So what am I, anyway?

I was at a friend’s birthday party the other night and had yet another person tell me that I “don’t look Mexican.” This statement doesn’t bother me anymore as I know that most people have the stereotype already set. It’s hammered into their heads by popular media and even their own experiences that all Mexicans have dark skin, black straight hair and dark eyes. A lot of Mexicans do look like this, I will totally agree. However a lot of Mexicans could also pass for white in American society (myself included).

Another friend asked me a while ago what race I consider myself. This was an odd question I felt, though again I didn’t take it personally. I said that ethnically I consider myself Mexican but that I guess I’m white. I said this though it didn’t really feel right in my head or my heart.

In the United States there are definite lines drawn between the three “races”: white, asian and black. But where the hell does that leave the brown people? Though latinos span a huge color spectrum from very light to very dark skinned, there are plenty who are neither white nor black by the regular standards. They’re just brown.

My sisters have my mother’s much lighter, pink undertoned complexion. Though they tan easily, their skin is just lighter. I’ve got my daddy’s skin tone, with yellow undertones that tan easily. In winter though, especially here in the midwest, my skin can get so pale that I look like a ghost. However, it being summer right now, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the sun (enjoying it for the three months we get it out here in Chicago). My skin has gotten so dark that my friend, the same that prompted me for my race, told me on a crowded bus that I’m “not white anymore.” As I get older too, I’ve noticed that I’ve also inherited my father’s tendency to turn a deep red, not from sunburn but simply natural pigment (a characteristic that has led people to call him a “big Indian,” to which he asked if that was supposed to be an insult).

So do I define myself as white or brown? There’s a lot of Native American blood in our family, though we are mostly Spanish. The Spanish in our family is from southern Spain though, and heavily influenced by the Moorish conquest. Does that count as white? Do I go by my skin tone in December or August?

The funny thing is that this paradox has never affected my older, paler sister. When asked by her Polish American boyfriend if they were in an interracial relationship, she responded firmly, “Yes.” But she spent more time as a child surrounded by our family and our culture in the southwest than I did, so I think she has a firmer sense of identity.

I guess as of now I simply check the box labeled Hispanic and leave it at that. I’m still very much coming into my identity as a human being, much less trying to sort out complicated social racial constructs. But I’m still very aware of who I am ethnically, culturally and phenotypically and try to keep that at the back of my mind always.

America Ferrera is my hero

Seriously, I wish I could get America to roll her eyes at every idiot in Hollywood today. This clip is pricesless.

Stepping On Toes?

I feel I may have inadvertently insulted one of my friends lately. I was talking with a group of friends, two of whom are Eastern European immigrants and a white American. They were talking about The Wackness, which recently came out in theatres, about a white teenage boy who sells weed for a living. Anyway, one of the Eastern Europeans mentioned that it was great because of the old school hip hop that’s featured in the film. Immediately, my boyfriend and I balked at how in Hollywood films there is often an appropriation of ethnic culture by a white protagonist. It’s as though there always has to be the white guy through which anything non-white must be filtered (call it Dances With Wolves Syndrome, if you like).

It’s even present today, like the Haitian revolution film that hasn’t gotten the green light because there’s no white hero in the story (ridiculous, aren’t the execs in any way familiar with the Haitian uprising, the only successful slave revolt in history?).

However, my other friend was quick to point out that hey! they’re white people. Don’t talk trash about white people. To this, my boyfriend responded that they’re not really white people in the American sense, as they’re Eastern Europeans (which is in many ways very true). As for the white American we were with, it was also stated that he’s cool so it’s okay. This was all very tongue-in-cheek of course,
but I’m not sure it was taken as such.

One of these friends, who happens to also be my roommate, is very big into hip hop culture. He dresses like a b-boy, listens almost exclusively to hip hop and most of his friends are from that world. He’s been into hip hop since well before he immigrated to the United States. I often call him the one man Rainbow Coalition. I have no problem with his embracing of another group’s culture, style and music, in fact I think it’s great.

What I do have a problem with is how Hollywood feels the need to take other cultures and always show them through the perspective of a white character. Often the “Other” is construed as some from of noble savage, particularly in pieces such as The Last of the Mohicans or The Last Samurai (how come the last one is always a white guy anyway?). I feel that this is not only denigrating to the people these films are supposed to portray but also to white people as well. Why do movies have to be dumbed down like that? It is not as though white people can’t understand a different cultural perspective without having another white person to identify with.

