Writing My Memoirs

I recently finished reading through Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure. Perhaps you've heard of it. The pieces are just as they're described: six-word "stories" meant to encapsulate a life, personality, experience, whatever.

The project was started by SMITH magazine and inspired by a legend about Ernest Hemingway. According to the story, Hemingway was asked to write a story in six words. He came back with, "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

Well, the collection in the book is naturally a very mixed bag, but some of them are fantastic. Ten of my personal favorites:

"Afraid of everything. Did it anyway." -Ayse Erginer

"No shit I'm critical--you're flawed." -Elizabeth Koch

"Never really finished anything. Except cake." -Carletta Perkins

"Cursed with cancer. Blessed with friends." -Hannah Davies

"Born bald. Grew hair. Bald again." -A. J. Jacobs

"My second grade teacher was right." -Janelle Brown

"Well, I thought it was funny." -Stephen Colbert

"Put whole self in, shook about." -Melissa Delzio

"Maybe you had to be there." -Roy Blount Jr.

"Clumsy girl found adventure. Also, bruises." -Rebecca Campbell

Naturally, reading through the book got me thinking about how I might write my own six-word memoir. I've come up with three (so far) that I like. Here they are:

1. Mom: "Jewish boys don't play football."

2. Frequently resist impulse to act inappropriately.

3. Still getting the hang of it.

Post your own six-word memoirs (or other thoughts) in the comments section.

Expanded Themes

It's official. As of today, this blog's theme is expanding to incorporate anything I want to write about. Writing about more stuff will be well, cathartic for my identity. So there.

As an aside, I hope you will all keep your fingers crossed for me as I await the results of the Arizona Bar Exam. My studying for that exam (and for a short professional ethics exam that followed a little more than a week later) has kept me from blogging for the last few weeks, but I'm back now in full force.

Nas on the Colbert Report

Stephen Colbert recently had Nas on his show for an interview. The whole clip is very interesting--watch in particular for a brief but interesting discussion late in the interview regarding a word that they won't say (but which spells "reggin" backwords). Nas notes how the word has been "flipped around" by the Black community, but that it still carries heavy implications and is still scary to a lot of people (which kept him from using it as the title for his latest album).



For more thoughts on the point, check out my earlier post on reclaiming labels.

Follow-up: What If I Call You "Brown"?

My sister-in-law showed me this link earlier, adding a new spin on my recent post, "What am I supposed to call you people?" The speakers on the program posit a new option for the Chicano/Latino/Hispanic debate: "Brown." The basic idea is that "Brown" somehow acknowledges the discrimination against Latinos in this country by highlighting the our differences, even though many Latinos do not in fact have brown skin. The label also is meant to encompass the mixture of culture between indigenous Latin Americans and Spaniards (though as I said in my own post, I believe that the term Latino does a better job of incorporating this mixture, opening the doors for all of the various cultures that have influenced Latino culture, including not only indigenous groups and Europeans, but also Africans, who played a tremendous role in shaping culture in most of Latin America). To me--and I have no problem with this--this is essentially an effort by a group of people to define themselves with their own label, a step that I have acknkowledged and will continue to acknowledge as an important one for many people. It also seems that in this case, the "Brown" label is aimed primarily at Mexican-Americans; I'm not sure if it is even meant to encompass other Latinos.

One last thought on this, and a potential problem: I thought the "Brown" label had already been taken by people of South Asian decent, such as Indian-Americans (that is to say, Americans whose family roots lie in India). Now, I don't know which came first, and it may not even matter, but this certainly sets the stage for some potential confusion for when people start talking about Brown Power or the Brown Rights Movement. If we're going to fight discrimination by owning labels, then we need to be clear who exactly is being discriminated against.

Learning with the Muppets

I recently watched an old episode of the Muppet Show (which I adore) featuring special guest Rita Moreno.  The episode included this bit, about the dying art of conversation:

Now, you might be interested to note that Rita Moreno--born in Puerto Rico and one of the preeminent Latina actresses in this country--does not in fact speak like that.  The accent is part of the act.  But the jokes about the accent set me to thinking (leave it to me to find intellectual stimulation from the Muppet Show).

