What's up Emanuella?

Man, what country our we living in?

The trial of two teenagers who participated in a beating that led to a man's death is over. The kids in question will most likely serve only a handful of months for their barbaric, racist actions. And the deceased, an illegal immigrant from Mexico, died a brutal death.

CNN's reporting of this incident is shocking. The headline, "2 teens get jail time in Mexican's beating death", is, to put it mildly, strangely worded. At first I thought it was a spring break trip to Cancun gone wrong. But no, this happened in Pennsylvania. There is something off with the title that implies that these kids getting jail time is news-worthy. Should they not be getting jail time because the victim was Mexican? Why does the victim's nationality matter while the perpetrators' does not? Is it because Mexican, for many Americans, is a race rather than a nationality? Why did Emanuella Grinberg lead with the teens? Why are they the subjects of the headline rather than the victim? In our youth-obsessed culture could it be that there is nothing more tragic than attractive young middle-class white boys going to jail?

Unfortunately, the article becomes more cringe-worthy once you get past the headline. How can these two teens receive as little as six months in jail? I am not sure how involved Grinberg was in the layout of this article but it is pretty reprehensible to have such a smug photo of Brandon Piekarsky and Derrick Donchak next to the paragraphs that detail their sentence lengths, the terribly unnecessary anecdote of them having played high school football, and their unfortunate acquittal of felony counts.

Judge William Baldwin seems like a good guy and I would hate to have been in his position, knowing that I am sending two deplorable so-called men back into society. I wonder what kind of "potential" these children will realize as adults. I hope I do not see them trolling Calle Ocho in Miami next March.

Grinberg's major error with this piece was of course her gross oversight of the victim, Luis Ramirez. I understand that in the journalistic sphere it is necessary to have variety in one's writing. You cannot constantly repeat, Piekarsky or Ramirez. But why is it that Piekarsky is referred to as a "teen" and "football player" and never as a "perpetrator" while Ramirez is referred to as "undocumented" and "illegal" rather than "the deceased victim?" Why does Ramirez's photograph come after the pseudo-Abercrombie & Fitch ad? Is it too graphic to see what a man, whose "brain tissue oozed out of his skull during surgery", looks like unconscious?

I am obviously impartial. I spent a significant part of my life as an illegal immigrant. Even as a child I lived in fear, often never admitting that I had not been born in this country. I was not present at the night of the brawl and I do not know who was the true instigator. However I do know this. However "fair" the fight was Piekarsky and Donchak walked away alive. And now they have gotten a slap on the wrists. As most illegal immigrants know, the law is not on their side. And even in death, justice on this side of the border eludes them.

my soapbox

Summer has been on for about three weeks now and suddenly all my back-burner tasks are surfacing. Namely an impending wedding. I was conducting a google search for a potential venue in Chile when I randomly found a Mormon missionary's blog. Apparently this kid is in central Chile trying to convert my relatives.

In addition to the severe spelling and grammatical errors, this blog really annoys me. Obviously I am no Chicago Manual of Style master given my penchant for using lower-case letters with wild abandon. However this kid cannot even spell Chilean. To be fair he is not teaching English to his acquaintances and, ten years after my high school graduation, I am still toting around a backpack. I admit that I am a nerd. However, I find these mistakes unforgivable since for starters blogger.com has spell check. And secondly, these errors form the foundation of a superficial cultural critique of my birth country. I am not aware of what historical, social, and/or cultural preparation missionaries are exposed to but it seems to me that this blogger did not bring much knowledge, let alone cultural sensitivity, to Chile.

He complains that Chileans are unreceptive to his teachings. Let us go back five hundred years and trace the history of mission work and colonization in Latin America. I am sure we would not begrudge a bit of wariness on the part of Latin Americans when it comes to outsiders. Especially white men. God help you if you come in sporting a red beard as you sit on a horse.

The blogger goes on to summarize the reason why Chile is an undeveloped country: Chileans are lazy. Which is, as he readily admits, in stark contrast to his active, idealist ambition to go into the world, meet people, and share his religion. I am sure anyone who spent most of their time in rural Chile, overwhelmed by the poverty and lack of education of the people they met, would try to find the origins of this miserable situation. However, this does not define the entire nation. Chile has a strong middle class and an elite that would rival the wealthy of any Western, first-world country. Even during this worldwide recession, Chile's economy continues to grow and serve as a model for the rest of Latin America. (Thank you, Chicago Boys). The laziness this blogger perceives is a complex front that, despite translation, cannot be grasped so easily. Especially if your ambition blinds you to understanding the true secular social forces at play.

