August 1: I spent a day with friends celebrating their little ones. First I attended Lil’ HP’s baptism. The little guy didn’t seem too fond of getting water poured on his head. Later that day I went to a baby shower for a high school friend I hadn’t seen in years, but it didn’t feel that way when we were joking around and catching up.
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I’m not much of a pro football fan. I live in LA. We don’t have a team. Yet I can’t escape it. All around me, friends are giddy with the start of preseason play. Today, I heard virtual jaws drop on Twitter, Facebook and blogs as news broke that the Philadelphia Eagles signed Michael Vick.
Most of the reaction I’ve read so far was from people who are glad Vick is getting a second chance. They readily admit that running a dog fighting ring is deplorable and he deserved to spend 23 months in prison. Now that he’s served his time, they say, he should be able to get on with his life. The football fans like blackink and GD at PostBourgie discuss what Vick will add to the Eagles’ offense. (By the way, PB is up for a well-deserved blog award, support them!)
Of course many are upset and openly express their belief that the Eagles made a bad decision. They won’t support the team. Their new favorite team is whoever is playing the Eagles, etc.
Understandable. I like dogs too. I don’t want to see them mistreated, beaten, shocked and forced to fight ’til the death. I covered my eyes during the dog fighting scenes in Amores Perros too.
While I’m not cheering on the Eagles and Vick, I’m not mad.
I’m more confused about those who can be up in arms over Vick, but did little when it came to Luis Ramirez.
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It wasn’t too late when I left Hacienda Heights. Fifteen minutes later I was in East LA and slowing down for road construction on the 60 westbound. I decided to get off a few exits early and take a different route to my friend’s house.
I exited the freeway to find the normally busy intersection at Whittier and Lorena quiet at 11:30. I drove down 6th street as if going to my aunt’s house a few blocks away.
The light at the intersection of Lorena and 6th turned green and I started down the big hill on 6th. When I was a kid, I’d say “weeeee” as my mom or dad drove down the hill on the way to Grandma and Grandpa’s or Papá Chepe and Mamá Toni’s house.
This time was different. In the front and to my left I noticed two men. One pushed a shopping cart. The other charged toward my car, as if in anger. My heart quickened with fear, I made sure my doors were locked and stepped on the gas while sort of swerving around the man. I barely stopped at the stop sign up ahead.
Five minutes later after arriving at my friend’s house, my heart was still beating quickly.
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I was just called out by my brother Adrian for admitting that I’ve never eaten at Pink’s.
He claims I have no excuse. I’m from LA. I live just a few miles away from La Brea and Melrose. I have transportation. I don’t have any particular dietary restrictions that would keep me from eating a hot dog. It’s an LA landmark, thus he reasons, I should have eaten there.
I shrugged.
Nunca se me ha antojado. (It’s never called to me). The line doesn’t help much either. I once waited 45 minutes in the cold for a hot dog, but that was in Chicago and for Hot Doug’s. Even Anthony Bourdain ate there.
La pregunta: Anything you haven’t done in your city that is a “must” by mainstream guidebooks or magazines?
I’m bringing back the questions. If you have suggestions for future QOTWs, let me know via email (see contact page above).
I got this triumphant image in an email from the Sotomayor for Justice project of MALDEF. It once again made me smile as I’m reminded that tomorrow Judge Sotomayor will be sworn in as an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court.
And then — like yesterday — I found something wrong with the news and the picture. Can you guess what it was?
Lotería Chicana 