In the skit, Moreno's character says that she speaks perfectly good English, which she does, as long as you define English as a certain set of rules of vocabulary, grammar, and syntax.  But Miss Piggy does not see English that way, and there's a large segment of the population that has the same reaction:  "If I can't get past your accent, then you don't speak English."

The difficulty of affecting an American accent when speaking the language is something that is a very real and very imposing roadblock for many immigrants seeking full integration into this country.  My grandparents, raised as they were in a Cuba dominated by America, spoke perfectly good English, but they never lost their Cuban accents.  In the later years of my grandmother's life, she began to speak almost entirely her native Spanish--an effect of what I believe was embarrassment about the fact that she still spoke English (no matter how well) with an accent.  Now, I'm not saying this was a plague on my grandmother's life--she lived for the most part very comfortably in this country.  

The point I'm trying to make is just that a foreign accent is a sign around an immigrant's neck labeling him or her as an outsider.  It need not impede success.  As I said, my grandparents lived comfortably throughout their lives.  Another immigrant mentioned on the Muppet Show skit, Desi Arnaz, also never lost his accent, but that didn't stop him from being successful here.  But the accent continues to be a mark of foreignness, and even Desi Arnaz's fame did not prevent his accent from being the common focus of jokes on "I Love Lucy" (see, e.g., "Lucy, you got some splainin' to do.").

Younger immigrants, such as Rita Moreno (who was 5 when she immigrated) or my own father and uncle (who were 6 and 5, respectively), are fortunate in that they can largely overcome any accent by learning English in America at such a young age.  This is even more true for first generations, such as myself, who spent our entire childhood in American schools.

This leads me to an interesting idea.  Most of us know the trend that immigrants tend to hang on to the cultures of their native countries and to resist conforming to American culture.  Most first generations (or very young immigrants), on the other hand, tend to conform entirely and to reject much of their roots.  In turn, their children tend to strike a balance, seeking to reintegrate aspects of their heritage into their American lives.  I think it is not unlikely that part of the cause for this trend is that most immigrants are marked as outsiders by their accents, and full integration is near impossible (especially in a country where immigrants are generally not quickly welcomed), thus leaving them relying on the community of fellow immigrants and never opening the door to do anything but maintain their native culture.  It is really only the first generation that has a good chance to lose the accent and thus have the capacity to assimilate more fully.

I think it would be great if we reached the day where accents were meaningless, and where most Americans' first response to a new immigrant was one of admiration for their history and for their journey, instead of a look of disrespect and disdain.  Yes, I am an advocate of the U.S. as a salad bowl, instead of a melting pot.  But for now, let's at least acknowledge the role that accents play in the lives of immigrants in this country.

Finally, speaking of accents and salad bowls, one more clip from the Muppet Show:

What am I supposed to call you people?

I suppose that just about everyone has had the awkward experience of trying to decide what words to use in describing someone of a different race. Is that guy black or African-American? Is that lady Indian or Native American? As our sensitivity to political correctness develops (and sometimes overdevelops), formerly acceptable terms quickly become offensive. There's a great scene in Avenue Q when one of the characters calls his wife Oriental, before being told that the appropriate term is "Asian-American" (this during the wonderful number, "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist"). Now, most of this beyond my area of expertise, and I'm not going to be the one to tell you that Eskimos would now prefer you to call them "Freezing-Americans."

But I can talk about this one: am I supposed to call you Hispanic, Latino, Chicano, or what? Now, I will preface this by saying that I self-identify as Latino, because my family is from Cuba (generally speaking, part of Latin America). I certainly won't be offended if you call me Hispanic--this particular debate over label does not yet seem to have reached the sensitivity threshold where any of these terms becomes offensive. But if you call me Chicano, well, then you're just ignorant. I don't mean any offense by that, either; I just mean if you were to call me Chicano you would simply be displaying a fundamental misunderstanding of the basic facts.

Let me be clear: the term Chicano refers specifically to a particular group of Mexican-Americans. It's meaning has evolved and changed over the years since its inception in the middle of the 20th century, when it became used as part of the struggle of Mexican and Mexican-American workers and activists, especially in California and the Southwest, for increased civil rights. The term has taken on what most would see as a uniquely political identity, and there are a great many Mexican-Americans who identify only as Chicano and not as Latino or Hispanic, primarily because of what they see as deeper roots in territories now part of the United States, as opposed to roots in Latin America or Spain.

