Insanity At Its Best

I love New York.

I am a life-long New Yorker. I was born and raised in the 'burbs (Long Island to be exact) but spent a good deal of my childhood in the outer boroughs thanks to my Brooklyn-ite parents. This means that I regularly glimpsed the special kinds of insanity and uniqueness that comes with daily life in New York City.

So tonight I had a chance to see this insanity which reminded me of the kind and type of freedom that NYC affords to its inhabitants. As soon as I boarded the uptown A train from W. 4th street (in the West Village which for anyone who knows its history has its own brand of crazy) I saw it happen. A young man,dressed in jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt had a gleaming red face. I wasn't sure if he was a teen en route from a belated Halloween celebration or if he was a theater geek. And then....it happened.

My man, with his dirty blonde 'fro and red painted face, pulled off his pullover and began quietly talking to himself, full Joker grin in place. He quickly bent down and stood up with a bottle of red paint in hand and began covering his arms, torso, neck and face (mouth included) with the gooey red substance.

Most of the curious onlookers/fellow passengers looked on in wonderment, standing as observers like most New Yorkers do, not saying much of anything. After covering his upper body in the goopy paint, he proceeded to press his face against the glass, giggle and put his fingerprints on white stickers that he pulled from his book bag.

"I'm living art!" he exclaimed to the man in front of him on the crowded car. Though the man didn't give him much of a response, he continued with his feedback.

As I watched him pull his shirt back on, his jacket arm in arm and a fuzzy hat on his head, I realized that only in New York, and only in the subway, would that type of behavior be common and acceptable and unquestioned. It reminded me of all the other unusual events I had seen on the subway: the man who stripped in the middle of a car on a dare; the man so engrossed in his music and dancing that he put on an unintentional show for all to see; the woman who boarded the train with a life sized version of a firetruck and stood in front, protecting it.

I believe New York City, its energy, its vibe, all allow a degree of freedom and autonomy that can't be found anywhere else.

Geeze, despite living across the river, I still love New York.

Putting Some Pep In My Step

I woke up on this crisp, fall Wednesday in October and made up my mind that I would have a good day. Attitude is definitely a state of mind and I realize that I choose how and what mood/'tude I'll take the moment I wake up.

And ya know what?

It really was as simple as that. My mood hasn't dampened (despite still being sick with a sinus cold), my spirits are high (sitting outside in the park during lunch helped) and my feet haven't hurt once today despite having worn heels. I realized my good mood enhancers were so simple I had to share. Wanna hear about 'em?

Here they go:

1. Putting on dark red lipstick-it makes me feel instantly dressed up

2. Wearing a dress - it is hands down the most no brainer solution to the question: what do I wear today?

3. Rocking high heels - anything that makes your legs look better is a plus

4. Sipping perfectly brewed cafecito with the right amount of creamer - even better when someone else makes it for you

5. Shutting out the world via my ipod in favor of classic dancehall - 'nuff said.

6. Hot showers - bad for your skin but an awesome way to wake up

7. Feeling sun shine on my face-it's got vitamins and is good for ya too

8. Crossing items off my work 'to do' list-because it means they won't be there to do the next day!

9. Art - words, pictures, sounds, doesn't matter. Any art will do.

10. Realizing that the work day has FLOWN by and it's almost time to go home! =)

Domestic Violence: The Same Sad Song

Violence against women is nothing new. I know at least 10 people who have been victims of domestic violence; six women, four men; two older, three younger, five the same age as me.

So I wasn't surprised to learn that nearly one in four women are beaten or raped by a partner during their adult life. But I was surprised to learn that during this month of domestic violence awareness, a New York state Senator, Hiram Monserrate, was acquitted of slashing his girlfriend in the face. She gets emotional and physical scars and he gets to keep his Senate seat.

Last December, Monserrate allegedly hit his girlfriend in the face with a drinking glass, roughing her up after and prolonging medical attention by driving her to a hospital 30 minutes further from his home when a local hospital was just five minutes away. Nearly a year later, the same woman retracted her accusation and Monserrate gets off with a felony conviction.

This begs the questions: What standards/moral values are public officials held to? Should they be stricter? Should behavior in your personal life hold any weight on your position?

If we're going to crucify others for how they have sex, where they choose to do it and with who (which in reality is no one's business) why aren't we more outraged when incidents like this are brought to light? And I say brought to light because many domestic violence incidents are not even reported or made public.

It also leads to the thought....what societal norms are in play where a woman will recant her story? How entrenched in the situation is she? How long has it gone on? And is this a "norm" for her?

Disturbed doesn't convey how astounded or shocked I am by the acquittal. This further perpetuates the idea that men can treat women however they choose and not be held responsible for their actions. Thanks Judge William Erlbaum. Batterers just got another point on the scoreboard.

Latino AIDS Day

Did you know...