I was tempted to write this response on the Mormon blogger's blog, but felt that as sparring partners we were not a fair fit. We have experienced Chile in such distinct ways and have such diverging agendas, that our communication would be like trying to discuss race in America on the Tyra show. A hot mess that in the end achieved nothing. Moreover, the passive aggressive narcissist in me enjoys the idea of having the last (and only) word on this matter.

I'm back...

Hello world,

I couldn't bear to reach the three year mark of blog abandonment so I decided to revive my external (though silent) monologue. I think today I hit the wall of reality, familiar to my graduate school peers. The recession has sunk in. The long, unsettling road of a graduate career has revealed its questionable engineering. I get it, this sucks. Not graduate school itself, but all the theatrics we daily perform to stay in the game. I'm also turning 28 in one month. Am I still in the range of a quarter-life crisis?

But maybe before I talk about now I should do a quick review of the past 3ish years:

1. The World Cup was a multi-linguistic, multi-sensory, multi-jersey circus. Three weeks of beer, sausages, soccer, contemporary art, Birkenstocks and dudes. My dudes. The Earworks German was very helpful and I'm still conspiring to get back to Germany.

2. RH and I had a blow-out despedida on a friend's roof. Then we travelled for almost 4 weeks, starting at Santiago and moving in a counter-clockwise direction to the tip of the continent, through Patagonia, Buenos Aires and then due west. Mostly by bus. No more ham and cheese sandwiches with salsa golf. Salsa what?

3. Started 2007 back in south Florida. Felt weirded out by everything for a few months. Picked up where I left off when I graduated in August 2004: where am I going? Thought about the last time I was really happy with my work; remembered the Norton internship; and locked in my goal: graduate school in art history. Spent the next eighteen months preparing for grad school by taking lots of art history courses, German courses and working at the FAU University Galleries, one of the best gigs I've ever had. Applied to lots of schools, got stressed out, realized that at this stage of the game graduate school is not the means but the end. Hello, my name is Doris, and I am professional student. Had this epiphany at UT and felt it was a sign. Started practicing my "hook 'em Longhorns" finger salute. But I'm still all about the U.

4. Of course I still had a life. Besides academics, I went to two weddings, hung out with family and friends and fell in love again with Florida. Not the hardest thing to do, she's kind of slutty. RH moved to Miami and started culinary school. Score! No more cooking for me. Got engaged a few days before we left paradise. But someone is holding our spot.

5. Fall semester starts at UT. The heat, classes and throngs of students was a heady experience at first. Fear what an actual fire drill would look like with everyone in the streets at once. Got a bike and feel like I'm crossing the finish line in "Breaking Away" everytime I make it to the campus. OD on Tex-Mex on a weekly basis. Try to connect with the Austin swing, but mostly feel like Steve Martin in "My Blue Heaven." Actually, my first few months in Texas can be expressed in several obscure 80s movies.

6. Winter break is 6 weeks long. The U of C would give us 10 days off if we were good kids. Went to San Antonio and visited the Alamo. Had some more Tex-Mex. Started Spring semester with a heavier load but I'm happy to carry it. The specter of post-MA life haunts me everywhere. It's hard to keep things loose. Maybe I should take it all in 2 hours at a time. When will the stimulus stimualte? Where's my bailout?

Corporate Rebellion

This past weekend on a BBC World interview titled “50 Cent: Money Machine” the eloquent 50 Cent was able to summarize his career in one sentence: “On an artist level, the musician is a marketing tool.” Great. I’m not sure if this makes him a genius or an idiot. I could care less about making that distinction, he’s obviously been in many a record company meeting about how to reach out to the 18-34 year-old male demographic. It’s reflected in his use of the word “artist.” I can’t deny anyone the use of the third person. Doris likes to do it every now and then, too. However, where, when, why, and how (most importantly) can 50 Cent get away with calling himself an “artist”? I most definitely will not accept that. Perhaps my definition of artist is too narrow. For me in the music world, an “artist” is someone who doesn’t need a music video to be successful. True, I lean towards independent music regardless of genre. But I can and do appreciate a well-done pop song. Thanks Hillary Duff.

