No, I’m not dying. Well, not in the immediate sense anyway.
It’s just that this month my mind has floated to it a few times. The show I’m in talks about death, my cousin’s funeral, friends have lost loved ones. It’s been a bittersweet month.
Eddy and I have talked about what we wanted at our funerals. In fact, I made him put in writing where he wanted to be buried, because every family is different and I didn’t want to argue with his Mom about his wishes. I know what he wants – to be buried in a National Cemetery, especially if he dies in the line of duty.
I want to be cremated and buried under some tree in a forest. Okay, if Eddy and I do end up doing that “together forever” thing and he goes first, put my shoebox on top of him.
But honestly, I want to go out the cheapest way possible. I’ve actually considered donating my body to science so that my family is out zero money. That whole crime lab thing in TN looks interesting too.
If my closest family members need to say goodbye to my body then okay. That’s fine. But not everyone needs to. Or I don’t need them to. And I don’t need anyone to feel obligated to tend my graveside. I believe the ones we love stay with us. My grandmother is far more in my heart than in a field in South Dallas.
So burn me but don’t keep any of me. Don’t put me in a box and drag me all over town. And please dear God don’t let a herd of people see me in said box looking my worst. Can you imagine what my double chin would look like lying on my back like that? Ugh.
Harvest my organs at will. In fact, I demand that if there is anything reusable about me, take it. It’s not like I need it later. If I find out someone didn’t use a reusable piece, I’m coming back down and dying again.
I heard recently about a man who passed away and instead of a regular formal funeral, his family hosted a party. They rented out a ballroom at Dallas’ Informart and played music and had an open bar.
That’s how I want to go out. If any money is going to be spent upon the occasion of my death, I want it to be on a kick-ass party. Serve my favorite Mexican and German beer. Get a DJ. NO sad songs. NO “Amazing Grace.” Mexican food. Drink, dance and be merry. Share warm memories of me (if I’ve left you any) and remember me how I want to be remembered – La Party Girl. Share pictures of me smiling and having fun. Photoshop a few so I can look hot.
Choose to celebrate my time here; try not to mourn the fact that I am gone.
In the meantime, I’m going to choose to live it up…
If you aren't old or a biker, Eureka Springs Walmart may be your only choice...
So, the first decade of the new millennium has come to an end. That’s wild. Ten years ago we were all afraid the world would explode with Y2K and now we’re afraid the world will explode because of a powder keg in a crazy man’s underwear. What a decade.
As I stand on the precipice of a new decade, I realize that if I continue on my present course, I’ll have nothing to show for myself by 2020. So, I’ve decided to actually make some New Year’s Resolutions. I usually resolve to not resolve and that’s mostly because I’m too lazy to think about it. Or too afraid of failure to throw them out there. So here it is. I share them with you in hopes that you will share your own, or hold me to mine and call me on my s#!+.
My laundry list of things I’d like to accomplish, overcome, own, rule over like a boss, etc., in 2010:
Traditional
Work out at least four times a week
Eat in at least five times a week
Put money in my savings account AND keep it there
Pray more regularly
Be in bed between 11:00-11:30pm on weeknights
Be on time to work
Things to make me feel like I’ve done something productive
Blog every week
Finish a book
Keep up with current news and events
Learn something new every day… that’s right, I said every DAY…
Don’t take on other people’s problems as my own (sometimes I just can’t help)
Cultivate the friendships that bring me joy by keeping in touch, even just to say, “hi”
Remember the kind of person I want to be, the qualities I want to possess and if I feel myself slipping, stop immediately and regroup
Make more time for Eddy
Remember that sometimes I need to keep my ears open and my mouth shut
Remember what’s really important to me, what’s real and what’s bulls#!+
Yes. This is a huge list. I agree. But I’ve been thinking a long time about this. And I figure if I’m successful with even half this list, next year’s won’t be nearly as long.
Both EXCELLENT articles. Really, the commentary is right on the money. I cannot tell you how many times I have been in a situation where I’m asked where I’m from… originally. Once I was asked where my “homeland” was. My response? God’s country – TEXAS.
Do I think he was being racist? No. I think he legitimately wanted to know about me. I know he didn’t consider his question (or more specifically the way he phrased it) as culturally insensitive, but it was… accidentally. And it happens all the time.
For example, if you are white or black, how often are you asked about your homeland? If you are Asian and immediately open your mouth with a perfect Oklahoma accent, no one assumes that you just arrived from Beijing. But when I open my mouth, sans an accent and with almost perfect grammar, there is still an assumption that perhaps 25 years ago I was selling chicle on a street corner in Piedras Negras.
The problem isn’t in the curiosity – it is in the assumption. The assumption that even though we say we are from the good ol’ USA, really we just jumped off a turnip truck to work the fields. That’s not the case. My family settled in that untamed country that was once Mexico and then became Texas. I had family fight in the Civil War (on the side of the Confederacy – how f’ed is that?).
So in the great words of comedian Paul Rodriguez, “We didn’t cross the border. The border crossed us.”
The unfortunate thing is, in a time when studies say we are raising the most color-blind generation in American history, these conversations are still needed. Because if you look at the “color conversation” in the United States, historically it’s been black and white. As if the rest of us weren’t here or worse – as if we were just a little too stupid to participate.
I admit that I used to be hyper-sensitive when it came to these issues. I’ve since chilled a bit and can take a joke (if it really is a good one), but I notice off-handed, culturally insensitive statements people make – especially when good people make dumb comments.
