Obnoxious Bitch

Monday, October 02, 2006

Enlightening moments while drunk and abroad…

I attended the YP Webmaster Getaway last weekend, and had a great time reconnecting with a few old webmaster friends, and getting to know some new ones, too.  In spite of my being in virtually a perpetual state of inebriation (or plain old sleep-deprivation-induced delirium) I found myself reflecting on things I’d not thought too much about before… or at least haven’t in quite some time.

First and foremost, driving past the Mexican border towns and Baja coastline one would have to be blind not to notice the strange (yet ubiquitous) juxtapositions of relative wealth side-by-side with abject poverty.  Westward glances out the window present one with the striking contrast of a newly-built large, well-appointed beachside home sitting next to a ramshackle abode that’s clearly been crafted out of whatever abandoned materials the inhabitants have been able to scrounge up.  In town after town, I saw “houses” that more closely resembled the forts I helped build as a kid: half a piece of corrugated tin here, a section of fence or plywood remnants there.  (Oh, and the “new” buildings almost all have rebar poking out of the walls and/or roof, because in Mexico, apparently as long as the building isn’t “finished,” there are no taxes assessed.  On the ride down, we wondered aloud at all the rebar “crowns,” but were informed of this loophole in Mexican tax policy by those in the know at the Baja Seasons resort.) Putting myself in the shoes of the poor souls who live in those cobbled-together casitas, it’s all too easy to understand the motivations of those who’d risk life, limb and liberty to escape across the border… they may get paid shit wages once they get here, but at least they’ll be living in a house or apartment that’s properly built, with indoor plumbing, electricity and all the other basic necessities so many Americans take for granted.

In a similar vein, I found that my “bleeding heart” continues to leak, if not hemorrhage… especially when I’m confronted with the dirty faces of children, nursing mothers and the abuelitas whose leathery, wrinkled faces, gnarled hands and hunched backs make it difficult to tell whether they’re 50 or 80, but in any case are testament to their having lived harshly enough, if not long enough, to bring them sufficiently close to the end of their lives that there’s little doubt they’re unemployable.  During a 3-hour shopping trip to Ensenada, I’d imagine at least 1/4 of the money I spent went to the “chiclet kids,” mamas with babies at their breast and a couple of abuelitas.  My cousin, Chet, chastised me, saying that the kids probably work hard at looking so dirty and pathetic (and likely go home to designer clothes, iPods and big-screen tv), and that he actually SAW one of the mamas pinch a baby to make it cry.  I admit it, I’m a sucker… and thus I must limit the amount of time I spend in places where I’ll end up interacting with beggars.  Even though I know on an intellectual level that many of these people are probably making a better living by begging than I do by working, there’s that small part of me that is all too aware that a sudden downturn of fortune can quite quickly land ANYONE in the undesirable position of having to beg in order to survive.  It can and does happen here in the U.S., and in a place like Mexico the loss of a job is more often than not a fast-track to abject poverty. Despite my disbelief, I succumb to the little voice in my brain that says, “There but for the grace of God go I,” and put a little something in the cup.  Ah well, better a bleeding heart than none at all!

Mexicans, regardless of on which side of the border they’re residing and/or their legal status as immigrants to America, are not only my fellow human beings but my neighbors - and I speak not merely of their country’s bordering mine, but of their being a large and vital force in my community for as long as I’ve lived in Southern California (which is virtually my entire life… at least the part that counts, from my teens ‘til now).  This state would not be what it is if not for the people of Mexico, who are an integral part of its history, style and culture. They’ve left (and are still leaving) their marks everywhere, from our local towns’ architecture and nomenclature to the food we eat and the cocktails we imbibe (Margaritas for Cinco de Mayo? Sí ... muy gusto!).  Even so, all of the above doesn’t even take into account the physical labor performed by Mexicans (and yes, other Latinos) whether they’re here legally or not. Unlike those people who choose to see only evidence of their preconceived notions and negative stereotypes, it’s been my experience that my Mexican friends and neighbors’ stories of coming to America and getting established are nearly identical to those I’d heard growing up from my Sicilian relatives… the first to arrive here scratch out a living doing back-breaking work while sponsoring as many family members as possible, and successive generations (hopefully) assimilate and generally have more opportunities than their forbears.  For my part, I salute Mexicans for their contributions to the society I live in and I recognize that without them California, and indeed the United States, would be a very different place… I appreciate how their culture has enriched ours; and on a more personal level, its influence on my own life and worldview.

Lastly, the “dirty old lady” in me simply won’t let me end this post without admitting to being (positively) biased, purely primal in nature.  Mexicans, and Latinos in general make some bee-you-tiful specimens of human being!  I freely admit to being enthralled by people whose ethnicity is immediately apparent in their physical makeup (and yes, to going all squishy inside sometimes, for particular male specimens, heh).  Having grown up primarily in Southern California, a goodly number of the hands-down hottest, most breathtakingly beautiful people I’ve ever known/seen have been at least a little bit Mexican; and even I, before becoming a wise old married crone, made a few bad decisions while held in thrall by el guapo con carisma latino, silly girl that I was.  It’s the coloring, it’s the accent, it’s just… chemical, I suppose!  I’m perfectly satisfied with admiration from afar these days, and even as a happily married woman I ‘m happy to report that from my observations, the stereotypical “Latin Lover” type is in absolutely no danger of going extinct any time soon.

YP 2006 Video slideshow - So many great memories, such inspiration…