However, I do feel as though I may have stepped on some toes. Was it wrong of me to simply state that? Was it perhaps tactless considering the company? Or is there someone in this group being too sensitive?

Dating and Culture, Distinct or What?

I recently broke up with a guy I’d been seeing for a couple of months. He was very sweet, very attentive, very perfect on paper. And I totally dumped him. It didn’t help that he was from Eastern Europe (very recently) as well. So quite literally, interests and culture-wise, we had NOTHING in common.

I’ve struggled for a long time with boyfriends. College meant a lot of dating assholes, as it does for everyone. Add to this that I’ve only ever dated white guys my entire life. This is more related to the fact that I grew up in predominately white communities, where often I was one of a small handful of minorities populating the “international table” as we were dubbed. I found that I had little in common with my white boyfriends and their families, as was made painfully obvious at any kind of holiday dinner. It made things a little stressful at any rate. It just often felt as though we thought differently, that our priorities were vastly different.

After recently breaking up with that last guy, I find myself thrown (well, I guess I kind of did the throwing) into my first relationship with someone from a similar cultural background, as he is Afro-Mexican. We both strangely straddle a bridge, as neither of us looks overtly Mexican but in many ways culturally still are. And he doesn’t speak Spanish either (woo hoo! another one!).

Though this relationship is very very new, it’s already vastly different from those I’ve had with previous boyfriends.  I suppose I just understand the way he thinks, because I think the same way too. But then, we also have very similar interests in general.

So what I wonder is, how much does a similar cultural background matter in a relationship? Is it that important or do common interests mean more?

Blissful Solitude

There is no one at my house right now.  I am reveling in my solitude.

I live with three other people in a large loft apartment in Chicago.  It’s nice, and I certainly chose this living arrangement as I was lonely living in the city alone (surprise).  But sometimes…

There’s a certain amount of politics that goes along with living amongst more than one person.  Particularly in my place, with two women and two men.  Particularly in my place with two people of color and two white people.  This is nothing against my roommates, they’re practically a two person Rainbow Coalition.  One is a young woman who has been to almost every continent and plans to settle in Belize.  The other is an ex-pat from Romania who is into hip-hop.  They’re both very open-minded, but still there are cultural differences that linger.

My other roommate, a Filipino young man, likes to joke with me that as POC’s, we can talk about whatever we feel like together.  I think the others don’t quite understand the issues a person of color has to deal with.  As a Mexican that “passes,” I have to deal with being called illegitimate by others, white and non-white alike.  He has to deal with often being the only POC in a group of whites who may not understand his sensitivity to racial issues (a problem I often face, though I am not obviously Latina).  He understands why I get so huffy when the Romanian jokes that I’m not really Mexican, since I’m light skinned with green eyes.

Also, in a house with two men and two women, there a boys vs. girls situation tends to develop.  Funnily enough, it always seems to be the that the women are trying to work their way onto the “Men’s Couch.”  I often fail to understand, from childhood until now, why I can’t be in the boy’s club.  I don’t think men understand how much women simply want to be their equals.  Nothing else, just their friends valued as much as a man would be.

I am also considerably younger than the rest of roommates, by at the least 6 years and most 9.  So I tend to be the kid sister of the house.  I suppose this is fine as I have always spent a lot of time with older people, but man does it get annoying.

So tonight I’ve got a movie on and I am alooooone.  Cherish the moment.

Vice Gets One Last Chance

Generally speaking, I hate Vice Magazine. I find it to be overwhelmingly racist and sexist, though most hipsters would say that I’m not getting the joke. But I get it, and I just don’t think it’s funny. Usually I just don’t bother cracking the damn thing though because it’s just not worth my time.

However, my least favorite magazine has just released “The Mexican Issue” and I found myself scouring the trendiest boutiques in the city to grab one. Flipping through it, I find it interesting how Vice seems to have managed to drop the crappy attitude for a couple of minutes to actually tackle the subject of Mexicans, not just in the U.S., but the entire world today. It seems that Americans are constantly bombarded with the images and ideas of Mexicans as poverty stricken workers hopping over a fence to take over the country and tank the economy; it’s a relief to see a variety of Mexican people and how they live their lives throughout the world.

