Tired

When I left the school today, I was just . . . tired. My feet were killing me and all I wanted was for a Japanese woman to walk on my back. I was also starving; the Michelina’s lean lasagna lunches aren’t doing the trick for the hunger. I guess I should consider breakfast.

The day went well. The kiddos were okay. After lunch they started to get out of hand, I later found out that tomorrow is silent lunch. Silent lunch is exactly as it sounds. No one is allowed to talk. All the teachers are required to eat at the table on the stage in the cafeteria. Plus, we have to make sure the kids are sitting in their assigned seats. If you ask me, assigning seats and requiring them to sit at a table is way too much. I know why they do it, but still. I think that’s why they get so out of hand during and after lunch.

Did I tell you all I’m taking a graduate course? It’s part of this Alternative Certification thing. My class is on Tuesday nights. I hate the teacher. Part of it has to do with the fact that she uses tons of overheads and we have to copy everything down. She also allows way too many testimonials. And to top it off, “the Homie” is in the class. This guy loves to tell all these stories about himself and he’s pretty full of himself too. Plus, he asks some really lame questions. But well, from what I hear, that kind of student is in a lot of grad classes.

Anyway, I’m so looking forward to Friday. It’s not a half day and we’re not having a three day weekend, in fact, I have some training on Saturday, but still. I can’t wait. The thought of waking up at any hour I damn well please on Sunday really excites me.

Mr. Vayne

I had an entry that addressed all the issues I have been talking about lately, but then, I remembered and I googled this.

Mr. Vayne was one of my patients when I was a home health aide. He was just as his daughter describes him. Fortunately, I had to opportunity to see this house inside and out on several occasions.

He passed away about a week after I left El Paso. My mom was hesitant to tell me because she didn’t want me to worry. My mom was investigated because like most old people, he’d come about some bed sores and try as she may; she was not able to get rid of them. His daughter didn’t pursue the investigation. Like me, she knew his death was coming.

I didn’t cry when I found out that he had died. He wasn’t the same man I’d met years earlier. Age had eaten away at his brain. He no longer pestered me to read out loud in attempts to help me project my voice better. He quit giving me lessons about Shakespeare and pestering me about going out on the roof to clean the gutters.

Instead, he’d sleep in the room next to mine and claw at the walls and scream at the hallucinations he often saw. I rarely like to recall these events. Instead, I like to remember the lessons about what El Paso was like before he helped build the freeway and people’s comments about how excited he was for Tuesday and Thursday to come along because he’d get to spend time with me.

Sorry if this doesn’t make much sense. I’m just overwhelmed with emotion right now.

P.S. Things at la escuelita have been good. I’ll tell you all about it at another time. Thanks for all your comments.

P.S.S. I’d love for you to read my blog Belinda.

Oh yeah, I can’t wait for Cracked Chancla to reveal her big news! I’m still squeling!

And so time just goes by . . .

I still don't have internet at my casa. Actually, at this point, I don't even have electricity at my apartment. There was this huge screw up and we had our electricity cut off on Wednesday and we won't get it back until this coming Wednesday. That's one week I won't be able to spend in my dang apartment.

School is going. I had a very informal evaluation on Tuesday and my classroom management sucks ass. However, the evaluator did tell my AP that I'm a "very good teacher." She liked how I made up examples using the kids instead of taking the books. That's pretty much my teaching style thus far, make it up as I go along.

After a week of lecturing kids on learning to be respectful to each other and me, I had one class still acting up. I ended up telling them that I was so disappointed in them. I told them that I thought things would be different and that I could do fun things with them, but they can't handle that. I also told them that I was going to change things, I didn't know how, but things were going to change. Then I said, "We have two minutes left in class, I can't even begin to cover what I was going to teach you. So you know what? Please put your heads down for the rest of the period. When the bell rings, don't get up, I'll dismiss you when your minute is up."

After the day was over, I set up my desks in rows. Things will be changing on Monday but I don't know how yet. I have some hope that they're going to change. Even though I get upset with them, I continue to stress that I'm really there for them. I think they'll get it eventually.

I miss the blog world. I can't wait until Saturday. Hopefully, by then, I can read you all's journals on a regular basis and update more often. Anyway, I guess I better get moving. I gotta go check into a hotel and pick up some junk at my apartment. I'm sure I could stay at my sis's house, but I want the damn apartment people to pay for some of this time I can't be there, it's their damn fault in the first place.

More babbling

I may not be able to write an entry for a while seeing as how we start moving this weekend, and I haven’t even called about setting up some kind of internet at the new place. Also, I can’t get online at school. I mean, I can but everything has to be educational and stuff. Sometimes I can’t even get into the educational stuff.

Anyway, I have some stories for you all about the kiddos. I’ll start with the crappy one: I had to send a kid to the office today. He told a little girl in the class that she “needs to be on Slimfast.” I thought to myself, “That’s real nice asshole.”

I’ve get to see what the heck is going to happen to him. I’m wondering if he even went to the office. I tried to call my AP, but she didn’t seem to be in the office.

Now the good story, my first and second period class rocks man. We went to the library today and they were SO good. I told them to sit and read after they had checked out there book and I’d say all but like one or two sat there and read. When we got back up to class, they begged me to give them extra time to read and once again, they sat there and read. They were so happy to know that tomorrow they’re getting 45 minutes to read.

I finished my cohort training today. It’s sort of a good feeling, but I think I’m going to miss seeing them. I’ll at least get to see one person everyday because she’s a teacher at the school I teach at.

Not much else has really been going on. I started typing up an entry the other day about food, but I haven’t been able to finish it. It’s just so much easier to log in what I do day by day at the escuelita. I hardly ever type these days and I think I miss it because I’m typing so much faster than ever.

Anyway, even though I have some little shits in some classes, overall, I’m really glad I’m doing this. I’m glad that there are kids that like being in my class so much that they beg to stay another period. Of course, I can’t oblige, but it’s still cool. The best thing is that a lot of them have shared stuff with me about what’s going on in their lives outside of school. One kid told me about his dad being in the hospital and another told me how her mom almost had her arrested. So I feel like I’m there for some of these kids.

Babbling

Howdy ya’ll.

I love that Molotov song that starts off like that. What is it called? Perro Negro Granjero. Speaking of music, on Thursday, I went to Hell Mart to buy some stuff for one of my kiddos who can’t afford supplies and I bought myself the lastest Intocable cd. It sure makes the ride to school a lot better.

School isn’t so bad anymore. I no longer get sick to my stomach on my way to school and I actually have somewhat of an appetite during lunch. Thanks to all of you for your advice and animo. At one of my trainings last week, this lady said that one of the teachers at her school said she almost quit seven times her first year; one day, she even took boxes to pack up all her stuff. That definitely makes me feel a million times better.

After what happened last Monday, I’m so glad I had a crappy first day of school. One of the little turds started acting up so bad that I had to call my assistant principal. A while later, a cop showed up at my classroom and the kid ended up getting a citation for disrupting class. I felt bad about it, but well, something had to be done. Besides, I had to do something for all the other kids in the class. The little turd was howling and kicking desks and some of the kiddos got really scared.

I’m doing well though. I turned in my first batch of lesson plans, I’ve got the kiddos working, not at the level I want them, but they’re working nonetheless. I come home very tired but not angry. Like Gustavo said, I can’t take this stuff personal. In fact, it makes me laugh sometimes that they act the way they do. I know they’re testing me. They tell me they hate reading and writing and think I’m going to take it personal. They attempt to ask all sorts of personal questions and to top it off, they think I’m going to stand there and argue with them about the consequences to their choices.

Although I spend a lot of time doing work, I’m not bitter. In fact, it sort of makes the time I do get to spend away from working that much more enjoyable. I especially like to see people who aren’t saying, “You think you have it bad…”

In other news, I’m moving this coming weekend. It’ll be nice to not live so damn far from work, especially with gas prices being what they are. Dori is pretty good about gas, but still. Well, I suppose I should get back to packing. I’m looking forward to the day when I can come around and blog every day. Hopefully, it’ll be soon!

Horrid

The first day was not what I was expecting at all. The computer system was being switched this summer and like most software companies, they promised a lot of things and only gave them half of it. This caused tons of problems with schedules and stuff like that so the whole morning was spent in homeroom.

I have a homeroom class of about 20 kids. At first, they were okay. Then, because I let them sit where ever they liked, they started getting a little talkative. It would have all been okay if it hadn’t been for the terrible duo.

I have a pair of repeaters who are extremely proud of being in the sixth grade again. They love having the attention on them, so they started getting up and talking really loud and just disrupting everyone. It was only a matter of time before they had the class up in arms. Since they wouldn’t stop misbehaving, I separated them because it was a deal I’d made with them. This of course, made both of them really upset so they continued to misbehave, so at lunch, they weren’t able to sit together, and this was part of the deal too. My other classes showed up later and they were pretty good. To my dismay, homeroom came back for another 25 minutes at the end of the day. I ended up giving one kid detention which he didn’t show up to this morning.

By the end of the day, I was so fed up. I did what I wasn’t supposed to do; I let them get to me. It’s not that I didn’t know how to handle them, but I just can’t picture the rest of the year with them. I almost wanted to go downstairs and resign.

