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If Cuba had a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade…
Once again I was not able to get myself out of bed at the crack of dawn, shuffle to the packed train, and join the mass of out-of-towners with their spawn in tow and witness the spectacle of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. I’m not hating on the parade. My childhood memories are filled of being dragged out of bed to go to it (after staying up late having visited the balloon set up the night before). Really I just wanted to go because it meant a container of hot chocolate and perhaps a visit to a Greek diner for some scrambled eggs. And we didn’t go to the musical orgy on 34th street- we kept it real as a parade should be enjoyed: people passing you, you cheer hooray! and then you walk away.
That said I watched some of it on TV this morning, not with child wonder eyes but as an anthropologist. We all know this, but either this year’s new balloon additions drove the message home more or things are getting worse: it is a parade of raw Dinsey packaged consumerism! All I got from watching that parade was what movie is coming out soon (Smurfs, 2011), whose CD is coming out next (Andrea Bociello Christmas albums and a plug for the opening musical, White Christmas), what retro toys are making a comeback (Care Bears?!) and that Planter’s Peanuts (making a cameo in his Monopoly Man tux) is now being made with sea salt. The recipe Macy’s uses is the same witchcraft Disney utilizes to mesmerize our oh-too-innocent young seeds.
That said, I wondered what a Thanksgiving Day Parade might look like in Cuba:
If Cuba had a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade… – continue reading …
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Beauty Parlor Images
Beauty parlors give you have a lot of time to observe, think, reflect and unintentionally eavesdrop. While your hair is washed you can count cracks in the ceiling and wonder when the rest of the paint will peel off. While under the dryer you have time to do normal activities like read or play with your phone. But when in the beautician’s chair your eyes are pretty much fixed upon the tools aligned under the mirror.
There you might catch a glance of her personal life: the purse sitting half open on the floor just beneath the alter of hair products, a picture of a smiling kid or two in graduation caps. Lunch that has been put on hold until she’s finished rolling your hair.
When you’re done looking at these, you find yourself reading all the labels of the hair products she has. Olive oil this, silicon that…. but I have to say I was taken by surprise by the orange and yellow canister with a picture of a runny nose gorilla, greenness dripping from his nose. Yes, it really is a product, and they call it “Gorilla Snot”. How they managed to really market this to people is a mystery to me. But there it was, moco de gorila.
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Star maps
Watchers of all sorts and space travelers: this iphone app is a must for your urban space odyssey. With the new gps capability of the phone, you just aim your Star Trek tri-corder into the sky and it outlines the celestial mosaic for you, name, coordinates and all. Looking to catch a ride on a passing comet? To figure out where to aim your ship if Venus is in your vacation plans? This app will help you.
Further evidence that Star Trek is becoming a reality. Who is laughing now, non-Trekkies?
End time tools are up again
The Large Hadron Collider has started up again. Watchers: Start logging any anomalies you encounter: rips in time, premonitions of doom (or the return of paradise), aliens, formations of star gates, etc.
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you know it’s bad
when a dog is a better salsa dancer than you are.
Nova odysseys in the salsa universe have not been inspiring. Bianca can unfortunately contend. The tools are laid out in front of you, the universe explodes in a canvas of notes that you know you ought to swim through. You know a state of union with the salsa universe exists, and wants you to join it. But it is like surfing and trying to catch the 5-6-7 wave. You have to be a Fred Astaire with your feet, conjure the orishas with body convulsions, be Sasha Cohen in your spins, and be a Jenny from the Block with attitude. And what do you get if you try to be all these things? Frankenstein! I still believe it comes from the heart, that this celebration comes from your soul. And it is a matter of training your body to honor it. Ah, Salsa.
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Mission: Space
Wannabe Astronauts, Trekkies, and Nova-sympathizers, listen up: If you want the thrill of your life and don’t have millions of dollars or the balls for the real thing, Mission: Space should be your pilgrimage in life. It might very well be the closest thing you’ll have to a real space odyssey. A spiritually uplifting moment (to make up from the tears of joy shed on the Silver Golf Ball, to be blogged about soon) that I can only describe as a mind-f*ck if it wasn’t real and I didn’t really go to Mars. Mission: Space – continue reading …
Havana, Cuba October 2009Somos el son de Cuba
One day I’ll be able to do this song justice.
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Respect the Hustle
If Cuba ever sinks down the cheese path of commercialism, one souvenir to buy will be t-shirts that say, authoritatively, RESPECT THE HUSTLE. Even if an influx of resources suddenly cure the population from the hustle bug of survival, surely it should be commemorated and included in the museum of the revolution. Because if you can trick material objects into longevity like making a 1950 Cheverlot run in 2009 like it’s (sort of) new, if you can sell people fake steaks that are really fried mats or pizza with condom “cheese”, then your ability of hustling a fellow human being with simple words has gotta be good by default.
Hail the hustle in Cuba! Done with a straight face, intelligence and craft, you got to respect it. Recognize and ascertain whether you should accommodate the hustle. How much is it for you to loose this battle? Can you acquiesce without being cheated and everyone’s dignity maintained? If not say, “I respect the Hustle”, then walk away. If acquiescing you have a choice of either remaining a passive participant, or leaning close to the Hustler and whispering with a tilted head and squinted eye, “Asere. Don’t try to hustle me. I got you anyways.”
More to come on some specific hustles.
Hot Dogs of Havana
One curious site in Havana Vieja was the abundance of little hot dogs walking around. All types: the standard straight-up weiner (pictured), the spotted mutt- dogs that don’t look that they should be hot dogs but somehow are.
I have to say I had a moment when eating out and reading a menu. Listed was “perro caliente”… Within the context of a country of poor resources together with the images of all these little weiners walking around, my heart sank, until C-mixto explained that the translation works the same in Spanish as in English. A bunned, not fur, hot dog.