The portraits of Mexican youth subcultures, such as goths, punks and skinheads (not the Neo-Nazi type that Americans are used to from news circa 1992) were great examples of how being Mexican doesn’t relegate a person to perpetual ponchodom.

Of course, the fashion spread is of some blonde woman with her naked ass in the air. I guess bad habits are hard to kick.

The articles are, in the usual Vice Mag style, mainly relegated to sex and underground culture. It didn’t bother me, since the lives of prisoners or elderly prostitutes are generally ignored; it’s nice to see someone pay a little attention. Of course there is a bit of a freakshow vibe to the whole thing, particularly the articles on Mexican warlocks and homemade porn. But generally speaking, I found a sense of empathy and, dare I say, care in the writing. The magazine even comes packaged with an informational booklet set up by the infamous Dov Charney of American Apparel advocating immigration reform. I’m not a huge fan of Charney, sexual harassment really sucks, but he really sets up a great argument for legalization of various illegals throughout the country. And, unlike the women in his company one might argue, he shows them as human beings and not just commodities or an invading force. It’s actually really cool.

Interestingly, the letters to the editor section feature a number of submissions complaining that Vice is starting to care too much. How dare they shed light on environmental issues or animal abuse!?! This amazes me, because who actually wants to read a magazine with nothing to say? But in typical Vice style, the Ed tells the writer to eat shit and die. I can’t really complain, as I kind of agree, and I’m really glad to see Vice at least edging towards being in any way relevant. Good job guys, a valiant effort. Just in the future, could you feature a style spread where the model actually wears clothes?

Unwillingness of Milwaukee community to address local sex crime is disturbing beyond words

I was called out by a friend of mine yesterday for not being up on local Chicago news.  I admit, I’ve spent a lot of time lately reading world and political news and unintentionally ignoring the craziness literally going on two blocks down the street.  Apparently the neighborhood next to mine, Humboldt Park, has a massive police force creating essentially a militarized zone as a result of the many acts of violence that have happened in the last couple of weeks.  The giant Chicago Police trucks, some of which can hold up to 100 cops as well as having a direct line to call in the National Reserve, are kind of freaking folks out.  I had noticed the helicopters of late, but am ashamed to admit that I didn’t delve further into the situation.

So, definitely with a slice of humble pie in my mouth, I started reading the metro section of the Sun-Times to get an idea of what’s going on.  The last time I read the local news, I was definitely shocked by the headlines that stream down the page.  Essentially they read, murder, murder, murder, murder, shooting, murder…  Unfortunately, it was the same this time.  However I stumbled upon an article with the title, “Few talking about gang assault on girl, 11.” The article is about a Labor Day gang rape that took place a year ago in Milwaukee, WI.  I was shocked at the brutality of the crime perpetrated on a little girl, aged 11, being forced to perform sex acts on 20 men aged 13 to 40.  Fourteen were convicted and sentenced, including the 16 year old girl who actually brought the child to the premises and convinced her to engage in the first three assaults.  It was sickening and disturbing, but what really made me physically ill was the attitude of the townspeople.

I can understand the victim’s family being unwilling to speak to the press about such a horrifying subject or wanting to shelter their child from more public scrutiny.  However, I couldn’t believe the unwillingness of the community to address the issue or even support the convictions of the people responsible for the crime.  The most disturbing part of the article however was the comments of a local woman who stated about the convictions,

‘‘Five years? Ten years? That’s ridiculous,’’ said LaToya Bell, 22. ‘‘They (are) getting time for nothing. That girl, she knew what she was doing.’’

How could anyone claim that of an 11 year old girl?  The whole thing reminded me of an open thread at Racialicious: The R. Kelly Verdict.  Again, the 14 year old victim in the video tape was accused of being “fast.”  Honestly, the whole thing makes me sick when I think about it, and I know it happens all the time, not just in minority communities.  Where are we going as a society when we sacrifice our daughters in favor of our sons?

Hulk Mania Hits the Pinto Bean’s House

I have a deep fondness for the Hulk.  He’s big, green, monosyllabic and smashes stuff.  What more could you ask for?  Beyond that, how could you not sympathize with him?  I mean, the poor guy can’t even hold onto a shirt for a two hour movie and he’s got the entire U.S. Army after him.

