Oldie but goodie...freedom has no expiration date

July 4th, 2012

"Freedom makes a huge requirement of every human being. With freedom comes responsibility. For the person who is unwilling to grow up, the person who does not want to carry is own weight, this is a frightening prospect. " Eleanor Roosevelt



"Money won't create success, the freedom to make it will." Nelson Mandela

"If society fits you comfortably enough, you call it freedom." Robert Frost

"Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free." Jim Morrison

"When people talk of the freedom of writing, speaking or thinking I cannot choose but laugh. No such thing ever existed. No such thing now exists; but I hope it will exist. But it must be hundreds of years after you and I shall write and speak no more." John Adams

...............THE TIME IS NOW!!


America for the Americans - originally posted on July 4th, 2010

Independence Day is a colorful holiday, summer time and fireworks, barbeques and lemonade (or beer). A day to remember we live in the land of the free home of the brave. To feel proud of being part of a great machinery of citizens that make this place the land of opportunities, a place where the dreams are possible and where hard work, honesty and spirit counts.

The 13 American colonies declared its independence from the British Empire back in 1776, in a document written mainly by Thomas Jefferson and John Adams and with the main objective, besides stating the obvious separation from England, to ensure "that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with inalienable rights," and "that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed." Equal. That is one strong word.

The United States of America is a country built mainly by immigrants. People from all around the world were welcomed to settle in a country in need for inexpensive labor force and offering hope for those getting away from hunger, religious persecution and political instability. European immigrants mainly from Ireland, Germany, Italy and Poland along with millions of Afro-Americans already in the country during colonial times started it all. Diversity in all senses: creed, ethnicity, culture, language. Asia made its great contribution of people along with Mexican agriculture workers. Scandinavians were lure to the other side of the Atlantic by the promise of free land in America. Nobody arrived uninvited. They all wanted a piece of the dream. A dream described mainly by the letters from their own relatives already living in, by exaggerated descriptions of the so called opportunities.

Historically and cyclically immigrants had been discriminated by the native-born –and most likely garnished by surnames such as Fitzpatrick, Bauer, Rossi, Roosevelt, Murphy and Garcia – with unfair acts ranging from verbal and physical abuse to burning their homes and deporting them for taking the American’s jobs. Immigrants have been taking turns in the path of discrimination: African-Americans suffered the most by slavery and denial of human rights; Irish treated as second class citizens, carriers of diseases and filth. Mexicans treated as criminals, ignorant and second-class human beings. Stereotypes applied without further reasoning or logical foundation.

I am an immigrant. I was born in Mexico. I was naturalized American therefore became Mexican-American. My family lives in Arizona. I pay my taxes; we contribute to the great American economy. I am as proud of my background as I am loyal and grateful for the opportunity to be in the United States. My two beautiful nieces are half-Mexican, they will always be. I was told, more than once, I don’t look Mexican… neither do my nieces. I don’t take that as a compliment…it insults me and my heritage to the bone. Nobody should have the right to decide who is good or bad, who has the right to live or should leave by the way it looks, the ability to speak more than one language, an accent or the amount of spices you can tolerate in the food. Arizona’s government is enforcing a state of fear and encouraging the ignorant idea of supremacy based on racial profiles.

One of my best friends, who is also one of the smartest human beings I know – which happens to be Mexican – once told me “Illegal immigration is a social phenomenon not a crime”; by treating illegal immigrants crossing the southern border of the USA as such, and granting the authorities the right to apply subjective criteria to determine who is not an American, a greater evil is encouraged: racism and superiority. A few clarifications for the record: not all the darker-skin, short height, dark-hair, Spanish-spoken aliens trying to cross the border are illegal; neither are all Mexican – Guatemala, Salvador, Honduras and the rest of the central and south American places are, in fact, different countries (it might come as a shocker to some, but America is not just the United States). Not all “Latinos” look alike.

The United States of America, as well as any other nation in the world, has all the right to regulate immigration; nobody should live illegally in a country, without paying taxes and without basic living conditions. But one would think that a first-class country should have the capability to find better means of control; criminalizing an act of desperation and self-preservation goes against human nature, against the nation’s ideals and foundation. Yes, it is against the law and should be treated like that; but no, it is not a crime. Yes, it is something that should be regulated; but no, it does not give the right to become human-hunters.

