martes, junio 14, 2005
The Pupule Bridge
Okay kids, so basically the Pupule Luau was a great sucess. We had incredible weather in Cuernavaca, already known around the world as the city of the Eternal Spring. The pool was heated very nicely, the trampoline launched many of us into different orbits, and the various wooden swings hanging from trees were a nice escape from the hustle and bustle of Mexico City, the biggest city in the world. To add to this already good recipe for a summer luau, Patrick´s house assistant, Mari, really stepped up to the plate. She literally said to us, just give me the ingredientes and I will perform a one-woman Iron Chef competition. There is no need to beat around the bush, or to even be modest about this woman´s culinary skills. She delivered an incredible paella with ribs, shrimp, seafood, and chicken. Before the paella was ready, she even prepared some salmon & cheese rolls for the 70 plus crowd of hungry hungry Hawaiians. The Pupule Luau was the bridge to summer 2005, and for those of us that crossed it, we are now marinated enough to survive the summer sizzle that awaits us! Aloha to all! Cheers!
jueves, junio 09, 2005
The Pupule Luau - Cuerna
Aloha to all you akamai (smart, intelligent) people living in Mexico City!
If you received this e'mail, you have been exclusively and cordially invited to actively partake in a centuries-old Hawaiian-Luau kahiko (tradition) this upcoming Sabado Tarde 11 de Junio in the land of the eternal primavera - none other than lani (heavenly) CUERNAVACA!!
We will have a heated pool, jacuzzi and trampoline ready for all you wahines (girls) and kanes (boys)!
In addition, there will be a lot of kau kau (grub = bbq style) for all you paniolos (cowboys) & malihinis (visitors)!
Guests are strongly encouraged to fully embrace the Hawaiian tradition in Cuerna this June 11th!!
Mahalo (thank you) in advance to our kahuna, Patrick V, for his ho´okipa (hospitality) as we holoholo (travel) and descend onto Cuerna for this essential summer ritual!
During his Stanford-Palo Alto years, Patrick diligently studied and perfected his understanding of the makahiki (ancient hawaiian celebration of life)! So, we are definitely in good hands...!
Wikiwiki (quickly) reply if interested in joining us for your introduction to Summer 2005 to receive the followup e'mail with more logistical information...regarding housing, transportation, etc. We are tentatively asking for a kala $ contribution of 100 pesos for the kau kau! Drinks will be provided but BYOB is always encouraged!
We hope you can jump on this Endless Summer bandwagon and help make this luau as pupule (crazy) as kanaka (humanly) possible!!
What: Pupule Luau
When: Sabado June 11th 4pm-?
Where: Patrick´s Casa en Cuernavaca
Who: U
Why: No mames! Embrace tu mexican verano...
Your kolohe (rascal) coordinator,
EDU
If you received this e'mail, you have been exclusively and cordially invited to actively partake in a centuries-old Hawaiian-Luau kahiko (tradition) this upcoming Sabado Tarde 11 de Junio in the land of the eternal primavera - none other than lani (heavenly) CUERNAVACA!!
We will have a heated pool, jacuzzi and trampoline ready for all you wahines (girls) and kanes (boys)!
In addition, there will be a lot of kau kau (grub = bbq style) for all you paniolos (cowboys) & malihinis (visitors)!
Guests are strongly encouraged to fully embrace the Hawaiian tradition in Cuerna this June 11th!!
Mahalo (thank you) in advance to our kahuna, Patrick V, for his ho´okipa (hospitality) as we holoholo (travel) and descend onto Cuerna for this essential summer ritual!
During his Stanford-Palo Alto years, Patrick diligently studied and perfected his understanding of the makahiki (ancient hawaiian celebration of life)! So, we are definitely in good hands...!
Wikiwiki (quickly) reply if interested in joining us for your introduction to Summer 2005 to receive the followup e'mail with more logistical information...regarding housing, transportation, etc. We are tentatively asking for a kala $ contribution of 100 pesos for the kau kau! Drinks will be provided but BYOB is always encouraged!
We hope you can jump on this Endless Summer bandwagon and help make this luau as pupule (crazy) as kanaka (humanly) possible!!
What: Pupule Luau
When: Sabado June 11th 4pm-?
Where: Patrick´s Casa en Cuernavaca
Who: U
Why: No mames! Embrace tu mexican verano...
Your kolohe (rascal) coordinator,
EDU
lunes, junio 06, 2005
All Oysters Should Have Pearls
¨All Oysters Should Have Pearls¨
A short story by Abe Rivas
He had eyes that were complemented by the luminosity of an electric lamp
into dark green, straight black hair and he wore a hat just the way
the baseball pitchers wore it; just like Gagne, nice and old and down
- all the way down. He was tall, yet short, a mixture of both, and he
wore ripped jeans with a green-purple collar shirt. He sat straight
waiting at a bus stop pretending to smoke a Camel cigarette the way
movie stars did it; only he knew it was wrong to do so, hence he
simulated with a black pen.
Then, as if he had realized the secret to everybody’s life were in
the scriptures, he decided to walk instead of wait.
Groggily he ambulated on the paved sidewalk as if he were walking on
a wire in a circus. He walked in a kind of sadness that became
depression once something could be read, and in his case it was a
letter. He reached into his coat pocket, the coat of which he was
holding on his right hand, and took out a crumbled letter. A crumbled
paper that if it could have been human; would have seemed as if it had
been through countless removal surgeries, awful surgeries and plastic
ones too, given that it also seemed as if the owner of the paper had
taken the time to mend whatever damage that had been committed to it.
He put his coat on and reread out softly for the thirty third and
half time, roughly whispering to himself, the letter:
ILLINOIS, CHICAGO
March 7, 2004
Dear Agustin,
Out east it’s nice and cold. Consider yourself lucky you’re out there
west, ‘cause it’s a cold, dreary, depressing and windy city, Chicago.
Man I miss the city of angels; I miss them angels, the way we used to
look at them as we walked old elmo. (Is old elmo still breathing? If
you walk it; walk it with a stick will you?) Take a picture of them
angels, the city that is, from the Apricot hills, right there where
we used to walk old elmo in the night, right where we would wait for
it to do its dung business looking at the angels – right then and
there would you?
Man this here place is miserable. I sent a post card of Navy Pier and
I tell you its nothing like in the picture. If you just look down -
right where the ocean meets the land - man all you see are a whole
lot of oysters without pearls. All oysters should have their pearls
you know that. And that big-blue-red sign right in front of the pier,
the one that announces it or whatever, man that thing doesn’t even
work and it has all this bird crap on it that pigeons leave on it; I
tell you if I were the owner Id take that sign down with my own hands.
I shouldn’t have come to this here university; all we do is read and
analyze, read and analyze and then we do mathematics then mathematics
and over and over. Mathematics, I mean at least reading is worth
something but math, man I aint gonna be a mathematician or some
scientist its pointless.