This morning, I didn’t want to go back. I had knots in my stomach all the way to school. I didn’t even enjoy my morning tunes. First period went well, I kept them busy and I am pretty content with the work they were doing. Then there was homeroom. It was utter chaos because there are so many things we have to pick up from them, so I had them fixing their paperwork before turning it in to me. Then they called for lunch. When they came back to class, one of the terrible duo kids was gone. Apparently, he did something to upset the principals so he got sent to ISC, which is that class where they keep them isolated and working all day long. I think that’s what he was looking for all along.

The other kid kept bugging the class, but now I had more time to go make him work. I kept going over to him and pushing him to work and giving him little pep talks about wanting him to get to 7th grade.

My 7th and 8th periods were okay. I have a couple of kids who could potentially be problematic but I’m separating them on Monday. They’ve been warned. In the meantime, I’m going to get some sleep. The thing about being a new teacher is that you sort of have to make up your own questions to the books, especially if you don’t want to bore them with the questions at the end of the story. I hope next week goes much better.

Jitters

Tomorrow is the first day! I’m getting more nervous by the minute. I know it’ll be okay, but still. This is my first day as a teacher; I’m allowed to be nervous aren’t I?

Dante's Inferno

Well then, it’s been long enough, hasn’t it? I hope you’re all doing well.

It’s been an interesting week. I’ve met almost the entire faculty and staff at the school. I think I know about every single thing a kid can do before he/she has to go to the office and I heard all about the sixth grade headache. Apparently, this kid failed and will be in sixth grade again. If he’s in one of my classes, I’ll “have full administrative support.” I wonder if one of his consequences will be a couple of swats.

Last week on Saturday, I experienced some part of Dante’s Inferno. Why? Well, sit down, let me tell you. After cohort, I skedaddled on down to the school because the incoming sixth graders would be there for orientation. I was a couple hours late, but I figured it’d be cool to see some of the kiddos that would eventually end up in my classes. Afterwards, I thought I’d head down to the teacher’s store so that perhaps I could buy a couple of things for my room. I was thinking a cool border for the bulletin boards, maybe some educational type posters or something.

During cohort, I’d been told that there was a 20% off sale and since I’ve been pretty much low on funds, I thought “huh, perfect!” About 30 other teachers thought the same thing. However, one out of every four decided it’d be a great idea to take their kids or spouse.

This store is designed to look like one of those old time schoolhouses. There isn’t much space in there so that 30 people, plus employees and kids makes it a little difficult to walk around. Add to this equation the walls covered with poster sets, stamps, games and anything teacher-related you can think of and you’ve got yourself a pretty chaotic place. The cherry on this little baby is the kid songs being performed by peppy little kids most likely clad in overalls in all the colors of the rainbow while pulling off some creepy choreography that includes a convict in a pink rabbit suit. It only took three steps in before I became dizzy. I walked around the entire store four or five times, blinking about a million times hoping to gain some of my eyesight, but I found nothing that I could use. I vowed to never, ever go into that store again.

However, this morning, I found myself in there again. This time was much better. I found the “Six Traits of Writing” posters, black border, and a nippy new pencil. I was out of there in twenty minutes. Still, I don’t think I’ll be doing much shopping there. I’ve used many unconventional things to decorate my classroom. My sis and roomie took some young adult covers from the press and made this neat border along the front wall of my class. I took my hideous fake cat and rat and set them up on the filing cabinets and desk, respectively. I also inherited an awesome César Chávez Apple promo poster that’s up on one of the whiteboards. The only thing left to do is write lesson plans and set up my accelerated reader space. It’s exciting and nerve wrecking all at once.

Oh yeah, I’ve also been given partial 6th grade bulletin board duty. The other girl and I are pushing for a superhero theme that many people really like. I still haven’t decided what superhero I want to be. Wonder Woman and Flash from The Incredibles are already taken. Dan the Man says I should be the Hulk because I’m mean according to him.

I haven’t done much else. I come home and pass out almost everyday. It gets pretty taxing to sit and listen for seven hours and then move around books, desks, etc. for two or three hours and then drive for about 30 minutes. I can’t wait to move to that side of town. I won’t have to get up so early anymore.

I’ll let you all know how Thursday, the first day of school, goes.

Dos noticias un post

Dear All:

I have two things to share with you . . .

The first is that I am officially employed. I got the keys to my room today. I’m going to have the clothesline in my room. I can’t wait to go in there and move desks around and create my reading corner and library. I also can’t wait to move my big ass desk to a less obtrusive place and put up all the things I’ve scored as door prizes.

The other news is that there’s someone new in my life. Her name is Dori. You can view her here if you click on “Polar White.” Never in my life have I ever had a new one. I owe it all to a certain older sibling out there who always saves my ass. I really hope I can do something great for her soon.

Well, that’s all for now. I miss writing in here! But alas, I have to get to bed. Early mornings aren’t my favorite thing in the world.

Love,

La Browngirl

Busy

Jeez Louise, long time huh? To say I’ve been busy is an understatement. The other day, I was at work and my eyes felt like raisins with all the fluorescent lights I’ve been exposed to lately.

I’ve been having cohort training at least twice a week, program training Friday and Saturday for the last week and this week, H.R. stuff like insurance benefit meeting and there’s an upcoming appointment to get my “paperwork” done, and I’m still working at the Press.

Don’t get me wrong, I like being busy. I just wanted to let you all know that I haven’t been slacking on this here blog “just cuz.”

I have been having fun. Last Wednesday at my friend MTV’s house eating and talking. She let me borrow her Believer magazine. I need to make some time to read it.

We’ve been getting tons of books at our training sessions. I also need to make time to read that. Plus, I need to write the letter to the kiddos’ parents, figure out which “getting to know you” activity I want to do, do my “getting to know you” activity so I can run it by someone before the first day, figure out how I want to decorate my classroom (any ideas?), and . . . I don’t remember the rest of the list.

I’m also looking for an apartment on that side of town. Most of them are not too nice, but I think I’ve found some that are affordable and meet my “no roach or mold” requirement. I might go look for a new car tomorrow. For the last year or so, I’ve been driving this beat up 92 Bonneville. The ac went out at the beginning of the summer and I’ve had to buy two tires for it. I’m riding on my spare, so I really have to buy a third tire for it. The alignment is way off, but well, food and rent take precedence over that. I don’t know how it’ll be able to handle the long drive for the next month or so and my sis is pretty worried about it. So she talked my brother-in-law into helping me out tomorrow. I have crap credit due to stupid choices when I was younger, but we’ll see what happens. Credit stuff makes me nervous.

Well, I better get my ass back to doing my homework for tomorrow. I really like the lady who’s in charge of me. (She’ll be visiting my class a couple times a year trying to figure out if I’m coming along as an educator.) Anyway, I’m almost certain she had a lot to do with me getting the position I was offered so I want to live up to her standards. People set high standards for me so easily, I hope I can do the same to my huercos.

How are you all doing?

Interviews by Gwen

If ya'll don't read Gwen, she recently had an entry in which she answered five questions and then you could request an interview. So here are my answers. I'm not great at interviews, but I guess I could come up with some questions if anyone is interested.

1. (This is something I've been wanting to ask you for a while, since I know you're a Latina who could easily be mistaken for a white person.) What's your most annoying experience with being mistaken for a white person? If you have one. If not, please excuse my bitterness and just tell me your fave color.

I've spent all day thinking of this. I knew there had to be one and I've finally got it! There was this one time I was at Helios throwing back a couple of 7 & 7's and I got to talking to the bartender. First, she asked me if the girl I was with was my partner. I said no, because well, she wasn't and isn't. I'm on the straight side, although for the gal in question 3, I would change that. Anyway, the conversation went on and I must have said something in Spanish or about my origins because the bartender said, “Oh my God! You're Lah-tin!” She spent the rest of the night asking if I knew how to make tamales among other Lah-tin dishes. There weren't many people in the bar, so I couldn't really run away from her. And on top of everything, she was the only bartender that night.

My favorite color is pink. ¡Tan grandota y tan niñita!

2. What's the worst thing about living in Houston, besides the heat?

It has to be the drivers. I've quit counting how many times I've been thisclose to having my brains turn into asphalt art.

3. Who, in your opinion, is the most beautiful woman on Earth?

Geez, this is hard because there are so many. But right now, I'd have to say Liza Snyder from Yes, Dear. I've told Dan the Man, if I can hook up with her, I'm dumping his ass.

4. Describe the crappiest restaurant you've ever been in.

The crappiest restaurant I've ever been in has to have been in Juárez. We went there during my grandmother's funeral service. At that time, I was going through my anorexia phase so I generally thought food was bad. However, this food was bad. I ordered a carne desebrada burrito. It had watery beans that made the meat look gooey and stringy. I had nightmares about the burrito coming to life and chasing after me.

5. For your birthday, you can have anything you want from the Galleria. (Ritzy mall here in Houston.) What will you probably pick? A diamond necklace? Designer bag? Piece of furniture?

Hah, the Galleria. I only go there to please out of towners. But if I could have my pick of the litter, I'd probably want a pair of Dickies from Torrid given that they fit and don't give me a jelly belly overhang. (Side note: Are they ever going to start making fashionable pants that aren't low rise? I'm sick of the belly issue and having to look at other chick's thongs.) If not, I'd totally go for a fancy diamond. If I wasn't too captivated by it, I'd sell it once I got out of there and buy myself a car with ac.