Some of the greatest contributions to the American culture came from immigrants: from literature to food, from financial institutions to music. Immigrants willing to work hard and become part of a new generation of people open for change and respectful of each other’s right for freedom, to equal rights, equal obligations, and equal opportunities . Call me naïve and romantic, but I still want to believe in America for the Americans – whatever the background, whatever the country – but willing to be free.


To Mia and Amy - always feel proud of who you are.

W.O.M.E.N.

Congratulations to all my genre partners…

Partners in sex, fashion, Rock&Roll
 Tactic
 Strategy
 Histrionism
 Grace
 Tenacity (but not stubbornness)
 Goodwill (but never foolishness)
 Pride (but not haughtiness)
 Virtue (but not sanctity)
 Beauty (sometimes subtle others overwhelming but always powerful)
 Intelligence (many times underestimated therefore evident).


If God wouldn’t have created us, Walt Disney would have invented us!!

·         Felicidades a todas mis congeneres de sexo,moda,rock&roll, tactica, estrategia, capacidad histrionica, gracia, tenacidad(que no necedad), buena voluntad(que no pendejez), soberbia(que no altivez), virtud(que no santidad), belleza(a veces sutil, otras desbordante pero todas contundente), inteligencia(tantas veces menospreciada y por lo mismo evidenciada).Si Dios no nos hubiera inventado, nos habria creado Walt Disney!

My mother the brave

Today is September 4th. It is my mother’s birthday. She turns 69. Let me tell you a little something about this woman.


She desired me for 5 years, yet she couldn’t get pregnant; back in the 70’s fertility treatments were more like trial an error experiments. She suffered and yet kept trying every single option – from fallopian tubes blockage treatment (yes, the painful gas-injection-old fashion one), surgery to remove ovarian cysts, to herbal teas and prayers. Finally, she was with child – with me to be precise.

She worked in her trendy boutique (the first one of its kind back then in her Mexican home town) and expected me with hope and joy…and 6 weeks before my arrival, she find out the hard way my father was cheating on her…she cried out of deception, broken trust; and I felt it, of that I am sure…it left me an ultra sensitive and apprehensive heart.

A fling it was, he said… and she wanted to believe. I was born in a December night, as small and pink as I could be. Marriage continued, difficulties increased, she kept working non-stop... and yet, after five years from her first baby girl, my sister was born: baby of the year – it was barely past midnight on a January 1st. . I remember her arrival, I remember my jealousy. But mostly, I remember her big green eyes.

Two little girls completed her world. Two little girls were all she kept after the husband (my father) vanished. No, he didn’t die. He just decided to leave. She started a new life in a different town, she gave us all she could for us to be safe and raised us as good as she humanly could. She was alone. She was a 34 year old young woman (now I see it), with a huge responsibility and nothing else. I remember her working, almost never around. I can see her arriving after a long day at work and sitting at the kitchen table to eat her favorite dinner: a bowl of frosted flakes… spoon after spoon…so quiet.

My sister and I learned to do everything by ourselves: from cooking to homework, from shopping to cleaning. I was a 12 year old adult taking care of a 7 year old kid. Mom was always busy, but expecting the best from us. I was always afraid to disappoint her. .. She was terrifying. Good grades and perfect behavior was not an option, it was the only way. No prizes, no encouragement, but the mere idea of letting her down was enough.

Year after year, work after work… town after town… school after school; we moved a lot, she was always looking for the best opportunity for her girls. No matter what it took, she never cared: housekeeper in a popular hotel (frequently visited by her former high-society Mexican friends), a cook at a student’s cafeteria and an overnight shift as a caregiver … everything so the girls could afford a better life…but she was never there… the girls were always alone taking care of themselves.

We grew up to become two independent-strong and determined women. My sister married his best friend and has two beautiful perfect girls. I married the love of my life and have been just the two of us (plus our dogs) for the last 21 years (11 married). My mother lives near my sister, still works and takes care of her two granddaughters. It took me a long time to see the things I see today. It wasn’t easy to accept that no one’s life is painless (one way or another). It took me a lot of years to understand that, my mother, as a young and beautiful woman, back then had a choice: and she decided to stay with us. She did what she thought was best. Out of love, out of courage, she made us become what we are.