Well anyways, I hear you´re not doing to good at all yourself, that you
have some ideas of your own. Look I’m sorry if the news struck you
too hard but it’s bound to happen to everybody old Agu. Besides TB
won’t beat me, my white cells are high-quality and I aint leaving;
allright.
I promise once I get back, we´ll go down Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood
and we´ll walk all over them golden stars just the way we planned. And
even if the movie stars´ are there looking at us; we´ll step on them
while they look at us; just the way we planned old Agu.
This here pen is running out of in…….
I had to lick it about a thousand times before it started writing
again old Agu. We´ll do it though, all that Sunset stuff. I don’t have
another pen, I’m running low on cash; don’t tell mama though. Take
the picture will you? And send it.
With Sincerity,
RUDOLFO GRAIN.
P.S: I’ve written a couple letters already and you don’t seem to
respond. It’s a bore and windy over here, please do write. Well do
all that stuff we planned on Sunset when I get back. Don’t worry
about the TB old Agu my white cells are high-quality.
Love,
RUDOLFO GRAIN.
Agustin Grain reread the letter a couple more times roughly
whispering to himself. His brother had died of Tuberculosis around
three weeks back and he felt it. He placed the crumbled letter into
his coat pocket and walked a little faster though still groggily.
As he was arriving to his home where almost surely there would be a
quarrel or discussion awaiting, he grabbed a pebble and threw it
right into the sewage; he missed.
Today is it, thought Agustin, walking slowly on a wire in a circus.
He doesn’t know what happened to me when it happened. He doesn’t. But
I´ll tell him about what we were gonna do. I´ll ask him if he wants to
go to his funeral and how that’s his funeral for me; the day I go on
Sunset and do what we had planned. I´ll tell him what he told me and
I´ll tell him that the TB didn’t kill him, but that it was that filthy
place he was forced to go to and I´ll tell him everything. I´ll tell
him how I wrote back two days before he stopped breathing and how I
took the picture on them hills right when elmo was doing his
business… just the way he asked…he began to run; still on that
wire…I´ll tell him about me going to my private archipelago and how
there will be palm trees and coconuts and oysters with their pearls the
way they should be. And how around there we all will be like liars
that will always tell the truth and how we´ll all look the same and
how around there we´ll all play the guitar and how them oysters; all
of them will have their pearls the way they should. I´ll tell him
everything.
Agustin stood there on the driveway. He took his pen from his mouth
and placed it in his pocket, took off his hat; stroked his hair back a
couple times, fixed his collar and untucked his shirt, and then he
walked in. His father, whom was waiting for him in the kitchen,
called him over and told him to sit down on the nice cushioned seat.
“We incinerated him. You need to realize…..” and so the discussion
began with those wistful words of his father.
It seemed to have lasted hours for Agustin but in reality it lasted
just about thirty two minutes. Agustin managed to include a couple
words to support himself.
“I feel plainly awful that he’s gone but I learned to forget, you
have to forget too Agustin. It was bound to happen,” his father
stated as he smoked a Havana.
“This is the fourth time they’ve caught you on those damn hills with
that filthy dog!” said Mr. Grain without sympathy.
Agustin sat on the royal seat looking down, counting the squares on
the tile floor; then plainly and tiredly he looked up “I’m tired” he
said.
“Well everybody’s tired of something Agustin! Everybody is,” his
father responded looking into his son’s dark green eyes.
“I’m tired” said Agustin very plainly. These words were all he managed
to include.
He stood up and grabbed a sweater. He left to Sunset Boulevard; as planned.
It was cold for the west side that night, just about fifty degrees
and Agustin shivered dourly. As he walked down Sunset Boulevard in
Hollywood he spoke to himself very quietly- the kind of quiet that is
felt in a funeral. His teeth chattering and both hands rubbing
against each others skin he mumbled with tears coming to his eyes,
“I’m sorry old bud…but…you´re here, you’re here with me…you’re here…
I’m gonna…put all those pearls…where they belong…all those
pearls…where they belong” he repeated over and again.
Please feel free to comment on Abe Rivas´s short story. Thank you.
A short story by Abe Rivas
He had eyes that were complemented by the luminosity of an electric lamp
into dark green, straight black hair and he wore a hat just the way
the baseball pitchers wore it; just like Gagne, nice and old and down
- all the way down. He was tall, yet short, a mixture of both, and he
wore ripped jeans with a green-purple collar shirt. He sat straight
waiting at a bus stop pretending to smoke a Camel cigarette the way
movie stars did it; only he knew it was wrong to do so, hence he
simulated with a black pen.
Then, as if he had realized the secret to everybody’s life were in
the scriptures, he decided to walk instead of wait.
Groggily he ambulated on the paved sidewalk as if he were walking on
a wire in a circus. He walked in a kind of sadness that became
depression once something could be read, and in his case it was a
letter. He reached into his coat pocket, the coat of which he was
holding on his right hand, and took out a crumbled letter. A crumbled
paper that if it could have been human; would have seemed as if it had
been through countless removal surgeries, awful surgeries and plastic
ones too, given that it also seemed as if the owner of the paper had
taken the time to mend whatever damage that had been committed to it.
He put his coat on and reread out softly for the thirty third and
half time, roughly whispering to himself, the letter:
ILLINOIS, CHICAGO
March 7, 2004
Dear Agustin,
Out east it’s nice and cold. Consider yourself lucky you’re out there
west, ‘cause it’s a cold, dreary, depressing and windy city, Chicago.
Man I miss the city of angels; I miss them angels, the way we used to
look at them as we walked old elmo. (Is old elmo still breathing? If
you walk it; walk it with a stick will you?) Take a picture of them
angels, the city that is, from the Apricot hills, right there where
we used to walk old elmo in the night, right where we would wait for
it to do its dung business looking at the angels – right then and
there would you?
Man this here place is miserable. I sent a post card of Navy Pier and
I tell you its nothing like in the picture. If you just look down -
right where the ocean meets the land - man all you see are a whole
lot of oysters without pearls. All oysters should have their pearls
you know that. And that big-blue-red sign right in front of the pier,
the one that announces it or whatever, man that thing doesn’t even
work and it has all this bird crap on it that pigeons leave on it; I
tell you if I were the owner Id take that sign down with my own hands.
I shouldn’t have come to this here university; all we do is read and
analyze, read and analyze and then we do mathematics then mathematics
and over and over. Mathematics, I mean at least reading is worth
something but math, man I aint gonna be a mathematician or some
scientist its pointless.
Well anyways, I hear you´re not doing to good at all yourself, that you
have some ideas of your own. Look I’m sorry if the news struck you
too hard but it’s bound to happen to everybody old Agu. Besides TB
won’t beat me, my white cells are high-quality and I aint leaving;
allright.
I promise once I get back, we´ll go down Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood
and we´ll walk all over them golden stars just the way we planned. And
even if the movie stars´ are there looking at us; we´ll step on them
while they look at us; just the way we planned old Agu.
