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  1. Cinco de Mayo in the Gateway

    April 26, 2012 by elenamary

    I live in a neighborhood commercially known as “The Gateway” (read government supported gentrification) although I prefer calling it by the more historical name Weinland Park.

    While walking home from the gym last night I saw this advertisement:

    Cinco de Mayo at Gateway

    I did check out the website and the “events and specials” seem to be discounts on alcohol at two bars, the “Irish” one and the “Mexican” one (Kildare’s and Made Mex).  Which to me is personally interesting because an Irish friend visiting the US called me a couple days ago and asked what this Cinco de Mayo thing was all about.  I told her it was an annoying holiday only celebrated in the US.  I compared it to St. Paddy’s but the difference being in Ireland people have actually heard of St Patrick’s day.

    My Mexican aunt who first witnessed cinco de mayo a few years ago, asked me why all the college students were sitting in their yards drinking beers while wearing sombreros.  How would you answer that one?   Anyway, back to the advertisement,  I am offended by it but am having difficulty articulating why, and was hoping my readers could help me out.  On a positive note, it is less offensive than the “spicy” one the North Market had a few years ago:
    Cinco D' Ohio


  2. and so it happend

    January 23, 2012 by elenamary

    Blogtitlan, finally, after much planning (I posted about it here), united in real life, or at least as Cindylu has called it (and I’ve stolen) had a Blogotitlán mini reunion. We were missing keyplayers like El Pocho Abogado, Xolo, El Más Chingon and of course the other blogueros.

    We were to meet in San Diego. My dude Juan and I left a snow storm in Columbus just in time before they started canceling flights and off we went to Phoenix (only to later learn Poor Little Tumbleweed had been redirected to Phoenix as well). Arriving in San Diego, we meet up with Poor Little Tumbleweed and rented a cute little mustang convertible. I know it is touristy but it was that or the Crown Vic and that was an oh hells no option. We headed over to our blogtitlan rental house.

    I of course rang the neighbor’s doorbell first but once we found the right house we found, El Oso Pecoso, Cindylu, her fiance Sean and her sister Lori. Later that night HP would arrive with HP junior. Next night more would swing by or stay at the house including GRD, Nathan Gibbs, and Chris.

    On Sunday some of us (Mario, Oso, Cindylu, PoorLittleTumbleweed, Cindylu, Sean, Lori, Nathan AKA Juan, and I) ran the Carlsbad 1/2 or full marathon. GRD came out with banners to cheer us on and never found us. I’ve never had anyone make signs for me for a race. It was sweet. I felt so much unity as I ran along the pacific coast watching the surfers enjoy the waves.

    After the race

    Post Carlsbad Race (missing Poor Little Tumbleweed who ran the full), picture from Cindylu.

    The reunion was a nice. It felt however, as if we were more grown-up then we had been when we had been writing. It hit home hard that I am not as young as I used to be. I can’t explain that feeling but it was always present. That isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy myself. I had fun with crazy little tumbleweeds antics. Or feeling the support of Nathan Gibbs as we ran those first 10 miles of the race together. It was nice to meet the blogueros partners although I wish I could’ve asked them what did they think of their spouse blogging and being part of blogtitlan. The time felt too rushed and as if we couldn’t party too much since we did have the big race coming up. I hope for the next reunion that I can stay an extra day or two after the race, hanging out with blogtitlan. I hope Gus and HP will race too and kick some butt. I hope I go back thinner and more fit (with lots of inspiration from Cindylu). I hope the next reunion is bigger and that I can spend more time hugging my fellow blogueros. To the ones I did get to spend the weekend with, thank you for being my blogtitlan familia.

    My pictures from Blogotitlán mini reunion.
    Cindylu’s pictures from the Blogotitlán mini reunion and Cindylu’s blog post about the reunion and post about the race.
    GRD’s pictures from Blogotitlán mini reunion.
    Oso’s blog post and his pictures.
    Sean’s pictures from Blogotitlán mini reunion and his blog post.

     

    (we are talking of another reunion in Chicago in October for the Chicago Marathon, who is in?)