Even though we sometimes -more often than desired- fight, or despite the fact that she doesn’t react the way I think she should, or the three thousand door mats she places all over the house carpet (oh, because god forbid the carpet might get dirty) I love her with all my heart, respect and honor her for her accomplishments and even more for her sacrifices… and how blessed and lucky I am to realize it in time.

To Olga: the Mother, the Tita, the fighter… but foremost, the woman.

America for the Americans

July 4th, 2010

Independence Day is a colorful holiday, summer time and fireworks, barbeques and lemonade (or beer). A day to remember we live in the land of the free home of the brave. To feel proud of being part of a great machinery of citizens that make this place the land of opportunities, a place where the dreams are possible and where hard work, honesty and spirit counts.


The 13 American colonies declared its independence from the British Empire back in 1776, in a document written mainly by Thomas Jefferson and John Adams and with the main objective, besides stating the obvious separation from England, to ensure "that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with inalienable rights," and "that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed." Equal. That is one strong word.

The United States of America is a country built mainly by immigrants. People from all around the world were welcomed to settle in a country in need for inexpensive labor force and offering hope for those getting away from hunger, religious persecution and political instability. European immigrants mainly from Ireland, Germany, Italy and Poland along with millions of Afro-Americans already in the country during colonial times started it all. Diversity in all senses: creed, ethnicity, culture, language. Asia made its great contribution of people along with Mexican agriculture workers. Scandinavians were lure to the other side of the Atlantic by the promise of free land in America. Nobody arrived uninvited. They all wanted a piece of the dream. A dream described mainly by the letters from their own relatives already living in, by exaggerated descriptions of the so called opportunities.

Historically and cyclically immigrants had been discriminated by the native-born –and most likely garnished by surnames such as Fitzpatrick, Bauer, Rossi, Roosevelt, Murphy and Garcia – with unfair acts ranging from verbal and physical abuse to burning their homes and deporting them for taking the American’s jobs. Immigrants have been taking turns in the path of discrimination: African-Americans suffered the most by slavery and denial of human rights; Irish treated as second class citizens, carriers of diseases and filth. Mexicans treated as criminals, ignorant and second-class human beings. Stereotypes applied without further reasoning or logical foundation.

I am an immigrant. I was born in Mexico. I was naturalized American therefore became Mexican-American. My family lives in Arizona. I pay my taxes; we contribute to the great American economy. I am as proud of my background as I am loyal and grateful for the opportunity to be in the United States. My two beautiful nieces are half-Mexican, they will always be. I was told, more than once, I don’t look Mexican… neither do my nieces. I don’t take that as a compliment…it insults me and my heritage to the bone. Nobody should have the right to decide who is good or bad, who has the right to live or should leave by the way it looks, the ability to speak more than one language, an accent or the amount of spices you can tolerate in the food. Arizona’s government is enforcing a state of fear and encouraging the ignorant idea of supremacy based on racial profiles.

One of my best friends, who is also one of the smartest human beings I know – which happens to be Mexican – once told me “Illegal immigration is a social phenomenon not a crime”; by treating illegal immigrants crossing the southern border of the USA as such, and granting the authorities the right to apply subjective criteria to determine who is not an American, a greater evil is encouraged: racism and superiority. A few clarifications for the record: not all the darker-skin, short height, dark-hair, Spanish-spoken aliens trying to cross the border are illegal; neither are all Mexican – Guatemala, Salvador, Honduras and the rest of the central and south American places are, in fact, different countries (it might come as a shocker to some, but America is not just the United States). Not all “Latinos” look alike.

The United States of America, as well as any other nation in the world, has all the right to regulate immigration; nobody should live illegally in a country, without paying taxes and without basic living conditions. But one would think that a first-class country should have the capability to find better means of control; criminalizing an act of desperation and self-preservation goes against human nature, against the nation’s ideals and foundation. Yes, it is against the law and should be treated like that; but no, it is not a crime. Yes, it is something that should be regulated; but no, it does not give the right to become human-hunters.

Some of the greatest contributions to the American culture came from immigrants: from literature to food, from financial institutions to music. Immigrants willing to work hard and become part of a new generation of people open for change and respectful of each other’s right for freedom, to equal rights, equal obligations, and equal opportunities . Call me naïve and romantic, but I still want to believe in America for the Americans – whatever the background, whatever the country – but willing to be free.