This here pen is running out of in…….
I had to lick it about a thousand times before it started writing
again old Agu. We´ll do it though, all that Sunset stuff. I don’t have
another pen, I’m running low on cash; don’t tell mama though. Take
the picture will you? And send it.
With Sincerity,
RUDOLFO GRAIN.
P.S: I’ve written a couple letters already and you don’t seem to
respond. It’s a bore and windy over here, please do write. Well do
all that stuff we planned on Sunset when I get back. Don’t worry
about the TB old Agu my white cells are high-quality.
Love,
RUDOLFO GRAIN.
Agustin Grain reread the letter a couple more times roughly
whispering to himself. His brother had died of Tuberculosis around
three weeks back and he felt it. He placed the crumbled letter into
his coat pocket and walked a little faster though still groggily.
As he was arriving to his home where almost surely there would be a
quarrel or discussion awaiting, he grabbed a pebble and threw it
right into the sewage; he missed.
Today is it, thought Agustin, walking slowly on a wire in a circus.
He doesn’t know what happened to me when it happened. He doesn’t. But
I´ll tell him about what we were gonna do. I´ll ask him if he wants to
go to his funeral and how that’s his funeral for me; the day I go on
Sunset and do what we had planned. I´ll tell him what he told me and
I´ll tell him that the TB didn’t kill him, but that it was that filthy
place he was forced to go to and I´ll tell him everything. I´ll tell
him how I wrote back two days before he stopped breathing and how I
took the picture on them hills right when elmo was doing his
business… just the way he asked…he began to run; still on that
wire…I´ll tell him about me going to my private archipelago and how
there will be palm trees and coconuts and oysters with their pearls the
way they should be. And how around there we all will be like liars
that will always tell the truth and how we´ll all look the same and
how around there we´ll all play the guitar and how them oysters; all
of them will have their pearls the way they should. I´ll tell him
everything.
Agustin stood there on the driveway. He took his pen from his mouth
and placed it in his pocket, took off his hat; stroked his hair back a
couple times, fixed his collar and untucked his shirt, and then he
walked in. His father, whom was waiting for him in the kitchen,
called him over and told him to sit down on the nice cushioned seat.
“We incinerated him. You need to realize…..” and so the discussion
began with those wistful words of his father.
It seemed to have lasted hours for Agustin but in reality it lasted
just about thirty two minutes. Agustin managed to include a couple
words to support himself.
“I feel plainly awful that he’s gone but I learned to forget, you
have to forget too Agustin. It was bound to happen,” his father
stated as he smoked a Havana.
“This is the fourth time they’ve caught you on those damn hills with
that filthy dog!” said Mr. Grain without sympathy.
Agustin sat on the royal seat looking down, counting the squares on
the tile floor; then plainly and tiredly he looked up “I’m tired” he
said.
“Well everybody’s tired of something Agustin! Everybody is,” his
father responded looking into his son’s dark green eyes.
“I’m tired” said Agustin very plainly. These words were all he managed
to include.
He stood up and grabbed a sweater. He left to Sunset Boulevard; as planned.
It was cold for the west side that night, just about fifty degrees
and Agustin shivered dourly. As he walked down Sunset Boulevard in
Hollywood he spoke to himself very quietly- the kind of quiet that is
felt in a funeral. His teeth chattering and both hands rubbing
against each others skin he mumbled with tears coming to his eyes,
“I’m sorry old bud…but…you´re here, you’re here with me…you’re here…
I’m gonna…put all those pearls…where they belong…all those
pearls…where they belong” he repeated over and again.
Please feel free to comment on Abe Rivas´s short story. Thank you.
viernes, junio 03, 2005
Chistes de Abogados
Hey, I recently came across a list of Mexican jokes regarding lawyers. I thought it would be interesting for those of you who read Spanish to see how the social distaste for lawyers is not restricted to the U.S., and that in fact it may be a global phenomenon.
Some of the jokes at the end may even apply to members of other professions. For those of you that have yet to view the film ¨Office Space¨ starring Jennifer Aniston, you should really check it out. It accurately documents the social and psychological anxiety that modern day working environments create among the middle management employees of our time!
¿Por qué las pirañas no se comen a los abogados?
Por respeto profesional
**********
Un respetable profesor de Derecho le dice a sus alumnos:
-Recuerden muchachos, lo mas importante cuando se es abogado es saber que algunos casos se ganan y otros se pierden, pero en todos se cobra.
**********
Durante una audiencia en el juzgado se genera una disputa y el fiscal le grita al abogado defensor:
-Usted es un ladrón. El defensor le contesta al fiscal:
-Y usted es un vendido. Luego el juez dice:
-Ya que las partes se han identificado correctamente, sigamos con la audiencia...
**********
Un campesino pasa frente a una lápida que dice: "Aquí yace un abogado, un hombre honrado, un hombre integro".
El campesino se persigna y dice asustado: -Virgen santísima,
enterraron a tres hombres en la misma fosa!
**********
Llega un hombre al infierno y comienza a entrevistarse con Lucifer.
Después de una larga sesión él le indica que su castigo es pasar la eternidad con una gorda bien fea. El hombre indignado acepta y cuando lo llevan con la gorda se cruza con su abogado, quien está con una hermosa mujer. El hombre le pregunta al diablo:
- ¿Porqué mi abogado a pesar de haberme robado a mí y a varias personas ahora está con una mujer tan buena y bella? El diablo le contesta:
Tú calla y deja de juzgar a esa pobre mujer.
**********
¿En qué se parecen los abogados a las prostitutas?
En que cobran por adelantado y después no se mueven.
**********
Se encontraba Moisés leyendo a su pueblo los mandamientos:
- Noveno mandamiento: no desear la mujer del prójimo.
A lo cual se oye la protesta general del pueblo. Moisés aclara:
- Eso dice la ley, esperemos a ver qué dice la jurisprudencia.
**********
Se encuentran dos amigos y uno le dice al otro:
- Me separé de mi esposa
- No me digas, ¿Y como le hicieron?
- Con un abogado, él nos ayudo a realizar la repartición de los bienes.
- ¿Y tus hijos?
- Muy fácil, decidimos que el que se quedara con más dinero se quedaba con los niños.
- ¿Y quien quedó con ellos?
- El abogado ....
**********
Método del gato para determinar la clase de abogado con que negocia: Coloque un gato sobre el escritorio. Si el gato sale corriendo, ese abogado es muy perro. En cambio, si el gato se lanza al abogado es porque es una rata.
**********
Un abogado trata de defender a su cliente acusado de bigamia y le dice al juez:
- Efectivamente, señor Juez, mi representado es bígamo. Pero,
¿Acaso no es suficiente castigo el tener que soportar a dos suegras a la vez?...
**********
Un abogado tomaba el sol en un parque, cuando se le acerca un médico y le pregunta:
- ¿Qué hace?