I choose my battles and if it (or you) isn’t worth my time, I don’t bother. My Mom is still pretty militant. My husband had to re-learn the correct pronunciation of the word “Mexican” because his was more “Messcan.” Oh no baby – my family don’t roll like that.
Bottom line is that we, Mexican-Americans (MAs) are different than Mexican-Nationals (MNs). And while we share certain cultural traditions and celebrations, our perspectives are very different. In fact (and here is a well known secret) Mexican-Americans and Mexican-Nationals tend to NOT LIKE EACH OTHER!
That’s right ladies and gentlemen – as a stereotype, we dislike each other. Now, this is a broad generality and there are always going to exceptions. For example, I have cousins that married wonderful, beautiful women from Mexico who I absolutely adore and would never think of like this for a second. But obviously, I’m not talking about them.
For the most part, MNs think that MAs are too-full-of-themselves wannabes who have turned their back on their culture and have a “better than thou” mentality. The reverse is also true. MAs think MNs are full-of-themselves users, completely delusional to believe that their home country is the land of milk and honey. And if they think that, why don’t they just go back?
Admittedly, I’m going to have far more in common with a Caucasian male who grew-up middle class than I am a Mexican-National. It’s just true. When I was in elementary school, I was one of maybe two dozen Latino students. Predominately white neighborhoods are my experience and if you tried to set me down in the middle of Oaxaca, I’d be able to order a beer and some tacos but I couldn’t find my way home. I’d be waaaaayyyy f’ed.
But don’t get me wrong. Don’t think because I’ve outed our dirty little secret that I’m going to get behind your enthusiasm for an expensive, useless wall. Because there is something else you may not have thought of. I CAN call my brother an asshole. You CANNOT call my brother an asshole. Sorry, it’s the rules. Hate it all you want.
After reading the second article, about the down trend in Latino names, I couldn’t help but think, “Duh, of course.”
With the current war on all things brown, why would you knowingly name a child something that might already make them discriminated against? I’m lucky. Cristela is a Latino name, but it’s unique so people find it melodic. People like unique.
But Josephina? Jose? Guadalupe, Esteban, Alberto, Esmerelda? Hmmm, probably not. And why? Because as Americans we are trained to think that all things European are more elegant, cultured, and worthy. Speak with a British accent and everything you say has a certain gravitas. If a Spanish accent comes out of a body like Penelope Cruz then it’s sexy.
But how sexy does the bus boy at your favorite restaurant sound to you? When you hear Mexican music blaring out the kitchen what are you thinking? What if your bus boy had the British accent and the waiter had the Spanish accent? What are you trained to think?
I bet you are wondering, “Have I been culturally insensitive?” Well, I’m going to give you a smattering of questions and/or statements and if you’ve said it – DING! You’ve been culturally insensitive.
Here we go:
Upon hearing Mariachi music, you say “That music makes me hungry!”
Uhm, are you suffering with some Pavlovian complex because if we knew it was that easy… Mariachi music is important to us. It’s deeply woven into our DNA and we use it to celebrate weddings, holidays, special events or to mourn our loved ones once they pass. This is tear in your beer music that we learn to sing along with from birth. It wasn’t developed to accompany your enchiladas.
You are the whitest Mexican I’ve ever met.
Depending on who this is coming from, it could be meant as an accusation or a compliment. If the first – want to get your ass kicked? Call me coconut. I can’t kick very high, but I’ll stand on a stool if I need to. If the second, you may want to sit down for this. It’s not a compliment. That isn’t what we strive for. I know, I know it’s a shock. But all we are really thinking is “Jeez, what do you think of Mexicans?”
We are Mexican. The language is Spanish. No one speaks Mexican.
Want to piss off a Cuban or Puerto Rican? Say they speak Mexican. Better yet:
Assume I speak English.
When I was younger (post-college but pre-grown up job with insurance) I had to go to a clinic my uncle’s law office hooked me up with. When I sat down with the doctor, he looked at his PA (who appeared to be from a Middle Eastern country) and said, “Does she speak English good enough to speak to me?”
I looked at him with surprise and asked, “Who me?”
“Yes.”
And looking him dead in the eye, I leaned forward ever so slightly and responded, “I speak English fluently.”
You could see the chill go up his back…
We come in varying shades of brown…
Spaniards are European. The rest of us descend from the indigenous people of Latin American countries. The Conquistadores landed in the Americas, then proceeded to rape, pillage and basically Spanish Inquisition everybody over here (because it all went so well for them in Europe). What does that mean? The Blondies and the Brownies (even some darker Brownies) got all mixed together and so we ended up being lovely shades of brown. Like varying levels of cream in your coffee. PLUS (and this may surprise some) we can even being varying shades of brown within our own families! In fact, your Mom can be light and you come out brown. Ask me how I know!!!
I’d like to leave you with Cheech Marin’s awesome song “Mexican-Americans” because I think that this touching song sums up my feelings better (well a lot funnier anyway) than I can.
I admit, I'm a smart aleck. Is that supposed to be one word? Smartaleck? Just googled it. It's "smart alec." No 'k' - who knew? Well obviously the people from Merriam-Webster. But I think it still looks weird.
Anyway, this is a smattering of things that pop into my mind. I share them with friends, foes, perfect strangers with whom I have no stake. Oh, and I suppose potential employers who are curious about their interviewees. Or current ones that like to know what their people are up to...
I assure you this is the most notorious thing you will find about me on the web. You can go ahead and stop looking. I promise.
Where Were We? 