Ren Is The DJ

The New Johnny

2011-04-23T14:05:00.000-07:00

I'm the new Johnny.

If you had met me when I was in elementary school, you would've probably noticed my flat top haircut. Looking back I wish it would've been the prototypical late 80s early 90s hip hop hair style. But alas, it wasn't. The cut was styled after the standard Marine Corps buzz cut—gasp! A little ashamed, I will admit to wanting to be a Marine when I was growing up, but hear me out here's why.

In my neighborhood there was an older kid that I looked up to. His name was Johnny and he was my hair stylist's son. You might be asking yourself why such a young kid had a hair stylist, well ask anyone who grew up in Koreatown and they probably had someone they always went to (if they don't still). Johnny was in his late teens when I first met him. All the adults in the neighborhood admired him because he was respectful to everyone around him, got good grades in school, owned his own car and had a beautiful girlfriend. Every time he came home I'd run out just to say hello, so would other kids in the building. In retrospect, I suspect he didn't even know my name.

After graduating high school he joined the Marines and moved to Camp Pendleton. Shortly after that he started sporting the flat top that Marines tend to have. And of course, shortly after that I started sporting the cut myself. I was impressionable what can I say?

Now in my adult life I have a very different perspective on military service, that said I was reminded of Johnny this past week when I was back home in L.A. Every kid in my old neighborhood knew my name. Many of them didn't even live in my building when I moved to Minnesota but they still knew who I was. My last night home before trekking back one kid in particular stopped me on my way out to dinner and said, “You're leaving tomorrow morning right? Have a good flight.” Kid knew my itinerary better than I did. I'll admit, I didn't know this kid's name.

I realized I'm the new Johnny, except I'm not in the marines, don't have a girlfriend, and didn't get the best grades in high school. So what does it take to be the Johnny of a neighborhood? Is it anything like what it takes to be the mayor of a block in New York?

My theory: It's about a desire to be older. I looked up to Johnny cause I couldn't wait to be his age. I was the antithesis of the Toys R' Us theme song, I wanted to grow up and I didn't give a shit about Toys R' Us. Nowadays walking through the old hood I'm reminded of simpler times. From playing hide and go seek with the other kids in my neighborhood to talking shit with the Korean kids down the block. Remember I said simpler, not smarter.

I have so many memories of playing baseball at Seoul International Park, just a few blocks away from where I grew up. When I was 15, In an effort to get better at baseball I would go down to the park on Sundays when the adults in the hood would organize a fast-pitch baseball game. In my first game, I had three at-bats and struck out the first time, walked the second time, while on my third try I fouled off a pitch. I eventually struck out but it was the happiest moment of that Sunday. I made contact with a pitch. Yup, simpler times.

This last time I was in town, I went to Seoul International Park and tried kicking the ball around with my brother and that proved almost impossible. The baseball field which makes up 90% of the park is fenced off and not open to the public. The actual non-concrete space open to the public is a very small and uneven surface. My brother accidentally kicked his ball over the fence. He hopped over to retrieve it and ended up stuck inside unable to jump back out. (Probably the only Latino in L.A. that could not hop that fence.)

My advice to all the children (whose names I don't know) enjoy the simpler times, complication is an inevitability as our world becomes smaller and finite. It's tough to admit, but I wish I was a kid again.

Piñata Rituals

2011-04-17T19:37:00.000-07:00

Every time I visit Los Angeles I'm reminded about how much I've forgotten. Not in the Ronald Reagan sort of way but more so that memories and experiences have gotten stored up in the limits of my brain that rediscovery feels new.

I feel it every time I am near my godson Alessandro. He's the pioneer of the new generation (a title I hold for my current generation.) My aunt Carmen, his grandmother, was the woman who raised me while my mother worked and now she does the same while Alessandro's mother is out working.

Every morning you can hear my aunt tell Alessandro in the shower, "Lavese los huevitos bien," which roughly means "make sure you wash your balls well". (Trust me it sounds a lot cuter and sweeter in spanish). No doubt that's exactly what she would tell me when I was a baby.

Most days you can find Alessandro posted up by the window waiting for someone to come home, much in the same way I used to wait by the window late in the evenings until my mother came home. By comparison he probably beats me in the cute department, the similarities trigger a wealth of memories.

At his birthday party we brought out the piñata for the kids. As the birthday boy he got first crack at it. Being only two there was only so much damage he could do. As is customary, kids at the party are allowed to come up and try (from youngest to oldest).

There is major intrigue factor at all levels. There are few cuter things than a young kid trying to hold on to the stick and give the piñata a whack. Many of them just ran away afraid of it and others clearly had the desire just not the physical tools to achieve any real damage. With the middle of the road youngsters the piñata will begin jumping up and down. They may be strong enough to cause a dent but the moving target makes it very difficult to have an impact. Frustrated by its constant movement, many of the kids will attempt a leap swing, always missing the piñata by inches as it projects upwards away from them.

Then there are the older kids that will certainly tear the piñata apart within seconds. By this point the crowd has gotten into the spectacle, children and adults alike. Many adults are contemplating if they would embarrass themselves by diving into the crowd along with the children (most opting not to do it). I must admit I got excited watching this go down. It occurred to me it's been about 5 years since I've experienced the Piñata Ritual and yes I was one of the adults contemplating jumping in.

When that final hit occurs and the candy comes raining down, a sudden exchange of energy occurs from the piñata as its focal point to the diving children below. The aftermath is a series of transactions, bartering among the children for each other's candy. It's enough to make any swapmeet blush.

It's such a simple ritual, one riddled with joy, laughter and triumph. I'm glad I was able to relive the experience for the first time.

DJ Ren: Se Me Perdio La Cumbia

2010-05-19T07:20:00.000-07:00

I recently released this cumbia mixtape on the FunkMass blog and wanted to share on this blog. It's a mixture of cumbia from Mexico, Colombia, El Salvador, Guatemala, the U.S. and I'm certain a couple other spots as well. Below is the tracklist and a link to download.

DOWNLOAD CLICK HERE

(01) los angeles azules-como te voy a olvidar

(02) pilar montenegro-quitame ese hombre

(03) xochitl mejia-vuelve

(04) grupo cañaveral-el palacio de amor

(05) socios del ritmo-mama cumbia

(06) grupo megaton-si quieres llorar

(07) grupo cañaveral-llorar

(08) residente calle 13-atrevete te, te!
(09) ozomatli-cumbia de los muertos

(10) fito olivares-juana la cubana

(11) selena-como me duele

(12) kumbia kings-shhh

(13) celso piña-cumbia del rio

(14) los pedemales-la del moño colorado

(15) fito olivares-el colesterol

(16) la sonora dinamita-se me perdio la cadenita

(17) grupo bravo-ritmo sabroson de el salvador

(18) los corraleros de majagual-cumbia campesina

(19) hector fabio-la cumbia

(20) pastor lopez-cariñito sin mi

(21) unknown-la guatemalteca

(22) aniceto molina-fiesta cumbianbera

(23) kumbia kings-chocolate

(24) celso piña-cumbia poder

Zoo International Airport Pt. 1

2010-05-13T18:12:00.000-07:00

It's a zoo. Heart beating out of my chest, flirting with jogging and speed-walking, unsure of which one was faster. There's an air of intensity, competition, anxiety. Like stressing over money or not looking forward to an inevitable conversation with a friend or loved one. The security warning on the way in to the airport said the threat level was “orange” but everyone is operating on “red.” From suspicious eyes to pissed off growls and authoritative footsteps, everyone is on a mission. I was in the middle of this madness, huffing and puffing my way to the ticket counter. With only 35 minutes left before departure and a line at the ticket counter that would easily eat up 10 minutes plus another 20 minutes to get through security the math just wasn't adding up. I forged ahead anyways hoping through some miracle that the airlines attendant would whisk me away like some lost child looking for help.

Because everything is digital, the computer refused to print a boarding pass. Stupid computer. The flight attendant came over and I said, “the computer refuses to print out a boarding pass for me.”

“Where are you going?”

“New York La Guardia by way of Philadelphia.”

He clanked away on the keyboards summoning up an alternative. And like that, I missed my flight. I was placed on a flight set to leave four hours later. The anxiety, competitiveness, more than anything the stress of traveling just disappeared. I walked back to my car stationed in the long term parking garage and the rest of the traveling world flashed by me. If I had long hair I'm certain it would've swung back and forth like a dramatic scene in the Notebook, where Noah runs after Allie through some murky forest trail. [Confession time: Yes I've seen it and I liked it, what of it.]

There are fewer depressing places in the world than the airport. Mostly cause traveling is expensive and most of the time solitary. As I weave in and out of the high-speed onslaught of people rushing to their airlines ticket counters and security checkpoints there are people whom are under no hurry to be anywhere. This airport is a temporary home, missing a connecting flight and waiting the countless hours until their next rush of stress. They look depressed, alone, lost while knowing exactly where they are, if that makes any sense. I feel for them cause I've been there.

My circumstances, however; could not have been any better. I missed the early flight in my home city to a destination where the city never sleeps. I'd be able to get my car out of the parking garage and save myself the 80 bucks [It was a desperate effort to make the flight]. I could go home, sleep for a couple more hours and later slowly make my way back to the airport.

Walking back to my car there was this inner peace and moment of enlightenment. While everyone was being pushed to the margins of sanity, I could sit back and relax and not worry. I say peace because this zoo reflects a daily routine for me. Though I lost out on four hours of sightseeing in New York [My first time there], I gained a few hours of calm.

I tweeted on my way back home, “Life slows down once you've officially missed your flight.” I should miss my flights more often.

Griffith Park Observatory & the Best Chicken Ever!!!

2010-05-11T21:11:00.000-07:00

Griffith Park Observatory
My last day in Los Angeles this past April was like a college freshman's cram session during finals week. I tried to do everything I didn't get a chance to do in the first 8 or so days I was in town. I have a bit of a ritual of places I go while in town, and I make every effort to visit these places.

Santa Monica Beach

Griffith Park Observatory

Dodger Stadium

I got Dodger Stadium out of the way during the first couple days in town. But after a week of being there, I still hadn't made my way out to see the beach or to visit what is arguably my favorite spot in Los Angeles, the Griffith Park Observatory.

A lesser known fact about me is that I'm fascinated by stars. As a kid I'd step outside my apartment and sit on the balcony staring towards the sky, looking at the stars. I realize star-watching in Los Angeles (no pun intended) is a bit of a challenge. It would be like looking for a beer at a Mormon wedding. Somehow, the brighter stars that could navigate through the layer of smog would have me sitting outside for a couple hours at a time. There's something peaceful about staring out into the endless sky while Los Angeles' soundtrack plays in the background (cars, music, ghetto choppers, sirens). It's no doubt to me then that the Griffith Park Observatory holds such a close place in my heart.

Griffith Park Observatory is located on top of the Hollywood Hills and provides one of the greatest nerdy experiences and one of the best views of Los Angeles. Their giant telescope peers into space every day, their beautiful amphitheater provides patrons with a deeper history of our universe (as narrated by Leonard Nimoy, only fitting), and it's view provides the perfect backdrop for a date or a moment of reflection.

As a kid I visited all the time, soaking in as much information about astronomy as possible. As a teenager this was my date spot, yes I've given my secret away. And now as a twenty something visitor, it's nostalgia that keeps bringing me back. There are few places like it, and the closest Minneapolis alternative (Prospect Park's Witches Hat) pales in comparison.

Dino's Burgers

Go figure that the best place in Los Angeles for chicken would be a "burger joint". Dino's Burgers is one of those places you know about because someone shared the secret. As with most patrons of Dino's, your first experience of the best chicken ever is with someone that's already been there. It's kinda like riding a rollercoaster for the first time, you don't go with people who've never done it, you want to be around people who've experienced it already.

The same is true with Dino's. You don't wanna look like a fool showing up your first time and not knowing what to say and how to order. The diner is typically busy at all times of the day beginning with breakfast through the evening. The greek recipe is flavorful and will have your mouth watering in every bite.

I introduced my high school clique to Dino's. In fact every 5 weeks, right around the time our progress report would come out, we'd go to Dino's and share one last meal together knowing full well that our grades would land us in trouble and likely grounded for a while.

In honor of sharing the wonderfulness that is Dino's chicken, here's my quick guide through some Frequently Asked Questions to help you survive your first trip to Dino's:

Steven, where is Dino's Burgers located?

The northern tip of what people would consider the hood. It's off of Pico Blvd and Berendo Street on the southern edge of Koreatown. I'm sure there's an address but I'm too lazy to track it down.

Why is it called Dino's Burgers if you say they have awesome chicken?

Cause they do sell burgers but I've only witnessed one person ever buying a burger there before. The chicken is where it's at.

So, how's the chicken cooked?

After being marinated in what I could only call "crack juice" and once it's developed a reddish orange tint, a 1/4 of chicken is grilled and served on a bed of unhealthy french fries with a side of cole slaw and tortillas. Vegetarians stay away.

How do I order this chicken?

Here is where it can get tricky. Generally I would say don't order it by it's actual name El Pollo Maniatico (yes I know this is confusing). Pollo maniatico means the "crazy chicken." I feel like that's too formal. When I go, I simply say "Give me (insert amount of meals) chicken(s)." Actually it's not that tricky at all, just say "chicken" or "pollo" and they will know what you mean.

But Steven, that can't be it?

That's all there is to it...though if you really wanna shave a year off your life, you'll order the chicken with "extra jugo (juice)". They will douse the marinade used for the chicken on your fries. They become soggy, irresistible, and death sticks all in one. Enjoy.

Can I Make A Request?

2010-04-29T16:09:00.000-07:00

I don't agree with the term Hispanic, but last night I realized we really are "His" Panic. I was throwing down some cumbia and rock en español in honor of the homies who were present that night whom I knew could get down to it. After about a quick 10 minute set I was looking to transition into some funk when a guy walked up to the DJ booth and said, "Can I make a request?"

I said, "sure."

"Can you play some fucking music in ENGLISH now?"

I responded with, "We'll get there." Sure, I should've just punched him and he would've deserved it. I probably would've were it not for the fact that I respect the DJ who gave me and my DJ partner the opportunity to spin there. Cooler heads in this situation had to prevail.

He went off on a rant about being a truck driver and driving through California and Florida and how he's used to hearing this stuff but that he can't understand a word of it. That in Minnesota he wants to only hear music in English cause everybody speaks English and not Spanish. He also mentioned that in 5 years Mexicans are going to take over anyways but that "here" in Northeast Minneapolis it was English only. He even had the "Nordeast" beer to prove it. That Nordeast is for Nordic, meaning white.

This guy lives in this constant fear that his white picket fence and apple pie "America" is being overtaken with white picket fences built by Mexicans and instead of applie pie they're pastelitos. He reeked of a white man with a deep seeded sense of racial superiority and bigotry fueled by a fear that the "other" that is not white is changing his reality. It's this fear that drives drunk white men to say stupid shit but it also shapes policy and the political framework around us.

If you dabble in social networking, be it Twitter, Facebook or Myspace then you probably already know that raza is pissed. The recent law passed in Arizona (SB1070) has riled up the masses quicker than a "yo momma" joke. But it's not just our raza, it's everyone who's experienced systematic legal discrimination through actions of any organized government.

This law makes racial profiling a legitimate tool of police in Arizona with regards to detaining immigrants. The Governor of Arizona, Jan Brewer, can make all claims to the opposite but I know better (can anyone google WMDs and Iraq?).

The brilliant state of Arizona also passed a bill making "ethnic studies" an illegal subject to teach because it creates "separatists" and teaches content geared towards a specific "ethnicity" instead of promoting the education of "pupils as individuals". Plus teachers are being banned from speaking english with an accent.

And in Texas they're rewriting the history books which is going to have a ripple effect on other states because they're the largest purchaser of school textbooks. The new history will reflect a more "Conservative America" and will eliminate the use of words like "imperialism" and "globalization" and replace then with more nuetral terms.

So what's happening? "His" panic is manifesting itself in anti-immigrant and let's be real anti-Latino sentiments. Our community is rising up, pissed off, and ready to march. I foresee more people coming out across the country in this year's May 1st marches just like in 2005. I think that's great, but I also think it's bullshit that it takes this much for us to come out to a march.

And let's be real, a march isn't going to change anything. For public actions to be effective they need to engage a specific target. In Minneapolis we have two marches and I won't dive into the stupid politics behind this, but one of the marches is going to stop in front of the Convention Center where the Republicans will be voting on a Gubernatorial candidate. I'll admit it's not a bad move but my pushback is around why most people are rising up.

In 2005, Latinos across the country were labeled the "Sleeping Giant" because of the massive demonstrations that took place. Most people would generally remember these demonstrations happening for Immigration Reform. The truth is the catalyst for people coming out in numbers was the amendment attached to the Senate bill at the time which would make it a felony to provide services to immigrants.

The overwhelming uprising led to the amendment being tanked but the immigration reform bill tanked as well. This time around I definitely foresee some legal challenge to the Arizona law, and once the civil lawsuits are said and done I see Arizona going bankrupt. I see other states attempting to do something similar, if Tim Pawlenty's heir to the throne in Minnesota makes it, we could definitely be one of those states.

My request to all the gente that marches....don't stop your actions at the end of that march. Real change means reacting to fucked up shit as it happens but it also means sustaining that momentum to build a larger movement. Challenging SB 1070 is important, but so is getting rid of 287g. And lets get beyond this idea that the immigration system is a couple reforms away from working for us. It's working exactly how it's supposed to work, to generate money and generate oppression. The only way to change that is by abolishing it altogether.

Ummm...L.A.

2010-04-19T00:43:00.000-07:00

I have what some people might call an addiction. I prefer lifestyle. I, like many music heads, love purchasing vinyl. I've resisted some major urges to hit up Amoeba music while I've been in L.A. visiting family.

It's taken me a while but I'm at the point where I've developed enough of a collection that I can spare some of my favorite album artworks and hang them up on my wall. (El Chicano-Revolucion; Millie Jackson-Feelin Bitchy; and Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass-Whipped Cream and other Delights) I have enough that I'm contemplating purchasing the $200 IKEA bookcase.

My love is two-fold. I love digging for albums both known and unknown to add to my collection. That search can take me to record shops, music stores, flea markets, garage sales, even to individual collectors on the fringes of life.

I also love the sound. The crackling noise of needle on vinyl, an invitation to listen to a set of songs as it was meant to be heard, side A to side B. I still believe album listening is an underrated pastime, a musical story constructed by the artist with strict intentionality. In the digital age of iPods and short attention spans it seems there's no time to appreciate something as a whole, instead we glorify compartmentalization or at least what we're fed with.

Recently I was watching Californication with my little brother (yes I know it's not the most appropriate show for young minds but he's seen breast and male nudity before). In one scene, David Duchovny's character Hank Moody is listening to an Ozzy album on vinyl with a younger woman as he explains why vinyl is so much better. She says to him, “You're just an analog man stuck in a digital world.” I definitely feel that way too.

I grew up in a one-bedroom apartment in Koreatown, Los Angeles. With such limited space we still somehow manage to hang a hammock, it's a Salvadoran thing I guess. Not much has changed since we first moved in back in 1991. The kitchen has the same cabinets, our bathroom got a tub upgrade recently but still the same size. The closets are the same and the pictures on the wall have slightly grown as the years have gone by but my pre-kindergarden graduation picture still hangs above the heater that doesn't work. I still consider it home even though I haven't lived here for an extended period of time in over 6 years.

In 1993 my mother bought me the World Book Encyclopedia. Back before the internet age, this was your portal to any information. I spent many a countless afternoons reading about presidents, countries, scientists, philosophers, theories, heck Pope John Paul II is still alive according to my version.

Even after I got a computer I still loved picking a random book from my Encyclopedia to read any assortment of random facts. For some reason this has not translated into major success with Trivial Pursuit. So I valued picking up a book and reading over sifting through a computer and browsing. Might be why I refuse to fuck with E-books.

That might sound odd coming from a guy who's day job is teaching said digital technology to people and organizations that have limited exposure and access to it. I'm also the guy who enjoys using Serato for DJ gigs. (Serato is a program that allows DJs to spin on their turntables through their computer.)

Hypocritical? Maybe. My apathy stems from a resistance to what mainstream culture views as “progress” or the idea that something new is better than what it replaced. In my hometown neighborhood of Koreatown progress has come slowly but at a price. Every few months I return something new has sprung up, and something old from my fond memories has been taken away.