- Aquí robándole unos rayitos al sol.
- Como siempre, trabajando a toda hora ¿no?
**********
Cárcel O TRABAJO
Qué PREFIERES?
Usted no puede compararse con un delincuente. Usted es un hombre o mujer honrado/a y, con su duro esfuerzo cotidiano, alimenta su familia y colabora en el crecimiento de su país. Por ello, existen grandes diferencias entre una celda de prisión y su oficina que, a fin de que valore las ventajas de la vida sacrificada y laboriosa, se las recordamos una vez más:
1) En la prisión pasas la mayor parte del tiempo en una celda de 3 x 2,5 metros; En el trabajo, pasas la mayor parte del tiempo en un CUBICULO de 1,5 x 2 metros.
2) En la prisión la celda tiene una ventana pequeña al exterior y ventilación natural. En el trabajo, los CUBICULOS no tienen ventanas al exterior y la ventilación no existe. O es congelante.
3) En la prisión te dan tres comidas al día (gratis); en el trabajo, tienes 40 minutos para salir a comer, pagas por ello y es peor que la de la prisión.
4) En la prisión nadie te molesta porque fumes; En el trabajo, si fumas te declaran inadaptado social.
5) En la prisión la pena se acorta por buen comportamiento; En el trabajo, si te comportas bien te premian con más trabajo...
6)En la prisión nadie te molesta porque veas TV o leas un libro; En el trabajo, si te descubren viendo TV o leyendo un libro, te despiden.
7) En la prisión permiten que tu familia y amigos te visiten; En el trabajo, ni siquiera puedes hablar con ellos por teléfono.
8) En la prisión haces ejercicio todos los días, caminas por el patio y practicas deportes; En el trabajo no levantas la cabeza del escritorio, tu espalda es un nudo y la escoliosis severa te impide pararte derecho.
9) En la prisión tus gastos los pagan los contribuyentes y nadie te obliga a trabajar; En el trabajo, tienes que pagar todos los gastos por ir a trabajar, y además te deducen impuestos con los que pagan los gastos de los encarcelados.
10) En la prisión los guarda-cárceles por lo general son unos sucios; choriceros. En el trabajo También y los llaman Gerentes.
Estupendo!, listos para vivir una jornada más de gloriosa actividad en la oficina.
Y recuerde: en pocos minutos más y mientras usted se desloma bajo una pila de papeles, en la cárcel los sufridos presos empezarán a jugar un partido de fútbol? en el patio. Y ahora, que disfrute de su trabajo!
Some of the jokes at the end may even apply to members of other professions. For those of you that have yet to view the film ¨Office Space¨ starring Jennifer Aniston, you should really check it out. It accurately documents the social and psychological anxiety that modern day working environments create among the middle management employees of our time!
¿Por qué las pirañas no se comen a los abogados?
Por respeto profesional
**********
Un respetable profesor de Derecho le dice a sus alumnos:
-Recuerden muchachos, lo mas importante cuando se es abogado es saber que algunos casos se ganan y otros se pierden, pero en todos se cobra.
**********
Durante una audiencia en el juzgado se genera una disputa y el fiscal le grita al abogado defensor:
-Usted es un ladrón. El defensor le contesta al fiscal:
-Y usted es un vendido. Luego el juez dice:
-Ya que las partes se han identificado correctamente, sigamos con la audiencia...
**********
Un campesino pasa frente a una lápida que dice: "Aquí yace un abogado, un hombre honrado, un hombre integro".
El campesino se persigna y dice asustado: -Virgen santísima,
enterraron a tres hombres en la misma fosa!
**********
Llega un hombre al infierno y comienza a entrevistarse con Lucifer.
Después de una larga sesión él le indica que su castigo es pasar la eternidad con una gorda bien fea. El hombre indignado acepta y cuando lo llevan con la gorda se cruza con su abogado, quien está con una hermosa mujer. El hombre le pregunta al diablo:
- ¿Porqué mi abogado a pesar de haberme robado a mí y a varias personas ahora está con una mujer tan buena y bella? El diablo le contesta:
Tú calla y deja de juzgar a esa pobre mujer.
**********
¿En qué se parecen los abogados a las prostitutas?
En que cobran por adelantado y después no se mueven.
**********
Se encontraba Moisés leyendo a su pueblo los mandamientos:
- Noveno mandamiento: no desear la mujer del prójimo.
A lo cual se oye la protesta general del pueblo. Moisés aclara:
- Eso dice la ley, esperemos a ver qué dice la jurisprudencia.
**********
Se encuentran dos amigos y uno le dice al otro:
- Me separé de mi esposa
- No me digas, ¿Y como le hicieron?
- Con un abogado, él nos ayudo a realizar la repartición de los bienes.
- ¿Y tus hijos?
- Muy fácil, decidimos que el que se quedara con más dinero se quedaba con los niños.
- ¿Y quien quedó con ellos?
- El abogado ....
**********
Método del gato para determinar la clase de abogado con que negocia: Coloque un gato sobre el escritorio. Si el gato sale corriendo, ese abogado es muy perro. En cambio, si el gato se lanza al abogado es porque es una rata.
**********
Un abogado trata de defender a su cliente acusado de bigamia y le dice al juez:
- Efectivamente, señor Juez, mi representado es bígamo. Pero,
¿Acaso no es suficiente castigo el tener que soportar a dos suegras a la vez?...
**********
Un abogado tomaba el sol en un parque, cuando se le acerca un médico y le pregunta:
- ¿Qué hace?
- Aquí robándole unos rayitos al sol.
- Como siempre, trabajando a toda hora ¿no?
**********
Cárcel O TRABAJO
Qué PREFIERES?
Usted no puede compararse con un delincuente. Usted es un hombre o mujer honrado/a y, con su duro esfuerzo cotidiano, alimenta su familia y colabora en el crecimiento de su país. Por ello, existen grandes diferencias entre una celda de prisión y su oficina que, a fin de que valore las ventajas de la vida sacrificada y laboriosa, se las recordamos una vez más:
1) En la prisión pasas la mayor parte del tiempo en una celda de 3 x 2,5 metros; En el trabajo, pasas la mayor parte del tiempo en un CUBICULO de 1,5 x 2 metros.
2) En la prisión la celda tiene una ventana pequeña al exterior y ventilación natural. En el trabajo, los CUBICULOS no tienen ventanas al exterior y la ventilación no existe. O es congelante.
3) En la prisión te dan tres comidas al día (gratis); en el trabajo, tienes 40 minutos para salir a comer, pagas por ello y es peor que la de la prisión.
4) En la prisión nadie te molesta porque fumes; En el trabajo, si fumas te declaran inadaptado social.
5) En la prisión la pena se acorta por buen comportamiento; En el trabajo, si te comportas bien te premian con más trabajo...