Madrugada Visitor

I couldn’t sleep on Friday morning. Aside from having to wake up earlier than usual to be on the other side of town for training, the rain kept pouring down. All I could think about was, “how bad is the flooding going to be?”

I got up ten minutes before the alarm went off and the first thing I did was reach for my glasses to come online to check the weather. Turns out, the television is much better for this. However, as I was reaching for my glasses, I noticed that I wasn’t tired or cranky even though I’d only slept a couple of hours. In fact, I was kind of happy.

My dad came to visit me during what seemed like my last leg of sleep. He came to ask me if I wanted to go on a trip with him, his brother, my uncle Sam, and uncle Sam’s family. In the dream, I wasn’t home and when I got home, I was a little sad that I had missed him. So I called him.

He proceeded with his invite and I had to turn him down because I had to attend training. I was feeling down that I couldn’t go with, but in a very understanding voice, he said, “its okay m’ija, I understand.”

“Thanks Dad. . . Dad?”

“Yeah, m’ija.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too m’ija.”

And that’s when I woke up. I swear all the “m’ijas” didn’t sound this cheesy.

I think what made me the happiest was that I was able to tell him “I love you.” I’m not a terribly affectionate person. In fact, I turn tomato-red when I have to be affectionate. The tone of his voice when he said it back was so genuine and heartfelt that it helped mend some of those lifelong wounds.

When I woke up, I thought, “I’m not gonna tell anyone about this dream because he came to see me.” But when I got in the shower, I started thinking that maybe I should tell people about my dream. I wanted to shout with glee. I wanted to tell the world. I thought I could tell my sister about seeing Dad and yet I haven’t. I haven’t told anyone.

Sometimes, people don’t like when you dream about the dead. Sometimes people will just say “huh. That’s weird.” Other times they will say, “Ave María Purisima, resale unos Padres Nuestros.” And sometimes, people will not say anything.

Now that I’ve written about it again (first time was in my personal journal), I’ll probably tell my mom since we always tell each other about our dreams. In the meantime, I still have a big smile on my face and curiosity about what kind of trip they were taking in an Amish-style carriage.

The End of an Era

Friday marks the end of an era at Arte Público Press. When I return to work on Monday, the office will be Linda-less.

Throughout my years at the Press, I learned so many things from Linda. She taught me how to do my job, be resourceful and that there’s always a shortcut. She taught me about Chicanismo and that I could have my own voice. She encouraged me to follow my dreams and pushed me along when I didn’t want to budge. If it hadn’t been for her, I probably wouldn’t have the teaching job.

After tomorrow, there will be no more “Ma’am” followed by a question or instructions and then a “Who were you talking to?” from Gabi.

Her stack of Chicano/Latino/Hispanic art books will be snuggling up next to their brothers and sisters on the bookshelves in the different UH libraries. The necessary ones will be on the top bookshelf of what used to be her desk.

The array of current titles, upcoming reprints and art sample files on the floor of her “office” will be in the large four drawer metal filing cabinet that provides a makeshift wall. Her desk will not be muddled with ongoing projects.

Her Santa Fe style sweater will be gone. There will be no, “Don’t go buy anything for lunch, my sister made (insert fancy dish here) and we had lots of leftovers.” Nor will there be a “You do know that’s my seat” when someone is sitting at the head of the table in the kitchen. Afternoons will be quiet, and there won’t be anyone to say, “Ma’am, do you want to go get some root beer so we can make some root beer floats?”

I will no longer wait around until 5 P.M. so that neither of us has to walk out alone.

But most importantly, there will be no one to ask, in the whiniest voice I can summon, “Linda, how do I . . .?”

I really don’t know what it will be like on Monday except maybe quiet.

What I do know, is that when I left the office today, there was a lot of sadness. Although I am extremely happy for her and wish her the best at her new job, I’m still sad, for the press and myself. And while these changes hurt, they’re also exciting. I can’t wait to hear about all those great things that I know are going to come her way.

Thanks for everything LMG.

Teaching and the Minute Men

Gee, how long has it been? A week?

I’ve been incredibly busy and training hasn’t even started yet. I now have a cohort. I always heard Cindylu use this word, but I never imagined I would be using it. My cohort starts training tomorrow. It’s only six days out of the month, so it’s not too bad. I don’t know how it will be next month since school will have started by then.

Work actually starts on the 1st of August. Although I only work seven hours a day, I have to be there by 8:00 A.M., I haven’t had to get that early since . . . my Wal-Mart days. Gah. And the commute for the first month or so will be very, very long, so I’ll have to get up earlier. But it’s worth it. This is the job I wanted.

Last week was pretty busy. On Thursday, I met with some of the other Language Arts teachers. It was fun. I’m not missing any opportunities to meet with my co-workers because I really want to get to know them and sort of get ideas for my curriculum and all that stuff. Tomorrow, I get to see my classroom and I’m going to see about taking the textbooks. I’ve got some idea of what to do, but I’ve still got a ton of questions. I guess it helps that I’m going to have two mentors.

Anyway, enough of the work stuff. The other day I was watching the evening news, and guess what? The minute men are coming to Houston. WTF? They’re going to be recording the day laborers that stand down the street from my apartment. On Saturday, as Dan the Man and I were driving down Westpark toward the bank, I said told him about the Minute Men.

“What? We should do something! We need to stand out there with signs!”

“Protest?”

“Yes. And make flyers, in Spanish, so they know what’s going on.”

“Yeah. We could stand in front of them so that they’re filming us and not them.”

“Yeah. And we can call those Minute Men murders…Look at what you’ve done to me! I didn’t even care about these things.”

He’s come a long way. I need to do some research and see if any of the immigrant rights activists in the area are planning any protest of any kind. I’ve round up a handful of people. If you hear anything or want to join us, please let me know.

I got it!

Gracias a todos for your good wishes. As the title says, I got the job. I'm so excited, I can't wait!

Dear Diary/Blog

Hi everybody! I hope everyone is having/had a great holiday weekend. Mine was pretty good.

Friday was Dan the Man’s birthday, but he had to work so we didn’t really celebrate until Saturday. We went to the Galleria and watched people ice skate, walked the entire mall, and I stared and laughed at all the Quinceñeras with their crew walking around strutting their stuff.

After the Galleria, we went to Ross, Marshals, Borders and Lane Bryant because I needed an outfit, at least a nice jacket, for my interview this morning. I originally had my heart set on the fashions of Torrid. I imagined myself strutting around in some cute paint suit, turning heads and feeling as sexy as the girls on the Torrid website. But no such luck. In the end I did find a nice jacket at Lane Bryant. Anyway, enough of the trials and tribulations of a fat girl’s shopping adventure.

So yeah, I had an interview this morning for a sixth grade language arts and reading position. I was accepted into the alternative teacher’s certification program. They told me on Thursday but I’m trying not to talk about it too much because I don’t want to get my hopes up too much. But the interview this morning went well. About forty-five minutes after I left the school, the assistant principal called me and asked me if I was available for a second interview. It’s tomorrow and there will be four people there at one of the ladies’ homes. I hope I’m not as nervous as when I first arrived today. My hands were shaking a bit and the principal noticed. We’ll see how it goes tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m doing more research on pedagogy and the thematic approach and such. I’ll keep you all posted.

In other news, my sister arrived from El Chuco today. My mom moved out on her own this month and my sis went to help her with the transition. To say that she’s an angel is not only trite, but not enough to express how great it is that she was there for the move. I went over to see her because I had to drop off her keys and because she had some stuff for me like the flag that was drapped over my dad’s casket, a doll that my dad’s oldest sister made, a tape of me being hypnotized, and my journals from when I was a little kid. After some delicious bbqed hot dogs, I sat at the dinning room table and read them. Man, I was one crazy kid. Dan the Man is reading them as I type this and laughing.

Gee, this is starting to sound a lot like those journals. Hehehehe.

Promesas y la Lila

I promise an update is coming soon. I may have some exciting news but I'm holding off until I get the final word, or part of the final word. In any case, here's something I've been working on.

A Medley of Cultures: Transculturalism in the music of Lila Downs
Globalization and transculturalism have become every day words in the vocabularies of people all over the world. It is said that inventions like the internet and agreements like North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) have helped push along the concept of globalization, a global economy, and lead to transcultural societies, culture that crosses many borders. Japan has factories in border towns like Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua. The Mixteca community in New York City who travel to Mexico at least once a year for a religious festival are just a few examples of the medley that has become the world. The point that transculturalism has existed since the birth trade of trade is important, but it is not until now, that it is receiving attention not only from scholars but from popular culture as well.

An example of this is in Lila Downs’ 2001 album Border/La linea, in which she performs a song titled “Medley: Pastures of Plenty/This Land is Your Land/Land. ” This song is transcultural because it is a mixture of two Woody Guthrie songs interlaced with lyrics to Downs’ “Land.” Looking at the life of Woody Guthrie, we find that he was affected by “some of the most significant historic movements and events of the Twentieth-Century—the Great Depression, the Great Dust Storm, World War II, the social and the political upheavals resulting from Unionism, the Communist Party and the Cold War .” Looking at Downs’ history, we find that she has a Scottish-American father and a Mixtec-Indian mother. Her parents met when her father was in Oaxaca filming a documentary . Being the daughter of parents of different nationalities allowed Downs to live in both Mexico and the United States.