Older buildings that once housed Latino families were converted into condominiums with off-street parking. One of the metro subway stations was redeveloped to house high end commercial businesses including the first Coffee Bean I'd ever seen in K-town. I'm assuming we won't have to wait much longer before we can walk to the nearest Starbucks and get that caramel macchiato.

I was driving with a friend of mine off of Wilshire Blvd and Vermont Ave. There was an empty plot of land on the corner. She said, “I can't even remember what that used to be.” I said, “I think it was a clothing store, my mom and I would come there to shop.” She remembered, “Yeah, my mom too.”

There's been rumors for a few years that the apartment building I spent most of my childhood years in is one good offer away from being redeveloped. The Koreatown being re-built isn't for the people who have inhabited this neighborhood for the past couple generations. It's getting a face-lift but not in a way that it avoids driving out the people currently here. Whether through increased property taxes which will inevitably lead to increased rent or an absolute displacement it's clear my Koreatown will only exist in my memories.

So I savor the opportunity to listen to music on vinyl. I cherish the imperfections of the apartment I grew up in. Whether a skip on a record or a slight crack on the wall, they fuel my progress even though one may not be around much longer.

The Good, the Bad and the Broadband Plan: Can We Afford Affordability?

2010-03-19T10:26:00.000-07:00

This post was originally posted on the Media Action Grassroots Network blog.

The good news is we finally have a broadband plan. Now, on to the bad news. Just kidding. The Federal Communications Commission (FCC) recently delivered “Connecting America: The National Broadband Plan” to Congress which lays out recommendations for how the country should proceed in fully harnessing the, “power and promise of broadband.”

Main Street Project and its partner’s in the Media Action Grassroots Network worked tirelessly over the past few months to ensure that the recommendations in the report met the needs of marginalized communities (people of color, migrants, indigenous, low-income, homeless).

We took the stories to them by coordinating a policymaker education day in Washington D.C. where we met with FCC Commissioners Mignon Clyburn, Michael Copps, and staff from Chairman Julius Genachowski’s office.

We took our stories to the battleground: the Internet. We produced a video series called “What’s Your Internet Story?” so that people in their own voices could share their experiences and struggles with the Internet.

They came to us, as we partnered with the Social Science Research Council to set up over 170 interviews across three states (Minnesota, Pennsylvania, and New Mexico) which provided the data for the FCC commissioned report, “Broadband Adoption and Low-Income Communities”.

As many of our colleagues have pointed out, the National Broadband Plan is a good first step. But just like McDonald’s Value Menu, it’s more a series of snacks than a full meal.

As the SSRC report lays out, the number one factor to “broadband adoption” (definition: having access to internet at home) is the cost. THE INTERNET COST TOO MUCH AND NEEDS TO BE AFFORDABLE. Is that clear?

The broadband plan tries to address this in a couple ways. The first is by not defining what “affordable” is. So having no metric for what is affordable makes it easier to justify that it is affordable. Ok, I’ll stop being facetious.

The plan calls for some traditional forms of assistance like Lifeline & Link Up, which traditionally help low-income people subsidize the use of telephones. The plan wants to extend that program to include broadband. It also asks the FCC to consider licensing a block of “spectrum” that’s only to be used to provide low-cost or free internet service for people who can’t afford it. [Translation: Spectrum is another way of saying airwaves.]

And lastly, there’s a recommendation to establish a new Connect America Fund that would eventually replace the Universal Service Fund (USF). You still with me? Let me break it down. USF is a fund that’s used to provide affordable telecommunications services (telephone, mobile devices) to low income people and people living in rural communities. It also helps school and libraries with their telecommunications needs (internet, phone). Telecommunications companies pay into this fund, but in reality it’s the consumer who’s paying in to the fund. If you look at your phone or cell phone bill you’ll notice a tax item that says “USF”.

So we’re all paying into a fund, and the broadband plan wants to extend the uses of the fund to include subsidizing the Internet for communities that need it the most. This has the potential to help the individual in terms of being able to afford it, but meaningful change would be to drive the prices of Internet Service Providers down.

One way would be to create competition. According to data in the plan, only 4% of households are able to choose between three or more “Wireline” providers for Internet. [Quick translation: Cable or Digital Subscriber Lines (DSL) is considered Wireline] The logic of course is that more competition would drive the cost down. However, the plan isn’t able to say that more competition would have that affect, mostly because they don’t have access to the data to make that claim.

What they are able to prove is that having more competitors in an area has an impact on those companies and their investment in their networks. Regions with two or more competitors are able to provide their customers with faster speeds, at a higher price of course.

It’s clear affordability is a long term goal of the National Broadband Plan. Specifically, in Goal #3 of the Executive Summary it says:
“Every American should have affordable access to robust broadband service, and the means and skills to subscribe if they so choose.”

So it’s fair to say that although well intentioned, the plan doesn’t address affordability at its core. Most of the solutions put forth place a burden on us, the community, and not on the companies that are setting the prices so high. Even then solutions like the Connect America Fund show promise, but as Joel Kelsey from Consumers Union points out generally about the plan, “the devil is in the details.”

The work of Main Street Project and MAG-Net helped to elevate and shape a plan that explicitly acknowledges the problem with an expensive internet. It’s on us to continue telling our stories because an affordable internet is a critical part to harnessing the “power and promise of broadband.”

Torii Hunter's Not Wrong and Here's Why....

2010-03-11T08:02:00.000-08:00

Torii Hunter's recent comments about Black Latino players were poorly stated, but it doesn't make his statement wrong. My real regret is that he didn't fully expand into the causes behind his thoughts of a sport that has a dwindling number of African-American players and an increase of players from Latin America.

Let's break his comments down:
"People see dark faces out there, and the perception is that they're African American."

The "people" in his comments are the fans. Both at home and at the game. Lets not forget history here, there was in fact a time when Major League Baseball was an all-white sport. It's tough to live down that type of history, it would be like Strom Thurmond running on a platform of equality.

In fact, the integration of baseball came at a time when "White America" was resistant to this change. How resistant? After Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier with the Brooklyn Dodgers (my team) in 1947, it took 12 years for the Boston Red Sox to field an African American player.

In the U.S. what tends to happen around historical legacies of racism is it gets over-celebrated to the point of making us believe that history is behind us. For example, every professional baseball team has retired the number 42, Jackie Robinson's number. On every possible anniversary, Jackie Robinson's story is retold through exciting montages. There's nothing wrong with that, cause I like seeing my team (Dodgers) on jumbo-trons across the U.S. but again the narrative that Robinson represents is the ugly legacy of racism as having been overcome in the 1950s.

And how many countless movies have been made about the African American (insert sport) team that against racism defied the odds to excel in their craft? It's the belief that in the U.S. despite racism an individual or in this scenario, a team, can still achieve greatness if they only work hard enough.

Back to Hunter's comments, "the perception is that they're African American." And he's right, but he's also wrong. The perception isn't that they're literally African American, it's that they're not white and that is proof to the fans at large that this sport and by virtue our society is a melting pot.

But why is that? First of all an all-white team would probably be bad for business. Not talent-wise but in terms of perception. You think the Red Sox don't try to overcompensate given their status as the last team to integrate?

The second part of Hunter's comments which drew criticism:
"They're not us. They're impostors."

Poor choice of words, this I agree. But the significance is what I believe is important. Major League Baseball more so than the other major professional sports (Basketball and Football) invest heavily in scouting systems outside of the United States. Why is that? More bang for their buck.

The MLB and it's activities in Latin America mirror the United States' economic policies. It's a more sophisticated form of imperialism one that extracts raw materials from different countries only to later export that raw material back as a commodity. In baseball's case the raw material are young hungry players and the commodified export are the success stories: David Ortiz, Sammy Sosa, Alex Rodriguez, Vladimir Guerrero, Pedro Martinez, etc. Players that came from nothing and made beaucoup bucks playing baseball.

It's not a coincidence that today 30% of professional baseball players are Latinos. Compare to that to about 10% for African American baseball players. That number is sure to rise, you only need to look at the Minor Leagues and scouting practices by professional teams to know that more and more players from outside the U.S. will be making up the overall roster of a team in the future.

What Hunter doesn't talk about is the exploitation that occurs in this system. To the buscon (unofficial baseball scout) who connects players to a regional baseball scout, who then connects them to a professional baseball scout and along the way each of those individuals profit off of the discovery of talent.

It's a cheap way to import talent and "diversity" to professional baseball. So when Torii Hunter talks about the perception of "African Americans" on the field, what's important to remember is the product that's presented to us is "diversity" that generates revenue. And increasing profits is at the heart of personnel decisions in baseball. So if a baseball team can get a Torii Hunter-esque player from the Dominican Republic, why wouldn't they? It's a cheaper option, rather than drafting a player from High School or College and signing them to Minor League contracts.

I played baseball in my hood growing up but to be honest, baseball is not a cheap sport to participate in. If you look at a lot of professional baseball players from the U.S. they've been involved in organized team activities since they had diapers. Surprise...surprise the players that make it are the ones who can afford to do it. I had to give up when I was 16 because my league had an age limit. To continue my baseball career I'd have to join a pay to play league and unfortunately that wasn't within my budget. Not to say I would've made it professionally, but my experience was not uncommon.

Torii's mistake wasn't calling Black Latinos "imposters", his mistake was making this statement to a sports reporter who couldn't connect politics to sports even if it slapped him in the face. This story fits in nicely to this practice of Black vs. Brown wedge politics. It's no surprise USA Today followed that article with a follow up story that asks the question: Were Torii Hunter's Comments Racist?

His comments weren't racist. MLB's lack of investment in low income communities is racist. USA Today's attempts to promote polarizing comments without context is racist. The only imposters are those that believe we are a post-racial society and point to the White House and the baseball diamond for proof.

DJ Ren "Slowgasm"

2010-03-03T12:10:00.000-08:00

It's amazing what parties can motivate you to do. Last week I attended a party where the challenge was to create a baby-making mixtape. I've always wanted to record this type of mix, but procrastination gets in the way.

Right around this time, a friend of mine started a Facebook group asking for a new DJ Ren mix. Now I could've gone the route of John Cusack from High Fidelity and put a series of songs together on a CD and burned them. But for starters, fuck John Cusack, and secondly I could use the relaxation of putting together a mixtape.

The result....my new mix titled Slowgasm.

Let me get something out of the way...yes a lot of the songs are painfully obvious. But I'm going for baby making here not a DJs wetdream.

So with that said use protection unless babies is what you're going for. To download click here.

Coffee Shop Confessions Vol. 1

2010-01-28T09:05:00.000-08:00

My Cuscatlan series is on a brief break while I finish up a short story on the legend of my grandfather. Catch up with the first three entries here:

Cuscatlan Part 1

Cuscatlan Part 2

Cuscatlan Part 3

But for now, check out this short story of a recent experience I went through....

I have to take a break from achieving media justice for just a second. My work does have me moving and shaking all over the Twin Cities and sometimes that movement will lead me to a few coffee shops. I frequent 2nd Moon Cafe on Franklin Ave cause it's central to where many of the organizations I work with are located. It's kinda like a high school reunion in that sense, cause I will always run in to someone I know and it might not always be a welcomed encounter.

Here I am chilling at 2nd moon with my coffee, doing what I do...working and G-chatting. To my right is a couple, sitting across a table, leaning into each other holding hands. My initial reaction was..."booo, public displays of affection at a coffee shop, during work hours, are lame."

As I'm typing away, generating fabulous ideas for the broadband campaign I'm leading in Minnesota (shameless plug www.mainstreetproject.org) I start hearing mumbles and grumbles.

"....don't know...."
"....not working out...."
"....but...happy...can I do?"
"....sorry....but....friends"

Clearly this isn't the Cinemax After Dark I had assumed. The girl kept looking around the coffee shop [like a kid in a classroom being called on by the teacher for an answer but no one would help her out.] The dude just stared down, [still holding her hand] hoping to get sucked out of his body like Jake Sully in Avatar. (Yeah I went there).

I gotta say, I don't know the guy's name but he looked like a Jason. So we'll just call him Jason from now on. She looked like a Kimberly. Is it a coincidence that Jason and Kimberly were characters in the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, no not a coincidence at all.

When it was clear that Jason wasn't turning back on his decision. Kimberly knew it was time to go. Now my theory is that she saw this coming. I say this because of a couple things 1) She never took off her coat and scarf, so clearly she didn't think this rendez-vous at the very least was gonna last. 2) He had ordered a cup of coffee that was half empty or half full if you're an optimist, but the reality is that they'd been there for a cool minute before the break up took place. Those two factors tell me she probably knew something was up.

Kimberly gets up and looks down to him and says, "well.....I'm....I'm.....I'm gonna miss you." It's at the "miss you" moment that Jason decides to go back to staring at the table. After a moment he looks back up, she says, "uhm...ok....I'm going to go...."

Now once that's been said there's very little you can do but actually leave. She begins to walk towards the door, mind you the door is all of maybe 15ft away from where Jason is at. Somehow she manages to slow-walk those 15ft for the next 15 minutes. Every two steps she'd look back at Jason....holding back tears....with a slight wave here and there. Jason could only hold on to his cup of coffee counting down the moments until she was out of sight. When she finally got to the door, she paused, staring out the glass door. The only thing that was missing was some white-boy angst indie rock blasting in the background, oh wait 2nd moon was bumpin 89.3 the current so there was soft emo in the background.

She looks over at Jason and says, "....I'm....I'm going to miss you" in an audible enough voice that the entire coffee shop stops what they're doing to look over. Jason looks like a kid in the 3rd grade who just had his pants pulled down in front of everyone by the monkey bars during lunch. [wait...that actually really happened...and it happened to me...that was embarrassing...that was traumatizing...just pull them up maybe nobody noticed...nope, everyone did see my rocketship underwear...damn, back to Jason.] Kimberly finally decides to start opening the door before hesitating and looking back one more time. "Text me sometime..." Jason nods his head. And finally Kimberly leaves.

Bad move Kimberly. Now you've given yourself some false sense of hope. I bet Kimberly by the time you finish reading this, will have checked her phone seven times. Her last words were "text me sometime..." not a good way to go. That was almost as bad as an ex-girlfriend's last words to me, "keep it real." I feel like break-ups have to be all or nothing. In this case I feel like Kimberly really wanted to give Jason every opportunity for him to say no...wait...I want you back.

Once she's gone, Jason, still embarrassed that his break-up became public in a public space, just stared down blankly at the table. At first I felt kinda bad for him. I mean taking the initiative to part ways with someone whom you feel you've reached a certain point of growth, but that personally you're not willing to explore more, is a tough choice to make. It's even tougher to act on it. My pity for him stopped the moment I realized he was playing a crossword puzzle.

Seconds after breaking up with someone you start playing a crossword puzzle? There are very few activities I'd accept after a break up, largely based on personal experiences:
1) crying
2) staring pensively at nothing
3) having a beer or coffee with a friend
4) writing either poetry or in a diary
5) shopping

Some activities definitely not acceptable after a break up, also largely based on personal experiences:
1) CROSSWORD PUZZLE
2) Avatar 3-D (never done it, but it would be the most interesting thing you did in a day which would overshadow your break-up, hence pretty douchy)
3) Vacation
4) Sex
5) Shopping with your ex's friends
6) Making out with a Norweigian foreign exchange student named "Peder" (yes with a "d") at a party the night after you break up.
7) Hook up with band member from ex's favorite hip hop group.

I look over at Jason and I ask him, "did you just break up with her bro?" Yes, I said it just like that. I was mostly curious but I also wanted to embarrass him a bit more. He responded like a typical white, emo kid who wears jeans that are too tight and vintage shirts that aren't actually vintage, "uhmm...yeah" He promptly gets up and leaves.

I get up for my refill and I decide to ask the barista if he realized there was break up happening. His reaction, "oh yeah...that happens all the time. In this coffee shop you're either making out or breaking up."

I described the couple that had broken up. He follows that up by saying, "oh yeah, the blonde with the skinny short guy. yeah they just hooked up like three weeks ago. I don't feel too sorry for them."

Great memory. I noticed that this barista likes to ask people questions you wouldn't normally expect during the course of a java transaction. Questions like, "What are you doing later?" "Where have you been?" "What are you working on nowadays?" "What are you up to right now?" Once I realized this I became a shameless eaves dropper. I was shocked at the level of detail and intimacy people are willing to divulge to this barista.

As for Kimberly and Jason best of luck. If nothing else, your awkward goodbye was great material. Thank you.

Cuscatlan: What did I forget?

2010-01-13T18:03:00.000-08:00

I was dreaming about my flight in to El Salvador. The rubber rooster kept echoing in my head. My eyes opened up and I was swinging from a hammock, side to side, in a melodic pace. Outside the sun hadn't completely made its way out and I could tell for two reasons: 1) It was still a little dark outside and 2) My shirt was relatively dry.

The time was 6:00am. My first day on vacation I got up earlier than when I'm not on vacation. It's not like I wanted to, the problem was the roosters in my dream were actually real. All across our colonia (neighborhood) the roosters were busting out their wake-up calls. Coincidentally, my alarm clock on my phone is a rooster, but somehow a real rooster is more annoying and doesn't have a snooze function.

I was also sick. It turns out that not resting appropriately for 10 days, celebrating (drinking) hard the night before a long flight, and only sleeping for an hour before jumping on a 14 hour travel day is not good for your health.

You know what else is not good for your health? When an airlines loses your luggage. One thing I did not mention in Part 1 was the fact that the airlines left all of my clothes in Atlanta. As compensation for their ineptitude, Delta Airlines offered me up to $50.00 that I could spend on clothes while they searched for my bag. At the earliest it'd be a couple days before I'd get my luggage.

After 10 years of absence from El Salvador there were a few things I had completely forgotten about in terms of Salvadoran mornings:

Roosters wake you up.
There is no choice between cold shower and hot shower, in El Salvador the water's just cold.
and Folger's instant coffee is considered to be great coffee in our family.

The shower sucked at first. It's my fault for being used to warm showers, but you can always tell when a foreigner is staying with you because you'll always hear funny noises coming from the shower. Me and that first cold shower sounded like someone walking over hot coals. It definitely felt like a right of passage and I made it, just barely.

Drinking coffee is the closest thing we have to a tradition. If by 8am you haven't had your first cup of coffee you're either clinically dead or not old enough to drink coffee (which in El Salvador is about 6 months of age.) Seriously though, if you're going to turn down my grandmother's cup of coffee you might as well slap her in the face cause you'd get a better reaction. Luckily for her, I'm a coffee drinker. Unluckily for me, it's instant coffee.

[Quick note: the entire time I was in El Salvador I wondered what the effects of ground coffee would be on my family. Would they think it was too strong? Would they love it? Would they become addicted? My conclusion, they'd feel they've been robbed all their lives drinking only instant coffee. I didn't have the heart to tell them that Folgers...not so much.]

My mom came up to me in the kitchen and asked me, “Steven, quieres una novia?” Translation: Steven do you want a girlfriend? I responded, “It depends, if the right person comes along.”

Now in my previous trips to El Salvador I've been a heartbreaker of sorts. But at this precise moment my mom wasn't asking to contribute to that past, a novia is a type of pastry bread. Which brings me to forgotten detail #4:

Everything has a different name.

My favorites:

-Bicho/a= Boy or Girl

-Gaseosa= Soda

-Baboso= Stupid Person

-Pisto= Money

-Guaro= Alcohol

There are more, but it takes a while to get accustomed to the slang terminology. After a light breakfast of brown water (instant coffee) and a novia I headed down to the center of town to use my $50 stipend courtesy of Delta Airlines.

Most towns with the exception of San Salvador are set up the same way. The center of town or what we would consider our “Downtown” is where all of the activity takes place. It's where you shop for your food, get a haircut, surf the internet, all your business gets taken care of in el centro.

I went to a clothing store to get a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I found a pair of Pierre Cardins which according to my uncle, “anyone who wears a pair of Pierre Cardins is on to something.” I tried them on which leads to forgotten detail #5:

You must be no taller than 5 feet 2 inches to feel comfortable in El Salvador.

I'm 5'7” on a good day and I felt like a giant. In the dressing room I was literally hair follicles away from busting through the roof. I used to remember visiting as a kid and being amazed at the size of my grandfather. He was a tall guy, well...at least back then he was. When I saw him again, he was looking up to me. Again...I'm 5'7” on a good day.