6)En la prisión nadie te molesta porque veas TV o leas un libro; En el trabajo, si te descubren viendo TV o leyendo un libro, te despiden.
7) En la prisión permiten que tu familia y amigos te visiten; En el trabajo, ni siquiera puedes hablar con ellos por teléfono.
8) En la prisión haces ejercicio todos los días, caminas por el patio y practicas deportes; En el trabajo no levantas la cabeza del escritorio, tu espalda es un nudo y la escoliosis severa te impide pararte derecho.
9) En la prisión tus gastos los pagan los contribuyentes y nadie te obliga a trabajar; En el trabajo, tienes que pagar todos los gastos por ir a trabajar, y además te deducen impuestos con los que pagan los gastos de los encarcelados.
10) En la prisión los guarda-cárceles por lo general son unos sucios; choriceros. En el trabajo También y los llaman Gerentes.
Estupendo!, listos para vivir una jornada más de gloriosa actividad en la oficina.
Y recuerde: en pocos minutos más y mientras usted se desloma bajo una pila de papeles, en la cárcel los sufridos presos empezarán a jugar un partido de fútbol? en el patio. Y ahora, que disfrute de su trabajo!
miércoles, junio 01, 2005
The Villaraigosa Factor: East LA Pride
As many of you know, my hometown has recently elected its first Latino mayor in over 100 years. For those that don't know, Los Angeles is the 2nd city with the most Mexicans after Mexico City!
Antonio Villaraigosa is now on the cover of Newsweek and some of the articles are quite impressive.
The first picture is of the famous corner of Avenida Cesar Chavez (previously known as Brooklyn Avenue) and Soto Street in the heart of East Los Angeles. I grew up one block away from this street corner on Cincinnati Street! Importantly, once I turned 4 my family relocated to City Terrace where my parents purchased their 1st home on Van Pelt Avenue.
FYI. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7937184/site/newsweek/
Enjoy.
Antonio Villaraigosa is now on the cover of Newsweek and some of the articles are quite impressive.
The first picture is of the famous corner of Avenida Cesar Chavez (previously known as Brooklyn Avenue) and Soto Street in the heart of East Los Angeles. I grew up one block away from this street corner on Cincinnati Street! Importantly, once I turned 4 my family relocated to City Terrace where my parents purchased their 1st home on Van Pelt Avenue.
FYI. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7937184/site/newsweek/
Enjoy.
martes, mayo 31, 2005
Cafe Tacuba - !Queremos Rock!
Memorial Weekend has now passed us by, and this Cruel Summmer has just begun to spread its wings and flex its talons....For those of you that enjoy good Rock en Español, you should have learned by now that Cafe Tacuba is one of those quintessential Mexican bands that need to be heard LIVE to be truly appreciated....
And what better way than to see them perform LIVE and for FREE in the heart of Mexico City = the ZOCALO this Sabado June 4th @ 8:30pm. Mark the date, water your plants, take the metro, leave your car...and prepare your ears for some good ol´ fashion summer concierto! !Queremos Rock!! !!Que nos pasa, que nos pasa!! !!Queremos Rock!!
Yours truly will be next to the giant Mexican flag in the center of the
Zocalo...send me a text if you are able to get past the other 100,000 people next to me! I deserve it, you deserve it, we all deserve it.
For those that ask...¨Cafe who?, please do yourself a favor and re-enter the
21st century by reading Cafe Tacuba´s history below...
http://www.cafetacuba.com.mx/english/historia.html
Todo comenzo en un garage de Satelite...
¨Parece guión de algún programa de televisión de esos que pasan en cable sobre el rock & roll, pero la verdad es que así fue y además me gusta decirlo, todo comenzón en un garage, en el garage de una casa de Satélite para ser más exactos, en donde 4 amigos que se habían conocido por la escuela llamados Rubén, Quique, Joselo y Meme, realizaron sus primeras tocadas para presentar el grupo y pasar un buena noche de sábado bailando. Era un buen comienzo, y la verdad para mi una historia que inicia así, no puede ser una mala historia de rock & roll.
¨Han pasado más de 10 años desde entonces. Eran finales de los ochenta y Café Tacuba parecía tener el combo necesario para lograr hacer y sonar un buen rock: una guitarra, un bajo, una batería, potencia y libertad, solo que esta vez su caso no era así. Su combo musical era diferente al de los demás.
¨Eran un grupo que alternaba con grupos de rock y tocaba en bares dedicados al rock pero no seguían los mismos lineamientos ni las mismas estructuras. No usaban batería y se caracterizaban por mezclar su música con diferentes ritmos folklóricos mexicanos.
¨Nunca habíamos visto a un grupo como ellos. Ahí estaban después del garage tocando por primera vez en el escenario del Hijo del Cuervo en junio de 1989; a partir de este momento comenzaron las tocadas por el circuito de antros que existían entonces, El 9, El Tutti Frutti, Rockotitlán y El LUCC. Fueron muchos fines de semana así, de sudor, cerveza y rock and roll oyendo a The Cure, Los Smiths, Stone Roses, The Clash o Violent Femmes. Esos grupos con los que crecieron los cuatro mientras seguían trazando su carrera sin detenerse a imaginar en donde estarían parados el día de hoy....¨
And what better way than to see them perform LIVE and for FREE in the heart of Mexico City = the ZOCALO this Sabado June 4th @ 8:30pm. Mark the date, water your plants, take the metro, leave your car...and prepare your ears for some good ol´ fashion summer concierto! !Queremos Rock!! !!Que nos pasa, que nos pasa!! !!Queremos Rock!!
Yours truly will be next to the giant Mexican flag in the center of the
Zocalo...send me a text if you are able to get past the other 100,000 people next to me! I deserve it, you deserve it, we all deserve it.
For those that ask...¨Cafe who?, please do yourself a favor and re-enter the
21st century by reading Cafe Tacuba´s history below...
http://www.cafetacuba.com.mx/english/historia.html
Todo comenzo en un garage de Satelite...
¨Parece guión de algún programa de televisión de esos que pasan en cable sobre el rock & roll, pero la verdad es que así fue y además me gusta decirlo, todo comenzón en un garage, en el garage de una casa de Satélite para ser más exactos, en donde 4 amigos que se habían conocido por la escuela llamados Rubén, Quique, Joselo y Meme, realizaron sus primeras tocadas para presentar el grupo y pasar un buena noche de sábado bailando. Era un buen comienzo, y la verdad para mi una historia que inicia así, no puede ser una mala historia de rock & roll.
¨Han pasado más de 10 años desde entonces. Eran finales de los ochenta y Café Tacuba parecía tener el combo necesario para lograr hacer y sonar un buen rock: una guitarra, un bajo, una batería, potencia y libertad, solo que esta vez su caso no era así. Su combo musical era diferente al de los demás.
¨Eran un grupo que alternaba con grupos de rock y tocaba en bares dedicados al rock pero no seguían los mismos lineamientos ni las mismas estructuras. No usaban batería y se caracterizaban por mezclar su música con diferentes ritmos folklóricos mexicanos.