An interesting factor in “Medley” is the lyrics. In “Pastures of Plenty,” Guthrie talks about the migration that took place during the Great Depression and Dust Bowl. “This Land is Your Land” satirical because the land is not “for you and me.” Both of these songs end with a reclaiming of the land:

Well, it’s always we ramble, that river and I,
All along your green valley I’ll work till I die,
My land I’ll defend with my life, if it be.
‘Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free. (Pastures of Plenty)

Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back,
This land was made for you and me. (This Land is Your Land)

Interlaced with this claim for land and freedom is Downs’ “Land” which gives a voice to the indigenous groups subjugated to the genocide by the European settlers during colonization. Even though the indigenous groups are not around, according to Downs, they will continue to exist “Dust is to dust hail thee memory/even if they grin me, dust I will be—.” Downs is a Scottish-American/Mixtec-Indian woman singing in English, Spanish and Nahuatl and performing songs written by a mid-nineteenth century social activist exemplifying the transcultural world we are living in today.

Confession

I have a confession to make; I’m hooked on La Academia. I used to watch it when it first started. I remember watching the first episode when I first arrived in Houston. When I called my mom to ask if my brother, who had driven with me, had made it home ok, I asked her about this Academia that my brother-in-law was watching. She said, “oh si, La Academia. Acaba de empezar.”

I quickly grew to enjoy Yahir’s singing night after night. I was annoyed with Miriam’s love affair with la camarita and annoyed with Victor’s playboy attitude. After Yahir’s generation, I didn’t think I would watch it again. However, a couple of things happened that led to this addiction. First, Dan the Man moved in with me making the 9 P.M. phone calls obsolete. Then, when I would call my mom Sunday night, she would always ask, “¿Estas viendo La Academia?” Of course, I was not watching it because I was watching Extreme Home Makeover and Desperate Housewives. I would spend the entire day reading and doing homework so I could reward myself with two hours of television. A three hour concert was a bit too much for me at the time. The other thing that happened was that school ended, obviously, this would free up a lot of my time. The other thing that happened was the season finales of Makeover and Housewives.

Now, if you swing by my apartment on Sunday night, you will find me glued to a television, reading and cursing at Alan Tacher. You know that day I wrote that entry about not being able to write lately? Well, I wrote an entire entry in my paper journal about how much Alan Tacher gets on my nerves. I hate the way his fingers look all long and skinny when he hold the microphone. I hate the way he flirts with the girls and tries to get some cheap thrills, and I especially hate the way he drags on and on the announcement of who’s getting kicked off. I hate the latter so much in fact, that today, I threw my pen at the television.

Lolita Cortés and Arturo López Gavito, who by the way is a dead ringer for The Brain from Pinky and the Brain, are the most annoying and the most amusing at the same time. I enjoy how they get into a debate over what each crítico has to say about the almuno’s performance and yet they get on my nerves because sometimes they make a big deal over nothing.

Alumno Edgar gets on my nerves too, but tonight, he had me giggling like a little girl at the crazy things he was doing. I was even jamming along to his little rap. Lolita was right in saying that when he performs, he gets all the attention on him, the way it should be. But still, I’m pulling for my girl Yuridia. My mom says that she kind of looks like me. “Cuando tenias las piernas de escopeta. Como te enflacaste esa vez,” she says.

I like her because she’s cute and she’s got a great voice. I’d also like for Erasmo to win. I loved it when he sang that song, “Con tus perfumenes mujer, me vuelves loco… .” It reminded me of the night Gabi and I arrived in San Miguel. And of course, I loved it when he and the other guys sang Intocable’s “¿Y todo para que?”

Anyone interested in a La Academia viewing party next week for the grande finale?

T-shirts

I'm not sure what to make of this. It's something I turned in for my Pop Culture class last semester. It doesn't make any sense to me, but I thought I would share.

In recent years, there has been a rise in the popularity of quirky t-shirts. If you walk into your local Target, you will see a wall of t-shirts that read “Your village called, they lost their idiot” or “I can only make one person's day and today isn't your day/Tomorrow isn't looking too good either.” If you venture into a highly Latino populated area, like Cielo Vista Mall in El Paso, Texas, you can find a booth that sells Latin influenced shirts like those of NACO Inc. These shirts take U.S. pop culture and mix it up with Latin flair. One example is the Naca/o shirt which takes the ever popular ACDC logo and replaces it with NACO. There is also the Mr. T t-shirt in which Mr. T is replaced by El Profesor Girafales from the notorious skit “Chavo del 8” from Chespirito, a 1970's Mexican program. There is also the blood red t-shirt with the mustard yellow heart and the letters CH in the center of the heart, which symbolizes El Chapulín Colorado, another Chespirito skit that mocks superheroes. Of course, these shirts mean nothing to those Americans who grew up watching Happy Days and the Brady Bunch. But to the Spanish speaking Generation Xers who watched Chespirito as kids these shirts mean more-they imply that Latino culture is becoming incorporated into U.S. society and that the entertainment they grew up can be pop culture.

The NACO Inc. t-shirt that reads “Estar Guars” is emblematic of transculturalism. Star Wars has long been a staple in U.S. pop culture. There are conventions dedicated to this film and almost everyone has seen at least one of these movies whether it was at the theater as a kid, on TNT, or one of the latest prequels. For NACO Inc. to produce such a shirt means that the U.S. is not the only country producing knock off pop culture from other countries in the form of mañanitas (shawls), peasant shirts, or Corona trucker caps. NACO Inc. is not the only company doing so. Walking the markets near the Zócalo in Mexico City, the streets are lined with tarps covered with t-shirts that play with U.S. pop culture.

These Latin influenced pop culture shirts can also be found at a store at the Edward's Marquee Theaters Plaza in Houston. There is a shop that offers not only these U.S. pop culture burlesque t-shirts but other items like the “Frijolero” t-shirt which was made popular by the Grammy nominated Molotov's single “Frijolero.” Wearing such a shirt is an incredibly political statement because of what the song says. It talks about the racial struggle that Latinos still encounter and recalls that “if not for Santa Ana…that where your feet are planted would be Mexico.” The production of this t-shirt and others is in a way assimilating to U.S. pop culture, but at the same time they celebrate and embrace a folklore that would otherwise be lost and replaced with an Aztec calendar ignoring a crucial chapter of history.

Blogger Dreams

I've been in pretty gloomy mood lately, but it seems that things are starting to get better. Last night, when I got home from my writer's group meeting, there was mail on the table. I noticed a post office slip for Daniel, some magazines, one from AAA and Legion and finally, there was a letter from Pasadena Independent School District addressed to me.

I had applied for their alternative teacher's certification program back in April but had not heard a word from them. This led me to the depressive mood, because I honestly did have my heart set on teaching for them. It's in an area that is very diverse and yet, I feel that I would be able to relate to the students. Plus, it doesn't give me the overwhelming feeling of doom that HISD gives me. Anyway, the letter asked me to take in a copy of my transcript, which states that I did in fact receive a B.A. degree. I'm crossing my fingers and hoping that if I can't get a job teaching high school English I can at least do middle school.

On Wednesday night I had this really funky dream. Dan the Man, Gabi, Bo and I were at the crappy amusement park in El Paso. We were on some ride that swung back and forth like a pendulum. I remember that we were considering which section to get on so that we'd get the biggest thrill. I remember being on the ride and doing the pansy thing I always do, closing my eyes when we were to far off the ground and coming down. (I'm afraid of height, but I always make myself do these things for the thrills)

Anyway, as I was getting off the ride, my roommate drove up and rolled down the window. I was holding Dan the Man's hat and went over to see what she wanted.

“Someone's looking for you,” she said.

“For me?”

“Yeah, some girl named Gabriela. She said she needs to talk to you. I just saw her over on the other side, get on, I'll give you a ride so you don't miss her.”

I got on the car and she dropped me off on the other side of the amusement park. I remember leaving Dan the Man's baseball cap in her car and thinking he was going to be mad at me. Somehow, I knew what this Gabriela looked like because I spotted her right away. Actually, she kinda looked like Bella Chicana. Anyway, I went up to her and asked her if she was looking for me and she said, “Yeah.”

“Well, here I am.”

“I wanted to talk to you about your blog.”

“Okay.”

“I don't like what you write. I don't think you should be talking…”

It all became a blur after thing, but I remember her telling me that she didn't like what I said about the Catholic Church or how I treated Dan the Man. I remember that I told her to mind her own damn business because this was MY blog and I could do as I damn well pleased with it.

It was all so weird because it felt so real. Its funny how our minds take all our concerns and make one big jumbled mess out of them when we fall asleep.

Reading Mis Ojos

Tonight at my writer’s group, I read a piece I wrote a couple years ago about my dad. Aside from not producing anything new lately, I read this piece because it was requested for consideration in an upcoming anthology. My never-ending polishing sentiments caused me to take this to my meeting tonight.

Prior to tonight’s meeting, I read the story a few times checking for grammar, but more than anything, to wear off any sentiments I felt while reading it. See, this piece was written while I was enrolled in a memoir class in the Fall of 2003. We were asked to make a list of nicknames. After about ten minutes, we were asked to pick three of those nicknames and finally, to pick one. I picked Mis Ojos, which was my dad’s special nickname for me.