I bought my clothes for an exact $50.00 thanks to some great negotiating on the part of my Uncle Javier. He's always been a master at bargain hunting. With the shirt and jeans the total was going to come out to 60 bucks but his skills saved me $10. Here's how he did it:

He asked the woman at the store, “So how much for the t-shirt and the jeans?”

“Together...” [woman uses calculator to add up both items] “together it's $60.00.”

[Uncle acts surprised. I emphasize acts.] “What do you mean $60.00? The most you could charge me, hmmm...let me see,” [He busts out his own calculator] click click click “the most is $45...the pants I can see that costing $30 but that shirt no more than $15.”

“I'm sorry sir I can't do that.”

“Yes you can, look this boy is from the United States and the airlines lost his clothes so he's just trying to buy a couple clothes to get through the day, you know how it is. Look, lets leave it at $50 and that's fair.”

[Woman thinks about it..looks at me...] “Vaya pues (fine) I never do this but to help him out.” [she thought I was cute.]

Forgotten detail #6:

Nothing is ever final. Everything is negotiable.

Forgotten detail #7:

In El Salvador I'm good looking.

Not that I have low self-esteem cause I am good looking right? I have a couple things going for me. First of all, I'm a U.S. Citizen, and that gets me pretty far. I'm kinda like this scene on family guy. Secondly, I'm a geek and for some reason ladies in our town dig that. Don't really know why.

Uncle Javier decided to give me a tour of our town, Usulutan, to show me the changes. Since my last trip I noticed a few changes. A Wendy's, Pizza Hut, and Dominos restaurant opened up. They all had wireless internet. Two super stores like Wal-Mart and Target opened up in the center of town. One was called La Despensa de Don Juan and the other Super Selectos. Here's a trip....at the Despensa I saw a woman wearing a name tag that had the Wal-Mart logo on it....hmmm...

More banks had opened up in town including a Citi Bank which I'll be honest I was partly happy for cause I wasn't sure if I'd be able to take out money through the ATM. And lastly, I noticed a new super highway that bypassed our town. This road was aptly called the bai pas.

All these changes seemed to simply make life convenient for visitors like myself but didn't really benefit the people living there. My case in point, one our way back home my aunt asks if we're hungry. My brother says yes, and her first three suggestions of where to eat were all “American” foods: hamburger, pizza, or pasta. My response, “we have all of those things in the U.S. why would we come down here to eat that. Lets eat something local like pupusas at the market place.”

She reacted as if I'd said this in Chinese. Which leads me to forgotten detail #8 which explains forgotten detail #7:

U.S. Imperialism thrives in El Salvador.

It's sad, U.S. influence is so deeply rooted that we even use the dollar as our main currency in El Salvador. Whether my family realizes or not they concede superiority to the U.S. on a daily basis. This is reflected in the way they treat family members from the north, how they dress, even to the way they purchase products. Instead of buying Salva-Cola which they would normally do, they'll pay the extra dollar for Pepsi-Cola because family members from the north are in town. It's something I hadn't expected, at least not this badly, and I'd spend the rest of my time there trying to break that systemic practice.

For as much as I'd forgotten about my home country, my family hadn't expected me to be the way I was. I was privileged to visit every summer as a kid because trips to El Salvador weren't cheap. I certainly may have acted like it. But now, after a few years of being on my own I was more mature, more political in nature, and perhaps due to my organizing background, an agitator. Anytime we'd enter into a political discussion I'd point out the shortcomings of the U.S. government, in some cases I knew more about Salvadoran history than they did. While my privilege as a child may have been one of resources, today my privilege was different...one of knowledge and life experience.

Their forgotten detail #1

I was 25, not 15 anymore.

Estadio Cuscatlan

2010-01-07T09:00:00.000-08:00

Picture: Estadio Cuscatlan (red and yellow) off in the distance

If I told you I had a story about my near death experience, would that be something you'd be interested in?

I survived one of the most thrilling experiences anyone can have. A soccer game in Central America. It just so happened that during my time in El Salvador, the Salvadoran soccer league finals was happening. It pitted Club Deportivo Fas versus Club Deportivo Aguilas. So as to not spend too much time explaining what that means, lets just say we were rooting for C.D. Aguilas.

My Uncle Javier, a devout soccer fan, wanted to travel the hour and a half to the capitol to check out the finals and he was bringing my brother, my cousin Roxana, and myself.

The finals was being held at Estadio Cuscatlan which is the premiere soccer stadium in our capitol, San Salvador. It's where the national team plays their home games and where the U.S. National Team shits a brick every time they play there. It's not particularly big, with seating for 30,000 fans. The stadium is broken into two sections, one half is covered by a semi roof that provides shade for the people sitting within that section. The other side is not. The unforgiving sun and the rowdy reputation of the fans in that section have garnered it a cute nickname, “Vietnam” or as my uncle pronounces it vitnem.

My Uncle Javier has a reputation for saying one thing and doing another. My mom, fearing for our safety on this trip to the capitol made my uncle promise we'd sit in the shaded roof area. Of course we sat in Vietnam.

The game wasn't set to start until 3:00 but we got there around 11am. Outside the stadium both fan bases converged pouring into the stadium to get premium seating. Endless waves of people outside the stadium approached us trying to get us to buy tickets a couple bucks cheaper from them than from the ticket box. One guy was so persistent he even walked us up to the ticket box so that we could see for ourselves we'd only be paying more money there for the same tickets. Once we had our tickets we needed to represent the Aguilas' orange so we went to one of the numerous fake merchandise vendors and bought a few bootleg jerseys.

It was around this time that we noticed a small scuffle between fans from Fas and fans from Aguilas. The harmless shoving match which began when an Aguilas fan decided to knock a Fas fans beer from his hands quickly escalated into all out war with beer bottles being thrown and broken chards of glass and rocks being used as weapons. Thankfully the police finally decided to stroll over and break it up. They were slow enough that I had a chance to experience my first soccer brawl without actually being inside the stadium and without a minute of soccer played yet.

After some lunch we entered the stadium with a couple hours still left before kick off. The stadium was clearly divided along team lines with a stream of orange on one side and a sea of blue and red on the other.

Walking through the entrance tunnel into the seating area felt like being a slave at the Coliseum being sent to slaughter. The loud cheers and jeers echoed through the tunnel, police officers stood at the top of the tunnel watching over people, and I swear my brother pissed himself. He says no.

All this activity with 2 and a half hours left to go. We sat towards the bottom of Vietnam and away from its center, which is where one fan base ended and the other began. It's kinda like the De-militarized Zone separating North Korea and South Korea, but here there's only a fence wedged between the two sides and there's every conceivable weapon there.

The next couple hours were full of people in the section getting to know each other. I met a sweet old man sitting behind me who told me he'd played for Aguilas in 1976. He was there enjoying the game with his son and he also prayed to god that Aguilas would win. After some pleasantries, the fan bases started egging each other on with trash talk and team chants. It seemed like every 5 seconds we were busting out the Aguilas clap.

AGUILAS!![CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!] AGUILAS!!

In the middle of Vietnam the loud drumming of “La Furia Anaranjada” (Orange Fury) laid down the soundtrack for our chants. A fence divided the fans from the field, but a line of police officers armed in riot gear separated the fan bases. Apparently in El Salvador it's ok to climb those fences, as many of the fans did just that.

The top row of seats in Vietnam is where the rowdiest and drunkest fans sat. If the lower rows weren't cheering or performing their trash talking duties to their satisfaction, it didn't take long before water bags and other miscellaneous liquids would come raining down. At first this frightened the shit out of me. Constantly fearing I might get plastered with a beer cup or a water bag. But by about hour 2 of Bombs over Baghdad I got used to it and eventually I stopped caring. I only really worried if the liquid was warm.

Finally the teams made it on the field. The stadium was covered in balloons that represented the different sides. As each team was introduced, the fans competed to make the most noise as confetti rained down on each side. Aguilas clearly won that pissing contest.

[Side note: I've come to realize that the newspaper in El Salvador isn't used for reading. It's used for two things: Confetti and Fireworks.]

Kickoff. Within seconds of the opposing team touching the ball, the sweet old man behind me turned into a foul mouthed sailor. The first words out of his mouth were “Hijo de Puta” or (Son of a Bitch). The next couple hours the man collectively only said about 5 phrases, these were it:

-Hijo de Puta (Son of a Bitch)

-Cerote (I'm not really sure what this means, lets just say it's bad)

-Cara de Verga (I'd rather not translate this)
-Come mierda (Eat shit)

-Pinche Pacheco (Pinche means Fuckin; Pacheco refers to a player on Fas who according to the old man's jeers is washed up.)

Typical jeer from the old man: Pinche Pacheco por eso no duraste en el MLS hijo de puta.

Translation: Fuckin Pacheco that's why you didn't last in the MLS (Major League Soccer) you son of a bitch.

I shit you not, everyone in the stadium spoke like this.

Fas went up 1-0 on Aguilas within the first 30 seconds. And the rest of the half was a stalemate both on the field and in the seats. At one point one of the Fas players went down with an injury on our side. Our side didn't actually believe he was injured so they drenched the player with water, beer, and other liquids I won't mention. [Note to self: never fall down injured on opposing side's field.]

HALFTIME

By this point I was in the rhythm of things, knowing when to dodge the water bags. I also had a couple beers in my system and the team chants down solid. The energy was a bit low though since our team hadn't scored a goal yet. That sluggishness on our side transferred over to the 2^nd half. The usual shit talk still happened but we mostly sat while the Fas fan base was rowdy and energetic. My cousin Roxana even gave up at one point, but just as she said that our team scored the tying goal. The fans jumped up hugged each other and screamed off the top of their lungs. I hugged my uncle Javier and then my cousin Roxana and high fived just about anyone within reaching distance. Vietnam was alive and well in our section.

I've celebrated touchdowns, goals, and home runs before, but nothing like this. It began raining pretty hard but it didn't matter cause our celebration lasted the next 15 minutes of the game.

It didn't really stop until the end of regulation with the score tied 1-1. I was wet from the rain, losing my voice and drenched with miscellaneous liquids. By this point I'd been in the stadium for five hours with yet another 30 minutes of game to play in overtime.

OVERTIME

It was anyone's game at this point. The riot police circled the stadium like in the final scene of Gladiator. No matter what the outcome, half the stadium was going to be pissed off. We began doing the wave to get our side revved up. The routine at this point was to do our team chant then as Fas fans did theirs we'd boo the hell out of them and flick them off. I'm not particularly foul mouthed at games but my uncle's motto is “A tierra que fueras, hacer lo que vieras.” (Basically a new way of saying “When in Rome, do as the Romans”) So yeah I cursing with the best of them. That was of course until Fas scored a goal. Our side was stunned. It hadn't of been more than 15 minutes before that when I told my brother I wasn't sure what I was afraid of more, a blow out or a close game. I wasn't sure which of the two would generate the most violence.

The Fas goal pissed off our side, but it mostly crushed us spiritually more than it did insight the ambition to throw stuff on the field. That was of course until Fas scored another goal and the once close game was now 3-1, which might not seem like a big difference but soccer scores are like dog years.

Aguilas fans lost their cool. Everything but the kitchen sink was being tossed on the field, but to be honest if one had been tossed on the field I would not have been surprised. Fans scaled the fence and started rocking back and forth intent on breaking it. A soccer riot was in the works, you could feel it, you could taste it, especially if beer had been splattered on you. If a weather man had been present he could've explained how a cold front of whoop ass was about to merge with a warm front of urine bags, which is a lethal combination. That was my cue to leave.

As we made our way out of the stadium we heard a giant roar inside the stadium. The roar was coming from our side. Aguilas scored a goal to keep the game close. We ran back inside to catch the final minutes of the game hoping for the tying goal. It never came, but I'd settle for the 3-2 final score because I think it averted a major crisis which was sure to ensue if Aguilas had been blown out.

I left disappointed cause we lost, but on our way out of the capitol we stopped in Ocuilta, the location of the best pupusas in El Salvador. It was full off of Aguilas fans on their way back home. They busted out cheering and in true Salvadoran fashion it was pretty foul mouthed:

“Ganamos, perdimos, la verga les metimos.”

I'm not gonna translate that, but lets just say I survived Estadio Cuscatlan, a little damp, but I survived.

Cuscatlan (Land of Precious Jewels) Pt. 1

2010-01-05T07:29:00.000-08:00

Cuscatlan is a series of stories chronicling my return to El Salvador.

My first night in El Salvador I cried. Back in 1990, I was only 6 years old, the civil war was still going on, and I'd just met an entire part of my family I'd never known before. As overwhelming as all of that might've been in a 6 year old's mind, it was the rain and thunder storm in the middle of my first night there that scared me the most. I'd never heard rain like this before, they crashed against the cement ceiling like bullets not gentle drops. The contrast between extreme darkness and the flashes of lights forced me to hide behind my covers that night, crying and wishing I was somewhere else. For all intended purposes at that point I was still a “Gabacho” as my family would call me.

El Salvador is where my family is from, and throughout my childhood and teenage years while my other peers went to camp during the summer I traveled to the homeland. Once I got over the unpleasantness of my first trip, the subsequent trips would be full of excitement, fun, and adventure. In El Salvador I experienced my first kiss, rode my first horse, learned to ride a bike, fell off a truck, and learned to keep my Spanish.

As fun as all of that was, after my trip when I was 15 years old, I never returned. Mostly because of a lack of money, but point being that when my mom told me her only wish was for me to spend Christmas with her in El Salvador, I started to save up with some apprehension since it had been a decade since my last visit.

I'd heard my family didn't actually believe I was coming, which of course for me was all I needed to hear for me to come. I chunked out three weeks for my trip, the longest piece of time that I've actually been away from any home. My work schedule was hectic enough and only getting crazier, so the thought of leaving for that long made me feel uneasy. Up until the last possible minute before leaving for the airport I had something to do. It was the little things that almost fell by the wayside, like laundry for example.

The night before my trip between saying my goodbyes, hosting a potluck, and trying to do laundry, I mustered a good one hour of sleep before getting up at 3am to catch a flight a couple hours later. I was physically beat and mentally exhausted, also possibly still drunk. [Note to all readers: Don't Drink Before Flying. Drinking While Flying probably makes more sense.]

My plane flew from Minneapolis to Atlanta and from there I'd catch a flight to San Salvador. The delay between flights in the ATL was 51 minutes. Of course upon landing there we had to “taxi” for several minutes and every moment that passed made me feel like my date with my homeland was escaping. Once I got out of thefirst plane I found out my next gate was on the other side of the world. [Note to readers: why the hell do airports do this to you, it's like torture. This must be purgatory.]

I made it on time, but I feared my luggage hadn't. More on this later....

When I boarded the plane, I realized something, I'd be riding in a plane full of Salvadorans, which for most might not mean anything, but as soon as I made it past first class I thought I'd entered a pupuseria not coach class. To make a comparison, do you remember how insane the opening scenes of Soul Plane were? Full with pimps, stewardess with revealing clothes, and just overall ghettoness (which I use as a term of endearment in this case). Take away the cognac and replace that with El Salvador's Tic Tac and that was a plane full of Salvadorans at 9am.

I had a window seat, which I was pretty happy about, of course when I made it to 26A, someone was sitting in it. This pretentious, Salvadoran rich kid, was sitting there with his buddy. Instead of giving me my seat, he gave me his and sent his buddy away. So I sat in 26B the aisle seat. Shortly after sitting down I heard a sound....KOO KOO ROOO KOO KOOOOOOO!!!!! The guy next to me had a rubber chicken. There was absolutely no reason and no justification or purpose for busting out a rubber chicken other than the fact that this dude was competing with everyone on the plane to be the biggest douche. Mission accomplished.

[Other factors that put him over the top in the Douchebag Category: He stole my seat; he had a 49ers cap on; had a brand new grey apple laptop w/ the black keyboard; and he was watching “The Hangover” with no headphones on.]

So any fears I had about losing my baggage went away about minute 46 of a two hour flight delay. The reason: someone had checked in and checked in their luggage to get on this flight but then never actually made it on the plane. Don't know why, but that was enough to force the airlines to pull just about every single bag out of the plane searching for the lone bag that did not have a passenger on the flight that accompanied it.

Enough venting....the plane took off and one of the cooler features on the plane was a large flat screen TV that used google maps to show us the progress on our flight as well as other details like how fast we were traveling, our distance til our destination and approximately when we'd be arriving there. I'm convinced they stole the flat screen TV idea from Soul Plane. The flat screen let me know I'd be arriving two hours late....great. I'd slept through my first flight from Minneapolis to Atlanta, but the same was not gonna happen here. Mostly cause we Salvadorans don't know the meaning of the words “rules and regulations.” As the plane was ascending to 35,000 feet about five different people around me got up to use the restroom, to the chagrin of the stewardess who thought they'd made it very clear that they couldn't get up until the plane reached cruising altitude. A slight minor detail that we chose to ignore.

We also chose to ignore these other rules:
Turn off all electronic devices before take off

Keep your seat belt buckled when the light is illuminated.

No rubber chickens. [my addition]

No smoking in the bathroom.

No carry-on bags over 35lbs.

Only call for a stewardess when you actually need something, not just because your kids decide to play with the button.

As rude as that may make us look, the opposite is actually true of my people. If you look up tourist websites one of the attributes they list towards Salvadorans is our kind personalities. It's one of the first things I noticed as a kid, even if you were a complete stranger walking down a road, if you passed someone they would always take a minute to say hello and goodbye.

Another attribute is love for their country. Even the douchebag sitting next to me took some time to ask me about why I was traveling to El Salvador, and in a brief moment of genuine insight he said, “that's good, that you're visiting your family and your country because they're the most important things.”

As we were making our approach into San Salvador all eyes were looking towards outside. Inside the plane there were people who make the trip regularly but for them it never gets old to see their country from a bird's eye view. There are others, like myself who are viewing it from a different perspective, before I was a child, now I'm an adult. And then there are some who clearly hadn't been back since they made the difficult choice to leave and seek a better life elsewhere. The connection with the homeland is so strong that it was difficult to hold back the tears.
The wheels touched down on the runway and everyone started to clap and cheer. Such is the love of the country I came from that as soon as the plane touched Salvadoran soil I regretted not coming back sooner. The d-bag next to me busted out his rubber chicken KOO KOO ROOO KOO KOOOOO....this time it felt appropriate.

La lucha globaliza cada día: Justice and Dignity For Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes and Fong Lee

2009-11-02T12:09:00.001-08:00

Paramilitary repression and police brutality continue unabated on both sides of the U.S.-Mexico border after three years of the assassinations of Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes in Oaxaca, Mexico and Fong Lee in Minneapolis, MN

By Steven Renderos & Sylvia González
November 1, 2009

Two different people – different stories, different places, – separated by nearly 2,000 miles, were connected three years ago when their lives were cut short by gunfire. Fong Lee and Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes suffered a death inflicted by the gunshots of police and paramilitary officials. For Cervantes, it was one gunshot wound to the chest; for Lee, three gunshot wounds in his back, and five more to the front. Cervantes died seeking justice during the popular movement in 2006 in Oaxaca, Mexico, while Fong Lee died as a result of deeply rooted racism and police brutality in communities of color across the United States.

The stories of Lorenzo and Fong tell the tales of paramilitary repression during the popular movement of 2006 in Oaxaca, Mexico and police brutality and racism in the Hmong community in Minneapolis- and how they play out in different sociopolitical contexts. While their lives ended tragically, their stories continue as their family and community members are fighting back, building unity, and defining “justice” and “dignity” on their own terms and based on their own experiences.

Background on Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes
In the summer of 2006, a broad-based movement exploded in the Mexican state of Oaxaca. What first began as a teacher’s sit-in at the main plaza of Oaxaca by the Seccion 22 (teacher’s union) soon culminated into a popular movement where thousands of community members raised their voices against abuses from the state government, years of fraudulent elections, and more than 500 years of injustices. On June 14th, 2006, bombs of tear gas were thrown from paramilitary helicopters to peacefully protesting teachers and community members under the orders of Governor Ulises Ruiz Ortiz. For more than five months, el pueblo reclaimed spaces in the city, built barricades at busy street intersections, and exercised self-determination by taking back over 12 radio stations and one television station.