  3. Humor

    December 11, 2011 by elenamary

    I try to tell people interested in interpreting, that knowing a language isn’t achieved by knowing a vocabulary.  Knowing a language is cultural, it is becoming the language, being part of the ethos, it  is a change in personality and perspective.
    Humor is a great identifier of ones culture.  I always realize how I am not so american when I watch American comedies and how I am even less Mexican than I like to think I am when I watch Mexican comedies.

    I suck at pop culture. Both Mexican and American. I’ve never seen Star Wars, Pulp Fiction, American Idol and rarely get the references made in American comedies like The Simpsons.  When I watch or listen to Mexican comedies it is even worse.  El Chavo del Ocho doesn’t make me laugh.  I can’t stand La Familia Peluche and have never once laughed during it.  At least with American comedies I sometimes laugh.  However, in both situations I feel a disconnect especially with people around me who look like the are about to lose bladder control from the laughter.  I’ve been watching a lot of Mexican stand-up comedy and joke telling as of late. I feel overwhelmed by a sense of disconnect and sadness.  I am not really Mexican. I don’t laugh at all and it makes me feel like a failure as a Mexican.  I understand what is supposed to be funny but I don’t find it funny.  I attempt to analyze what it is I am missing.

    On the rare occasions I do find a Mexican comedy funny, moments after my laughing as ceased, I realize that my laughter happened naturally and I feel a sense of belonging.   Below is a clip from a vulgar, Mexican comedy show.  I laughed and enjoyed it and was pleased with my enjoyment.  Additionally, here is a link to a blog post by a British friend of mine.  She writes about Americans (and my) inability to comprehend dry wit or sarcasm…although I like to think I prefer dry humor to slapstick.

    A funny political aside: my mother who has lived in the the United State for 30+ years now, was flipping through the channels and stopped at a speech being given by Rick Perry.  She listened attentively and then looked at me for a cue and asked “Is he real? Or is this The SNL?”   She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be laughing.


  4. Our Bodies, Ourselves

    October 27, 2011 by elenamary

    My father gave me a copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves and a copy of the Hite Report on Female Sexuality, at some point in my adolescence.  He wasn’t good at talking he just left them for me on my bed to read…in the same manner as he did the noble prize authors’ book I, Rigoberta Menchu.  We never discussed it.  I read the book and am thankful for them.  Our Bodies, Ourselves was probably one of my first feminist readings and most assuredly one of my first medical readings.  It “normalized” things for me that had they not been normalized would probably have left me with only conservative Mexican catholic patriarchal tools for analysis.

    I wonder what 14 year-old-me would think about me as an adult having worked in sexual health clinics, or me helping other women understand that their own sexuality is okay.  I wonder what younger me would think of the fact that I have a friend who contributed to the latest edition of Our Bodies, Ourselves and was on national nightly news, discussing the book.  I know the current me is thrilled for Veronica Arreola of Viva La Feminista who is interviewed in this clip at approximately 2:34 minutes into it, the whole thing only lasts 3:12.

     

    Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy


  5. God loves Mexicans and Kazakhs more

    July 9, 2011 by elenamary

    My mom shares with me a decent amount of Mexican folklore.   Things like, you can tell how much a mother loves her baby by how deep his belly button is.   I tend to listen to the stories but never fully believe.

    My mother told me that when I was born, my maternal grandmother flipped me over to check out my butt, to see if I had a blue spot.  My mother explained to me, while I listened dubiously, that Mexican babies, particularly indigenous babies, have blue spots on their lower back or butt when they are born.  It goes away shortly after birth, usually within a few weeks.
    I believed this was lore until I was 16 years old and working union organizing farmworkers.  At one of the workers’ camps I saw a mom with a naked new born baby in her arms.   The baby had a blue spot that looked like a bruise on his butt—however, it wasn’t a bruise.  My mom was right.  I never really understood it.   Whenever, I think about that baby it makes me smile.

    I recently read the book Apples are from Kazakhstan: The Land that Disappeared by Christopher Robbins (The book was amazing, I laughed out loud multiple times, I couldn’t book down the book at all and was sad when I finished…I’ll write up a review later.)