One night, over a pitcher of Shiner at Kay’s Lounge, Gabi and Bo told me that I had to forgive my dad. They told me that when I went home that Halloween, I had to go and try to fix things with him. To take all my left over financial aid money and take him out to have an awesome dinner and tell him everything that he did to me and how it made me feel.

A couple weeks later, I got a phone call at about 7:30 A.M. from my brother Jorge, telling me that Dad was dying. I thought it was the usual bullshit. According to doctor’s, my dad had been dying since I was 12. Why would this time be any different?

Well, turns out, he really was dying. It all happened before I could get there. When I got back to Houston, I had to keep working on the story because it was part of my final portfolio for the class. My professor said we could work something out, but I knew it was something I had to do. Besides, I had gotten so far behind in my other classes that I couldn’t really afford to work on a new piece.

A couple of months later, that same professor contacted me and asked me to submit it for the anthology. However, working on it then was so much harder. I couldn’t get through it without tearing up. I guess it was good since, I didn’t cry much. I would let out short bursts of large tears and quickly compose myself. Working on this story was really therapeutic; it still is. However, I didn’t want to break down like I did in that poetry workshop in San Miguel, so I read it at least twenty times before tonight. Although my voice shook harder than a feigning heroine addict, I was able to get through it without any tears.

I wanted to write something about my dad on my birthday, because as some of you may know, el día del padre in México is on my birthday, June 15th. But that day, I wasn’t in the mood for writing. For some reason, I couldn’t even make it through a conversation that day without tearing up. It was so bad that when Jorge called to wish me a happy birthday, I didn’t even pick up the phone. I guess its good I took the day off from work.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this, so I guess I’ll stop for now. If the piece gets published, I’ll share it with ya’ll.

Trapo Loyalist

Last night, as I was washing away the residue of entomatada ingredients, I remembered being ten or eleven, looking at the multi colored foaming Ocello sponge my madrina held in her hand. She quickly scrubbed away all the food from her dishes and ran them under the running water. She would sometimes keep a bowl of soap, Clorox and water mix by her sink. More often than not however, she dropped a few drops of Dawn or Joy on the sponge. When the sponge began to fall apart, she would dump it in the trash can she kept under her sink and take out a brand new one probably from the other side of the cabinet under the sink.

My mom, her older sister and downstairs neighbor, in my mind, was too old fashioned for an Ocello sponge. My mom used a washcloth. Un trapo. It could have started its service in bright magenta, but by the end of its first dishwashing experience, it was a faded pink. El trapo would help her serve a plate of steaming enchiladas. It would experience every cleanable surface in the narrow kitchen and sometimes even the floor. After dozens of kitchen cleaning adventures, it would end up torn, tattered and sometimes frayed. Mom would dump it in the trash and bring out another washcloth. I don’t know if she sometimes used the washcloths we used to shower, this was before the pouf era, but it never grossed us out because my mom used more than enough Clorox.

Despite swearing that my madrina’s sponge was better than my mom’s trapo at a ripe age, these days I can’t do without a trapo in the kitchen. Some people think it’s gross because they believe it germinates bacteria, but a study that was discussed on 20/20 and Oprah about bacteria in your kitchen claimed that sponges create more bacteria. This however, is not the reason I chose the trapo over the sponge. It’s more along the lines of fidelity. Just like I can’t stop being Catholic even though I disagree with the Church about a lot of things, I can’t betray my mom’s trapo. Nothing feels better than submerging your hands in a mix of Clorox and dish soap in hot water to find a sopping wet trapo.

What do you keep in your kitchen?

Lazy sabado

I’m so lazy right now. It certainly doesn’t help that all the PMS swimming around in my body decided to attack my cintura and makes it difficult to sweep, mop and put away the dishes. I had dreams para el sabado. I planned on cleaning the living room, kitchen, the bedroom and bathroom and making some spectacular entomatadas. I’m done with the living room, but now I gotta go tackle the kitchen, specifically the fridge. I think there’s still leftover graduation cake. Fortunately, the birthday cake was done at the office so it was all gone except for the piece I brought home for Dan the Man.

Anyway, I wanted to thank all of you for your kind comments. It really helps when people offer encouraging words.

I had a whole entry about this show I saw on Wal Mart, but I’m editing it. I suppose I better get back to this cleaning business. Of course, I could wait until Dan the Man gets time off and have him help me, but he’s done the laundry, taken out the trash and pretty much waited on me hand and foot this week.

More of the life drama

You know when you walk into a room and people suddenly stop talking? That happened to me today when I got to work. When I was coming up the stairs, I heard them talking, but since I've been sick lately, my hearing is a little off. I heard them saying that they had seen this person “como sin ganas,” among other things.

When I walked into the room, I wasn't surprised to hear them stop talking. When I'm going through these phases, people always talk. Although it bothers me, I'm used to it. Being the youngest in my family, I've always been subjected to criticism.

Some people blame Dan the Man for all this. Because he hasn't gone to college, they feel that he has lower expectations and for this reason, I'm going to lower mine. This seems absolutely absurd to me, but even though I have attempted to clarify such reasoning, it still fails to convince anyone. But you know, whatever.

I could sit here and list all the things people have said, are saying and will say. I could sit here and freak out about it all. But right now, I need to focus on finding a new job. Not that I don't like working for APP, but I can't stay there because I'm not a student anymore. All I want is a job that will afford me enough money to pay my bills and give me time in the evenings to write and prepare for grad school. If that's underachieving, then so be it. This is my transitional year and I'm taking full responsibility for the outcome.

Keeping on the DL

Sometimes, I think of a topic for an entry and plan it all out in my mind while I drive to or from work. When I finally get around to typing it up, it suddenly becomes a bad idea and I quickly close the word document and leave the desk. Last week, I had this entire entry planned out about life after all the pomp & circumstance of graduation. I went to the extent of writing it long hand on a scrap piece of paper and in my paper journal. I thought about it as I drove home from work, thinking of all the perfect words, but in the end, I did what I mentioned in the beginning of this paragraph.

It’s not that I don’t want to share with you what it’s been like. What I planned to do was create this entry that I can’t create just yet. I’m still looking for a job. Attempting to create the perfect resume for the jobs that I feel I can apply my skills to. (Yeah, I know I should not end a sentence with a preposition.) Coming to terms with turning 25 in the middle of this week and finding a way to keep everyone happy.

Things aren’t really as bad as I think they are. I mean, I have experience and a degree. However, this didn’t stop me from waking up in the middle of the night last week freaking out about finding a job within the next month so that it would give me enough time to find a place before my lease is up here. All the “so what are you going to do now” and “have you found another job” comments are doing nothing for me. I know these people mean well. Most of the time, I give them vague answers or an “I don’t know.” And while I know this isn’t the best answer, “God, you’re a writer, you should be able to make up something,” I just want people to leave me alone.

I decided long ago, that this is a time for me para andar oleando, just like the Julieta Venegas song suggests. I don’t know what the purpose of my life is, but I know that I’ll be pushed toward the right direction, that’s how it’s always been with me in the past. Right now is a time of growth for me. There are a lot of changes and I’m coming to terms with a lot of things and the way I handle this is to keep it on the down low. See, I know I’m an extremely fickle person and it takes a lot for me to make up my mind about things. If I wanted to, I could be talking up some director or dean of some college so that I can get into their graduate program in the Fall, but what good will that do if I find myself mid-semester wanting out? While I know I can’t spend the rest of my life weighing the options, can’t I spend a couple of months thinking it out and working on a plan?

Summer Reading List

Per Mariposa here is my list:

1. Dress Your Family in Courduroy and Denim by David Sedaris. I'm halfway through it, but had to have a little hiatus to read some work stuff.
2. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, yeah, yeah, I’m a Potter fan. I promised myself I won’t watch the next movie until I’ve read the book.
   
3. This Bridge We Call Home by Gloria Anzaldúa, this was a graduation gift from mi guerito, JP.
   
4. The Workshop: Seven Decades of the Iowa Writers Workshop, it’s supposed to give you a feel of what the place is like. I was a little disappointed when I saw no Latino writers in it.
   
5. Ten Little Indians by Sherman Alexie, I had started this book but got sidetracked.
   
6. The Bust Guide to the New Girl Order, I will supplement this reading with Bust magazine and Bitch.
   
7. Magical Urbanism by Mike Davis, I’ve read chapters of this book for class and papers, but now that I have time, I was to read the entire thing.
   
8. Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Marquez, I’m on a quest to read all of his works.
   
9. The General in His Labyrinth again by Marquez
   
10. Living to Tell the Tale, once again, by Marquez. I’ve had this book since it came out, but haven’t been able to finish reading it because I got back and read chunks of One Hundred Years of Solitude.

Book Meme

Hah! Now isn't this a timely meme? I'll still post a list of the ten books on my summer reading list later today. Anyway, here's the meme.

Books owned . . .
Honestly, if I typed up a list, this would be one lengthy entry. Plus, I give a lot of them away. Well, I lend them out and sometimes never get them back. However, I will say that I own about half the title on the Arte Público Press catalog.

Last book I bought . . .
Dress Your Family in Denim and Corduroy by David Sedaris
I know this book came out a long time ago, but I always kept thinking someone would give it to me as a gift but no one ever got the hint.