On August 21st, 2006, an announcement was made on the commercial radio station, “La Ley”, one of 12 radio stations that el pueblo Oaxaqueño took back during the 2006 popular movement. The announcement urged people to hit the streets and defend the radio station and antennas, an important apparatus that was used as an organizing tool to disseminate information and mobilize gente to action. Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes, husband and father of four, responded like thousands of other people did: they took to the streets to reclaim what transnational corporations had robbed from them-the media. The PRI political party (Partido Revolucionario Institucional or Institutional Revolutionary Party) and paramilitary troops driving in unidentified vehicles, better known as the “Convoy of Death”, were sent under the orders of Governor Ulises Ruiz Ortiz with clear intentions to violently repress el pueblo from occupying the radio stations and antennas. In the early eve of August 22, 2006, paramilitary troops opened fire on el pueblo that selflessly stood up to defend the radio stations and antennas. Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes was shot and murdered under the orders of Governor Ulises Ruiz Ortiz of Oaxaca that day.

Background on Fong Lee
On the evening of July 22, 2006 a group of young teenagers were cruising near a park on their bikes. One of the teenagers riding his bike was 19 yr old Fong Lee. Before I continue, that description, regardless of location is probably reminiscent of the harmless activity of a lot of teenagers across the world that evening. But this is North Minneapolis and the teenagers are Hmong and through the lens of the Minneapolis Police Department this scene is suspicious.

The police officers gave chase to the teenagers assuming that the youth might be dealing drugs therefore excessive force is justified. Fong Lee is chased down into a school yard, here is where the account of events diverge, the official police documented story is that Fong Lee was carrying a gun. One of the officers giving chase, Jason Anderson, “feeling” his life and the life of his partner was in danger because a young teenager running away from him was holding a gun, shot Fong Lee a total of eight times.

Video footage suggests Fong Lee was unarmed.

Here are the details of July 22nd which still remain unclear. For starters, no drugs were ever found on Fong Lee. The gun which Fong Lee allegedly had, never turned up Lee's fingerprints and there's further speculation that the gun found at the scene was supposed to be in the custody of Minneapolis P.D.

Regardless of what story you choose to believe, the life of Fong Lee was lost that evening at the hands of a police officer with the Minneapolis P.D.

Seeking Justice for Lorenzo Sampablo
La lucha sigue three years after the assassination of Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes and 26 other people that gave their lives up during the 2006 movement in hopes for social transformation. Amidst money bribes from the PRI government to silence the death and memory of Lorenzo Sampablo, the family members openly rejected the money and have instead launched a campaign to seek justice for Lorenzo Sampablo and the 25 other peoples who died during the movement. Along with legally filing a lawsuit, the family is reaching out to other community members in resistance. The family has participated in numerous caravans within Oaxaca and across Mexico to thread together local resistances and collectively envision strategies and analyses across sociogeographic boundaries. As Trinidad Sampablo, sister of Lorenzo, reminds us, “We are not just fighting for Lorenzo. We are fighting for all who have fallen. I would like for us to be united to seek justice…that we not forget the names of our family members that gave their life to a noble cause, a better world”.

Seeking Justice for Fong Lee
In the aftermath of the slaying of Fong Lee, the Hmong community responded by hitting the streets and protesting this egregious act. They mobilized the Hmong community as well as other communities who are very familiar with abuses from the police department.

The Lee family responded by hitting the court system. The court case revealed how badly the police department handled and investigated the case as well as a certain bias as to what evidence was acceptable and what wasn't. While Lee's alleged history and participation in gangs was allowed in the court case, Lee's killer, Officer Anderson's history of police misconduct and discriminatory actions were not.

The jury in the case was made up of all white individuals. The mainstream media's coverage of the case didn't seek to answer some of the many questions and gaping holes swirling the case. Ultimately factors like discrimination, excessive force, police brutality were not considered legitimate points of prosecution. In a system supposedly set up to achieve justice, it seems more barriers were in place to avoid accountability.

Ultimately, Officer Anderson received a Medal of Valor for his brutal act and was acquitted of all charges. So what happened to the brave police officer? He was dismissed from the police department shortly after the case wrapped up for officer misconduct.

Looking back in order to move forward

As we consider the big, inter-connected picture between Lorenzo and Fong, we are reminded that repression is global in scope and rooted in local contexts, shaped by different histories of colonialism and white supremacy. And while there is repression, there is an overwhelming feeling of resistance and hope in Oaxaca, Minneapolis, and elsewhere, where people are putting an end to the impunity of paramilitary repression and police brutality. They are reclaiming their destiny, grassroots organizing for change, and building another more dignified world.

For this year’s el día de los muertos we write this article-ofrenda and honor the lives of all those who died at the hands of injustices, including Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes and Fong Lee, two people whose spirits remain vibrantly alive in the struggle to seek justice.

Justice for Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes Campaign: http://lorenzosampablo.saltoscuanticos.org/

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Espanol

La lucha se globaliza cada día: Justicia y Dignidad para Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes y Fong Lee
Represión paramilitar y brutalidad policial siguen sin disminuir en ambos lados de la frontera con México – Estados Unidos, después de tres años de los asesinatos de Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes en Oaxaca, México y Fong Lee en Minneapolis, Minnesota

Por Steven Renderos y Sylvia González Castro
1 de noviembre 2009

Dos personas diferentes – diferentes historias, diferentes lugares, - separadas por casi 2.000 kilómetros, fueron conectadas hace tres años, cuando sus vidas fueron truncadas por los disparos. Fong Lee y Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes sufrieron una muerte causada por los disparos de la policía y los funcionarios de los paramilitares. Para Cervantes, fue una herida de bala en el pecho; para Lee, tres heridas de bala en la espalda, y cinco más al frente. Cervantes murió en la búsqueda de justicia durante el movimiento popular del 2006 en Oaxaca, México, mientras que Fong Lee murió como consecuencia de racismo profundamente arraigado y la brutalidad policial en las comunidades de color a través de los Estados Unidos.

Las historias de Lorenzo y Fong nos habla de la represión durante el movimiento popular de 2006 en Oaxaca, México y la brutalidad policial y el racismo en la comunidad llamada Hmong (comunidad Asiática) en Minneapolis y cómo juegan en diferentes contextos sociopolíticos. Aunque acabaron trágicamente sus vidas, sus historias siguen como la de sus familias y miembros de la comunidad se están defendiendo, construyendo la unidad, y definiendo "justicia" y "dignidad" en sus propios términos y con base en sus propias experiencias.

Antecedentes de Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes
En el verano de 2006, un amplio movimiento popular estalló en el estado mexicano de Oaxaca. Lo que comenzó como un plantón de maestros en la plaza principal de Oaxaca pronto culminó en un movimiento popular donde miles de miembros de la comunidad levantaron su voz contra los abusos del gobierno del estado, años de elecciones fraudulentas, y más de 500 años de injusticias. El 14 de junio de 2006, bombas de gas lacrimógeno fueron lanzadas desde helicópteros paramilitares en una protesta pacífica de los profesores y miembros de la comunidad bajo las órdenes del gobernador Ulises Ruiz Ortiz. Durante más de cinco meses, el pueblo reclamó espacios en la ciudad, construyeron barricadas en las intersecciones de calles muy transitadas, y ejerciendo la libre determinación mediante la recuperación de más de 12 estaciones de radio y un canal de televisión.

El 21 de agosto de 2006, se hizo un anuncio en la estación de radio comercial "La Ley", una de las 12 estaciones de radio que el pueblo Oaxaqueño recuperó durante el movimiento popular de 2006. El anuncio instó a la gente a salir a la calle y defender la estación de radio y las antenas, un aparato importante que fue utilizado como una herramienta de organización para difundir información y movilizar gente para la acción. Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes, esposo y padre de cuatro hijos, respondió como miles de otras personas: tomaron las calles para reclamar lo que las empresas transnacionales les habían robado, los medios de comunicación. El partido político del PRI (Partido Revolucionario Institucional) y tropas paramilitares conduciendo vehículos no identificados, mejor conocido como el "convoy de la muerte", fueron enviados bajo las órdenes del gobernador Ulises Ruiz Ortiz, con claras intenciones de reprimir violentamente al pueblo que ocupaban las estaciones de radio y antenas. El 22 de agosto de 2006, las tropas paramilitares abrieron fuego contra el pueblo el que desinteresadamente se puso de pie para defender a las estaciones de radio y antenas. Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes fue baleado y asesinado bajo las órdenes del gobernador Ulises Ruiz Ortiz de Oaxaca ese día.

Antecedentes de Fong Lee
En la noche del 22 de julio de 2006 un grupo de jóvenes adolescentes fueron cruzando cerca de un parque en sus bicicletas. Uno de los adolescentes montando su bicicleta tenía 19 años de edad Fong Lee. Antes de continuar, esa descripción, independientemente de la ubicación es probablemente una reminiscencia de la actividad común de una gran cantidad de adolescentes de todo el mundo en la noche. Pero este es el Norte de Minneapolis y los adolescentes son Hmong y a través de la lente del Departamento de Policía de Minneapolis esta escena es sospechosa.

Los agentes de la policía persiguieron a los adolescentes con el supuesto de que la juventud puede estar involucrado en la venta de drogas por lo tanto el uso excesivo de la fuerza está justificado. Fong Lee es perseguido detrás de un patio de la escuela, aquí es donde el relato de los acontecimientos difieren, el oficial de la policía documenta que Fong Lee llevaba una pistola. Uno de los oficiales dando caza, Jason Anderson, la "tuvo la sensación" de que su vida y la vida de su compañero estaban en peligro debido a que un joven adolescente huyendo de él iba con una pistola, entonces disparó a Fong Lee un total de ocho veces.

Las imágenes de vídeo sugiere Fong Lee estaba desarmado.

Aquí están los detalles del 22 de julio que aún no están claros. Para empezar, no hay drogas que hallan sido encontradas en Fong Lee. El arma que supuestamente tenía Fong Lee, nunca aparecieron con las huellas dactilares de Lee y se especula, además, que el arma encontrada en la escena estaba en posesión del Departamento de Policía de Minneapolis.

Independientemente de la historia que usted elija para creer, la vida de Lee Fong se perdió esa noche a manos de un oficial de policía del Departamento de Policía de Minneapolis

Exigiendo justicia para Lorenzo Sampablo
La lucha sigue, tres años después del asesinato de Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes y otras 26 personas que dieron su vida durante el movimiento de 2006 con la esperanza de la transformación social. En medio de sobornos de dinero del gobierno del PRI al silencio de la muerte y la memoria de Lorenzo Sampablo, los miembros de la familia rechazaron abiertamente el dinero y se lanzó en cambio una campaña para buscar justicia para Lorenzo Sampablo y las 25 personas que murieron durante el movimiento. Junto con la presentación de una demanda legal, que la familia hace llegar a los miembros de la comunidad en resistencia. La familia ha participado en numerosas caravanas en Oaxaca y en México, junto a hilo resistencias locales y colectivamente imaginar estrategias y análisis a través de las fronteras socio geográficas. Como Trinidad Sampablo, hermana de Lorenzo, nos recuerda: "No sólo estamos luchando por Lorenzo. Estamos luchando por todos los que han caído. Me gustaría que estemos unidos en busca de justicia ... que no nos olvidamos de los nombres de los miembros de la familia que dio su vida a una causa noble, de un mundo mejor ".

Exigiendo de justicia para Fong Lee
A raíz de la muerte de Fong Lee, miembros de la comunidad Hmong respondieron golpeando las calles y protestando contra este acto atroz. Se movilizó a la comunidad Hmong, así como otras comunidades que están muy familiarizados con los abusos de la policía.

La familia Lee respondió al presionando en el sistema judicial. El juicio puso de manifiesto lo mal que maneja el departamento de policía y ah investigado el caso, así como un cierto sesgo en cuanto a qué pruebas fue aceptable y qué no. Si bien la historia de Lee y presunta participación en pandillas estaba permitida en el caso de la corte, el asesinato de Lee, la historia oficial de Anderson de mala conducta policial y las acciones discriminatorias no lo eran.

El jurado en el caso estaba compuesto por todos individuos blancos. La cobertura de los medios de comunicación sobre el caso no tratará de responder a algunas de las muchas preguntas y agujeros girando en el caso. En última instancia, factores como la discriminación, la fuerza excesiva, la brutalidad policial no fueron considerados en los puntos legítimos de la acción penal. En un sistema supuestamente creados para lograr la justicia, parece existir más barreras para evitar la rendición de cuentas.

El agente Anderson recibió una medalla al valor por su acto brutal y fue absuelto de todos los cargos. Entonces, ¿qué pasó con el valiente oficial de policía? En última instancia, él fue despedido del departamento de policía poco después de que el caso envuelto por mala conducta oficial.

Mirando hacia atrás para seguir adelante

Al examinar el panorama general, interconectados entre Lorenzo y Fong, se nos recuerda que la represión es de alcance mundial y arraigada en los contextos locales, conformado por diferentes historias del colonialismo y la supremacía blanca. Y mientras hay represión, hay un sentimiento de resistencia y esperanza en Oaxaca, Minneapolis, y en otros lugares, donde la gente ponga fin a la impunidad de los paramilitares, la represión y la brutalidad policial, y que reclaman su destino, la organización popular para el cambio, y la construcción de otro mundo más digno.

Para el día de muertos escribimos este artículo-ofrenda para honrar las vidas de todos aquellos que murieron a manos de las injusticias, incluyendo Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes y Fong Lee, dos personas cuyos espíritus siguen siendo vibrantes y vivos en la lucha para exigir justicia .

Campaña de Justicia para Lorenzo Sampablo Cervantes http://lorenzosampablo.saltoscuanticos.org/

Ode to Ethnically Ambigious Barista

2009-10-22T19:03:00.000-07:00

I love coffee...I really do. I blame my mother for feeding me this addiction and furthermore for stunting my growth. I know what you're thinking..."Steven that's not possible." Look I was a giant when I was a kid and somehow around the time I started drinking coffee I stopped growing vertically. Again...I blame my mother.

Coffee for me isn't necessarily an addiction, I tend to drink very little coffee on the weekends. It's usually in my day to day routine that having a cup of coffee seems like the adequate thing to do. But like most things, if you have enough of it you end up developing preferences, patterns, quirks, etc.

For starters, I drink my coffee black. It's my subtle homage to my grandfather who can't have much sugar in his diet. The other reason is because on a flight to El Salvador when I was 15, the plane ran out of sugar and I was forced to drink my coffee black. Ever since then that's just been my preference.

I like coffee shops with free Wi-Fi. I'm probably spoiled, but if I'm gonna drop a couple bucks for a cup of java I better be able to google the random thoughts that circulate my brain while caffeinated.

My love of coffee has found a new muse though. Different coffee shops have different vibes but I've developed an appreciation for some of the baristas at the places I frequent. I don't really have a crush on them or anything like that, but it's amazing that in the short transaction period you can exchange looks some words and smiles that are suggestive in nature but impotent in action. Those moments are pure and innocent and I guess if you consider how corrupt and undervalued feelings, relationships, love, and other interactions have become then it's no suprise why these moments seem unique.

So here's to you ethnically ambiguous barista, keep up the attitude...thank you for my coffee black.

Never Not Working Radio

2009-10-12T18:04:00.000-07:00

Come on...admit it...most radio sucks in the Twin Cities. With the exception of KMOJ, the Beatbox (Radio K), and to please some of my emo and alternative rock friends...the Current 89.3. Everything else on the radio is only appropriate if you're trying to send a message to the passenger in your car that you don't like them or if you really really need to stay awake on a long drive. [Insert any Lil Wayne song or Country music.] Better than 5 Hour Energy, but at the end of it you still crash. I'd venture to guess that a lot of accidents happen in the Twin Cities because a song that has no business being heard [Insert Taylor Swift or any American Idol winner song] comes on and the driver frantically searches for the tuner to switch the station, only to instead hit a patch of black ice, lose control and get stuck in a ditch. That is Twin Cities radio stations in a nutshell.

With the emergence of the internet people locally and in other places have managed to break through the spectrum and provide us some musically titillating programming. Never Not Working is a radio show featured on East Village Radio from New York. Hosted by Radio Rios and Oskar Mann this show throws complacency and commercial music out the window. In their words:

With a deep respect for the past and a keen ear to the future, Rios and Oskar deliver the best in deep soul, funk, disco, breaks and hip-hop. The best New York and the world has to offer.

Its reach and impact could never compete with the likes of Kool 108, but their content would make Kool look like cheap posers. Their song selection will have you constantly checking back with the playlist, and writing that shit down. What I dig the most about it is their appreciation for all types of music and all types of people. They routinely feature guests that bring their personal flavor and style. The vibe of NNW, even if through an online medium is one of building community through music.

Their show airs every Friday night from 12am to 2am ET, but don't fret, you can listen to Never Not Working anytime of the day by visiting East Village Radio's website.

Among my favorite episodes:
July 25th
August 15th
September 26th
October 10th

It's all fire though, you can't go wrong. Check them out.

The Global Fight: Women's Reproductive Rights in Oaxaca

2009-10-08T16:44:00.000-07:00

On September 9th a state law was passed in Oaxaca which denies women's reproductive rights. It's a step back for the rights of women in Oaxaca as well as all women who have struggled to preserve their rights to their bodies.

A group of Oaxacan women called cihuatl, mujeres de palabra are not going down silent. They've developed a short podcast to discuss this issue further from their perspective.

If you'd like more context for the passing of this state law and its possible implications check out this article and this one.

The issue of abortion it seems has become a political one, not only in the U.S. but certainly in other parts of the world where a woman and her political rights, reproductive rights, and human rights are constantly being threatened by legislation that seeks to further political careers and not benefit larger communities.

The Double Standard

2009-09-15T14:01:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago I went to Valleyfair for the first time. For those of you not from Minnesota, Valleyfair is a theme park about a quarter of the size of Disneyland or Six Flags Magic Mountain. I was there for my roommate's birthday, it turns out he'd never been on a rollercoaster and we decided it was time.

We were in line for the Excalibur rollercoaster when I noticed a man a few people in front of me wearing a button. The distinctive Obama color scheme of navy blue, baby blue, white, and red were all over this button. At first I thought it was probably just a white progressive displaying their socially conscious pride. Then I realized what his button said:

CHANGE?
I WANT MINE BACK.

www.mngop.com

I stopped enjoying my day. Now let me just say that while I think President Obama is an upgrade from the past, I also don't view him as the sole solution to all of the issues that we face. What I can't stand is the way the country has reacted to having a black president, and people of color in positions of power. In the last month those overt feelings of racism have begun spilling out like levies in New Orleans.

Plain and simple...its gotten ugly. It seems that any opportunity right-wing extremists have of clouding the debate around real important issues they throw out senseless, stupid arguments that are filled with coded language. Health Care becoming the latest topic that has drawn the attention of the right-wing.

From showing up to town halls with guns, carrying inflammatory signs suggesting the death of Obama, and flooding our TV, radio, and internet spaces with anti-Health Care reform ads its clear the agenda of the opposition is simple: maintain the health care system as a business.

Over the last couple decades we've seen the price (no pun intended) that people have had to pay because of a privatized health care system that's more concerned about cutting down costs versus providing people the care they need. All it takes for most families is an accident, the birth of a child, a serious illness, or even a visit to the emergency room to find out how messed up our system currently is. My roommate got a bill for several hundreds of dollars for visiting the emergency room at a hospital after he fell ill. He had insurance, but his mistake was visiting the wrong Emergency room. Isn't that an oxymoron?

Or even the idea of a "pre-existing condition" as a basis for not covering people is ridiculous if the purpose of a health care system is to help people who are sick. If it weren't for Medi-Cal, the public system available in California, my mother would not be able to receive coverage for her disease. Without treatment the disease would certainly be fatal.

At stake in this debate around Health Care are people's lives. Which makes me all the more angry at watching how the opposition chooses to attack this issue by race-baiting the President. Its people's lives, all people, of all races who stand to lose their health because a group of people are uncomfortable with a black president.

Recently, the leader of the Tea Party Express, a group of anti-Health Care Reform activists, described the president as an Indonesian Muslim Welfare Thug. Could there be a more racially charged, inaccurate and misleading description? IT'S BECAUSE HE'S BLACK.

You have a Congressman yelling out "You Lie!" in the middle of the President's address to Congress. Congressman Wilson contends it had nothing to do with race. Obama was talking about negating healthcare for undocumented immigrants, and it was at that moment that Wilson felt the spirit to yell out "You Lie". IT'S BECAUSE HE'S BLACK.

At every turn and opportunity the conservative right wing wants to paint President Obama as being somewhere to the left of Mao Tse Tung. Calling him socialist, communist, or any other politically polarizing label. We sometimes forget our history, but those tactics were the same used against Martin Luther King Jr. and other leaders of the Civil Rights Movement to discredit them.