¨Nunca habíamos visto a un grupo como ellos. Ahí estaban después del garage tocando por primera vez en el escenario del Hijo del Cuervo en junio de 1989; a partir de este momento comenzaron las tocadas por el circuito de antros que existían entonces, El 9, El Tutti Frutti, Rockotitlán y El LUCC. Fueron muchos fines de semana así, de sudor, cerveza y rock and roll oyendo a The Cure, Los Smiths, Stone Roses, The Clash o Violent Femmes. Esos grupos con los que crecieron los cuatro mientras seguían trazando su carrera sin detenerse a imaginar en donde estarían parados el día de hoy....¨
martes, mayo 17, 2005
Es Chido Ser Naco
In Mexico, the term "naco" is commonly used to label someone who has few financial resources, education, and poor taste in fashion. This term is used loosely by affluent kids known as "fresas" (literally strawberries), to describe their less fortunate counterparts.
Importantly, the use of the term can be extremely offensive to most people. Although the term is also used within groups of friends to make harmless fun of one person, the term takes a sharper and more malicious tone when used against a complete stranger.
In a country like Mexico, where scarce financial resources are disproportionately concentrated in wealthy circles, the mere attempt by an outsider trying to fit in by purchasing new clothes and material objects can result in a public chastize resulting in being labeled a "naco."
But most of the term's subscribers know little of its origins.
The term is in fact a shortened version of the word "totonaco," which means indigenous person. One can easily trace the historical evolution of the present term from the racism that Spanish colonizers felt towards the indigenous communities they ruled. In this way, the Spanish colonizers concocted a social map of Mexico, where only the light-skinned European descendants were worthy of being full intregated members of society. On the other hand, the handful of social climbers from the indigenous communities in Mexico walked a fine line littered with broken glass, where one misstep could result in being labeled a "naco."
Today, many of the indigenous communities and their descendants in Mexico have wised up. The countermessage is that in fact, it is cool to be a naco ("es chido ser naco"). In this way, some of these historical outsiders to Mexican society are turning the tables on the established elite by denouncing the negativity associated with being labeled a "naco," and instead embracing it as a term of humor and pride.
With this said, the question will remain on the table:
Is it cool to be a naco?
Es chido ser naco?
Importantly, the use of the term can be extremely offensive to most people. Although the term is also used within groups of friends to make harmless fun of one person, the term takes a sharper and more malicious tone when used against a complete stranger.
In a country like Mexico, where scarce financial resources are disproportionately concentrated in wealthy circles, the mere attempt by an outsider trying to fit in by purchasing new clothes and material objects can result in a public chastize resulting in being labeled a "naco."
But most of the term's subscribers know little of its origins.
The term is in fact a shortened version of the word "totonaco," which means indigenous person. One can easily trace the historical evolution of the present term from the racism that Spanish colonizers felt towards the indigenous communities they ruled. In this way, the Spanish colonizers concocted a social map of Mexico, where only the light-skinned European descendants were worthy of being full intregated members of society. On the other hand, the handful of social climbers from the indigenous communities in Mexico walked a fine line littered with broken glass, where one misstep could result in being labeled a "naco."
Today, many of the indigenous communities and their descendants in Mexico have wised up. The countermessage is that in fact, it is cool to be a naco ("es chido ser naco"). In this way, some of these historical outsiders to Mexican society are turning the tables on the established elite by denouncing the negativity associated with being labeled a "naco," and instead embracing it as a term of humor and pride.
With this said, the question will remain on the table:
Is it cool to be a naco?
Es chido ser naco?
lunes, mayo 16, 2005
Mamitis: Diagnosing the Latin Momma's Boy Sindrome
Last Tuesday, May 10th was a traffic inspired nightmare in Mexico City. Most workplaces allowed their workers to leave at 2pm, so that they could spend a nice dinner afternoon and evening with their mothers. The 10th of May (el 10 de Mayo) is a very important holiday in Mexico. Despite being a country ruled by men and bathed in machismo, mothers here are worshipped and idolized. It is part of the Mexican people's identity, always clutching to the skirts of its patron saint, the Virgin of Guadalupe, who in essence serves as the country's holy mother.
It is from this conditioning, of always being respectful and nostalgic about one's mother, that brings us to the term "mamitis." Mamitis is best explained in the following article by Dane Schiller. Please read, enjoy, but most importantly, feel free to pass this article on to those brothers, cousins and friends that are chronic participants of this notoriously common mother/son dance. Maybe one day some pharmaceutical company will listen to the pleas of thousands of Latin daughters-in-law! Maybe America has a similar condition, as evidenced by the recent release of the Jane Fonda-Jennifer Lopez's movie titled "Monster-in-Law."
For some, it's always Mother's Day
Web Posted: 05/08/2005 12:00 AM CDT
Dane Schiller
Express-News Mexico City Bureau
MEXICO CITY — Arthritis, gastritis and hepatitis are known worldwide, but you have to spend time around Mexican mothers spoiling adult sons to witness another infamous ailment — mamitis.
While it's not an illness, it is regarded as a pain, at least if you read advice columns or overhear wives and girlfriends complain how it stops their men from becoming responsible adults. Mamitis (pronounced "mameetees") is slang for a man's overwhelming dependence on his mom, sure to be on full display for Mother's Day, which always is celebrated on May 10 in Mexico. It might be considered a variant of "mama's boy" but mamitis is different — it is widespread, steeped in Latino culture and leaves a man's sense of machismo intact.
It's not even a fight-provoking insult, necessarily. Some men see doting on their mothers, and being doted on in return, as their duty. "It is a lifestyle," observed Miguel Angel Hernández, 30, a department store salesman.
Mamitis sets in like this: An aging mother spoils her son by cooking, washing and ironing for him — forever. The son treats his mother as the reigning queen in his life. He sees her as an ideal woman to which no one can measure up — with the
comparisons often at his wife's expense. "They do what their mamas say and she treats them like babies," laughed Martha Cuellar, 33, a magazine vendor. "That is why I got a divorce; she even told him how to raise our kids."
Dolores Prida, who writes the "Dolores dice " column for Latina magazine, said mamitis destroys relationships. "Mamitis is a serious disease that can sour the milk of human kindness," she said. "Funny thing is, every woman has the cure at hand — she should raise her son keeping in mind that one day, he will be another woman's husband, not another woman's spoiled child."
Her blunt advice: "Let the dishes pile up in the sink and serve him menudo on a paper plate. And buy him disposable underwear." Men afflicted by mamitis compare women to their mothers on everything from their wardrobe to their enchiladas, said Roberto Bermudez Sánchez, a sociologist at Mexico City's national university. The married women take a back seat, "but there can be the hope that when (the mother) dies, she will be able to take her place," he said.