Five books that mean a lot to me . . .
Chicano Chicanery by Daniel Chacón
Carry Me Like Water by Benjamin Alire Saenz
The Moths and Other Stories by Helena Maria Viramontes
En otra voz: Antología de literatura hispana en los Estados Unidos ed. Kanellos
From Out of the Shadows by Vicky Ruiz

Five individuals to provide their own list . . .
Cindylu
Mariposa
Cracked Chancla (whenever you return)
El Daily Texican now Seatlean
Gwen

*I'll fix the links when I get to my casa, macs are a little weird

A peek into Brown Girl's Bedroom

La Mariposa Atomica was curious to peek into our kitchens, but I'd prefer not to. Instead, I'll let her and everyone else, peak into my bedroom.

My 10 favorite things in my bedroom:

1. A photograph of Zacateros street in San Miguel de Allende, Gto., México. My friend Emily took this picture. I absolutely love it. I've framed it and put it next to my desk so I can look at it when I'm sitting there writing and need to escape.
2. The black and white 8”x10” Army photograph of my dad. I've always loved black & white photographs, but I especially love this one because my dad was so young. I never saw him young and without a beard. When compared to my brother Jorge's Army photo, he and Dad look almost identical.
3. Photo albums. Yes, I have a thing for photographs. I have tons of them, but very few are of me. Whenever I feel homesick, I flip through my photo albums and retell the stories to myself (outloud, if no one is around).
4. My mp3 player on my computer. I love how I can add songs to the playlist and never have to listen to a song I don't like or listen to any commercials.
5. Javi, my betta fish whose house is on the bookshelf across my side of the bed.
6. My pink Rey Misterio mask. Sometimes when I'm feeling extremely silly, I wear it around the house.
7. My down feather pillow Caro gave me for my birthday two years ago. Not only does it take the perfect shape, it blocks out any unwanted light and noise.
8. A post card my sis gave me years ago of a girl holding a crawfish saying, “You want me to suck what?”
9. The picture of Spongebob and Patrick my niece Linette colored for me. I have them up on the corkboard next to my desk.
10. My bookshelf that holds all of my books signed by the author. Well, it's not really a complete bookshelf, but most of them have really nice dedications to me.

Lack of Inspiration

I know I haven’t been updating. Everyday, when I’d sit at my desk, wishing to get away by clacking away at the keys, I’d run away and do something else. The inspiration hasn’t been there. And while I know that I don’t need inspiration to write, I’ve been letting my little negative editor, who likes to sit on my shoulder, climb up my sleeve. Tonight, as I sat on my bed letting the Claritin D and Tylenol wear off, I decided that I needed to knock that damn little editor off my shoulder. So I pulled out my handy dandy notebook and got to writing. And lo and behold, I became inspired.

During the writing workshop two weeks ago, filmmaker John Nichols said, “I don’t believe in talent.” He went on to explain that talent had nothing to do with writing, but that knowing how to revise was where it’s at. He’s right.

Last winter, when I was flying to visit Dan the Man in Small Town in Texas, I read an article about Pixar Studios. One of the people that they interviewed said that in order to breed creativity, it had to be practiced on a daily basis. And this is just what I have to do. So from now on, I vow to update at least three times a week. The other days, I will be working on my “professional” writing, whether I’m editing, re-writing or creating a new story.

Hola

It seems that Friday was immigrant day. There were tons of television shows that were talking about immigration. On PBS, they had UH Professor Dr. Nestor García, a reporter and two anglo-sangrona women talking about the issue of education illegal immigrants. It was really pissing me off what those two women were saying until there was a shot of one of them looking over at Nestor and seeing that the face he had was pissing her off like there’s not tomorrow. It was priceless.

Then after that show, they did a short piece on NOW about the tomato pickers’ union strike against Taco Bell. Then, my sister says that on Nightline, they ran the story that Cracked Chancla was discussing a couple months ago. You know the one about the kids from Arizona that beat out the top notch MIT engineers. I wish I would have seen it.

Speaking of education, yesterday I was busily reading away one of my summer projects at the Press when my sis, says, “Hey Georgina listen to what this Christy said, ‘I even surprised myself this year getting the $24,000 presidential scholarship to St. Mary’s University.’”

Christy is like that t-shirt that gets shoved to the bottom of your drawer because you wear the same ones all the time, so that particular t-shirt doesn’t see the light of day unless you’ve missed laundry day. Christy is my first “real” niece. Joann is the oldest of my nieces but my brother isn’t her biological dad. Christy was born when I was about eight years old, but my brother and her mom separated so I didn’t get to see her much. It sort of makes me sad to know that she was graduating and I had no clue.

Hearing about this scholarship made me feel real proud, but at the same time, I’m really worried. I mean, yeah, that seems like a lot of money, but St. Mary’s gives out what seems to be really good scholarships when compared to the tuition of state owned universities. If she has the option of leaving El Paso to attend school, I want her to take it; I just don’t want her to have to worry too much about working. Pero al fin de cuentas, I’m glad she’s planning to go to college.

¿Que mas les cuento?

I haven’t been updating much because when I get home from work, the last thing I want is to see the damn computer. I’ve been going to help out the Recovery Project because they’re getting ready to send in this huge batch of entries for the newspapers they have. As I’m entering corrections into the database, I’m making mental notes of the things I want to go back and read. It was awesome that an article about the Recovery appeared in Rumbo; it helped boost everyone’s spirit for this deadline. I get so excited about thinking how much this will benefit my future and the future of my colleagues. You’ll be able to go onto EBSCO and research El Clamor Público, La Prensa del Sur, Con Safos, and many, many other newspapers that the anglo-sangrones have attempted to keep hidden from us Latinos.

Ramblings About the Conference

I had started writing about the conference, but for some reason, I misplaced my musings. However, I will try to recapture the essence.

If you’re reading wondering if you should try to go next year, you should definitely try to go. The staff and volunteers at the Hispanic Cultural Center are pretty awesome. They think of everything. The workshops really depend of whose you take. I took one with Mucha Lucha Corpi and it was really good. I also took a memoir one that was not as useful because it was mostly discussion of the writers’ books and how they came to write on that particular subject. Something that is really great about this conference is the one on one’s with writers, editors and agents and the panel discussion with the editors and agents. These are especially useful if you have not yet published and are looking to publish.

The Alurista reading was pretty good. It was nice to meet one of the Chicano Literature legends. There was this guy that was doing performance poetry and he had a few good poems as well. And I read at the open mic session during lunch one day.

Something that I found surprising, and I guess it’s not something that only exists in New Mexico, but it’s very evident, is the Spanish pride. It was a little different for me hearing people refer to themselves as Spanish and not Chicano or Hispanic or Mexican American. It kind of made me wonder. I mean, I’ve always been Mexican American until a couple years ago when I learned what Chicano meant and now I have no problem with any of the terms except maybe Hispanic, but I’ll use it when I have.

Over dinner one day, or was it lunch? Anyway, there was a discussion about the use of such terms and my sister made a very interesting comment. She said, “I’ve always wondered what it’s like for the people from California who identify wit h this Chicano image from early on.” She’s not one to generalize, so she’s not saying everyone in Califas is like that. However, now I’m asking of any of you Califas Chicanos, is it like that? And if so, what’s it like to have that identity?

Oh yeah, if you do go to the conference next year, it will be in Albaquerque around the same time. The state motto is “the land of enchantment” but beware because sometimes it can be the land of entrapment. If you have any further questions about the conference, please let me know.

Favorite Things and Wee Update

Cindylu tagged me many days ago, and I’m sorry for not obliging sooner. When I’d think about the list, that song used to pop into my head, you know, the one that goes, “These are a few of my favorite things.” I think it was on a Target commercial last Christmas.

10 Favorite Things

1. Listening to music I like, especially off a jukebox at a bar.

2. Reading. Now that I’m done with school, I made a massive list of books I intend to read during my school hiatus.

3. Writing. I don’t care if it’s on paper or on a keyboard, as long as I’m getting stuff down on paper.

4. Editing. I think this is where a lot of writers fail. My mentor has always said that to be a good writer, you must be a better editor.

5. My writer’s group. I’d never been in a writing group until a couple months ago. It’s so cool to be around other people who practice the same craft and can help you. More than anything, they are so encouraging and I love helping them out, too.

6. Blogs. I love reading blogs, especially by other Latinos.

7. Having coffee at Diedrich’s with my sister and roomie. Their iced teas and chai lattes always find a way to get the conversation rolling.

8. Work. I love my job at APP. I love working with the bad ass ladies in Production. They make waking up worthwhile.

9. Road trips. I love to fly, but somehow, road trips are always better. I guess I like them because I get to listen to music and talk.

10. My mom. Yesterday when she went back to El Chuco, I couldn’t help but cry. I didn’t want to cry because I didn’t want her to worry and I didn’t want to look like a pansy at the airport, but I couldn’t help it. A couple weeks back, my mom got really sick. She almost had a cerebral hemorrhage due to stress and I just worry I won’t see her alive again.

Now, I must tag three people, right? Ok, I tag
Efrain, Mariposa, & Cracked Chancla.

Big thanks to all of you who have been leaving comments the last couple of days. It’s awesome to be done, but this is just the beginning. Can you believe I’m already missing school? Freak, I tell you.

I won’t be around the next couple of days. I’m going to a writer’s conference in New Mexico. I’m uber excited because Alurista and Denise Chavez will be there. I think Rodolfo Anaya will be there, too. Anyway, I’ll let ya’ll know how it goes.