You have to ask yourself...who is benefiting from avoiding Health Care Reform? If Joe the Plumber accidentally busted his arm fixing a broken pipe he would certainly be crying out for reform after getting the bill. I guarantee you the Obama tax credit would come in handy then.

Keeping the system as it is only benefits the corporations currently dominating the Health Care system.

It seems the rest of the world has figured out this whole "Health Care system to help people not to make money" thing out. And its frustrating when baseless arguments are used as legitimate points of debate. It's not about socialism, communism, nativism, patriotism, the only -ism at play is racism for the sole purpose of maintaining this Cash Cow.

Its a marriage of convenience from the Corporations who seek to keep control to make money, and the racist underclass that seeks to hold on to some sense of racial superiority. It's why Congressman Wilson supports displaying of the Confederate Flag but will not support a black President.

They say it's not about race? Shit...it's also not about people.

My latest and greatest inspiration...

2009-09-03T06:10:00.000-07:00

I'm back with my 2nd featured release, "Yelli's Disco: Hyperbole", a blend of 70s and 80s Disco and Funk as well as a couple surprises here and there. Hyperbole is a non-stop badass mix that will have you groovin and doing the do. I wanted to push myself to put together a mixtape that had a constant flow of music, so in this mixtape you'll experience 47 different songs, blended live.

Its over 90 minutes of live mixing so put your headphones on, strap on your seatbelt, and get your popcorn ready, I'm really proud of this mixtape and am happy to share with all of you. Click on the link below to download.

MARK YOUR CALENDARS: DJ Miguel Vargas and I (DJ Ren) will be spinnin at Solera Restaurant in Downtown Minneapolis (900 Hennepin Avenue Minneapolis, MN 55403) on September 17th from 10pm to 2am.

To download follow this link and click on the giant arrow.

Playlist:
Diana Ross-I'm Coming Out
Melba Moore-You Stepped Into My Life
Bee Gees-More Than A Woman
Tom Tom Club-Genius of Love
Linda Ronstadt-You're No Good
Raydio-Jack and Jill
Womack & Womack-Baby I'm Scared of You
Average White Band-Pick Up the Pieces
Diana Ross-Upside Down
Salsoul Orchestra-Runaway
Luther Vandross-Never Too Much
Slave-Watching You
Pointer Sisters-Automatic
Cameo-Single Life
KC & the Sunshine Band-I'm Your Boogie Man
Rolling Stones-I Miss You
Sister Sledge-He's the Greatest Dancer
McFadden and Whitehead-Aint No Stoppin Us Now
Chaka Khan-I'm Every Woman
Patrice Rushen-Forget Me Nots
Wham-Everything She Wants
Ashford & Simpson-It Seems to Hang On
Cherrelle-Saturday Love
Shannon-Let the Music Play
Salsoul Orchestra-Love Break
Cloud One-Atmosphere Strut
Change-Glow of Love
Fatback Band-Backstrokin
Rockmaster Scott-Roof is On Fire
Madonna-Holiday
Human League-Do You Want Me
SOS Band-Take Your Time
Donna Summer-Hot Stuff
Rick James-Give It To Me Baby
Company B-Fascinated
GQ-Disco Nights
Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam-Can You Feel the Beat
M.I.A.-Jimmy
Jackie Moore-This Time Baby
Anita Ward-Ring My Bell
Edwin Starr-Contact
Sylvester-You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)
Rick James-Super Freak
Barry White-You're the First, The Last, My Everything
O'Bryan-I'm Freaky
Earth Wind & Fire-September
Donna Summer-Last Dance

Logan International Airport

2009-09-01T11:23:00.000-07:00

Logan International Airport (Boston)- I’m jamming out to Prince “The Beautiful Ones” precisely when a beatiful lady comes to sit next to me. We’re both waiting to hop on a plane headed to Minneapolis. She seems tense and nervous. She asks me for the time. I respond, “5:21.” I keep jamming out to music. She turns as if to ask me another question, notices my head bobbing, hesitates, and decides not to ask. I nod nervously. Not so much because she’s making me uncomfortable, just mostly my inability to socialize with the opposite sex. I tend to lose whatever “cool” I’ve accumulated over the span of my short life.

In the proceeding minutes after this interaction I contemplate my next move: It seems like she wants to talk…and I wouldn’t mind talking to her…I should probably turn off my Ipod…I wonder where she’s headed…she keeps looking at her boarding pass…why is my Ipod still on?

Finally I take off my headphones and on cue she begins the conversation. After a couple questions, I know she’s headed to California, she bought her ticket last minute, and she doesn’t seem too happy about it.

She ends up ahead of me in line to get into the plane. As I head down the airplane ramp towards the plane, about halfway through, I run into her. She’s leaning back against the wall of the airplane ramp and like a child hunkering back against their parents at the first day of school, she hesitates to go forward.

It’s a hesitation I’m familiar with, on my first day of kindergarden, my aunt dropped me off at the gate of Pio Pico Elementary School. I was afraid of going to school because it was such a different world from what I was used to. To begin with, I spoke very little english. So the prospect of sitting in a room for eight hours being able to understand very little of what was happening wasn’t that appealing. Secondly, I had never been around people of other races and cultures before. That scared me. My teacher was white, and not to say this was true, but she had a very mean looking face. I remember making the walk down the corridor that lead to my classroom. I approached slowly, peeping my head into the doorway. I took one quik look in, decided that I could not recognize the teacher and then contemplated my options. I could a) go in or b) go home.

I chose b) and within minutes I was running the 10 blocks home. Here I was, 5 years old, and running down one of the busiest streets of Los Angeles. When I arrived back at my apartment, the door was open. My aunt had just arrived seconds before me. She was a heaver framed person (I’m trying to be nice) so the walk to and from school was not an easy one. When she saw me, her immediate reaction was shock, I guess I’m not surprised. She wanted to hit me, but she didn’t, I think she wanted me to be in school a little more than she wanted to punish me.

So within minutes, we were making the 10 blocks back to the school. This time she walked me up to the door and would not leave until I went inside.

Back to Logan International. A long corridor stands between the terminal and the plane. She looks tense, afraid, distant, any adjective to describe loneliness. I walked past her, stopped, then turned and said, “you’re not sure?”

Looks up and sighs, “I don’t want to leave.”

“What’s in California?”

She stops to think about it for a minute as people walk by looking at us like an out of place scene. Two people of color having a conversation halfway between the terminal and a plane, sounds sketchy don’t it? She’s clearly fighting back tears and emotions, and without any details, I know it’s a heavy moment for her. We all have those moments in which our eyes and body same more than words ever could.

She hesitates…”It’s complicated.”

She takes a step back towards the terminal. I wanted to reach out and give her some advice…I wanted to say that what’s in Boston is there and will always be there. What awaits you in California, as uncertain as it is, has so much potential. I guess it’s easy for me to say, having made the long runway walk from a terminal in Los Angeles to a plane headed for Minneapolis.

The same uncertain emotions clouded my judgement that day in January of 2003. I felt guilty, leaving behind my family as the oldest of my generation, the patriach, and all the expectations that stem from that position. At some point personal objectives and family duties diverged like a Robert Frost poem. I left, but not without my bumps and share of hardships before, during, and after.

With this wealth of knowledge and experience, I reached out, not physically, but with the only advice I could think of.

She looks up, taking another step towards the terminal…”It’s complicated.”

I say, “It always is.”

I begin walking towards the plane with the confident stride of someone having made this journey before. She looks over, and starts to follow behind. I don’t know if she would’ve gotten on the plane otherwise, and certainly my advice isn’t going to make the Dr. Phil’s gems of wisdom hall of fame. I won’t ever know what she was running from or running to, but at least for that moment she wasn’t alone.

Don't Call Me An Expert: Fantasy Football Draft!!!!

2009-08-17T20:07:00.000-07:00

It didn't hit me until the Saturday night. I was going to be partaking in a live fantasy football draft the next day and I hadn't prepared. The feeling at the pit of my stomach was worse than the day I took my SATs where I showed up to the test with no calculator. True story by the way and you can only imagine the results.

I got up extra early on Sunday (which by my standards means I got up at 9am) to read a couple articles and listen to a couple podcasts. This year will be my third year participating in a fantasy football league. Many of you are probably already rolling your eyes or are simply perplexed why this is even a topic on my blog.

Fantasy football drafts are like those funny stories that you try to re-tell but you ultimately end by saying, "you kinda had to be there." I gave up hanging out a BBQ with some colleagues from my previous job at the University of Minnesota to be at my draft. I mean aside from the good food, I would've undoubtedly engaged in some intellectual discussions about magic realism where I would've tried to channel all I knew about Isabel Allende. Instead I decided to engage in a four hour draft where over 160 players from the National Football League would be drafted into one of 11 teams in our league.

The absolute best thing about fantasy football is the shit-talking. It's why most people do it in the first place. It's why most people remain engaged even though their marquee player suffers a season ending injury in the first week. For four hours, we berated each other, second guessed picks, tried to sike each other out like Coop & Remer in BASEketball. It was glorious.

I've learned a lot about how to be a good fantasty football player and more importantly, how to draft. I'll offer some insight to those of you who have yet to draft and will be doing so soon.

My first rule: It's all relative. Especially if you're trying to come up with your draft strategy. My decisions were mostly guided by the typical strategy in drafting for fantasy football: Stock up on Running Backs and whatever you do, don't draft a kicker before the 15th round. In the words of Matthew Barry, "I don't care if you're Stephen Gostkowski's cousin, or you once got Ryan Longwell's autograph or happen to actually be Mason Crosby..." don't draft a kicker early.

Last year I made the worst possible decision while drafting, I selected a quarterback in the first round. And let's just say Tony Romo's fantasy season wasn't any more successful than his relationship to Jessica Simpson. This year, I didn't pick a running back first, I actually selected hometown boy Larry Fitzgerald. To some a violation of the fantasy football draft manifesto, but considering the options at that point in the draft it wasn't a bad pick. And that's the point of my rule, consider the circumstances and make the smartest choice based on what you know and who's available.

My next rule: Only take a risk when it's not really a risk. A lot of drafters select certain players way too early, especially when no one else would've conceivably picked up that player for at least two or three more rounds. Every pick exposes you to weaknesses in other areas so my rule of thumb for picking a player that's ranked lower than where you're drafting: Will that player absolutely not be available the next time you get to pick? If not, then to me that's a risk that's not really a risk.

Rule: Trash talking is required. Come prepared to lay down some one-liners. It's not just for the sake of being an a-hole, but it's also strategy. Trash talking can rattle your fellow drafters and lead them to select a bad player. But I caution, don't trash talk too much or it might backfire when you make a bad selection. Example [using their team names]: My friend "Down Low" made fun of another fellow drafter "I Cried Many Nights" after he drafted San Diego receiver, Vincent Jackson. During Down Lows next pick feelin the heat from his recent rant about Vincent Jackson, he selected Dwayne Bowe, a worthless wide receiver. Believe me, it's a bad pick if prior to selecting you say, "I hope this doesn't come back and bite me in the ass."

Rule: You have to have a good team name. A good fantasy football team name has a couple good elements. First of all, it's gotta be funny. Pop-cultural references help to make a good team name. Secondly, your team name has to make sense to the other owners. [A good example: Hattiesburg Comebacks, you can use that if you'd like.] A double whammy if you can somehow incorporate both elements and poke fun at one of the other team owners. In my case, I happened to be visiting my friend's childhood home and I snapped a picture of him as a kid dressed up in a sailor costume. I used that picture as my team logo.

Rule: Trash talking is simply trash talking, don't take it personally. The worst thing that can happen in fantasy football is it gets too real. When people get offended by what others say that's when fantasy football dies. Instead of getting heated, get creative and comeback with something better. [Note I don't know any of the guys in the picture, just thought it was funny, but the dude in the middle kinda looks like my buddy Francis.]

My secret strategy, poke fun at others, but don't be afraid to poke fun at yourself. Big ups to Jimmy Phu for starting off our fantasy league on the right foot by posting a funny commercial with a guy that looks just like him.

For some all these rules might be helpful, for others still perplexing why anyone cares this much about it. For me the most entertaining moment of my summer. I guess you kinda had to be there.

Michael Vick vs. Conservative America

2009-07-28T13:45:00.000-07:00

Who's really making a comeback?

I don't condone abuses to animals and certainly this blog posting is not an endorsement of those activities. But there's a larger story here that's playing out around the so-called re-instatement of Michael Vick.

Recently, Roger Goddell "awarded" a partial re-instatement to Michael Vick after he was released from Federal Custody in July. This partial reinstatement does not guarantee that Vick will be able to resume his football career, nor should it (I'll clarify what I mean by that in a moment). Goddell's ruling is in effect an extended suspension more than it is a reinstatement. This of course coming after Vick has spent the last 20+ months in jail, 18 of those at Fort Leavensworth, by no means a walk in the park in terms of prisons.

Clearly Michael Vick made a huge mistake by bankrolling a dogfighting operation. Clearly he was wrong. What I cannot condone is the subjective application of the law and policy. It's this unfair use of the "rules" that has a lot sportswriters like Stephen A. Smith, Howard Bryant, and David Zirin seriously questioning the abuse of power on the part of commissioner.

The question at the heart of the debate is can anyone truly "pay their debt to society" in a way that satisfies everyone. Vick regrets his actions, and certainly losing all of his property, all of his assets, a lucrative sports contract, sponsorships, and millions of dollars in debt would make anyone regreat just about anything. But beyond the selfish material posessions he's given up, he's also had to endure close to two years of incarceration. Show me another athlete that's violated the law and spent two months let alone two years in jail. There are athletes in professional sports that have been involved in drunk driving, manslaughter, child abuse, domestic abuse, and drug usage. How many chances was Pacman Jones afforded before finally being scapegoated by all teams in the NFL? How long will Donte Stallworth of the Cleveland Browns be suspended for the manslaughter charges that he spent a month in jail for? Will society publicly convict Ben Roethlisberger like they did to Vick, now remember Roethlisberger is being accused of rape. Certainly everyone is innocent til proven guilty but that right was never afforded to Vick.

The problem is that NFL owners considering bringing an undeniable talent like Vick on their team will have to endure public scrutiny from the PETAs of the world that have already made it very clear that they will protest his return to professional sports. This is after he's already supposedly "paid his debt to society" and after agreeing to work with organizations to create awareness around the dangers of dogfighting. I agree with Zirin's article (click on link in third paragraph) that denying Vick his shot at redemption is eliminating the possibility that someone can ever truly atone for their mistakes.

So PETA what does it take for you to say, "Ok we believe you, and we will support you." Of course the deeper analysis that is usually missing from all of this is that Vick at one point was the highest paid football player in the NFL. Now think about that, he grew up in a home with limited financial resources. His parents were teennagers when he was born, they both worked multiple jobs to sustain the family and they lived in public housing. The hood he grew up in is known as "Bad Newz" because of its reputation as a community where a lot of drug dealing and crime activity take place. Sports for many people growing up in Bad Newz is a way out.

Is there any other way Vick could've realistically made millions of dollars had he stayed in the hood or more conservatively worked a job where he'd earn six figures? The answer is no. For him and for his family, his success at football was their way out. But there's no way you grew up in that environment and shake off all the negativity that under-resourced and marginalized communities tend to produce. Am I surprised he was involved with dogfighting? No. Did he have a choice? Yes.

But he paid the price, and it was a steep one. Now his only chance at getting his life back in order is to do the one thing that was able to take him away from Bad Newz, football. But because he was involved in a dogfighting ring, Commissioner Goddell, PETA, and other naysayers ignore the mountain of obstacles he endured to become the highest paid football player in the world and only choose to provide more obstacles. I'm not saying roll out the red carpet, I'm simply saying give the man an opportunity.

Having grown up in a neighborhood similar to Michael Vick I know there's an infinite list of people that were never able to make it out the "hood". Some of my good friends died, others got stuck intellectually and physically and were never able to make anything of themselves. Whatever success I've amassed has been as a result of people that have influenced my life tremendously in positive ways. The same is true with Vick and you know what? Maybe I do believe in second chances, but in my book he grew up with the cards stacked against him so maybe instead of redemption we should be offering a renaissance. A rebirth to a life, to a career, a bridge from his past mistakes and unforunate circumstances to a modern mature adult with an opportunity to rebuild himself.

L.A. Confidential: Rest in Peace

2009-06-26T20:05:00.000-07:00

“How did it feel as you were arriving in L.A.?,” my mother asked.

Its been a year and a half since I’ve been home. Life in Minnesota got in the way of finding some time to visit family, then again its partly my fault for not making time. The first order of business was rest, though. On my first official day back I woke up at my normal Minnesota schedule, approximately 8am (Central) 6am (Pacific). A couple hours later, after some coffee and pan dulce, my body and my mind both realized that for the first time in a long time I had nowhere to be. No early morning trainings, no application deadlines, or late evening meetings. I crashed on a hammock for the next four hours.

I woke up around midday to make myself some chicken tacos with some leftovers from the night before. It was pretty good I must say—chicken, cotija cheese, and some store bought salsa. [Let me take a second to ask, why is it that in L.A. I can buy some salsa at the store that has a real kick, but in Minnesota when you buy the salsa labeled extra spicy it tastes like a fruit salad?] Fast forward, I took some time to finish watching the last of a movie I borrowed from my roommate, The Man Who Wasn't There, which was a pretty interesting contemporary film noir, and kind of disturbing. To give you a sense of the weirdness and without giving too much away, at the end of the film I turned to my brother and asked him, “Would you have taken the blowjob?” The movie’s not as grotesque as that question might have you believe, but Billy Bob Thornton is the lead.

I went back to sleep, on the hammock, for the next three hours. I had my phone on vibrate and from time to time it would go off, but I was too tired and too relaxed to even check. When I finally did there were close to 10 text messages, some tweets. The first text I read was from my friend Amalia:
Way to go. U go to LA and the king of pop dies. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

The rest of the texts and tweets were about MJ, what a way to find out one of your musical icons passed away. I went out to the living room and my brother was watching the news. He turns and says, “Michael Jackson died.” Twitter and text messages already brought me up to date, one even accused me of his death, but thanks John. I forgot how celebrity-centered local reporting is in Los Angeles. All of the stations were on the scene at the UCLA Medical Center where he’d been taken. The FOX channel had deployed three on the ground reporters and a helicopter to cover the story.

I’ll go into the death of MJ in a sec, but first I wanna say that my favorite part about all this reporting was the interviews they did with supposed fans. Now real fans could tell you off the bat their favorite song and album and why. The people the reporters were interviewing were either out of work actors, lunatics, or Chinese tourists. Most broke out in tears…most said that MJ through his songs had changed their lives…most had no fucking clue what song actually changed their lives. Here were some of my favorite responses:

“Not any in particular.”
“All of them.”
“The Thriller music video.”

Now I’m a fan of Michael, my favorite song by MJ was Remember the Time and favorite album was “Off the Wall.” As a DJ, MJ was my go to artist whenever I felt I needed to drop a song to get people dancing. Now don’t get me wrong he’s obviously a controversial figure. His success to failure ratio is unprecedented, I remember Jay Leno doing a comedy bit on the best and worst moments for celebrities, here’s what he said:

“Best moment…Michael Jackson dancing Billie Jean.”
“Worst moment…Michael Jackson pulling down Billy’s jeans.”

Yet in the face of all this controversy people still loved him, and in my own experience it’s because for certain celebrities we have selective memory. It could explain my support for a Kobe led Lakers, my preference for David Ruffin in the Temptations, and for Michael Jackson when he was black not white. Whatever your opinion of MJ, his world was on the stage, while off of it he was more out of place than a guy at Victoria Secret.

He will be missed.

FOUR GENERATIONS
I’ve avoided chatting about family, but here we go. My cousin came over with her first born, Alessandro, it’s significant in the sense that her son is the first of our family’s newest generation. It was a trip to carry him in my arms because up until his arrival, I held that title in my family.

My grandmother, who normally lives in El Salvador, is in town and thankfully I’ve had the opportunity to see her again after a 6 year layoff. She says I’ve changed a lot, and I agree. I could tell my mom had been talking to her because it didn’t take her long to try to convince me to come back to L.A. My family always finds creative ways to get those jabs in, this time around my grandmother says while holding Alessandro, “What you should’ve done is had a kid before you left to Minnesota, that way your mom could be helping you raise your child and you could’ve stayed.” Clever.

