight Watchers. There’s a third about playing “pretty, pretty princess” with Lori.
Needless to say, I’ve been having some issues writing about this and working out my thoughts. Here’s my attempt.
***
On Saturday, Lori and I attended a friend’s birthday party. I left my apartment in a simple brown dress and sandals, but once at home realized I had to change. I forgot about the black and white theme. Fortunately, my sister didn’t mind opening up her closet to me. She offered up a few black and white outfits.
I tried them on, but not without first looking at the tags and thinking, this won’t fit. Last year, there was a 1 before the 4 and the letter after the X was not S. But everything I tried on fit just fine, just as it had when I tried on her pants right after Christmas. I settled on the outfit above out of convenience, laziness and because the other outfits made me feel a bit naked.
Lori then offered up some shoes choices. After settling on leopard print stilettos, I went with these peep-toe sandals. She did my makeup, or what we call playing “pretty, pretty princess.” Sometimes she does my hair too, but we were already running late.
We snapped a few photos, standard practice for when I actually get all dolled up with makeup. Plus, I wanted an “after” picture, even if I think they’re deceptive.
And then we left to the party.
***
I keep looking at the photo. Some of it is vanity. I love the way I look. I’ve never claimed to be modest. (See: a photo I made Sean take while in NY last week.)
Some of it is disbelief that the woman in the photo is me and not Lori, my little sister. In the past 15 years, I’d become accustomed to seeing myself as the brainy, overweight sister. Lori was the smart, slender, athletic sister. She still is.
I’m the one who changed, and I’m still getting used to it.
I missed Julieta Venegas’ appearance on Morning Becomes Eclectic today. I was too stressed with some work stuff.
Anyway, I’ve really been feeling her latest album, especially “Despedida,” quite the cheery breakup song. Julieta describes it as a “sensible goodbye.” (There’s something about Julieta and her breakup songs. Who remembers my obsession with “Me Voy” four years ago? (Yikes. Was it really that long ago?)
If anyone gets to check out her show in Ventura, I want to see pictures of her baby bump. I doubt it will compare to Inara George’s.
All last summer, I kept checking in on my buddy Kristoffer Diaz’s blog. I saw his Facebook, Twitter and Flickr updates about the Chicago production of his play, The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity. His play garnered a lot of well-deserved attention in Chicago which led to a short run in Philadelphia. Now you can catch a production in Minneapolis. Sadly, I’ve yet to see the play
None of this surprised me. I’ve been telling Kris for a long time (at least since ’04) that I thought he was a genius. On okayplayer.com he’d ask, “give me something to write about.” I’d offer up a word or two and he’d come back with a clever haiku or three. He called them “hailu,” because, you know I’m Cindylu. That summer, I took a three-week trip to Mexico. Kris asked me to write a haiku for him. I wrote 34 in 23 days. Later, he wrote the best thing anyone has ever written for me, “for cindylu (hailunares)”.
Needless to say, any news of Kris’ success makes me happy. I’m not like Morrissey at all, I love it when my friends become successful. This morning, I caught up on some news from yesterday and learned that Kris was a finalist of the Pulitzer.
Whoa!
LAT theater critic Charles McNulty weighs in on the board’s decision, lamenting that the finalists’ distance from NY (“Bengal” was initially produced in Culver City, “Chad Deity” in Chicago, and “In the Next Room” in Berkeley) ultimately hurt them.
Perhaps I should just be grateful for the board’s magnanimity in bestowing a drama prize at all. But though I’m not at liberty to disclose anything about our private deliberations, I haven’t signed a gag order as a theater critic. I’ll grant you it’s a strange job, but what’s the point of having it if you can’t advocate for finalists as talented as Rajiv Joseph’s “Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo,” Kristoffer Diaz’s “The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity” and Sarah Ruhl’s “In the Next Room or the Vibrator Play”?
These works represent the new guard of American playwriting. And their authors — diverse in background and courageous in style — are discovering fresh ways of connecting politics and poetry onstage. They take their place with writers such as Christopher Shinn, Will Eno, Young Jean Lee and Tarell Alvin McCraney, to name just a few of those contemporary dramatists who care about theater as an art rather than as an expensive diversion. [link]
Congratulations, Kris!
Not sure which makes me happier, to see my friend become [even more] successful or that’s it’s opening day at Dodger Stadium.
“I’m so excited! I haven’t been back here in ten years,” my co-worker said with an enthusiasm I didn’t expect after traveling for nearly 8 hours.
“I haven’t been back since oh-four,” I offered.
We rolled our bags out of the Detroit airport, which we both agreed look different and much nicer from our previous visits. After checking out the rental car, we drove to Ann Arbor. As we entered his former college town, my co-worker excitedly listed the dives and restaurants he fondly remembered from his undergrad days in the late 90s. I listened, looking out the windows and trying to remember if any of the campus and city looked familiar.
I almost came to Michigan for grad school. I applied to five schools and was admitted to each, but soon Michigan and UCLA became the frontrunners.
During my trip to Michigan, Nahui, my host and good friend from UCLA, told me, “You know where you’re going. You’re just in denial.”
She wasn’t entirely right. I was didn’t make my decision until I spoke to another friend in the same shoes. After that it was all clear, sort of. But a week later, I still asserted on my blog that I’d yet to make a decision. The next day, I had it all figured out:
it’s official
04.07.04 // 4:55 p.m.
I’m not going anywhere. UCLA is the place for me.
Six years later (to the day), I leave Ann Arbor and return to LA. I’m not entirely sure I made the best decision. I certainly don’t regret it, but anyone who has read this for a while knows I’ve had a tough time in my program. I don’t blame the faculty, resources or even my peers. They’ve all been supportive. I’m just not sure I was mature enough or even ready for a PhD program.
Maybe I could have used the time in the [fully funded] Master’s program and additional work experience I would have gained afterward. Would I even be interested in a PhD at that point? Who knows.
Oh well. No sense in mulling over this now. Real life isn’t a Choose Your Own Adventure book. I can’t go back and see what would have been different if I chose Michigan over UCLA. I just know it would be different.
(a) promised to love him forever, and not just on his birthday;
(b) negotiated the terms of a long-term relationship and picked out at least one future child’s name;
(c) given him a Valentine’s day gift (and received one from him too);
(d) kissed him;
(d) checked the yes box when he asked, “will you marry me?”; and
(e) made it public.
Despite all this, I was nervous. So was he.
It was like the previous times we’d gotten together to watch TV, have dinner and drinks, play video games, go to a baseball game hadn’t happened. Of course not, that was all while we were just friends.