So, for those of you who think that Chicano is a general term to refer to anyone of Latin American or even Spanish origin, please under this distinction. The term Chicano carries with it a distinct history and is not a term of general applicability. For me, this distinction became important when I was in college. I went to Stanford, and the center for (ostensibly) Latino life on campus was known as "El Centro Chicano." El Centro was founded around the same time as much of the Chicano political activism, and it inherited its name from the proud (and rightfully so) Chicano students who had earned the recognition of having a center on campus. Time passed and El Centro became labeled the home for all Latino life on campus, but the name remained the same.

Now, you may be asking yourself, what's the big deal? And indeed, most Latino students at Stanford (situated as it is in California) are of Mexican heritage and don't have a problem with the name. But as someone who is Latino but not Chicano, I always felt that El Centro was not truly a welcoming place for me. The organization, the leadership, and the events were geared towards Mexican and Chicano history, and as a Cuban-American, I always felt like an outsider. What's in a name, eh?

Please don't pity me, though; I had a great experience in college and found plenty else to keep me occupied. I only tell this story now to point out the differences, and I think that in the U.S., and especially where I live in the Southwest, there are many who don't know any better than to think that Chicano is a proper term for any Latino.

As for the Hispanic vs. Latino debate, that one is perhaps trickier, and as I said before, I am one of those people who won't be offended if you call me either one. I think the general difference, though, for those of you who are curious, is that Latino implies Latin-American descent, while Hispanic typically refers back farther to Spanish descent (which, if you look back far enough, is present for many Latinos).

I have seen this debate play out interestingly in my own family, between my father and my uncle, both of whom were born in Cuba. I asked them both some time ago whether they self-identified as Latino or Hispanic, and I got opposite answers. My dad told me he used the term Latino (when not simply saying he was Cuban) because it acknowledged the great mix of cultures that exist in Cuba and the influence that all of them have had on who he is. (I will add as an aside that it is this same acknowledgment of the broader Cuban culture that leads me to self-identify as Latino, as well). My uncle, on the other hand, told me that he was Hispanic, and seemed offended at possibly being subject to a label of "Latino." He explained to me that because our family's roots are in Spain, and because our ancestors have all been of Spanish descent, the only correct term is Hispanic. You may recognize a certain snobbishness and racism in that attitude. I know I do. I'm not sure that this same sort of debate occurs for everyone in the Latino/Hispanic mix, but I think it is nonetheless important to recognize the meanings and implications that simple labels may carry with them for different people.

Myself, I recognize that my roots are Hispanic and Latino, and I embrace all of the cultures that are a part of my family and that have become an important part of who I am. So, for anyone out there who's worried about this, you can call me Hispanic, or you can call me Latino. Just don't call me late for dinner.

Let's Have a Parade!

As you may or may not know, this past weekend witnessed the march of the Pride Parade in Los Angeles.  My wife attended and called me from the event.  She said to me, "You know, you should be here.  You should blog about this." And so, because my wonderful, beautiful (not relevant here, but nice anyway), and intelligent wife suggested it, I am going to.

Now, I want to tackle two questions that I think people might have about the event.  The first question is, why even have a parade?  I mean, most of us get it:  you're here, you're queer, we're used to it; now quiet down, we're watching Matlock.  And the select few who don't get it (like the people carrying the "Smile: Satan Loves You" sign), well, you're not changing their minds any time soon.

To start to answer this, let me give an abridged history.  You may know it already; if you do, keep quiet and let the rest of the class learn.  On June 29, 1969, there was a police raid on a prominent (some would prefer the word notorious) gay bar in Greenwich Village in Manhattan.  The place was called the Stonewall Inn.  What made this particular raid unusual was that the patrons of the bar resisted arrest; in fact, they rioted in the streets.  This is seen by many (and I have no personal knowledge to the contrary) to have been the first large-scale resistance by a group of gay individuals, and it became known (aptly) as the Stonewall Riots. (It is interesting to note that many of the gay rioters were also black.)  There are many who consider the Riots a beginning to the entire gay rights movement, but that's a history and a discussion for another day (and probably another teacher).