Leaving L.A. to move to another state, where I had no family, no friends, was certainly not a popular choice in my family especially since we’re expected to stay together. Part of it was being a romantic, but the other part of it was wanting to grow out of the shadows of what my family expected of me. Sketchy reasons at best but I attribute a lot of my personal development to that choice, or “risk” is probably a better way of describing it.

So here I am sitting in a room with my grandmother, aunt, mom, cousins, myself and Alessandro. Four generations of my family in one room. What a trip. My Aunt Carmen, who’s now a grandmother because it was her daughter who had the kid, has been raising kids in our family since her arrival in the U.S. in 1986. She’s never officially had a job, but she’s been very important to our family’s success in this country. Its because of her that my mom and my other aunts have been able to go out and work. Apart from raising her own three daughters, she’s raised me, my brother, my little cousin Melisa and countless other children throughout the years from different friends of the family.

It dawns on me that none of those kids have failed yet. I’ve managed to make a life for myself in a different state, my brother is on the cusp of graduating high school, and my other cousins are all still in school with the exception of one who recently had Alessandro. Three of us have graduated high school, a few more are on the way, and we’ve even made it to college. Few families in our neighborhood could boast that type of track record. So my Aunt Carmen is to thank that our family will never become an adaptation of Blood In Blood Out part 2. Knock on wood.

So how did I feel arriving in L.A? I was a bit anxious, nervous, excited, but I didn’t tell my mom that. More on her later.

I forgot that Ren is a DJ

2009-04-04T12:01:00.000-07:00

What up world your blog hostest with the mostest, myself (DJ Ren), just finished my first mixtape titled "Funk My Life". It's a mix of mostly 80s funk great for retro parties, working out, taking a shower, or it's a great excuse not to do any of those things. So whether it's imagination or procrastination that you seek all roads lead to Funk My Life.

I want to limit this blog content to political and cultural observations so I'm not posting the link here. To get the link and to check out the setlist visit the music blog that I share with my DJ partner, Miguel Vargas: www.FunkMass.com

In the words of Rick James it's "Coldblooded".

Monseñor Oscar A. Romero

2009-03-25T07:29:00.000-07:00

A little before 9am on Tuesday March 24th 2009 (as of this blog, just yesterday) I received multiple phone calls informing me of a possible ICE raid in Gaylord, MN. I should probably mention that a few of my colleagues have been working on an organizing campaign there with some of the Latino families that live in the mobile home park. At first glance this could be seen as pure coincidence but in my short history of community organizing it's become evident this is a trend. When pockets of our community rise up, ICE is utilized as an agent of fear to break people's morale and resolve in the struggle for their rights.

Within two hours I was in Gaylord, MN with a camera in hand ready to capture that aftermath. ICE's modus operandi on this day was the same, an arrest warrant for a particular individual but if they happen to run across anyone with questionable immigration status, "well then lets check them too." Don't believe me then look up the Worthington, Willmar, Postville, Shakopee, and countless other raids across the country in which the result has been the same.

I'm admittedly not the most religious person, but on this day I prayed silently on our way in to town. I'm not sure what motivated me to do this, but I'm certain part of it was the fear of what we might find, and part of it was me feeling unprepared. This day was to be different, we arrived to a quiet town with the usual hecticness of a 2,000 person city. We drove arround and could not find the unmarked vehicles or any law enforcement vehicles for that fact. It turns out today they doorknocked a home, didn't find who they were looking for and then simply left. For now, it seems all is quiet on the Midwestern front. While part of me is relieved, I know this was merely the eye of a storm and the next wave is yet to come.

I didn't realize it immediately but all of this took place on the 29th Anniversary of Monseñor Oscar A. Romero's asassination. Many of you are probably clueless as to who I'm talking about, but don't feel bad because my deep knowledge of this great man wasn't acquired until recently. Oscar Romero was the Archbishop of San Salvador in El Salvador between 1977-1980. For any individuals with recollection of Salvadoran history, you'll note these were some of the most turbulent and violent years in the country prior to the outset of the civil war which lasted between 1980-1992.

To avoid any unneccesary sensationalism I want to mention that Monseñor Romero was not perfect. Like every great leader in our history, Romero was exactly who he needed to be at the time. In terms of important figures in my own personal book, he sits right at the top of my list. I'll divulge my list on a later blog post. But an important quality of any important figure I hold in high esteem is their ability to change. And no transformation was more remarkable or influential than that of Monseñor Romero.

To add some historical context, the Catholic Church in Latin America this time was divided among those who believed in Liberation theology (the belief that the church through political participation must bring justice to the poor and oppressed) and those who believed in the traditional cordial relationship between Church and Government. Romero started out very much the latter, even though his roots were solidly humble. This more conservative approach to the relationship between Church and Government allowed for the exploitation of the poor by the rich and cleared the way for economic practices which furthered that divide. This was the case in El Salvador but you could substitute any other Latin American country and the case would have been the same. However, in El Salvador the repression against the poor went beyond economic exploitation and was largely dominated by a campaign of violence in which "subversives" were systematically killed.

At the time he was named Archbishop of San Salvador, the highest position within the church in the country, the response among the lower divisions of the social stratosphere were generally negative. They viewed him as a man who would support the status quo and stand by idly as the government carried out its genocidal campaign against the poor and the organized.

To his credit, his one unwavering quality throughout his life was his pragmatism. Throughout the many positions he held within the church he was always willing to listen to individuals who held an opinion he didn't share. This openness-faced with an overwhelming evidence in contradiction with his beliefs-ultimately led to his transition as a pillar for social justice.

He was on a path to enlightenment when the government assassinated his friend Rutilio Grande, a Jesuit priest who preached liberation theology and organized Christian base communities (religious groups organized to create self-autonomous Christian communities among the poor and working class that often times included political education and reinterpretations of church teachings.) His organizing work was seen as a threat by local landowners who feared an informed and politically active lower class. In the past, this political education and activism led to changes in the treatment of workers, salaries, and quality of life for the poor.

After Grande's death, Romero began to openly speak out against the government. He utilized his position, the radio, and his homilies to communicate with people across the country and to expose the government's repression. His homilies on Sunday radio are fondly remembered by many of my family members and friends from El Salvador. I think it's important to note that he did this at great consequence, he shed all political and financial protection afforded to him by people within the upper class of Salvadoran society and he risked his life in doing so. He went so far as to use his Sunday homilies to half preach to the country and half deliver the news of atrocities, providing the only source of factual reporting because local media was government controlled.

Here is a quote from his final homily delivered on March 23, 1980 a day before his assassination:

"Brothers, you came from our own people. You are killing your own brothers. Any human order to kill must be subordinate to the law of God, which says, 'Thou shalt not kill'. No soldier is obliged to obey an order contrary to the law of God. No one has to obey an immoral law. It is high time you obeyed your consciences rather than sinful orders. The church cannot remain silent before such an abomination. ...In the name of God, in the name of this suffering people whose cry rises to heaven more loudly each day, I implore you, I beg you, I order you: STOP THE REPRESSION!"

This outcry came of course after years of government sponsored killings of individuals deemed "subversives" either because of what the government considered "radical" or "communist" activities, or because the poor demanded justice in the unfair economic system that forced them to survive on mere pennies a day. These genocidal activities that took the lives of thousands of people prior the civil war breaking out in 1980, and ultimately led to multiple thousands more disappearing and murdered in the insuing conflict were all sponsored by the United States and its stance on ridding Latin America of communist influence. This outcry would be Romero's last, as the following day on March 24th 1980 he would be assassinated during a sermon.

His murderers? All third party investigations into the death of Monseñor Romero have found concrete evidence that the murder was ordered by Major Roberto D'Aubuisson, a right wing conservative who controlled the military death squads during the civil war and whom would later begin a political party known as the Nationalist Republican Alliance (ARENA). This would be the party that would control Salvadoran politics and hold political power for the next 20 years. As recently as a couple years ago, the current Salvadoran president and ARENA leader Tony Saca wanted to recognize D'Aubuisoon post-humously as a National Hero.

I could go into Salvadoran politics but I will save that for a different blog post and respect the memory of Monseñor Romero. For me personally I've grown to admire him, and I use that term cautiously, but I truly appreciate his life experience, transformation, and leadership. I would recommend that people read "Memories in Mosaic" written by Maria Lopez Vigil, this is an oral history of Monseñor's life as told by the people who knew him both closely and in passing. More than anything else this book uncovers the humanity of Romero, from the acts of bravery to his own admissions of fear. It stands out to me today, because on the anniversary of his death I was engaged in activities that Monseñor himself was a part of, the major difference is he did so knowing he was risking his life. I question myself and my own humanity if I'd be willing to continue under the same circumstances he lived under? Of course I'd like to say the answer is yes, but realistically I'm still on a path to learning and I won't know until that choice is placed is front of me. For now I can only use his words as inspiration:

"I must tell you, as a Christian, I do not believe in death without resurrection. If I am killed, I shall arise in the Salvadoran people." -Monseñor Oscar Romero

El Cantante....

2009-02-17T12:45:00.000-08:00

....or should I say Gigli 2. I wrote this review shortly after watching El Cantante about a year ago. Its available on DVD so let me preview the movie review by saying that thankfully you won't be disappointed in spending money to see this movie in the theatre.

Rarely am I upset enough with a film to write a review. But for El Cantante I definitely had to make the exception.

Hector Lavoe is my favorite salsa singer of all time. His music evokes the sense of human reality, "de momentos malos y de cosas buenas". Unfortunately this film had more momentos malos than buenos.

I'll provide my feedback on the film but I'll also break down certain aspects of the film on a scale of 1 to 10. 1=Gigli to 10=The Godfather.

Marc Antony's portrayal of Hector Lavoe the person I would rate in between a 7 and an 8. There are moments of brilliance in the film in which you are able to see the complexity of this man and the lifetime of burdens he's carried.

They chose to use Antony's vocals, which would then rate the musical performances by him in this movie at around 3. Lavoe, as his last name hints, was famous for his voice ("La Voe" or "La Voz"). His singing was a medley of borinquen pride, jibaro innocence, and a life experience with an edge. Marc Antony is not able to do him any justice.

Jennifer Lopez's performance as "Puchi", Lavoe's wife, is probably closer to 0 but to stick to my original scale I will give her a 1. We all know she's a good actress but she falters at roles in which she's actually asked to be "Jenny from the block". Bottom line with her performance is that she was trying too hard. Again, there were moments of brilliance where she was able to bring the character to life but this was completely overshadowed by her over the top performance. It didn't help that she was in 90% of the scenes.

A big focus of the film was his relationship with his wife. Hence, Lopez is in 90% of the scenes. But realistically, Lavoe was a drug addict, an alcoholic, and consistently unfaithful to his wife. I don't doubt his love for his wife, but in this movie it seemed like they were trying to ignore that about him. Personally, I thought the film should've done more to show Lavoe's life before the fame. Where appropriate include his rocky relationship with his wife.

There were also several missed opportunities in this film. For starters the importance of Fania was completely overlooked. Understandably, this film was about Lavoe, but his success was not a product of his alone. Fania was more than just a record label, it was a revolution in music and culture. At the time, it was just as important as Motown and for the couple decades of its existence America was dancing to the Fania beat.

Another missed opportunity was his drug use. In this film it seems a bit exploitative, because rather than making Lavoe seem more human given his "Celebrity" status, the drug use seems to be the star of the film instead of his music. Lavoe's drug use was ultimately his undoing as he ends up contracting AIDS from it, but along with the other burdens of his life, we don't get to see him live through his fight with AIDS.

Someday there should be a film to highlight the importance of Fania as well as a remake of this film. Lavoe's story is no less compelling than Ray Charles or Johnny Cash, it's unfortunate El Cantante missed the opportunity to educate our current generation about the history of salsa.

Overrall this film gets a 4, much of it due to its underwhelming delivery.

Memories Before I Die: Meeting My Father

2009-02-05T09:06:00.000-08:00

They say that during a near-death experience your life flashes before your eyes. In the series, "Memories Before I Die" I hope to do the same only at a slower pace and with more context and reflection. This is the first of those stories...

He was driving a black Suzuki Samurai. I remember it very well because up until that point I thought those cars were cool. He came to pick me up on a Sunday afternoon, I remember because that was laundry day for my family. My mother gave me a quick hug before letting me go to encounter a piece of my past that she had so carefully tried to avoid me ever knowing about.

The first ten years
For the first 7 years of my life everyone in my family had told me that my father was Maximiliano "Mancho" Renderos. While I did indeed call him "Papi" I had always known that he was my grandfather. My family had tried to fabricate a father in my life to protect me from the inevitable disappointment that came from being raised in a single mother household.

And when my family finally decided to start telling me bits and pieces of my father they were all bad memories that unfortunately only made me more curious to meet him. This was further fueled by the fact that with every year that I aged it seemed my face was transforming into a spitting image of a man I'd never met.

One of my mom's cousin decided to take it upon himself to find out if my father, who was living in Los Angeles, in the same city I was located in, had any interest in meeting me after a ten year absence. Shortly thereafter I got a phone call. I was outside playing with some of the barrio kids when I was called back into my apartment. I was handed the phone and I said, "Hello?" "Estiven this is your father how are you?" It's amazing to me the things that I've managed to forget over the years, but there are always moments that are meticulously painted into your memory forever and this was one of them. I excitingly accepted the opportunity to meet him. My mother was less than thrilled.

The day finally arrived
But fast forward to my father waiting outside in a Suzuki Samurai. I ran downstairs accompanied by mom's cousin, Vicente, who had orchestrated this meeting. Thinking back it seems Vicente was the official "Renderos" family representative in this tension filled gathering. Waiting inside the car was my father in the driver's side and in the back seat was a man I'd come and find out was Julio Ayala, my uncle.

My initial reaction..."Wow I do look like him." My first observation...hanging over the sun visor in his car was a picture of me, I was about 4 yrs old in the picture. The next two hours were more painful than an SAT cram session. I met countless people that were all direct relatives of mine. Three uncles, four cousins, one aunt, one grandmother, countless close family friends, etc. I wouldn't call them "family" but at least in my first encounter they certainly embraced me as if I was a lost child on one of the milk cartons that had finally been found.

I returned confused because everything I had been told by my mother's family about my father and his family didn't match up to my experience. I was so confused that I decided not to visit him again for four years.

My lesson
The true story of my father and mother is a memory for another day but for now meeting my father for the first time at the age of ten did more to reinforce my love of my mother more than ignite a relationship with my father. That memory in retrospect was more like an energy drink, I felt a rush in the beginning but it was followed by major exhaustion. A few hours could never make up for the last decade of absence.

The Day the Music Died

2009-02-03T11:00:00.000-08:00

Today marks the 50th anniversary of the day that Ritchie Valens died, alongside Buddy Holly and the Big Popper, in a tragic plane crash. Growing up I admired Ritchie Valens. He was long gone before my time but he was still a major influence in my life. For starters, his real name was Richard Steven Valenzuela. In 1987, when I was three, I watched La Bamba for the first time. I loved the movie so much I begged my mom to buy me the La Bamba soundtrack. So before the Ipod, I had my walkman and cassette stereo where the songs made famous by the Mexican-American from Pacoima, CA constantly blasted. I knew each of the hits by heart and thus Ritchie Valens began my love of 50s rock n' roll.

A few years ago when I learned to play the guitar from my friend Robert Romani, it was the old Valens hits that I learned to play first. I'm now living in Minnesota which is where Ritchie Valens was going to perform next before he tragically died. Although his career only lasted 8 months, he managed to produce several hits including his ground-breaking and now famous crossover hit "La Bamba".

His brief success in rock n' roll was enough to spark the Chicano rock scene that would evolve throughout the next couple decades and influence great artists like Los Lobos, Los Lonely Boys and Carlos Santana. Although his death was over 50 years ago, its a terrible tragedy that can only be summed up in the words of Esai Morales in La Bamba: RRRIIIIIITTTCCCHHIIIEEE!!!

Check out my tribute to Ritchie Valens, a 2004 recording of "Donna" performed by myself and produced by Robert Romani. To listen click here

FranzDiego.Com EP

2009-01-29T10:29:00.000-08:00

Girl you're looking lovely, girl you're looking kinda fine
Girl you're kinda special, I think about you all the time
But you got me trippin, you got me so...so...trippin
Girl you got me trippin, you got me so...so...trippin

The recently released FranzDiego.com EP has been draining the battery on my Ipod non-stop. There's much to love about it. First and foremost in the midst of our economic uncertainty it comes to you at the affordable price of "Download for Free". Secondly, while only 7-tracks in length, this EP is as diverse in subject matter as FranzDiego-Punto-Com's background.

The south Minneapolis rapper with Guatemalan roots and one-third of Illuminous 3 is a standout on multiple levels. His talents reach beyond the microphone, the embodiment of the Hip-Hop Renaissance man. Mr. Punto Com is a blogger, local organizer, artist, dables in producing and add podcaster to the list as well.

Getting back to the EP, there are a couple stand-out tracks in my own personal opinion. "Trippin" (chorus above) is an ode the beautiful intelligent women who unknowingly provoke us to make some not so intelligent decisions. For all of y'all who've ever decided to skip out on an important meeting or take a day off work to be with someone, this song is for you.

My other personal favorite is "Old Man" a pushback by FranzDiego to the status quo trying to define his identity and those of others. Its a challenge to push ourselves beyond stereotypes and falsely constructed images that serve to undercut achievement within our communities.

There's more to be said about this EP but I'll just let the music do the talking. To download the FranzDiego.com EP click here

KMOJ...I'm disappointed

2009-01-26T13:10:00.000-08:00

I'm an avid listener of 89.9 KMOJ because for the most part I'm impressed by the music they play as well as some of the community dialogue they engage in. They began as a community based radio program that provided training for people of color in the Twin Cities. They eventually evolved into a full fledged radio station but still maintained their community roots by announcing local resources, playing PSAs, and including educational shows in their on-air programming.

As a part of their morning show with Sonny Day, they will pose several topic questions to their listeners. The last few times I've managed to catch the daily topic discussion I've actually been very disappointed. Just today Sonny Day was asking listeners, "Is Barack Obama black enough or is he too white?" Now of course I'll qualify this by saying that I believe these questions are submitted by listeners but even if this is the case the radio station has a choice as to what topics get discussed and which don't. Lets set aside our personal opinions of President Obama as a commander in chief for a second and lets analyze the consequences of that question.

First and foremost the question insinuates that there's a definite answer, which of course there isn't. It's more rhetorical in nature. Its disappointing that KMOJ would allow this discussion to happen because it feeds in to defining this individual through race exclusively. My question is, "Is he black enough for what?" And furthermore how do you define "blackness" what makes someone more or less "black"?

Last week a listener posed the question, "Have we come full circle, has Dr. King's dream been realized?" Again, my issue with the question is the nature of its simplicity. My answer is complex: the Civil Rights Movement was a struggle for equality. It was the fight to allow black children to go to school with white children. It was the deconstruction of legalized segregation. Those initial barriers, at least under law, no longer exist. Here is where the "dream" differs today, the fight of the 21st century is no longer simply for access, it's about equity. It's about ensuring that black children, Latino children, Asian children and white children all graduate at the same time. That requires an intentional effort to address issues of institutional racism; meaning the conditions of our schools, poverty within communities of color, and any other barriers that arise from a system that is race-neutral.

I believe that the danger in asking such simplistic or otherwise rhetorical questions is the impact on the listener. When only presented with "black or white" questions, our ability to engage in fruitful dialogue is severely limited. Obama does not equal the manifestation of Dr. King's "dream" nor is his race the sole determining factor in his ability to govern on behalf of African Americans and all other constituencies for that matter. We also severly undercut our own contribution to the changes we want to see in society. Historically, while presidents have played a role in carrying out legislation that eliminated racist barriers, none of that would've happened without the mobilization of people pushing for that change.

Ren Is A Critic Part 1: The Wrestler

2009-01-16T08:19:00.000-08:00

I sat shocked and awwed about a month ago as I witnessed Oscar De La Hoya get destroyed by Manny Pacquiao. For those of you with little boxing knowledge I'll put it this way...De La Hoya was a 2-1 favorite to win. Besides the fact that I was rooting for De La Hoya, my shock and aww was mainly due to the fact that I grew up watching this boxer dominate everyone around him. Even in his loses he never looked phased or beaten.