*Latinos are 15% of the U.S. population but account for 18% of all new HIV infections

*Latinos born in Puerto Rico are at the greatest risk of contracting HIV through IV drug use and high risk heterosexual sexual behavior

*Latino men are three times more likely to be diagnosed with AIDS than white men

*Latina women are 5 times more likely to be diagnosed with AIDS than white women

*In 2006 HIV/AIDS was the In 2006, HIV/AIDS was the 4th leading cause of death among Latinos, 35–44 years old


For those whose lives have been lost: Light a candle, say a prayer, let them know their lives were not in vain.

For those fighting this illness: Remind them their lives are still valued and their illness does not define them.

For those whose lives have been touched, because in reality, all of us have been: don't consider yourself immune, respect the hard-learned lessons of those who have come before. Practice safe(r) sex, get tested, communicate with your partners. Your lives are in each other's hands.

*Photo provided by Elena from Flickr
**Facts provided by Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Read more here.

Pears, Pears Everywhere!

Pears aren't sexy. And for the first half of my life, that's what I was. Shaped like that is. I had thick thighs, wide hips and an ample bum that were and remain simultaneously, my 'Wow Factor' and bane of my existence.

I battled my body for years because it didn't fit: into clothes, into my imagined ideal (whatever that was), into my life. When I danced ballet my big butt was a pain in one; it never tucked in the way it was supposed to, my back's natural arch made it stick out more. I favored long sweaters and loose pants over fitted tops and tight jeans because I cringed at the unwanted attention my booty brought me. Once I hit 17 (and college) I stopped caring and started the long process of embracing my body and living in my skin.

So I gasped when Glamour, my favorite women's magazine, did the most daring thing ever. They printed this article and ran the picture above in their October '09 issue. There are pears everywhere! I'm thrilled to bits that women with tits, ass and hips--and those without--are finalyl allowed to be themselves and not reimagined.

Thanks Glamour! For being Sassy. Fierce. Daring. Finally.

Que Descanze en Paz, Michael Jackson

San Juan, Puerto Rico, the NAHJ conference at the Puerto Rico Convention Center; standing at a table of colleagues sipping white wine, trading niceties. That's where I was and what I was doing when I heard the news that Michael Jackson had died. It crystallized in a moment that I would always refer back to that moment when asked in the future.

"That can't be true!" I exclaimed as my colleague stood reading a text message from his friend back home in Texas. I couldn't believe it! It had to be some sort of a joke. First Farrah Fawcet...now this? He hadn't been sick, he was getting ready to go on tour. What happened? I took my skepticism and immediately checked my own mobile device to verify what I believed to be a terrible internet rumor. But as I checked CNN, the NY Times I finally knew it was true after checking my Facebook and reading all of my friend's status messages.

Finally it was confirmed and I couldn't help but wince. It was the end of an era. Michael Jackson and his music punctuated numerous memories in my life. MJ's Thriller was the first album I brought for a holiday party in kindergarten. "Billie Jean" was one of the first songs I remember singing to verbatim. I was mesmerized by his dancing and singing and kept torn out magazine pictures tucked between my Menudo scrapbook of the cute boy who sang songs I sang along to. I kept an MJ doll (sparkly white glove and all) with my precious Barbies. As I got older I admit, his music didn't "do it for me" the way it once had. I actually found myself reverting to his older work: PYT became my personal dance anthem while the Best of the Jackson 5 played on repeat during my college study sessions. I relished 'old Michael' and became excited when new songs caught my attention in the same way: Butterflies, Human Nature, Remember the Time, Bad, etc. etc. How could so much emotion and talent be in one individual? I didn't know but was incredibly grateful that it did.

I say all this to say, I can separate the man from the artist. I appreciate his talent and work and even his humanity. I don't discount other people's truths, perspectives or experiences: he was a human and innately flawed as we all are. But I can't and won't dispel an entire life, body of work or magnanimous soul based on it. Nor will I "dance on his grave". It's too simple.

So on the day of his memorial, I recall where I watched: New York, NY; my office conference room, surrounded by coworkers all silent as we watched and collectively mourned for someone's son, brother, father, uncle. His memorial seemed to reflect his life: a spectacular show that people couldn't tear their eyes away from. And I shed some tears for his humanity and hope that Oya has accompanied on his journey and pray he has found a peace that alluded him in life. R.I.P. MJ.

Sotomayor Shatters Another Ceiling

History was made today. I was so happy I cried as the hairs on the back of my arms stood on end.

Sonia Sotomayor - a Latina, a Boricua/Nuyoriquena from the South Bronx -- was nominated to the Supreme Court of the United States of America.

She "stands on the shoulders of all who supported" her. What she doesn't know is that her achievement is also ours, those nameless, faceless women of color, Latinas, puertoriquenas, who have dreams we don't always think are reachable.

Thank you Sonia for standing where you stand, doing what you've done and being where you are so that those of us watching can walk through the door you've opened. =) Another ceiling shattered, another statement made true, that you really canbe anything you want to be. And even if she doesn't for whatever reason get confirmed, she has still taken a place in history.


Love,
A proud, passionate and dream weaving Latina