    I was stunned when I read the following excerpt in a section discussing Kazakh pride and fatherhood:

    ‘All Kazakh babies are born with a birthmark at the base of their spine, like a purple bruise,’ my friend told me.  ‘This disappears in a few days. Korean, and Japanese babies have this too, but not Chinese. Strange, huh?’

    This made me chuckle! It was enchanting, mystical, and uniting in its historical narrative.

    I went home and emailed my Kazakh friend AiDana.  Her response was that although only some Mexican babies were born with the spot, ALL Kazakh babies were born with it.   She was so proud that all Kazakh babies had this spot.  Another Kazakh friend, Adlet, laughed and said, yes it was true Kazakh babies were born with this, it is one of the things that make Kazakhs so special.  I asked him why did he think that Mexicans and Kazakhs had this spot, he laughed hard and said “I think it means God loves us Kazakh and Mexicans more.”

    I am sure there is a different reason, a scientific one.  I’ll google it and research it later.  For now, I wanted to blog about it, while it was still magical to me.  A Mexican connection to Kazakhstan, with a special temporary birth mark.


  6. dots, feathers, and oh my

    December 1, 2010 by elenamary

    I received an invite to a  “Whiskey Drinking” party. Who doesn’t love whiskey? I said yes, to the invite, as I do to just about every Facebook invite I get, and didn’t pay to much attention to the rest of the invitation.

    My friend later told me that she too had been invited but that she didn’t want to attend the party because “They are inviting people to dress up as Pilgrims and Indians. I don’t want to go to a party where people are dressed-up as Indians and putting their hands to their mouths and making ‘woo’ ‘woo’ sounds.  It is racist.    I told my friend hosting it that I was uncomfortable with it and she told me that I could dress as a turkey.  I tried explaining this didn’t address the issue of racism.”

    I could see how my friend thought the party was racist but it didn’t quite hit me until I saw the pictures.

    It was when I saw the pictures that I realized “Holy shit! My friends threw a whiskey drinking party, during thanksgiving weekend, handed out face paint as well as construction paper for paper feather headbands. When did it ever become okay to put paint on your face for enjoyment at the expense of an oppressed group?“   When I expressed my concern to some of those in attendance I got different responses; “Well, some people were making fun of thanksgiving so they also added small pox face paint” or that face painting to be like another ethnicity was about as similar to my rainbow party costume, “It’s about as cool as dressing as a rainbow“, or that “Nobody actually *dressed* as indians, they put on construction-paper headbands and facepaint, kindergarten-style.”

    Adding small pox does not take away the pain of painting yourself to represent an ethnicity or race. Comparing a rainbow during a political demonstration bringing awareness to bikes,  to a hipster in a gentrified neighborhood dressed as a “Indian” during Thanksgiving lacks understanding  of  the oppression, genocide and overt and covert racism.   One of the party hosts tried to explain to me why she party’s this way: “I celebrate Thanksgiving because it reminds me to be thankful for my wonderful friends, and whiskey, and a sense of humor, and facepaint, danceparties, music, old warehouses, and good times. Enough said.”

    I am not chastising my friends for having fun, or dancing, or drinking, I love all these things (who doesn’t?!) I want people to have a good time, to acknowledge our childhood memories.  However, some of the things we did as children were hurtful, we weren’t wrong as children, we were children, we didn’t know better.  We know better now.
    I guess my friends just don’t get it. I don’t know how to help my friends understand that their partying, like this, hurts me and offends me.  Not only are they not trying to understand the pain caused, they are looking forward to the next event:

    “Private party hosted by my girlfriend and some other friends. The original wild turkey pilgrims and Indians party was 3 years ago in Italian Village. It took place in Franklinton this weekend but not associated with any group or organization. I had a blast and look forward to 2011′s.”

    Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends, if you asked them if racism was something we should tolerate they would all disagree.   I just don’t know how to get them to see how their own actions are hurtful and racist.  Maybe in June, we can hold a Juneteenth party, and put on black face, and drink forties, or if people are uncomfortable with that we can offer that  they dress as watermelons?