But in this fight, in between the 8th and 9th round and after sustaining a punishing attack that bruised the left side of his face, he sat there with an empty stare. His trainers said, "We're going to stop the fight." And he barely nodded in agreement, knowing full well that if they didn't, he would probably end up hurting his reputation more than his body. So he lost, but he didn't merely lose, he was defeated and exposed as a boxer no longer in his prime.

I recently watched "The Wrestler" directed by Dan Aronofosky (of Requiem for a Dream fame). Mickey Rourke plays Randy "The Ram" Robinson a professional wrestler fighting past his prime. We find out by the film's opening credits that at one point The Ram was a popular wrestler, winning championship title belts and selling out venues like the Madison Square Garden, but by the first scene its clear those days are behind him, as the Ram sits alone in a locker room after a fight coughing up blood.

In this movie we see a character stuck living in two worlds, in one he is this personna of The Ram, someone every wrestler young and old look up to with admiration and on the other is Robin Ramzinski (his real name) the lonely Supermarket employee ridiculed by his D-List celebrity status.

What I found ironic in Rourke's character was his apparent lack of social skills in the world outside of the ring. From not wanting to work at the front end of the Supermarket because he'd have to deal with customers to his failure being present as a father to his daughter. However, once he hits the stage, regardless of the punishment endured in the ring it seems that he is at peace.

Rourke's love interest, "Cassidy" (Marisa Tomei), plays an older stripper who has trouble generating business for herself because the men in the stripclub flock to the younger girls. Rourke tries to woo her in the middle of lap dances, but her policy is to not mix with customers. Their parallel story-line is Aronofosky's greatest accomplishment in this movie as the Ram gains respect under the roar of the crowd but for Cassidy, she loses hers under the howls of men holding singles in their hands. Outside of the stage, The Ram is a failure as a father while she is a proud mother.

At the heart of this movie is the collision of our public life vs. our private. Who should ultimately choose how we fade away, is it a personal choice? Is it when the roar of the crowd can be heard no more? The Ram chose the crowd stating, "the only one that's gonna tell me when I'm through doing my thing, is you people here."

[Quick Notes: Mickey Rourke was honored with the Golden Globe Award for Best Actor in this film; the movie is pretty violent so if you can't stand blood then watch out.]

Bumper Sticker of the Day

2009-01-08T08:07:00.001-08:00

While driving to work today I was riding behind Subaru Outback riddled in bumper stickers. I found this one particularly funny as well as revealing. I've never gotten into the bumper sticker craze and have always wondered what motivates people to utilize their car as a vehicle for displaying their politics and personalities. (No pun intended)

In either case, every now and then you'll run across some bumper stickers that will make you laugh or think or crash. What are your favorite bumper stickers?

Leave a message in the Chat Box to the right.

A Quarter Century

2009-01-02T08:44:00.000-08:00

I'm officially 25 years old today and besides lower car insurance, what else do I have to look forward to? Exactly a year ago I was in Los Angeles among family and a warmer climate. Mariachis serenaded me with Las Mañanitas and my mother as she did most years gave me a play by play of that fateful night, January 1st 1984.

Around 7pm my mother would begin the story with, "And right around here is when I first started feeling contractions." I wasn't due for another month and she definitely didn't think this was it. Then around 10pm she says her water broke while in the shower, how ironic. She was by herself at the time and she managed to call a taxi to take her to the hospital.

She was transported to the USC General Medical Center and while details escape me, my mom is quick to point out that she remembers every minute of my birth. Contrary to my brother's birth in which an emergency prompted his delivery, and hence her memory is a little shaky with him. Sorry Rudy. As soon as I was born the doctor turned to my mother and said something that she has never forgotten, and consequently neither have I. He said, "Its a boy, you have a long road ahead of you because boys are tough to raise."

She didn't care because from the moment she found out she was pregnant she said she wanted a boy. Now as it turns out in the 25 years I've been alive, I have so far proved the doctor right. Raising me and my brother has not been easy. From the rapscallion behavior of a young child to the rebelding teenage years, I'm certain I have done no favors to her ageing.

This year, my mother and I are not together, she's in El Salvador getting a much deserved vacation and I'm in Minnesota wishing I was in warmer weather. Between Saint Paul and Los Angeles there's a distance of 1500 miles. From Saint Paul to El Salvador it's 2200 miles. Although there's only a 700 mile difference between the two, not having my mother in the same country for the first time ever has been a challenge. I'm not certain why she would tell me the same story every January 2nd, but suffice it to say that this year I miss it and her dearly.

I'm hoping that in this next quarter century that lies ahead of me I have the opportunity to prove the doctor wrong.

[Pictured above, my mother and I at the age of three, sorry old the picture quality has deteriorated over time.]

Cidade dos Homens (City of Men)

2008-12-30T10:36:00.000-08:00

I don't ever really get hooked on television shows, except for Entourage, 24, and the Office. All for a variety of different reasons, but recently I've been enthralled with a television program that my friend Francis alerted me to.

Cidade dos Homens, known as City of Men, was a highly successful television program that ran in Brazil for 4 seasons from 2002-2005. It follows the story of two teenagers, Uolace aka Laranjinha and Acerola, growing up in a favela in Rio de Janeiro. It may sound familiar since the TV series was created by the directors of City of God. After the TV series ended they also released a full length movie in 2007 by the same name, City of Men.

I saw both feature films (City of God & City of Men) prior to getting hooked on the show and even though I haven't completed all 19 episodes yet I can tell you the TV series is amazing. I'm not yet sure if it will end up being in my top 5 shows of all time but at this point it is certainly competing for a top spot.

Cidade dos Homens is not a spin-off of City of God, although there are similarities, it's worth it to note that Cidade dos Homens is less violent and more of a combo mix of comedy and drama. Because its a TV show it is also able to tackle a variety of subject matter throughout the course of multiple episodes.

The friendship between Laranjinha and Acerola is what makes this show special. Both grow up fatherless and with mothers that are always working and never at home, therefore they depend on each other for support during their hectic teenage years.

What immediately grabbed me about the show was its fearlessness in tackling the issue of race and class in Brazil. This is done both from a critical eye as well as through a pragmatic lens that allows multiple perspectives to be viewed from an objective place. It doesn't justify racism but rather it humanizes it, much in the same way that the movie Crash did, only not so obvious.

In the episode, Uolace e Joao Vitor, the stories of Laranjinha and another recurring character in the show Joao Victor are strung together to highlight the differences and similarities between two individuals who are growing up in different worlds. Laranjinha represents the poor kid growing up in the violent favela while Joao Victor is the lighter skinned middle-class teenager living in an apartment with a single mother. The episode explores the perspective and misconceptions each has about the other and as a viewer you feel dispondent knowing uncovering there are more similarities there than differences.

Cidade dos Homens seems to intentionally touch on subject matter that is either taboo or critically important. It does this through weaving in real people like in the episode Dois Pra Brasilia (Two Tickets to Brasilia) in which the other protagonist, Acerola, is trying to help a girl he really likes by traveling with her to visit her grandfather who's in jail. Its an all day trip to the jail located outside of Rio de Janeiro. Throughout the course of the episode several real-life individuals with family members as inmates are profiled as they talk about the challenges of being a mother, wife, or daughter of someone who's in jail.

The show was clearly intended for young people growing up in the favelas, the ghettos, and the barrios of the world. Its like Sesame Street, if Big Bird were packing heat and an emphasis on the street. Laranjinha and Acerola are constantly placed in difficult situations and the shows realism really comes to light at these points as the boys are not immune from mistakes and consequences.

The last episode I'll highlight is one that really touched me personally, in Pais e Filhos (Fathers and Sons) Laranjinha and Acerola apply for social security cards so they can pick up jobs. This process leads them to start thinking about their futures and specifically leads Laranjinha on a quest to find his father. He places an ad in the "Wanted" pages of a newspaper with his picture and some details about himself and his mother. He waits for a call that never comes and breaks down crying at one point in the episode feeling unwanted. Acerola, like a true friend, is there to comfort him saying, "You've got your father right here, Acerola is your father."

If you're not sold on it yet, here are a couple other things to note:
-The music soundtrack from episode to episode is dope. From funk to pop to hip hop the show always has a banging track.
-The show really picks up after the first couple seasons as they begin connecting storylines from one episode to the next.
-Lastly, if you haven't seen the movie City of Men, then watch the show first, a lot of the plot lines of the movie make more sense once you've seen the TV series.

The show is available on DVD with all 4 seasons compiled on 19 episodes, so Netflix it or track it down, well worth your money.

"Stop Watching, Get Out Onto The Streets"

2008-12-19T08:04:00.000-08:00

That was the message from the protesters in Athens who seized a local TV station following the riots prompted by the shooting death of a 15 year-old at the hands of a police officer. Stop watching and get out onto the streets. A call to action that has touched a nerve within the youth of Athens to the point that their only means of resolution is through confrontation. Protesters are demanding a change in government because the tragic shooting of a young kid was only the tip of the iceberg.

In Minneapolis, we recently had a similar incident involving our own police department and the death of Quincy "Q the Blacksmith" Smith, a former disc jockey with the radio station KMOJ. He was tasered to death by police officers after reports that he was threatening his girlfriend with a rifle. I found out via text-message from a friend and I've come to question my own reaction. Upon reading it, although disturbed, I honestly wasn't surprised. It speaks to a larger problem which is the de-sensitized nature of death of people of color at the hands of law enforcement agencies. It's this environment of apathy that breeds inaction. Ironic, since only weeks before our hunger for change was the cause for taking to the streets in celebration.

The police officer in Athens is facing murder charges while the Minneapolis P.D. has their officers on paid leave. Maybe the comparison is unfair and the circumstances drastically different, but the question of accountability is the same. What are we going to do about cops and excessive force?

Practical vs. Perceived Necessity

2008-12-15T08:38:00.000-08:00

Now that the holiday season has hit its eye of the hurricane, I thought I'd take a minute to talk about consumerism. Black Friday, as many of you know, is the day after Thanksgiving in which retailers across the nation offer bargains up the ying-yang. The best savings are offered to those consumers willing to get up at the crack of dawn and wait in line for that new TV or video game or clothing at a discount price.

Now this particular Black Friday 2008 had a couple of interesting dynamics. One, we're in the middle of a recession. Families are cutting back on spending and some don't have any money to spend in the first place.

The other dynamic was retailers and their fight to stay in business. They offered bargains up like it was charity and the outcome...a highly productive Black Friday for companies across the nation.

These two dynamics seem to be in conflict, at least to me but somehow people still went out and shopped. The hysteria was so overwhelming that one Wal-Mart employee in Nassau, NY was killed by a stampede of people looking to get a good deal. Another two people died after a shooting in a Toys R Us store in Palm Desert, CA. Now the official report says that Black Friday had nothing to do with it but at the very least they were there to shop.

This leads me to the point of this blog posting. We have been socialized to consume regardless of the current economic climate and the ability to purchase goods. Its a disease that makes us believe that wasteful consumption is our only means of consumption period. To me it raises this interesting dichotomy of practical necessities vs. perceived necessities.

I remember visiting El Salvador as a kid because my family is from there. By Salvadoran standards, my family was solidly middle class. To me the most interesting thing about life in El Salvador was the simplicity of consumerism. My uncles were, and still are, commodity traders. They sell basic agricultural products at wholesale prices to smaller shops located in our town's central market. Most families in my town shop on a daily basis, but its almost exclusively for food (rice, beans, cheese, vegetables, coffee etc.) Luxuries for my family were things like fast-food, chocolate, soda, ice cream, and jewelry.

Now growing up in Los Angeles I was exposed to a different way of life. We are the capitol of glamour and celebrity. I remember every year around Christmas time I'd drive down 6th Street on my way to work and check out all the beautiful houses with the excessive holiday decorations and lights. Of course I didn't live in any of those houses and our decorations usually consisted of Christmas lights wrapped around our iron window guards. But I knew that as a kid growing up, consumerism was at the heart of my every desire. Only for me what mattered was the latest brand name clothing, or the most recent video game. [I grew out of that pretty quickly] For other members of my family it was about having a car, or fancy electronic equipment. Remember however, that for the most part in L.A. we were considered low income and we probably had no business buying some of things we purchased.

I've come to later find out, this irrational behavior is known as "conspicuous consumption", a term coined by economist Thorsten Veblen (pictured on the right). Now the term was originally applied to the up and coming class of the late 19th century, the nouveau riche who flamboyantly displayed their wealth. For me, I don't necessarily see wealth being a prerequisite to this behavior cause I'm certain that if you grew up in neighborhoods like the one I grew up in, then you remember that family who would always buy you name-brand gifts in order to display to you that they were doing alright. For example one year, this family, who shall remain nameless, gave me this Sean John long sleeve shirt for Christmas. Now the shirt had Sean John plastered in giant letters on the front of it and they made sure to tell me it was Sean John even after I opened it. Thanks, but I've never worn Sean John in my life.

The point being that in my neighborhood so many people lived beyond their means but it wasn't simply to try to "Keep up with the Jonesses", I believe that me, my family, and other people in my hood truly believed that wasteful consumption was a real necessity. Just like the 2,000 shoppers who trampled over the employee in Wal-Mart really believed they needed that High-Definition television for $300. Hell of a deal, but perceived necessity.

I go back to my other family in El Salvador and think about how they evaluate what's needed and what's not needed. Now they're no different than us in terms of desire, they certainly would love to have the nice clothes, the cool cars, the mp3 players etc, yet they never give in. Generally I think its because they live in a social climate that is constantly dealing with a scarcity of resources and survival. Food, shelter, and clothing are your basic needs.

As the holiday season reaches its second phase what will we be tempted with this time around? Ultimately it comes down to what we value and appreciate. "We are what we eat" but more importantly our values reflect what we consume. So before reaching into your wallet to get those new shoes ask yourself, "Is this really a practical need or is it just my imagination?"

Illuminous 3 Album Release 12/11!!!!

2008-12-11T06:08:00.000-08:00

It's finally here. The Illuminous 3 album release show tonight at the 7th Street Entry. Its gonna be on and poppin, it will probably sell out with touching room only. This is one you're not going to want to miss.

Illuminous 3 is a local hip hop group with roots in the Southside of Minneapolis and while they've been creating music for several years they're finally releasing a full length album for the first time. Just like Ill 3, all the production behind this album is homegrown with cuts produced by Noam the Drummer, Medium Zach, Brandon Allday, Benzilla, King Karnov and Mavin MC.

Be there and support local hip hop. Doors open at 9pm and $7 gets you access to the party.

DJ Miguel Vargas-Filler (2008)

2008-12-04T21:07:00.000-08:00

Feelin moody yeah yeah
Very moody yeah yeah

From the moment Bomb the Bass hits your ears with "Moody" you're sucked into a world of sound, grooves, and funk. Filler is the first mixtape produced by my friend and musicologist DJ Miguel Vargas. According to Miguel the concept for his mixtape began with Michael Jackson and the album Thriller.

A litle background on Thriller, it is by far one the most beautifully constructed albums of all time and if you haven't listened to it from start to finish I suggest you do so you can understand what I mean. It strays from being one dimensional and and takes you through a musical medley of funk, disco, soul, soft rock, and pop.

Filler brings together some of the best the 80s had to offer including Prince, Stevie Wonder, Chic, Lakeside, El Debarge and many more. You'll even get a few hidden gems like a Ray Parker Jr. track (He's the guy who did the Ghostbusters song) called "A Woman Needs Love" which is a tight music video. If you didn't get a chance to download this classic mixtape after its release earlier this summer then you're in luck, I've posted a fresh link down below for your downloading pleasure.

You can catch DJ Miguel Vargas spinning alongside myself at our regular show "Funk Me or Mass Suicide" every 2nd Tuesday at the Dinkytowner Cafe in Minneapolis from 9pm-2am. Next show: December 9th.

To Download Filler click here

[Downloading instructions & FYI: I've posted the link on Zshare and I will let you know ahead of time that the website is supported through ads, and therefore you'll see some less than appropriate ads but there's nothing we can do about that. Make sure your pop up blocker is temporarily off, and click on "download". If an ad pops up, wait for it to load and click on "skip this ad" on the top right hand corner. You'll need to click one more time to start your download "Click here to begin download" and you'll be set. Sorry if its a bit complicated but its the only way to get you a file of this size. Enjoy!]

Track listing:
01-Bomb the Bass-Moody
02-Chic-Dance Dance Dance
03-Mary Jane Girls-Candyman
04-David Bowie-Fashion
05-Grace Jones-Pull Up to the Bumper
06-Isley Brothers-Footsteps in the Dark
07-Yaz-Situation
08-Human League-(Keep Feeling) Fascination
09-Talking Heads-Life During Wartime
10-Lakeside-Shot of Love
11-Ricky James-Coldblooded
12-Stevie Wonder-All I Do
13-Ray Parker Jr.-A Woman Needs Love (Just Like You Do)
14-El Debarge-All This Love
15-Prince-Cool
16-Sheila E.-Glamorous Life
17-Prince-The Beautiful Ones
18-Kool & the Gang-Pass It On

Fiber Pills...The Joker...and Me on Listen to MPLS Episode 22

2008-12-02T10:20:00.000-08:00

This past Sunday I was a guest on Listen to M.P.L.S. a local podcast produced by Noam the Drummer, Alicia Steele, and FranzDiego.com (see November 5th blog). Please go to Listen to MPLS and follow the link to download the episode.

Its my favorite podcast in the Twin Cities and I want to thank them for having me on it was a fun and memorable experience.

[FYI: The episodes are stored on Zshare.com and their advertisements can be PG-13 rated, sorry we can't control that.]

The Shock Doctrine

2008-11-20T13:15:00.000-08:00

Naomi Klein is an award winning journalist and syndicated columnist for the New York Times. In her most recent book, The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism, Klein takes a look at how free market capitalism have come to dominate the world through the use of the economic shock doctrine and disaster capitalism.

Basically she argues that corporations and governments have learned how to profit from disasters and crisis. She talks about the effects that natural disasters, war and crisis can have on the general population and describes people as being in a state of shock. For example, think about how you were shortly after the attacks of September 11th. I know that I was in a state of shock and disbelief, and its this vulnerability that she argues is the opportunity that governments and corporations seek to implement policies and plans that under normal circumstances would be unacceptable and unpopular. (Like for example a $25 billion of taxpayer money to bailout the auto industry.) Her book analyzes the last 30 years of world history and she find numerous examples "shock economics".

She was recently interviewed on Democracy Now! where she spoke about the current financial bailout plans and connected it to her theory of the economic shock doctrine. I've edited the interview so you can listen to it without interruptions. (Click Here)

And below, this is a short film directed by Jonas Cuaron and produced by Alfonso Cuaron (Y Tu Mama Tambien) which is narrated by Naomi Klein entitled "The Shock Doctrine".

It's About Rights Man!

2008-11-17T10:53:00.000-08:00

I was taken aback recently by a couple articles on CNN. The first was about a catholic priest in South Carolina who's been asking people in his congregation to repent because they voted for Barack Obama. The other had to do with the surge in gun sales following Obama's election.

My first reaction is...really? I mean I can't say that I'm surprised but to me the sheer ignorance and fear that some people are experiencing is something that has to be dealt with. Both have to do with the issue of rights. On the one hand you have social conservatives who believe that abortion=murder [but the death penalty is ok?] and that women do not have the right to decide what to do with their bodies. Then you have individuals who believe that they have the right to bear arms as it's stated in the 2nd amendment and are afraid that Obama will curtail those liberties.

What upsets me about the first article is the audacity of individuals to preach from the pulpit and characterize a whole congregation as sinners because they exercised their right to vote. I believe that on some level people vote for individuals who most closely align with their values & morals. Give the people in your congregation a little more credit and believe that they made the decision that best reflected their personal beliefs. One issue alone should not cloud judgment and if it did why hasn't the priest asked that while you're on the topic of repenting, please be sure to repent for supporting John McCain who shared similar opinions on the issue of abortion. Maybe not this election cycle, but in the past he's certainly been a Maverick.

On abortion, what I can't stand is viewing this issue from a right and wrong perspective. To me it's not that simple. In the most idealistic sense what the United States offers us is options. We can choose where to shop, how to dress, what to say, who to be with, and yes what to do with my body. Now I know I'll never be faced with that decision because I'm a man, but how can I or any of us in good conscience take away the right of an individual to choose what's in their best interest. Conservatives always say that they want smaller government because they don't want the government all up in their business. I agree, and I also don't want other people's religious beliefs all up in mine. To me pro-choice doesn't simply mean abortion. Pro-choice means the ability of individuals to weigh all of their options and their current circumstances in life that leads them to an educated decision. That includes simply having a child, adoption, and yes abortion among other options. The point is to be given a choice because every woman's pregnancy is not the same; the circumstances leading up to a pregnancy are not always a matter of choice, meaning how a woman gets pregnant may or may not have been consentual. So again, how can we in good conscience take that right away.