To Mia and Amy - always feel proud of who you are.

For the love of the game - Baseball Post Season, Part 1

This first part was written at Fenway Park, Boston, Mass. October, 2008;  history is repeating and the RedSox are facing the Angels one more time for the divisional title this year.

What is the magic? What does Fenway represent? It’s what you breath, the legendary atmosphere of a gigantic structure full of memories; it’s the flavor you can taste of big stars, which in their moment only knew they were accomplishing their dreams and their commitment with a talent, given to a few privileged ones, recognized by the gutsiest but used in full only by the braves at heart.


Have you heard about the Cy Young award? Well, he, Cy Young, was a Red Sock. Have you seen the Ted Williams tunnel signs in Boston? Also, a Red Sock. And what about the Baby Ruth candy bar? No, I am not joking, but the Babe was also a Red Sock (and continued to be one at heart even after his involuntary cross over to the evil empire).

Being a Red Sock goes deeper than 9 players in the field, their records and to some, their millions. It is a life style; it’s the passion for a game hardly understood by the logical thinkers.

Why is October so especial? It represents a mission accomplished each season.

And here I am, in Fenway, Zone 18, a few feet from the green field of heroes -being a Red Sock is not a tag…is believing. Believe that the impossible is possible, that the challenges are incentives; that the collective passion gets into your bones and carries you proudly to home plate.

I am in a post season game – the feeling is different, is intense, is all or nothing. For the RedSox, winning today represents to sweep the Angels one more time, winning 12 consecutive games in a Divisional championship series! Poor Angels, they have been left behind for the last 3 seasons, 4 if they lose this one. It is worth mentioning that this year, the Angels are the best team in Major League Baseball with 100 wins; they are not an easy rival, in fact, they are favorites to win. However, they’ve lost the last 2 games which were played in their home, in LA…holy Angels.

Of all the games I’ve lived, this is, by far, the most exciting. Beckett is not in his best moment, so for every RBI pushed by the RedSox offensive, Becket allows the same to the Angels; they are playing with everything they have, they can’t lose. We continue the fight, one down, then up, then even… and we stayed even until the bottom of the eight inning. Along came the ninth, Francona does not call for JPap, seems like he knew better, he anticipates extra innings. Bottom of the ninth, Masters is doing a good job, not enough to win. Bottom of the tenth and straight from the bullpen… the “wild thing”… JPap… only 24 years old and such a giant. He makes his warming up throws, we at the park can’t hardly manage our excitement, to see him getting ready makes us feel hope; and then, out loud in the park, The Dropkick Murphy’s “I’m Shipping up to Boston” – bag pipes, drums and spirit – it is clear: JPap came to kill.

The tenth inning begins- JPap is doing his job- from my seat, I have a direct and perfect view to home plate and the pitcher’s mound. JPap is impressive, whether he is aware of it or not, his concentration ritual of crouching and hanging his arm makes me think of Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hide: baby face, monster arm…it must be threatening as hell for the player at bat the feeling of not knowing if the next throw is a bullet of more than 95 miles per hour that could easily slice your limb or brake perfectly in the middle of your strike zone – no matter what, it is smart to show respect and be aware.

The tenth inning is over; “cinco-ocho” is back for the eleventh – two complete innings and standing, emotionless, concentrated and straight…24 years full of passion and professionalism.

Here comes the twelfth… in Boston is past 1 AM and the park is no less than 98% full. There are 39,067 souls at the game, 39,066 and myself; did I go alone to the game? It is totally a matter of perspective. Who can be alone when you share the same passion with more than thirty nine thousand people gathered at the same time in the same space – it is pure physics, really: relativity, time, space and momentum.

So many chances, so many moments with the heart pounding in the mouth, freezing hands and soul hanging from a thin thread. Bases loaded, raw euphoria, then nothing; at this moment, the game really has to end – five hours and nineteen minutes, it’s officially the longest post-season game in the history of baseball; and the game ends indeed. A single hit to load first base, then a sacrifice fly to push the player to second, then another single to score the one run needed for the 5 to 4 – the winning score… winning alright, but for the Angels…1:38 AM, it is already Monday, somebody had to win and Boston let them win. They’re leaving the series 2 to 1, still up and needing just one more game, a fourth game in a few hours.
to be continued...