June of the next year, 1970, saw marches in San Francisco and events in Los Angeles to commemorate the anniversary of the Stonewall Riots.  Those marches became an annual event, and turned into what is now the Pride Parade.  To answer the original question of why parade?, it is both this historical remembrance and something much more.  I believe that the action of parading is significant also in that it is a reminder by the paraders simply that they are.  They exist.  Homosexuality is primarily what I would call a hidden identity:  unlike most racial identities, which an observer cannot help but notice, homosexuality generally may be stowed away should an individual want to do so.  That's why we have a discussion of people being "in the closet:"  they have an identity that is ferreted away somewhere and unavailable to the general public.  Indeed, to harken back to an old post, that hideability (not a word--so what) is what allowed Dorian Greene in A Confederacy of Dunces to be actively gay in his private life while hiding his homosexuality, at least to a degree, to avoid persecution in his public life.  But while a hidden identity may save the identifying individual from the public at large, it also allows the public at large to ignore the existence of the identity.  In other words, Joe Schmo can go about his life without worrying about the problems of homosexuals, because he doesn't even notice that they're around.

So, how does a community makes itself known?  Does it write letters to its local representative?  Probably not.  Does it walk around everywhere with t-shirts saying, "Look at me! I'm gay!"?  Well, sometimes.  Does it have fun parades around the world a la Mardi Gras? Hell yeah!  Parades are great!  And most importantly they make the LGBT community unignorable.

But, some will say, why do we still need these parades?  (This is not the second question, just a corollary to the first: consider it 1a.)  We're all aware of you; most of us (at least, a lot of us) agree that you should have equal rights and all; look at all you've accomplished.  Do we still need all of the hullabaloo? Especially in California, where the state supreme court just overturned a ban on gay marriage?  I, for one, have no problem with it:  there are a number of other issues out there, and we should not allow this (albeit important) victory to allow us to forget the other things.  Yes, this country has come a long way as far as gay rights goes; but no, we are not there yet.  And besides, even assuming that the whole "gay agenda" (we'll definitely talk about all these agendas one of these days) was complete, all of the items checked off, well, who the heck is going to complain about a parade?  It's fun for the whole family.

Of course, Mom and Dad might hesitate to bring little Timmy along to a parade that prominently displays glaring tributes to untraditional sexual behavior, including perhaps most prominently the men and women dressed in S&M regalia.  And this is the second question: why all the bondage?  I will tell you right at the beginning that I don't know the answer to this and that I'm not the right person to ask.  But you know what, that's never stopped me from spouting off before, and it's not going to stop me now.

I can see two primary concerns to the overtly, hypersexual pieces of the Pride Parade.  One is that S&M floats and the like don't reflect the self-identity of many LGBT people.  That is to say, the guy standing next to you at the parade may identify as gay, but he's not into that crazy bondage stuff, and he doesn't see what it has to do with his gay pride.  That's fair enough, and I'm willing to bet a lot of LGBT people don't see a bondage fetish as having anything to do with their identities.  Still, Pride Parades around the world feature the S&M stuff alongside other floats dealing with AIDS, gay marriage, LGBT churches and synagogues, etc.  There are a lot of people creating floats and marching, and they have a lot of different things that are important to them related to how they identify:  some serious, some fun, and some perhaps shocking.  Maybe that makes the whole thing better.  The parade encompasses a large swath of the gay community and it reflects what its constituents want it to reflect.  Democracy in action, baby.

The other concern, though, and one that I share a bit more, is this:  don't the displays of nontraditional sexual behavior make it easier for other people watching the parade to dismiss LGBT people as sexual deviants?  There are a number of people in this country who are eager to write off the LGBT community as a group of odd outliers.  After all, who cares about equal rights for a bunch of weirdos and deviants?  This is, admittedly, a defensive approach, but I'm a firm believer in equal rights, and I would hate to have anything happen that diminishes the opportunity for LGBT people to obtain them.  Do the more sexual floats diminish the chances that the LGBT community will get full equal rights?  I don't know.  Do I worry that they might diminish those chances?  Yes.  But at the same time, I hesitate to tell anyone in the parade how best to express their own selves.