As for gun sales going up I'm all for preserving people's rights but more needs to be done to ensure that guns are in the hands of responsible individuals. How many stories have surfaced recently that deal with gun violence? Check these out:

Klan Initiation Death, Spat Between Girls Leads To Gunfire in School, Man Shot by 8 year old, Trick or Treater Shot to Death

What's difficult is watching children be the victims and perpetrators of these crimes. If we value life so much why isn't more being done to insure that less guns are within the reach of people who can cause harm with them. Killing is a sin, according to the ten commandments, so why isn't the church asking gun owners to repent for purchasing a weapon. If abortion=murder then weapons=murder as well. But I'm certain if I engaged in a conversation with individuals who favor the right to bear arms they'd say "It's not that simple. It's about choice and it's about my rights."

Which leads me to my conclusion, when it comes to gun control, for people on the opposite side of Charlton Heston, what they're seeking is safety and while some say erradicate the 2nd amendment altogether, most simply believe in tougher laws which reinforce people's rights. On abortion, conservatives certainly don't give Pro-Choicers that consideration at all and a curtailment of people's rights is their only solution. This seems hypocritical and unfortunate that such a double standard exists in the first place.

Ticket Out of the Barrio: Take Me Out to the Ballgame

2008-11-13T10:50:00.001-08:00

This is the second part in a two part installment about the L.A. Dodgers and Dodger Stadium. This part focuses on my personal history with the franchise and its significance in my life.

It was a Monday evening, May 14, 1990. Game time was 7:30pm as usual. The Dodgers were playing the Montreal Expos. A couple things made this game unique: 1) this was my first Dodger game ever and 2) Fernando Valenzuela was pitching.

I was six years old, and a few hours prior to game-time I had no idea I'd be attending my first baseball game. My mother's boyfriend, Juan, picked me up late in the afternoon and told me he was going to take me to see the Dodgers. I remember we stopped at the Unical 76 gas station and picked up our tickets. [They used to sell tickets out of the gas stations back in the day.]

Fernandomania!
Juan was ecstatic, he loved the Dodgers and I couldn't understand why? But history will show you at the time Juan and other baseball fans were swept up in Fernandomania! This of course is the name given to the hysteria that surrounded a pitcher for the Dodgers, Fernando Valenzuela.

Now Fernando Valenzuela wasn't the first Latino or Mexican baseball player but he certainly was the most dominant at the time. This puggy Mexicano from Sonora singlehandedly diversified the Dodger fan base. [In 1980, 8 percent of attendees at games were Latino, by 1991 that number was over 30 percent.]

My first game I was able to witness a legend, El Toro, as he was nicknamed by Latino fans. He pitched the Dodgers to victory using his trademark awkward delivery. Right before releasing the ball in the middle of his wind-up he'd shift his eyes towards the sky. [see picture above] Some say he was looking towards the heavens before unleashing his pitch, others...the more practical people say it's because that's how he was taught when he played for the Galapagos Lizards.

Dodger Stadium
The energy in Dodger Stadium was electric. An afternoon breeze hitting your face as the sky transformed from a light blue to the purple of dusk. The crowd was a sea of blue with brown faces and the occasional peanut-man tossing a bag 10 rows deep. The accuracy was astonishing, almost as good as El Toro. We won that night, 3-2, and I left the game a converted Dodger fan.

In the years following my first game, Dodger Stadium would come to represent an escape from reality. I'll explain. See I grew up in the neighborhood of Koreatown in the Mid-Wilshire District of L.A. The community was a melting pot of Central Americans, Koreans, and Mexicans. We were a lower class neighborhood with overcrowded schools and gang infested streets. A block from my apartment men would stand on the corners everyday hoping to score some work doing almost anything for a cheap price: landscaping, painting, carpentry, construction, you name it. At night Koreatown was a medley of gunshots, police sirons and helicopters and needless to say it wasn't the best of places to raise a family. It was also a place that could push you in the wrong direction if you didn't keep busy.

Youth Baseball
For me, my escape was baseball. I learned to play from Juan, who apart from taking me to my first Dodger game also bought me my first baseball glove and bat. Both were "Dodger Blue". When I was old enough I joined a baseball league sponsored by the Normandie Recreation Center. We had eight teams in our league, all of which were named after pro baseball teams. I played for the White Sox (to this day I'm salty over not having been picked by the Dodgers). During the season my team would practice twice a week with games on Saturday. On the days that my team didn't practice I'd be at a nearby baseball field with some friends practicing our hitting, pitching and baserunning. Baseball and the Dodgers deserve all the credit for me staying out of trouble as a kid, truth be told who knows what I would've done without it.

Passing the Torch
I recently joined a group of friends for drinks at a bar in Minneapolis called Buster's on 28th. When I showed up everyone started at me. Why? Well I was decked out all in blue with a Dodgers hat, a Dodgers shirt, and a Dodgers warm up jacket. My team was in the playoffs on the verge of sweeping the Chicago Cubs. I got made fun of a lot that evening, I guess Minnesota Twins fans just don't understand.

I think about the negativity surrounding the barrio I grew up in and the Dodgers represented a ticket out of the barrio, maybe only for a few hours, but just long enough for it to leave a lasting impression on you.

I tried going to at least two games every season, if I could afford it. Even after leaving L.A. and moving to Minnesota, I've always planned my trips home around the Dodgers schedule hoping to catch them during a home-stand. The last game I attended was in August of 2007. I brought my younger brother [picture left] along to our first game together. The Dodgers were playing the Washington Nationals. A couple things were unique about that game: 1) I bought my brother his first Dodger hat, and 2) the Washington Nationals used to be known as the Montreal Expos.

Ticket Out of the Barrio: From Chavez Ravine to Dodger Stadium

2008-11-11T08:31:00.000-08:00

This is the first installment in a two part series about Dodger Stadium. For those that don't know, I grew up in Los Angeles and a big Dodger fan. Here's the real story behind one of my favorite teams of all time.

It used to be a small tight-knit community nestled inside a large Metropolis. The dirt roads, small houses, children playing in the streets and small gardens resembled a rural pueblo more than a neighborhood in the city of Los Angeles. The community was known as Chavez Ravine, named after Julian Chavez, one of the first Los Angeles county supervisors in the 1800s. The over 300 acre community was split up into three neighborhoods: Palo Verde; Bishop, and La Loma. It was home to generations of Mexican Americans, many driven to this community because housing discrimination made it difficult to find a place to live anywhere else in the city. They were self-sufficient by growing their own food, building their own schools and churches.

By the late 1940s the city of Los Angeles was eyeing Chavez Ravine for potential redevelopment opportunities. The small single family homes, the dirt roads and community gardens were seen as an “eyesore” by people outside of Chavez Ravine, but for those living within; it provided them with property, education, and a place to call home. In 1949, The Los Angeles County Housing Authority received money from the Federal Housing Authority to implement a new redevelopment plan in Chavez Ravine. The initial plan, known as “Elysian Park Heights”, would build over two dozen 13 story buildings, over 160 townhomes, in addition to more playgrounds and new schools. Using the power of imminent domain, the Housing Authority forced most of the families to sell their property over to the government in order to clear out the land and prepare for construction. By 1952 most of the Chavez Ravine property owners had left with little or no compensation, and the remaining residents were labeled as “squatters” placing them at a disadvantage to receive any money at all in exchange for their land.

An architectural drawing of the original plans "Elysian Park Heights"

The main proponent behind the redevelopment plan was Frank Wilkinson, the assistant director of the L.A. County Housing Authority at the time. Supporters of the public project saw an opportunity for the city government to provide for “improved” housing conditions for poor residents of Los Angeles.

However, Cold War politics and in particular the “Red Scare” era of the 1950s placed the Elysian Park Heights project in jeopardy. Politicians within the city of Los Angeles began labeling the public project as a socialist plot. Corporations saw Chavez Ravine as a business opportunity for new for-profit development. A campaign of propaganda supported by local corporate interests and conservative politicians ensued, and by the time Norris Poulson was elected mayor of Los Angeles in 1953, the public project was doomed.

The City of Los Angeles managed to buy the 300 acres back from the Federal Housing Authority at a fraction of the cost with the stipulation that they’d use the land for some public purpose. That purpose came in the form of a new stadium for a professional baseball team. The Brooklyn Dodgers were looking to relocate after failing to get approval for a new stadium in New York. The city laid Chavez Ravine out on a platter for them to take and the Dodgers took advantage.

While many of the residents of Chavez Ravine left quietly and with some compensation, others did not and instead refused to leave the land, sparking a decade long struggle known as the Battle of Chavez Ravine. Aurora Vargas was among the last few to be forcibly removed by the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) in May of 1959. Her father, Manuel Arechiga would hold out a little bit longer, living in a tent next to the ruins of his former home. Eventually, he too would be forcibly removed by LAPD.

Photo of homes being demolished in Chavez Ravine

Chavez Ravine comes to represent a one-way ticket out of the barrio. Some residents left willingly with some hope that eventually they’d be able to move back into the public housing. Unfortunately, this story of the forced removal of Chicanos is not an isolated incident; today the same can be seen happening to the historical Segundo Barrio neighborhood in El Paso, Texas. Across the country, low-income marginalized communities are always victims of corporate and political interests. I’ve seen first-hand what it’s like for people to be forced from their homes to make way for “redevelopment”.

Although I’m a Dodgers fan, knowing the real history of Chavez Ravine makes you think about the systematic racism that was rampant then and still very prevalent today.

All Photos by Don Norwood

From Daggering to Sharkula: Listen to MPLS

2008-11-05T11:42:00.000-08:00

Alright, post election...you're probably wondering what the hell to do with your time now, no more CNN, Democracy Now! or BBC election updates. No more Barack Obama "Please Donate" emails or text messages. No SNL Debate Parodies or Mark Wahlberg talking to animals, it seems like life will revert back to being boring...

...well time to take your post-election angst and check out my favorite podcast in the Twin Cities Listen to MPLS hosted by three very talented individuals: FranzDiego.com, Noam the Drummer, and Alicia Steele.

The beauty of this show is the sheer randomness of discussion that occurs within the 60 minute podcast. Instead of feeling like it's a podcast, it plays out like a conversation that's taking place at the Dinkytowner Cafe on the 2nd Tuesday of every month [yeah that's a shameless plug for you to come check out Miguel Vargas & the DJ] but in all seriousness the three hosts have developed great chemistry with each other and are certainly unafraid to disagree which usually makes for some fabulous material. In their short run they've accumulated quite the list of guest hosts including: Benzilla, New MC of Kanser, Twinkie Jiggles, Greg Grease, Trama and on its most recent show MoOks.

Click for the latest episode.

The Audacity of Vote

2008-11-04T07:39:00.000-08:00

9:03PM Nov. 3rd-My phone starts ringing as I'm watching Monday Night Football. It's a 213 number so I figure it's someone in my family. On the other end is my Aunt Carmen (pictured left). She began the conversation by telling me that she was getting a sample ballot ready and that she would be voting for McCain. I got rather upset and started lecturing her, to which she responded by laughing knowing she had just pulled a fast one on me.

She was calling for advice because it hadn't dawned on me that just this past year my aunt became a citizen of the United States, alongside her husband. Both of them would be voting for the first time. She wasn't calling for advice on any particular candidate 'cause she said, "I'm a Democrat, I'll just mark all the ones that say Democrat." Not the most pragmatic approach, but hey it could be worse. She actually wanted some help on the different propositions that were going to be on the ballot. Unfortunately being in Minnesota, I'm not really familiar with any of them, but I quickly jumped on a computer and checked out the League of Young Voters Progressive Voter Guide for California and sure enough they had a list of all the propositions, endorsements, and explanations for each. It was kind of fun comparing my aunt's answers to those of the voter guide because more often than not she was voting conservatively. I managed to get her to switch her votes on most of the propositions with the exception of the Gay Marriage Ban. She may be registered as a Democrat but she's still a social conservative.

I gotta say, I was surprised at how excited she was to vote. For her this had been a long time coming. She's been in the United States since 1986, and for all intended purposes she raised me during the day while my mother worked. Last time I was home about a year ago she was studying for the citizens exam. And frankly at this point she probably knows more about the U.S. constitution, the Bill of Rights, and past U.S. presidents more than I do. She even quizzed mme one time asking me "How many amendments are there in the constitution?" I didn't know off the top of my head, but she quickly replied, "27!" It's an odd, but pleasant feeling, knowing that I'll be voting this year with other members of my family.

7:35AM Nov. 4th-I'm standing in line just outside the Langford Recreational Center waiting to cast my vote. It wasn't as long a line as I had expected, but then again I couldn't imagine my neighborhood really getting flooded with voters since I'm sure there aren't a whole lot of us. One thing struck me as odd...every single person, after having voted, for some reason reacted the same way upon exiting the building. All of them would open the door, look at the unenthusiastic people in line and then deliver this cheesy smile as if they had just gotten off of a wild rollercoaster. [See picture above; thank you Google.]

I grew up in Los Angeles and I can remember seeing this same cheesy smile from people getting off of Goliath at Six Flags Magic Mountain. I never knew why they smiled like that, maybe it was because the rest of us were still waiting in line to get a piece of the action.

Anywho, I get inside and I moved along to the Same-Day Registration table where there were a couple of Election Officials getting people signed up. I gotta say, I don't usually rep Minnesota, but on this one they got it right, the process was simple and I was well on my way to voting. I made it to my private miniature cubicle and then I pulled out my Voter Guide, courtesy of the League of Pissed Off Voters and began marking away my choices. Before filling in my dot on Obama's name, I have to say that I did pause to take in the moment. Not because I was voting for a "Black" president or anything like that, for me it was the culmination of a personal journey that took me through a lot of "firsts". Obama was the first politician I've ever contributed money to. This year was the first time I've ever been involved in a campaign to Get-Out-The-Vote. And Obama himself, will be the first president I've ever voted for. My first crack at this was in 2004 and I didn't like Kerry at all so I didn't vote, but this time around was different.

I wrapped up my ballot, slid it in the machine, grabbed a red "I Voted" sticker [thanks to the older gentlemen who wouldn't let me leave unless I picked one up] put it on, and exited the Langford Recreational Center. I gotta be honest, I couldn't help but crack a cheesy smile, it felt good.

Chicana Rock in the Twin Cities

2008-10-31T08:31:00.000-07:00

In the last three weeks I've seen Girl In A Coma (GIAC) perform twice. Kinda odd for me cause I don't check out rock concerts all that often, but in GIAC's case they're a wonderful exception. A friend of mine got me hooked on this band about a year ago, which is an entirely Chicana rock band. This San Antonio band is comprised of Nina (vocals/guitar) and Phanie Diaz (drums) and Jenn Alva (bass).

Their debut album Both Before I'm Gone came out in May 2007 and it is a compilation of the best material they've produced in the last 7 years. I had a chance to check them out at the State Theatre a couple weeks ago when they opened up for Tegan and Sara, and then most recently last night at the Pi Bar in Minneapolis.

I'll make no bones about it, they rocked both venues and my general opinion is that they should've been headlining both shows. Now I know there's a bunch of Progressive Minnesotans who are scoughing at the idea that Tegan and Sara could not match up to the raw power of Chicana Rock, but the truth is GIAC brings a unique sound. Nina's vocals teeter on the edge of insanity (in a good way) and fluid emotions and it comes off genuine which for me is important.

Now as a spectator, Pi was certainly the better venue, with the intimate setting you were able to get real close to the stage and while standing enjoy a great show. Now I'll admit I have a crush on Nina, the lead vocalist, I mean how could you not...she hit the stage wearing a Frida Kahlo tank top and some Dickies pants with tattoos on both arms in plain view. Enough of the oodling, but real talk...check out Girl In A Coma, they're a badass Chicana Rock Band that'll have you nodding your head and blasting your earphones. Here's one of my personal favorites "Road to Home":

Ren is indeed a DJ...Chappelle Show is Missed....and Carlos Mencia Sucks

2008-10-27T09:22:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Ren Is A DJ. My name is Steven Renderos and I'm originally from Los Angeles, CA but I've been chillin (literally) in Minnesota for the last 5 years. I've been DJ'n for about four years and to be honest I'm nowhere near being as good as I'd like to be. I spin at the Dinkytowner every 2nd Tuesday of the month with my homeboy Miguel Vargas, you'll be sure to get notified when the next party hits.

Thanks for becoming a part of my world through the wonders of blogging. In "Ren Is A DJ" you can expect to read about all the random shit I'm involved in and also be privvy to some great conversations around a variety of topics. To start it off I wanna talk about a couple of new sketch comedy shows that just hit the scene.

First and foremost you can't talk sketch comedy without mentioning the Chappelle Show. Needless to say, Chappelle Show was a Mecca for people with an educated perspective on race. He was able to blend social commentary with satire, very much in the same way the Daily Show does too, only in Chappelle's case it dealt with race, and although his content pushed the conventional boundaries of politcal correctness, at the same time he never appeared to be mocking or tokenizing his own people. Which is why he appealed to so many viewers like myself who knew the system was fucked up, but we just never had the words to put it together. Unfortunately his brand of comedy was also popular within a demographic that I don't think Chappelle ever intended on reaching.

I met this one guy in college, I believe his name was Dave, he was this football player from a small town in Minnesota with less than 500 people, entirely white. When I first met him, he asked me about my favorite show, I mentioned a few then said Chappelle Show. Immediately he began praising the show as being one of the funniest show he'd ever seen, and even recalled a particular sketch that was memorable. At first I was impressed that Chappelle's show had become that popular, that a small-town football player in Minnesota would be diggin Chappelle, a brother from D.C. But when I thought about it some more I started thinking about the meaning behind the show's comedy, and seriously questioned if this dude even got it? Cause a lot of people like Dave who were fans of the show had a hard time talking about race, but suddenly they could laugh about it? Hence why the show doesn't exist anymore.

Comedy Central obviously knew they had a formula for a show that touched a nerve with people and so ignorantly enough they thought they could replace Chappelle. They brought it Carlos Mencia, and I'll be upfront about this...I don't like Carlos Mencia, and I certainly despise his show. I was so irked by Mencia's success with his show because it could not stand up whatsoever to Chappelle Show. But, Mencia filled a void with his show, not for viewers like myself and my peers who got the social commentary from Chappelle, but instead the other demographic that wanted to simply be able to laugh about race. First and foremost I don't ever call myself a "beaner", it aint the equivalent to the "N" word for African Americans cause I sure as hell am not trying to reclaim beaner for nobody. Secondly, its been highly publicized that Mencia stole jokes from other comedians in the business and it's frustrating that one of our only few Latino shows features a guy with that sort of baggage.

There are signs of hope though, but in this Post-Chappelle era that we live in it'll be tough to match its influence and impact. First there's Chocolate News which is hosted by David Alan Grier. What's most enjoyable about his show is that first and foremost they distinguished themselves from Chappelle through the format in which it's presented. Mencia's first mistake among many was to try to replicate Chappelle...and it failed miserably. Did I mention I don't like Mencia? Chocolate News plays off like the offspring of the Daily Show & 20/20. So far most of their sketch comedy has been humorous at the very least if not witty, definitely worth watching.

Then there's D.L. Hughley Breaks the News. One of the Original Kings of Comedy is heading his own comedy news show on CNN. That's probably the most intriguing part about it so far, only I wonder about how successful it can be at CNN. Remember, journalism is supposed to be objective and balanced and clearly DL does not cover up his political preferences at all. Not that it's a bad thing, but I have a feeling others at CNN may not be too comfortable. The first half of the show was pretty tough to watch, some of the pieces he presented were just plainly not funny at all, and his monologue seemed very forced. I think right now he's struggling with being himself but towards the end of the show he seemed to hit his stride. He delivered one of the best lines regarding Sarah Palin:

"Sarah Palin says she has foreign policy experience because from Alaska she can see Russia...well from my house I can see the moon but that don't make me an Astronaut."

While the recent wave of new shows can probably be attributed to presidential nominee Barack Obama, for me Chappelle opened the door and redefined conventional sketch comedy.