Mamitis is found among the rich and the poor alike. It can strike daughters but is overwhelmingly more common among sons. Mexico's first lady, Marta Sahagún de Fox, filed a libel lawsuit earlier this month against a journalist who penned an unauthorized biography which contends Sahagún spoiled her children to incompetence.
Gloria Gonzalez-Lopez, assistant professor of sociology at the University of Texas at Austin, said idealizing one's mother to the extreme can indeed prevent some men from becoming independent and emotionally mature and may affect romantic relationships.
"Here we could have a man who could never be able to find the right woman because there is no woman on earth who would measure up to (his) mother's personal attributes," she said. Guadalupe Sosa, 58, a social worker with two adult sons, said mamitis is a form of power. "It is a way of controlling them," she said. "You give them all they want, and they do what you say."
Raquel Dergal, 50, an elementary school teacher, admits she fought hard to stop a mamitis relationship with her son. "I now understand what is most important for my son is his wife and daughter," she said. Her son still visits daily. She was brought to tears as she said that she now accepts that another woman can love her son as much as she does.
The mamitis relationship is hinted at in the song, Despedida, written near the beginning of World War II. It relates the thoughts of a soldier headed to battle.
The lyrics tell of a man bidding farewell to his buddies and his girlfriend, but goes, "It breaks my heart to leave behind my mother."
It is from this conditioning, of always being respectful and nostalgic about one's mother, that brings us to the term "mamitis." Mamitis is best explained in the following article by Dane Schiller. Please read, enjoy, but most importantly, feel free to pass this article on to those brothers, cousins and friends that are chronic participants of this notoriously common mother/son dance. Maybe one day some pharmaceutical company will listen to the pleas of thousands of Latin daughters-in-law! Maybe America has a similar condition, as evidenced by the recent release of the Jane Fonda-Jennifer Lopez's movie titled "Monster-in-Law."
For some, it's always Mother's Day
Web Posted: 05/08/2005 12:00 AM CDT
Dane Schiller
Express-News Mexico City Bureau
MEXICO CITY — Arthritis, gastritis and hepatitis are known worldwide, but you have to spend time around Mexican mothers spoiling adult sons to witness another infamous ailment — mamitis.
While it's not an illness, it is regarded as a pain, at least if you read advice columns or overhear wives and girlfriends complain how it stops their men from becoming responsible adults. Mamitis (pronounced "mameetees") is slang for a man's overwhelming dependence on his mom, sure to be on full display for Mother's Day, which always is celebrated on May 10 in Mexico. It might be considered a variant of "mama's boy" but mamitis is different — it is widespread, steeped in Latino culture and leaves a man's sense of machismo intact.
It's not even a fight-provoking insult, necessarily. Some men see doting on their mothers, and being doted on in return, as their duty. "It is a lifestyle," observed Miguel Angel Hernández, 30, a department store salesman.
Mamitis sets in like this: An aging mother spoils her son by cooking, washing and ironing for him — forever. The son treats his mother as the reigning queen in his life. He sees her as an ideal woman to which no one can measure up — with the
comparisons often at his wife's expense. "They do what their mamas say and she treats them like babies," laughed Martha Cuellar, 33, a magazine vendor. "That is why I got a divorce; she even told him how to raise our kids."
Dolores Prida, who writes the "Dolores dice " column for Latina magazine, said mamitis destroys relationships. "Mamitis is a serious disease that can sour the milk of human kindness," she said. "Funny thing is, every woman has the cure at hand — she should raise her son keeping in mind that one day, he will be another woman's husband, not another woman's spoiled child."
Her blunt advice: "Let the dishes pile up in the sink and serve him menudo on a paper plate. And buy him disposable underwear." Men afflicted by mamitis compare women to their mothers on everything from their wardrobe to their enchiladas, said Roberto Bermudez Sánchez, a sociologist at Mexico City's national university. The married women take a back seat, "but there can be the hope that when (the mother) dies, she will be able to take her place," he said.
Mamitis is found among the rich and the poor alike. It can strike daughters but is overwhelmingly more common among sons. Mexico's first lady, Marta Sahagún de Fox, filed a libel lawsuit earlier this month against a journalist who penned an unauthorized biography which contends Sahagún spoiled her children to incompetence.
Gloria Gonzalez-Lopez, assistant professor of sociology at the University of Texas at Austin, said idealizing one's mother to the extreme can indeed prevent some men from becoming independent and emotionally mature and may affect romantic relationships.
"Here we could have a man who could never be able to find the right woman because there is no woman on earth who would measure up to (his) mother's personal attributes," she said. Guadalupe Sosa, 58, a social worker with two adult sons, said mamitis is a form of power. "It is a way of controlling them," she said. "You give them all they want, and they do what you say."
Raquel Dergal, 50, an elementary school teacher, admits she fought hard to stop a mamitis relationship with her son. "I now understand what is most important for my son is his wife and daughter," she said. Her son still visits daily. She was brought to tears as she said that she now accepts that another woman can love her son as much as she does.
The mamitis relationship is hinted at in the song, Despedida, written near the beginning of World War II. It relates the thoughts of a soldier headed to battle.
The lyrics tell of a man bidding farewell to his buddies and his girlfriend, but goes, "It breaks my heart to leave behind my mother."
martes, mayo 10, 2005
La Batalla de Puebla - 5 de Mayo
This past Cinco de Mayo, my friends and I decided to have a fiesta titled "La Batalla" in Polanco. I hope those that attended the fiesta enjoyed the cinco de mayo celebration. Unfortunately, many chilangos really do not like to celebrate this holiday. Maybe the commercialization of the holiday in the United States is a turn off for them.
But for Mexican-Americans like myself, Cinco de Mayo played an integral part of our childhood and upbringing, and because of this some of us continue to cling on to it.
In most Los Angeles public school systems, especially in East Los Angeles, where I grew up, Cinco de Mayo plays a huge role. As a child, Cinco de Mayos were full of rehearsed dances, outdoor carnivals and historical reenactments. The school efforts behind the holiday really helped to cultivate and reinforce ethnic pride in the community.
So for someone like myself, Cinco de Mayo is more than just a six pack of
coronas and a sombrero, it is actually a very distinctive Mexican American
tradition, where our identity as Chicanos is embraced by a U.S.
institution, in my case, Robert F. Kennedy elementary school in City
Terrace, East Los Angeles.
For me, those institutional efforts represent the essence of multiculturalism. In fact, as a kindergarden student, I once announced our classroom's dance and skit to a crowded playground of parents and children in costumes. No one can ever take away those innocent memories of seeing my Korean American teacher selling "fruta fresca" and my elementary school colleagues dressed in elaborate colonial-style attire. Even though East Los Angeles lacks the colonial architecture of places like Coyoacan, Puebla or Guanajuato, the Cinco de Mayo holiday and celebration was a close substitute, especially for the children of illegal immigrants living a life off screen in a city obsessed with reproductions of far away sets and locations.