I see 50 cent as a corporate rebel, a term Courtney Love used to describe Eminem, coincidentally 50 Cent’s maker. Eminem has managed to fool many people into believing he is a rebel. He’s on glossy magazine covers, topless, buff, and stone-faced whilst showing off his two middle fingers. He takes easy shots at homosexuals to reinforce his masculinity. But he’s not really rebelling. He’s not questioning the corporate label supporting him. Or taking shots at real issues like insecurity among rappers that’s manifested in homophobia. He’s rebelling in a way that makes him cool and sexy for the youth. Exactly the type of cookie-cutter rebellion that makes music corporations wealthy. So it’s no surprise that 50 Cent was cast in the same mold: starring in 3-minute music videos, which are really 50 second commercials for his merchandise as he stated himself. He’s dumbing down his audience by speaking grammatically incorrect English. He objectifies women and men. He promotes a shallow and expensive club lifestyle that lacks accountability and true social change. He has shackled the minds of my generation by making them slaves to his lame consumerism. When I hear people like 50 Cent and his vulture-ilk of marketers so eager to understand my purchasing practices and get my money, I shrink away and spend nothing. It’s a game of control and it’s unfortunate that given an international forum, 50 Cent appears as nothing more than a “money machine”, a puppet, a boring corporate rebel.

So what can appease these sour grapes? Why, some compassionate grapes, of course.

In the past two months...

...I saw Manu Chao in concert and was sadly disappointed. Can such elaborate and layered studio albums translate into a live act? March 24th was not going to be the day to find out. Manu was too stoned. The audience was too stoned. Songs began in reggae and ended in punk; though none of these genres apply to Manu Chao's music. No worries. Seeing U2 was enough of a live act experience for a lifetime.

...I celebrated my 25th birthday over a period of 5 days. A night out at my favorite pub, followed by wild dancing to American pop in a Chilean club called "Boomerang." I bought myself pearl earrings, wore a pink/glittery crown all day, and enjoyed a barrage of emails from my friends.

...I traveled to Bariloche, on the outer edge of Argentina's Patagonia, with my RH. We ate yummy food, drank artesanal beers, and slept in late. I was outfitted like I never thought I'd be in my life: hiking boots, a fleece, and a rain jacket. I loved every minute.

...I bummed around May, waiting for my work life to start. Came face-to-face with the self-esteem crusher that is being an English teacher abroad and I triumphed. I worked on my special "grad school project" and watched the Immigration issues in the U.S. with intellectual interest; I emailed Mel Martinez again.

...right now I'm listening to "Rapid German: Part One." Basic German phrases put to techno music. All in preparation for my trip to the World Cup in Germany. So exciting! The closest I'll ever be to Michael Owen.

Dating a reformed hipster (RH)

With the help of Patrick (a RH), I've reconnected with my most favorite aspect of American culture. The life-force that will one day call me back so loudly and hardly, I'll fly the plane back myself. Witty, subversive, and snarky commentary about pop culture.

All of my life I've been fidgety. I've never left my bedroom without portable music (physical or the sounds in my head). At one point I subscribed to five magazines and would buy at least two on a weekly basis. I can watch an episode of "I Love the 80's" on VH-1 at least 5 times before it gets old. One of the highlights of grad school was when MTV brought together "The Real World" and "Road Rules" in a wry yet completely endearing spectacle. I read the label of my saltshaker while I boil eggs. I always knew I had an inexhaustible capacity and need for information. But today I was able, with the help of the good people at Vice, to name my poison.


I'm a culture junkie, whose life has been greatly touched by American Airlines' in-flight magazine.

Let's hear it for the girls!

Happy International Woman's Day to all my sistahs out there. Here's an article by Clementina Cantoni, an aid worker from Italy (friend of a friend) who was kidnapped in Afghanistan and mercifully released almost a year ago.

Give your mom thanks. Blow grandma a kiss, wherever she may be. Make peace with your sister. And tell all the women in your lives, "You're awesome. I love you." Let's pray for all women who suffer in public and in silence.