Blessed

In the midst of my complaining, I forgot to mention that the ceremony aside from the dumbass English chair was pretty nice. Dean Antel, the dean of the College of Liberal Arts and Social Sciences, praised my pink hat. I was actually wearing the black cross on the pink background that represents las muertas de Juárez. My brother-in-law says that everyone was talking about “the girl with the pink hat and black cross.”

It was important for me to do this because I could have been one of them. I could have been found with a beer bottle up my anus and my face and finger tips burned off, but I was lucky. My brothers’ mishaps forced my family to emigrate and I was given a chance at a better life. Decorating my hat in their honor was the least I could do.

I was also happy to get a hug from my sister as soon as I walked off stage and one from Linda, my supervisor. I’ve received three floral arrangements. There was a party last night. That was tons of fun.

When I left for Houston three years ago, I knew three people, Gabi, Bo, and Carolina. I never imagined that by the end of my journey at U of H, I would have so many friends, so many people that care so much about me. It’s so nice and the immense gratitude I feel for that can’t be expressed. I must have a huge choir of Angels up there because I feel so blessed.

The English Dept. Shafts Me, Once Again

I came to the University of Houston knowing that I wanted to study literature because at that time, I would read almost every Oprah Book Club selection and had set as a goal to read all of the “classics.” But during my transgression at U of H, things changed. I found out about “the cannon.” The people who made decisions many years ago as to what I should read are now dead white men. I found out that not only did my people have literature before the white man, but that it was at my fingertips if I went two floors down from where I work. And where I work, there are so many writers that I could relate to, and I always wondered how the hell I hadn’t known about them before.

When I went to my English classes, I always felt like the odd man out. I always compared their literature to Tomas Rivera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Daniel Chacon, Graciela Limon, Tomas Rivera, Rolando Hinojosa, and a milieu of other writers. But it wasn’t only Latina/o or Chicana/o lit that we were leaving out; it was also Native American, African American, Asian American and the many other ethnicities whose literature is just as rich if not more. I was never satisfied with my courses because they managed to leave “the other” on the edges and never even consider inviting them into the conversation. Of course, there were maybe one or two exceptions.

By the time I was done with classes for my major, I was glad because I no longer had to put up with the professors and the students, but at the same time, I was saddened because I had not changed a thing. I had written my papers on Luis Valdez and Maria Helena Viramontes, but it seems like no one cares. But later this week I will begin drafting a letter to that damn department.

During a honors and recognition ceremony, I was told that I was invited because I would be recognized. I was not. In fact, I was completely ignored. The mc, whose name I cannot bring to mind, interrupted the conversation that the guest speaker, my roomie, my sis and I were having. She never bothered to introduce herself or even acknowledge us.

At graduation yesterday, the chair of each department was to read our names. Not only did he not know how to pronounce my name, he did not say cum laude. The professors who marched with us, didn’t stand on the others side to congratulate us after Dean Antel had given us our diploma. How quickly they forget that the only reason they are there is because they have to teach us.

I’m glad I went to U of H because I had some awesome professors like my sis, Luis Alvarez, Monica Perales, Ecarna Bermejo, Carl Lindahl, Lois Parkinson Zamora and of course, my job at Arte Publico that allowed me to met Dr. Kanellos and tons of writers and critics. However, if I were given the opportunity to continue my graduate studies in the Creative Writing Program at U of H, I would immediately decline. Even though they wouldn’t even accept me as their token Latina because I’m not willing to give up my ethnicity for a name.

These last few weeks, that the English department has been letting me down, it always makes me want to work really hard, so that cuando se traten de parar el cuello, I can say, “Well…I’d have to disagree.” It’s also made me want to teach more than ever because I don’t want a student to ever feel the way they made me feel. And lastly, it’s made me so glad that there are so many of you out there that are working to better education for Latina/os. It gives me so much hope.

Las dos mujeres en mi vida

A girl can only be so lucky. But me, I’m incredibly lucky. There are two incredible women in my life. One is in her thirties. She’s tall with what Sarah calls “swimmer’s legs.” Her hair is wavy, wild, and her gray hair looks like lightning bolts. Sometimes I wonder if she gets a gray hair for each of the amazing ideas that sprout from her brain, but if that were true, she'd only have gray hair. She fidgets. Constantly, especially when she’s in meetings. Her voice shakes when she’s excited. I can’t listen to an Arjona or Intocable song without thinking of her and in January of 2002, me dío la mano in a way that will take me the rest of my life to repay.

The other woman is in her sixties. She lives about eight hundred miles away. She’s short with lots of gray hair. Her front teeth are missing and the teeth that she has left, she calls “clavija’s.” She makes a mean pot of frijoles de la hoya and her refried beans are to die for. Everyday, I see more of her in me, and it doesn’t bother me one bit. In June of 1980, she gave birth to me and it’s something I’ve always been grateful for.

Being on the verge of accomplishing one of my most important goals, I felt like it was appropriate two let two very important women in my life know how I feel about them. Thank you Gabi and Mom for everything. I hope I can be half the women you two are.

I'm done!

I'm finally done! VACACIONES!

Crazy times

I’ve been gone a long time. I haven’t been at the computer much unless it was at work and well, I was doing work then. Sometimes I was being a Cindylu groupie, but most of the time it was work. I’m in the midst of writing a paper…in Spanish. It’s killing me. This class has been the most challenging for me, but I like it. I hope I do well. I also hope my sis doesn’t read this until after she’s done grading my terrible paper.

Lots of things have been going on in my life. Some of them are great and some of them are not great, but I don’t have time to write about them right now. Once I finish all this finals drama, I promise I will post a real entry and I will talk about all of it.

In the meantime, I just met Alicia Gaspar de Alba. I’m going to her reading tonight. She was so nice, nicer than some authors that come through here. She seemed genuinely interested in knowing everyone’s name and we were able to chit chat with her about her novel and the process and all that stuff. Anyway, if you can, I highly recommend Desert Blood. I couldn’t put it down.

There's something wrong

if you can't figure out what damn day it is. I have to wear my kick ass Gul watch that my sis gave me to figure out what's the date and day. Ah! I can't wait until finals are over.

Only in Texas

would something like this happen.

It's times like this when I hate this state. I urge you to write or call your Senator if you live in Texas. If you don't, please pass on the word, maybe we can give 'em enough bad publicity that they'll quit acting like homophobic jack asses.

Howdee

I hate when people say they’re going to do something and then don’t. It’s been almost a week since my conference experience and I haven’t shared. I do apologize.

The conference was not really what I expected. I’ve been going to these things since I came to U of H, I just never presented. So I sort of had an idea of what it would be like.

I was the first presenter, of the first table, on the first day. I was extremely nervous, but not as nervous as I thought I would be. After reading my story, I looked into the audience and half the people had this blank face as if they’d just been staring at the fluorescent lights for the last five minutes. Afterward, there were not questions for me. There was one guy that came up to me and told me he really liked my story so that was really cool.

I’m not disappointed in their reaction. I’m more disappointed with myself. I should have practiced. I should have memorized my story. I should have read it the way I wrote it, with all that feeling, but it all takes practice and that was the purpose of this conference. But all in all, it was a good experience for me.

I really like being in Edinburgh. It reminded me of El Chuco. I loved the color of their skin, hair, eyes, the sound of their voices, but mostly, I liked being around them. I felt at home. I liked that my shoes were covered with dust that the wind picked up…man, I really need to take a trip to EL Chuco.

Earlier this week, I believe it was on Wednesday, my sister gave me some mail I had received at her home. There were three letters, two credit card applications and one from the English department. I tore open the envelope of the one from the English dept. thinking it was perhaps a letter from my advisor telling me there’s some glitch in the system and I can’t graduate or they wanted more money from me. To my surprise, and trust me, this was a very big surprise, they were writing to let me know that I was cordially invited to attend a lunch next week to honor me because I’m graduating with honors. I was completely shocked; all I could do was blurt out, “I’m graduating with honors.”

My sister quickly came over and took the letter out of my hand and read it for herself and said, “Cool!”

And yet, I was still in shock. Actually, I’m still in shock now. I really can’t believe it. Needless to say, I’ve been busting my ass even harder studying for Comm Theory so I can keep my honors status.

More stuff has happened, but this is all I’ll bore ya with today. I want to get as much work done as possible, so I can go home and study more.

I've never heard this song but...

1985 by Bowling for Soup

"Where's the mini-skirt made of snakeskin?And who's the other guy that's singing in Van Halen?When did reality become T.V.?What ever happened to sitcoms, game shows?" You took the bitter with the sweet in 2004 - and kept laughing.

What 2004 Hit Song Are You?

I'm Back

Thanks for all your good wishes.

My presentation went well. I was pretty nervous but I was able to avoid sounding like a sheep. I did a lot of writing, but I can't post it now.

Hope your week is off to a great start.

nervios

Wish me luck at the XVI Border Symposium tomorrow! I present @ 2:30. I hope I make it in on time!

Tia Socorro

Because I am trying to put together a collection of short stories, I don’t usually share the pieces I work on unless it’s my sister, roommate or my writing group. However, I think this piece explains my feelings in the last post. It's currently untitled. Anyway, here goes...

When my mom and I are visiting, we like to pull out the various photo albums we have accumulated over the years. Every picture has a story. Sometimes I know them and others I’ve never thought to ask. And the, there are some that I never get sick of hearing like the one of my late tía Socorro at my first birthday party.

