Hay unos ojos

Posted on by
10

I never figured out if his eyes were green or hazel. In the dim light of a bar, they were hazel. On a balmy Sunday afternoon, they were green. I asked him once, and even he didn’t have a definitive answer.

As lovely as they were, his eyes hardly stand out in my memory. When I envision him, I think of his smile, brown skin, curly hair, and how cute we looked together (his words, not mine).

I met him at a friend’s party. I showed up alone expecting other friends to later arrive, but they never showed. A few hours in to the party, he arrived with a mini-entourage. He interrupted as I talked to a mutual friend.

“You look familiar, do I know you?” he asked.

I didn’t know him. I’d never seen him around campus — which we later figured out was why he found me familiar.

There was talking and dancing and more talking and more dancing. He was good at both, but it was hot and we had to take a break for drinks. We went in to the house and relaxed on the couch. In the middle of a discussion on turtles, I noticed his eyes for the first time. I paused for a second and lost my train of thought. I wanted to stay something, but held back for fear that I’d sound like the white woman in those old Máquina de Lenguaje commercials.

Soon there were few people left at the party except for me, the hostess, my new friend and his entourage. It was time to go. He walked me to my car. We hugged and said goodbye.

And that was it.

Wanted: Concert Buddy

Posted on by
10

The only thing I currently miss about being in a relationship is the automatic date for concerts. I have a tough time finding a guy with similar music taste. When I’m dating someone, this isn’t a problem because he’s down for anything from Rilo Kiley to Girl In A Coma.

I haven’t been to a concert since November because (a) my friends don’t usually like a lot of the bands I like or they can’t go out on weeknights or (b) I just don’t feel like going alone. I’ve already missed a few shows I’ve wanted to attend for this reason. I don’t want to miss out on more great shows, especially as the summer months approach. Thus, I’m starting a search for a concert buddy.

Job description

Job Title: Concert Buddy

Job Summary: Concert buddy for a 27-year old Chicana. Typical evening on the job would include carpooling to the concert venue. Small talk while waiting for band(s) to perform. Dancing and enjoying music. Dinner before event is not required, but tacos or other late night snacks are standard form.

Qualifications: Somewhat similar music taste (please refer to last.fm list of most listened to artists), speaks and understands Spanish (pochos welcomed), dances well, excellent parallel parker, willing to be the designated driver if necessary, and familiarity with Los Angeles and surrounding areas. Must own reliable automobile.

Experience: At least 5 years concert-going experience at small venues (e.g., the Temple Bar), large venues (e.g., Hollywood Bowl), and festivals (e.g., Coachella).

Location: Los Angeles and surrounding cities

Hours: 3-5 hours per week, weeknights and weekends.

Compensation: This is a volunteer position

Please send mixtape (acceptable in CD or MP3 format), list of concerts recently attended, and references to Cindylu .

A Closer Look: UCLA’s Underground Students

Posted on by
11

Remember those undocumented college students I’ve mentioned time and time again? Well, there’s more stories, four to be exact, and two touching photos essays.

The Daily Bruin’s series on AB 540 students profiles four students, all in slightly different situations. Three of the students are current undergrads. Ernesto sent out an email and texts to his friends just to be able to pay for the $2,600 or so it costs to attend UCLA for winter quarter. Victor’s father was picked up by ICE officials at his home and later deported to Peru after 17 years in the states. He considered leaving UCLA to spend more time running the family gardening business. Stephanie has been in school six years, she attends when she has the money to pay and skips a quarter when she can’t afford the cost. Mariana received her green card less than a year ago and is now a graduate student at Harvard. She’s part of an effort to get legislation passed in Massachusetts similar to California’s AB 540, which allows undocumented students who have graduated from a California high school to pay in-state tuition at public colleges and universities.

Oh yeah, and if you’re more of a visual person, you should also check out the photo essays: part one, part two.

Bad Luck Chunk

Posted on by
4

Monday, February 18
Hacienda Heights

I was cleaning in the kitchen when I noticed the time.

7:15 pm.

Adrian should be getting home any time soon now, I thought to myself.

30 seconds later, he walked through the front door. VR, our dog, ran to greet him.

He looked dejected, sad and not as relaxed as I’d expect him to look after visiting his physical therapist.

“You want to see the truck?” he asked me and my mom.

“What happened to Donkey?” I asked. (Yes, Adrian named his Ford Ranger Donkey.)

“He got hit,” he said in that tone that he only uses at rare times, like the time he woke me up and told me Grandpa Bartolo had passed away.

“What?” I asked incredulously. My mom didn’t say anything. She must have already heard the news.

Adrian led us out the driveway where we inspected the damage on Donkey. The driver’s was banged up pretty bad between the door and the back tires.

“The door won’t open,” he told me.

I started asking questions. How? Where? Huh? You can’t have such bad luck, can you?

Adrian explained, but I’m still confused about what happened. An employee at the physical therapy office was getting stuff out of her car, when it began to roll down a hill — I think the parking brake was off — and hit Adrian’s parked truck. Adrian was in the middle of a physical therapy session when he heard a large boom. He says that the woman’s car would have hit the office if the truck hadn’t obstructed it’s path.

Oh, and why is Adrian in physical therapy? Well, that’s because about three weeks ago, he and his girlfriend were in a car accident. They were hit from behind after merging on to the freeway. Her car was pretty banged up, they weren’t seriously hurt. However, both suffer back pain. Adrian’s on disability leave from work where he has to do a lot of heavy lifting. He’s also had to stop lifting weights. He tells me he watches a lot of TV and plays a lot of video games. Being a bum doesn’t suit the kid, but he has no choice.

Poor kid.

I think Adrian’s current bad luck streak might be worse than the time I survived being bug bombed by my roommate and almost slipping on a burrito (true story). At least he hasn’t had any dental or ear incidents this time around.

Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed.

[A note on the title: Everyone in my house is known by about 4 or 5 different nicknames. I usually call my younger brother Chunk.]

Tienes que aprender a decirlos mal para que te entienden

Posted on by
28

From age 1 (or whenever I started speaking) to age 18 or so, I pronounced my hometown, Hacienda Heights, with a hard H. I like alliteration, and HH fit. When I got to college, I met people who put the accent on Pérez and wouldn’t stand for mispronunciation of their names. I also met friends who had no clue where I lived even though they grew up just 15 miles west.

“Wait, you mean Hacienda Heights?” they’d ask pronouncing hacienda in Spanish.

“Yeah,” I’d say, annoyed that I was being corrected.

“Where is it?” they’d ask, still confused.

“Northeast of Whittier, a bit east of El Monte [Al Montee] south of La Puente [I know the article for puente should be el, but the city planners felt like doing things their own way], 15 minutes west of Pomona,” I’d answer, trying to situate my little unincorporated section of Los Angeles County.

My new friends would look at my blankly, still confused. It didn’t matter if I pronounced the H or not, no one knew where it was at.

Since then, I’ve ditched the alliterative pronunciation except for when I’m around white people or others I doubt understand Spanish. It’s just easier that way.

I guess.

Hat tip: Oso

Puro Pedo Magazine February ’08 Issue

Posted on by
3

On the Puro Pedo Magazine masthead, i’m listed as a writer. That’s a lie. For most of the nine issues of the magazines, I’ve left the writing to funnier people on the staff. I usually just help run our mailing list and blog. (Oh yeah, if you want to subscribe, you can send an email to subscribe@NOSPAMpuropedomagazine.com.)

This issue is different. I actually wrote something. To download the pdf of the February issue, click the cover image above or click here.

In this issue:

  • Aztlan’s Next Top Chola
  • Why Pochos Love the Raiders
  • Activist Caught at Wal*Mart While Drinking Coke
  • Search for Carmen San Diego Ends in Guantanamo
  • Special Valentine’s Day Cards by Rio Yañez
  • Puro Pedro: 20 questions with Efren Ramirez
  • Great Moments in Chican@ History: The MEChA Meeting that Started on Time
  • 10 Tips to Help Barack Obama get the Elusive Latino Vote
  • Indigenous Group Sues Disney for Copyright Infringement
  • Writers Strike Ends, Comedian Relieved
  • Lonely Hearts advertisement
  • Mariachi Road Crew by Jerry Gonzalez

If you like it, let me know. If you don’t, let me know too. I don’t mind criticism.

Bear Hugs

Posted on by
11

cindylu y oso Feliz Día del Amor y la Amistad. In countries like México and Venezuela, the 14th of February isn’t just St. Valentine’s Day, it’s also a day to celebrate love and friendship. I’m choosing to celebrate friendship today…

Oso and I met up on Sunday during his brief return to LA. If you blinked, you would have missed him. I’m glad I didn’t blink because it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Oso.

We had dinner at Versailles, a Cuban restaurant in my neighborhood, and discussed things like the science of falling in love and MHC, his work in Colombia, the politics of tú and usted, and my penchant for playing the same song a dozen times in a row.

I was in the middle of briefing him on a situation when he called me on my bullshit (like a good friend should do!):
Oso: You need to call.
Me: *Gulp* No… I can’t. I’m passive aggressive.
Oso: There’s nothing aggressive about you. You’re just passive passive.
Me: Ouch.

We finished up our tasty dinner, grabbed some espresso at the Coffee Bean and then headed to Union Station. I briefly forgot how to get there*, but thanks to Oso’s trusty iPhone we found our way. I dropped him off at Union Station with enough time for him to catch his train. As we hugged, I told him, “I’ll see you in another 9 months.”

“It’s not gonna be that long,” he said.

I hope it’s not that long, but it actually doesn’t matter. See, Oso is one of those friends I can go months without seeing. (This is not to say I don’t miss him.) When we finally get together for tea or lunch, it doesn’t feel like it’s been month since our last encounter. We just pick up where we left off.

*This is troubling. I’ve been forgetting my way around downtown and East LA lately.

Valentine’s Day Cards by Rio (new for ’08)

Posted on by
6

I don’t have a Valentine this year which means I don’t have to worry about finding the perfect card and gift. And I also don’t have to pretend to like some gift that will just collect dust in the corner. (No, I’m not bitter. Really.)

But Valentine’s Day isn’t only for those in relationships. Single folks can celebrate like we did in elementary school: by passing out silly cards, drinking punch and eating heart-shaped sugar cookies.

This year, I’ll pass out Rio Yañez’s great cards once again. Rio’s new set of cards feature dramatic duos like Biggie and Tupac, Frida and Diego, and Dylan and Brenda as well as some iconic figures.

Rio encourages you to share the cards with “your friends, enemies, shorties, sanchos, and booty calls.” Just make sure they’ll appreciate the genius of a card featuring Antonio Gonzalez declaring that he’d “lie under oath for you.”

To check out more of the new cards and some from Valentine’s Day 2007, go to the flickr set, Rio’s blog or click the image above.

Mil palabras: La familia, 1958

Posted on by
6

Ureño Saldivar kids, 1958
Ureño Saldivar kids, 1958

Top (left to right): Chilo, Socorro, Roberto
Bottom: Eva, Chuy, Luz (my mom!)
Not yet born: Martha and Josefina

At the anniversary party two weeks ago, we displayed a three-panel poster board with photos of the family. The center panel had photos of Papá Chepe and Mamá Toni from their 15th, 25th, 50th and a few other notable anniversaries. The photo above is from the 15th anniversary. My mom was the baby of the family at that time. She was one year old.