It’s summer blockbuster season, so of course there’s a few comic book movies out for the public to pick through.  It’s as though they can’t stop pumping them out these days, which may account for how astoundingly bad Ang Lee’s The Hulk was.  It was messy, confusing and chock full of daddy issues.  So I was naturally apprehensive about seeing the latest installment, The Incredible Hulk featuring Edward Norton and his brand of wimpy-guy angst.  No one does tortured like Edward Norton and his sad puppy eyes.

However, I was surprised at how well the movie came out.  The creation of the Hulk, a supersoldier experiment gone horribly wrong, is dealt with in a quick opening title montage leaving the audience free to jump into the action.  As for the Hulk, we really don’t see him at all for the first hour, as he only seems to appear in the shadows and surrounded by smoke.  I admit, as an old comic book nerd from way back, I was practically dying to see him.  And then when you do, of course he’s a big green cartoon guy.  Still, it’s the Hulk, what do you expect?

What is interesting about the movie is how it deals with Banner and his subsequent mental anguish after Hulking out.  He has flashbacks of violence, usually perpetrated against him, that cause him to faint in showers and shudder as only Edward Norton can.  Banner is darker, more tortured than before, and always trying to survive on the fringes.  Liv Tyler is refreshing, but mainly a marginal character as the faraway object of longing.  In fact, it seems as though everyone in the movie, even evilly evil villain Tim Roth, is marginal when compared to the green guy himself.  This may have something to do with the editing which leaves a few plot holes and seems a bit choppy.  It’s no secret that Mr. Norton had his own edit of the film which the studio rejected, and it probably was more throrough than what we end up with.  Then again, would anyone other than the diehard fans want to see a Hulk movie over two hours long?

In the end, this movie is not about character development or intense plot.  It’s about a guy who gets upset and swells into a monster who smashes stuff up.  He fights another big monster and it’s cool.  C’mon, it’s summer, enjoy a little Hulk, why dontcha?

Still Unemployed!

It has now been nearly three months since I last had a job.  And since I’m headed to grad school this September, I think it’s unlikely that I will find one for the next three.  In other words, I’m committing to be unemployed for the rest of the summer.

I know, I should have been able to find a job by now, right?  Amazingly, I can’t even get a shit cafe job right now, much less anything that pays more than $8 an hour.  And it turns out that I’m either wildly overqualified for almost everything shitty, or wildly underqualified as I don’t have any kind of serving experience whatsoever.

So after getting yet another “thanks but no thanks” letter from yet another job, I give in.  I can support myself financially for the coming months, and I shall be unemployed.  When I think about it though, this is really the first summer I’ve spent without a job since I was twelve.  I’ve been working long before it was legal (thanks family business), and maybe I should just enjoy it.  I’ve set myself a few tasks to accomplish in the coming days (i.e. learn Spanish, read a few classics, blogging, possibly being more pretentious in my goals, etc.).  And damn it, I will do what few people ever get to experience, I will enjoy unemployment!

Unemployed!

Well, I guess I should call it what it is.

So I quit my job two months ago due to a hostile work environment (ahem, sexual harassment). I mean, I’m the type of person to ignore the shit that seems to come along with working as a woman in the corporate world, mainly due to fears of being unemployed. And I actually liked my boss and our rapport. Until I got propositioned and bolted.

I knew it wasn’t a good idea to split without a backup plan but I really just didn’t want to work there anymore. First of all, I hated the gig. I worked at an international spam organization which shall remain nameless. While I only spent six months at the company, I have learned the major signs indicating that you should indeed quit your job:

1. You spend vast spans of time in the bathroom just hanging out as it is preferable to the office.

2. You spend a great deal of time after work thinking about how much you hate your job.

3. Your boss makes you hang up his curtains for him and wait for his cable guy even though you were hired for administrative work.

4. The intense feeling of self-loathing that results from doing your job.

5. You’re sexually harassed in ridiculous ways.

Long story short, I quit. It was exhilarating until I started to hire my replacement and realized that most of the candidate pool from which I was sifting had been unemployed for over a month. And now here I am, unemployed.

The question remains however, was it the best route to take? Yeah, I could have sued but the bastard was rich as Roosevelt and I knew about another sexual harassment case that he’d already defeated by just waiting out the opposing party. Balls.

Anyway, I’ve been fighting to get a job for the last two months and had absolutely no luck whatsoever. I’m starting to think that maybe when I send out my resume, it gets garbled in the translation from Mac to PC and when potential employers open it, it spells out “Fuck You.” Is this reasonable, or is our economy just in the turlet?