Cinco de Mayo in East LA is priceless.
Hence my fiesta last Friday.
For all we know, I am just a Chicano conquistador imposing my view on Mexican history on the residents of Mexico City. One party at a time.
But for Mexican-Americans like myself, Cinco de Mayo played an integral part of our childhood and upbringing, and because of this some of us continue to cling on to it.
In most Los Angeles public school systems, especially in East Los Angeles, where I grew up, Cinco de Mayo plays a huge role. As a child, Cinco de Mayos were full of rehearsed dances, outdoor carnivals and historical reenactments. The school efforts behind the holiday really helped to cultivate and reinforce ethnic pride in the community.
So for someone like myself, Cinco de Mayo is more than just a six pack of
coronas and a sombrero, it is actually a very distinctive Mexican American
tradition, where our identity as Chicanos is embraced by a U.S.
institution, in my case, Robert F. Kennedy elementary school in City
Terrace, East Los Angeles.
For me, those institutional efforts represent the essence of multiculturalism. In fact, as a kindergarden student, I once announced our classroom's dance and skit to a crowded playground of parents and children in costumes. No one can ever take away those innocent memories of seeing my Korean American teacher selling "fruta fresca" and my elementary school colleagues dressed in elaborate colonial-style attire. Even though East Los Angeles lacks the colonial architecture of places like Coyoacan, Puebla or Guanajuato, the Cinco de Mayo holiday and celebration was a close substitute, especially for the children of illegal immigrants living a life off screen in a city obsessed with reproductions of far away sets and locations.
Cinco de Mayo in East LA is priceless.
Hence my fiesta last Friday.
For all we know, I am just a Chicano conquistador imposing my view on Mexican history on the residents of Mexico City. One party at a time.
lunes, mayo 02, 2005
hold the mayo
The month of "Mayo" has arrived. I can't believe that I have been living in Mexico City for 8 months now. In two months, my Fulbright will be over and I will begin my physical and psychological journey back to Southern California. I am actually looking forward to returning to the West Coast, to spend more time with my family and SoCal friends.
It's nice to have had the opportunity to travel these last couple of years, living in Philly, NYC and DC, but it's also refreshing to finally return to the city that saw me grow up. In this sense, returning to Los Angeles represents closing the circle of my academic trajectory. Ever since I left LA when I was 15 years old to head off to boarding school, I have been on the road. After my Fulbright in Mexico, I hope to finally let the dust settle. I look forward to rejoining the millions of Angelenos in their morning commute to work. But more importantly, I look forward to answering people's questions with regards to future plans with a simple..."I am in LA to stay for a while!"
This past weekend, we had a reshuffle of flatmates in my apt here in Mexico City. Amy, our Scottish flatmate from Glasgow, is finally becoming a full-fledged "uptown girl" as she is permanently relocating to Polanco. In her place, Jeff is moving in from his former place on Insurgentes, a major city transportation artery.
After having some amazing pescadillas (shark meat tacos) at La Cueva del Cangrejo in Coyoacan, I drove to the Plaza Mexico in hopes of catching the Sunday afternoon bullfight. To my dismay, there are no more bullfights in Mexico City until mid-June. Fortunately, I will still be in Mexico City by then, so I can plan to attend a bullfight then.
So with the bullfight plan scratched, I headed to the House of Leon Trotsky Museum on Rio Churubusco 411 in Coyoacan. But after getting lost around the surrounding neighborhood (partly because of the incorrect signs leading to the house), I arrived with only minutes to see the entrance lobby. The museum closes at 5pm. So I plan to return to this museum sometime next week. The museum is only about 4 blocks from the Casa Friday Kahlo museum in Coyoacan.
After the Leon Trotsky museum kicked me out, I decided to drive to the Miguel Angel de Quevedo metro station....where the Ghandi Bookstore is located. Once there, I purchased my weekly fix of international affairs in the form of The Economist magazine. I also purchased a spanish language version of Truman Capote's "Un Arbol de la Noche."
Tonight, I am expecting three friends from LA. I am picking them up at the airport. I am hoping that they all have a great time in Mexico City.
To all those in the city, my flatmates and I are hosting a Cinco de Mayo party this Friday, titled "La Batalla." The celebration will be in Polanco. Come one, come all. Although Cinco de Mayo is not exactly acknowledged in Mexico as it is in the States, my fellow Fulbrighters and I are making the effort to ignite some traditional celebratory value to this holiday. Feel free to help us in our quest this viernes social. Ciao!
It's nice to have had the opportunity to travel these last couple of years, living in Philly, NYC and DC, but it's also refreshing to finally return to the city that saw me grow up. In this sense, returning to Los Angeles represents closing the circle of my academic trajectory. Ever since I left LA when I was 15 years old to head off to boarding school, I have been on the road. After my Fulbright in Mexico, I hope to finally let the dust settle. I look forward to rejoining the millions of Angelenos in their morning commute to work. But more importantly, I look forward to answering people's questions with regards to future plans with a simple..."I am in LA to stay for a while!"
This past weekend, we had a reshuffle of flatmates in my apt here in Mexico City. Amy, our Scottish flatmate from Glasgow, is finally becoming a full-fledged "uptown girl" as she is permanently relocating to Polanco. In her place, Jeff is moving in from his former place on Insurgentes, a major city transportation artery.
After having some amazing pescadillas (shark meat tacos) at La Cueva del Cangrejo in Coyoacan, I drove to the Plaza Mexico in hopes of catching the Sunday afternoon bullfight. To my dismay, there are no more bullfights in Mexico City until mid-June. Fortunately, I will still be in Mexico City by then, so I can plan to attend a bullfight then.
So with the bullfight plan scratched, I headed to the House of Leon Trotsky Museum on Rio Churubusco 411 in Coyoacan. But after getting lost around the surrounding neighborhood (partly because of the incorrect signs leading to the house), I arrived with only minutes to see the entrance lobby. The museum closes at 5pm. So I plan to return to this museum sometime next week. The museum is only about 4 blocks from the Casa Friday Kahlo museum in Coyoacan.
After the Leon Trotsky museum kicked me out, I decided to drive to the Miguel Angel de Quevedo metro station....where the Ghandi Bookstore is located. Once there, I purchased my weekly fix of international affairs in the form of The Economist magazine. I also purchased a spanish language version of Truman Capote's "Un Arbol de la Noche."
Tonight, I am expecting three friends from LA. I am picking them up at the airport. I am hoping that they all have a great time in Mexico City.
To all those in the city, my flatmates and I are hosting a Cinco de Mayo party this Friday, titled "La Batalla." The celebration will be in Polanco. Come one, come all. Although Cinco de Mayo is not exactly acknowledged in Mexico as it is in the States, my fellow Fulbrighters and I are making the effort to ignite some traditional celebratory value to this holiday. Feel free to help us in our quest this viernes social. Ciao!
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