My tía Socorro was my tío Kiko’s wife. Tío Kiko is my mom’s brother, he’s the oldest male in her family. When there was any kind of family gathering, Kiko, Socorro and the marabunta, their five kids, were sure to be there. My tía Socorro passed away when I was maybe 17 or 18. Gangrene eventually ate up her body. Even though their visits often got on my mom’s last nerve, she always held high respect for Socorro. There was a solidarity between them that was indestructible and I have always been able to sense it when my mom tells me the story behind this picture.

There is only one photo of this even which I now keep in my photo album under the skirt of my night table next to my bed. In the picture, I’m standing on a chair wearing a cranberry colored dress with a white apron. My pigtails are held together by bright red satin ribbons. Huddled around me are my brothers, sisters and my maternal aunts, uncles, and cousins. In front of my relatives and me, there is a table with a cake coated with white frosting and red accents. Around the cake are boxes of all sizes wrapped in flowery wrapping paper with large bows tied at the top.

I remember first hearing the story that went with this picture from my mom was five or six. The party was taking place at my Abuelita Maria’s house in Cd. Juárez. The table for the cake and the gifts had been set up near one of the grey brick walls that formed the court yard. Chairs were set up along the other walls of the courtyard leaving enough space for the kids to break the piñata and run around, and probably the most important, late night dancing by the adults.

I don’t know if we had already broken the piñata when the downpour began, but according to my mom’s version, she and my oldest sister carried the table with the cake and the present into Abuelita Maria’s kitchen before anyone else could get inside.

The kids were the last ones to leave their endeavors to shelter themselves from the rain. One of the games they were playing must have involved the broomstick used to hit the piñata because one of them dropped it on the cement floor and a loud “clack” was heard. A moment later, my tía Socorro who was in the doorway of the kitchen with her back to the courtyard, ducked and held the back of her head shouting, “¡Aye! ¡Me dieron cabrones!”

My uncle and others ran to her rescue only to find she hadn’t been hit. Apparently, one of my cousins had dropped the piñata stick near the street entrance of the courtyard.

As I grew older, I always wondered why this story was told so many times; but I never questioned it. Years later, I found out from my mom that it had been a bittersweet day for my family. My party was the last of its kind because the following day, as I sat next to my Dad in the dust covered white Checker Cab crossing the Puente Libre into El Paso, my mom and three of my sibling, lead by my tío Chuy, would be slipping through a hole in the chain link fence under the same bridge.

From that day until my uncle Chuy’s funeral four years later, my mom would not set foot in her native country. But because of my tía Socorro, we have one happy memory from that day.

Little Fish in a Big Pond and Immigrants

Friday evening, Dan the Man and I were sitting around putting together some coffee tables and watching television. After King of Queens, I turned it to one of the local news stations to hear the top stories of the day. They were reporting on the latest immigrant busts here in Texas. Well, they only reported on three.

Anyway, later, Dan the Man was talking to his mom saying, “Boy, they sure do live in a dangerous neighborhood. Since I’ve been here, there have been two murders and just a couple streets down, there found this motel with immigrants…”

Of course, I interrupted, “Welcome to the big city, and it wasn’t a couple streets down, it was on the other side of the loop, where the nice Target is. And it was in a one bedroom apartment, not a motel.”

Later, we got into it about the immigrants. Or maybe it was earlier. I said that it was so sad how there was one man in the video clips who was wiping off tears as he walked out of the apartment courtyard. I said, “Who knows what he had to go through to get here and now that he’s finally here, he’s caught.”

He said, “Well, they shouldn’t try to come into the U.S. that way.”

I had to bite my tongue so that I wouldn’t hurt his feelings. In a composed manner, I said, “Well, they don’t really have a choice. Even if they did ask for visa’s it’s not like any of them would get them.”

I think that’s when he left saying he had to go call his mom. He wanted to avoid a similar argument we had on Wednesday night about forced sterilization on minorities in the late sixties and early seventies. Sometimes I forget how sheltered he has been his entire life.

In any case, I’ve been thinking a lot about the immigrants. I recently read La migra me hizo los mandados and even though the testimonials are somewhat fictionalized, there is a lot of truth in them. Seeing those men filed out into Border Patrol vehicles made me want to cry. I could see the desperation in some of their faces.

No mucho que decir

It seems as though my computer at work doesn’t want me to update. Every time I try to pull up blogger, it freezes or does something weird. I could try to figure it out, but I really shouldn’t be working on this at work anyway. Bear with the font and all because I can't change any of it.

***

Anyway, I’m going through this period of thought at the moment. I’m seeing all these things in school, life, and work and my little mind is trying to pull it all together. I find that during these periods, I either write a lot or don’t write at all, and right now, I’m doing the latter. But don’t despair; I’m searching for a subject in which the outcome will be coherent.

***

Sometimes, I’m tired of being “the other.” Sometimes I just want to look like one of those generic brands at the store, and I don’t mean the Country Hill Brand, I mean like the yellow with black lettering Shurefine or the white package with black lettering kind. I want to be Jane Doe. But then, when I think about it further and I think about how I would be, how I would be bland without any kick or hint of jalapeño, I’m glad I am “the other.”

The Look parte dos

I don’t like how that last entry reads, but I had to write it because I needed to get the initial feelings off my chest so that I could keep digging through the issue. I don’t necessarily care what people think when they see Dan the Man and me together. It sort of shocked me to realize that we have in interracial relationship because I had never really thought about it before. He makes me feel like his equal in every aspect.

I think I only started looking around after my realization and after the aim conversation with L. L and I had coffee a couple months back. I argued with him over the use of the word Chicano and Hispanic and he pretty much believed I was some radical, crazy Chicana feminist who thinks the American Dream doesn’t exist. However, he still kept trying to keep in touch with me. I wasn’t really keeping in touch because I wasn’t exactly interested from the get go. I just wanted to make friends. Then around February, he said he wanted to take me out on a date. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen, but whatever. So when I told him the D and I had moved in together, he asked what D looked like. That made me laugh and I said, “Why? Are you going to look for him?” Then of course, I told him he was white and that was the conversation killer, as Billy likes to say.

After that, I noticed that a lot of Latinos were giving “the look.” It is a little weird, and I think a lot of them think I am a vendida, like the guy at Mickey D’s. (I never go to Mickey D’s, but the choice on lunch on Saturday was hairy Burger King or finger lickin’ Wendy’s or Fatdonalds, so I chose the latter.) I was standing at the counter ordering lunch. The guy behind the counter was evidently Latino, he had a tattoo scrawled across his neck, I didn’t really look to see what it said. Anyway, he was waiting for my receipt to print out when he noticed my Oaxaca t-shirt and said, “¿Eres de Oaxaca?”

“No, soy de Cd. Juárez.”

Then he mumbled something else, but I couldn’t hear him. I asked him to repeat what he said, but then he looked at me, looked at Dan the Man standing right beside me and said, “Ahorita sale tu orden.”

Cracked Chancla is right in saying that “people should understand that there are certain restrictions that cannot be place upon the heart.” Y como el DT, people will do a double take on us, and perhaps some will think that I’m a vendida like Cindylu wondered in her own experience. But this will not continue to bother me, I just needed to write about it before I bid the issue farewell.

Hablando con la Jefita

I just spent about an hour and a half talking to my mom. I always call her Saturday morning. However, I was busy this morning so I called her in the evening, but she wasn’t home. Since I know she stays up until all hours of the night, I went ahead and called her again at about 10 pm. She was home this time and caught me up on the week’s gossip. It’s so weird because it felt like I hadn’t talked to her in about a month because she had so much to say.

Last summer, during the poetry workshop in Mexico, Pamela read me a poem she wrote about her mom after I broke down when I wrote one about my dad. Hers was about how she missed the late night phone calls with her mother. It really made me think. Losing my dad was hard because of the messed up relationship was had, but losing la jefita is going to be a million times worse. I know I shouldn’t think about these things, but part of me wants to so that I can have a plan of action.

It’s hard to think that one day, I’m going to want to call and she won’t be around to complain about my brothers or to tell me the latest gossip on my crazy tía Lupe. Hasta entonces, que dios la bendiga y que haga que me dure a long, long time.

The Look

As I have mentioned before, I have been with Dan the Man for about four years now. We’ve always had an LDR. Last Friday, while we were sitting at El Fenix having dinner with his family, I looked around the table and realized that I was the only Chicana at the table. Actually, I was the only minority (if I can call myself that) at the table. I also, finally, realized that we’re an interracial couple.

On Thursday, as I walked to my car with some of my classmates after a presentation by one of our professors, one of the girls mentioned seeing that professor with a white guy. The other girl said, “She’s betraying us!”

I felt like saying, “I’m betraying you too.”

But I didn’t because I don’t think I’m betraying anyone. It’s not like I’ve never tried being with a Chicano or a Latino. I’m not with Dan the Man to “better the gene pool.” I’m with him because I love him and he makes me happy and I shouldn’t have to explain it to anyone.

However, it is sort of weird getting “the look.” You know, they look at you, then look at him and then at you and their face goes “huh?” I got that look at least three times this week and another time it was done verbally. Or maybe they’re just looking at us weird because I was wearing my custom made “Big Brown Girl” or “Mexican Jumping Bean” t-shirt.