Rudolph Valentino, “Latin Lover” of yore

Woo-hoo, I’m back, folks! I’m all moved into the new digs and am 95% unpacked. And being unpacked means I can refocus on work (teaching/research) . . . which in turn means that I can procrastinate in earnest and get back to blogging. Yay!

As ever before, I’m riled up about representations of Latin@s in the media–in this case, the international media. For this just in: 18 Again, a ”vaginal tightening” gel from India promises to make you feel “like a virgin” at any age. Which, of course, is just what every woman wants because the first time is always so pleasurable and all. (Fun fact that I must mention here: my first time was with a guy who had the surname of “Laycock.” Yes, Laycock. I’m serious–you can’t make this sh*t up!) I found out about this lovely product from this post over at Jezebel.

So what does this have to do with Latin@s? Well, check out the video for 18 Again:

Surely you will notice that the couple at the center of the video performs salsa- and tango-inspired moves to a hodgepodge of “Latin” sounds, including strumming, flamenco-style guitars; bongo drums; conga rhythms; and even a shrill samba whistle, thrown in for good measure. Why is this music playing instead of something more specific to the culture that produced the product?

The answer seems obvious to me: In the minds of many people–in the US and clearly well beyond–Latin@s have a lock-down on all things sexual. Because we are by nature hot-blooded, passionate, sensuous, ready to bust out salsa moves at the drop of a hat…ugh. I find this stereotype so exasperating.

It reminds me of a feature article I read in Glamour back in the late 1990s. The title was something like, “10 Reasons to Try a Latin Lover.” The piece began by saying, “Fortunately, you don’t have to be Columbian, Brazilian or Puerto Rican to experience the prowess of Latin men!” It also included several testimonies from white women whose world had been rocked when they slept with said “Latin” men. One of the women dreamily observed, “I loved dating Ramon. He was literally HOT to the touch!”

Just thinking about this article makes me want to vomit. At the time, I was so irate I had to pen an angry letter to the editor explaining why the article was so offensive. I clearly recall that my letter began, “Fortunately, ‘you don’t have to be Columbian, Brazilian or Puerto Rican’ to realize how stupid this article is.”

So here’s a special announcement for the makers of 18 Again and anyone else who cares to perpetuate this pernicious ethnic stereotype: Latin@s do not have any special sexual secrets, techniques or powers. Although our skin may come in various shades of brown and our families sometimes come from tropical regions, we are just like any other group of people when it comes to sex. And not every “Latin lover” is worthy of the title. Trust me, I know, I’ve been with some of them. They’re not always worth writing home about!

The Daily Chicana aspires to be the next Ansel Adams.

Just a reminder, folks: the Daily Chicana is on a brief hiatus. I’m in the midst of a cross-country move back to my university town. As soon as my home internet service is up and running, I’ll resume this blog. Until then, my boyfriend and I are in full trucker mode as we haul all of my belongings in a van and tow my car behind us.

The pros: It’s been fun and scenic. And if I have to be in a small space with two other souls, there’s no one better than my boyfriend and our dog.

The cons: I’ve eaten more fast food in the past three days than I have in the past ten years, and it’s slow-going at times, especially navigating curvy mountain roads.

In the meantime, I hope you’re staying cool as we head into August, one of the hottest summer months around and the birth month of yours truly. And please stay tuned for the return of Daily Chicana!

Lupe Ontiveros

Sad news today: the one and only Chicana actor Lupe Ontiveros lost her battle with liver cancer. She was only 69 years old. (Yes, I say “only” because my parents are just a couple of years younger and they are still, in my mind, young enough for my sister and me to not have to worry about their dying any time soon. To me, “old” is my grandma, who just turned 94.)

Born in 1942 in El Paso, Texas, Lupe bucked the trends from an early age by graduating from high school and earning a bachelor’s degree, a notable accomplishment for a Chicana of her generation (as even today, according to some figures, only 46% of Chicanos graduate from high school and only 8% earn a BA. For more info on such statistics, please check out my Latina/os in Academia post). After working for some time in social services, Lupe managed to transform her work as a film and TV extra into a long, outstanding, full-time career.

Although Lupe frequently was cast as a maid–by her estimate, at least 150 times–she fully embodied such roles, so that instead of stereotypes, they became real people, living with dignity and humor, and making the best of their circumstances. As she told the LA Weekly in 2002,

I’ve had a hell of a good time playing those maids. No matter how much I resent the stupidity that is written into them, the audacity that the industry has when they portray us in such a nonsensical, idiotic, such — oh my God! — such a degrading manner, still, my humor survives in these maids. I’m very proud of them.

One of her performances that my mom and I love best is her turn as Nacha in El Norte. In one scene below, Nacha mentors recent immigrant Rosa over lunch after an INS raid at their factory (scene starts at 2:30):

To this day, my mom loves to say, “Qué tú no has conocido a Sears?!”

In 2010, the National Association of Latino Independent Producers honored Lupe with a Lifetime Achievement Award. Here’s a short video that shows the range of her work and the impact she had on her colleagues:

R.I.P Lupe. Thanks for sharing your talent with the world and please know that your legacy will live on.

Actor Aubrey Plaza

Today, I’m veering away from Comedy Week to talk about briefly about race at the movies.

Yesterday I went with a friend to see Safety Not Guaranteed, a quirky little film about three reporters trying to get to the bottom of a mysterious man seeking a time traveling partner. I liked everything about it: the performances, storyline, soundtrack. I recommend it! You can see the trailer here.

[Quick aside: It was a miracle that I managed to enjoy the movie at all because two elderly white ladies sitting directly behind us giggled at every single thing that happened in the movie. And I mean everything. A character stacks soup cans? Giggle. A character sneezes? Giggle. A car drives past some trees? Giggle. I had already shushed their loud chatter during the previews, but I was not prepared for the constant giggling once the film was underway. Yes, the movie is a comedy, but not every single minute is meant to be laugh-out-loud. At first I chalked it up to white privilege (not giving a damn about other people's movie experience), but looking back, I suspect that they were high. In which case, go grandmas!]

The lead character of Safety, Darius, is played by Aubrey Plaza, an actor and comedian who I guess is a regular on the TV show Parks and Recreation. Before this movie, I’d only seen her in the film Funny People. She strikes me as the smart, semi-hipsterish, a little awkward, dead-pan humor type. As I watched the film, I felt a connection to her simply out of gratitude that here was a different looking actress on the screen, in a lead role, no less. Don’t get me wrong, she’s totally gorgeous, but just not in the usual mainstream way:

Plaza as Darius in Safety Not Guaranteed

Today, in preparing to write about the film, I googled her name and discovered that she’s Latina. Her father is Puerto Rican, and she has described herself as “the only diverse” kid in her hometown of Wilmington, Delaware. “Aha!” I thought, “I knew there was something extra special about her!”

Notably, in an interview with David Letterman, her ethnicity doesn’t come up as a topic of conversation at all. Meanwhile, what George Lopez describes as her “exotic makeup” is one of the main issues during her visit to his show, Lopez Tonight. Ugh! Lopez uses one of my most hated keywords, “exotic.” It’s bad enough when white people describe us as exotic, but et tu, George?

Plaza admits that many people are surprised to find out that she’s Puerto Rican. “It comes out of me when I drink,” she jokes her in deadpan way. “I get really spicy.” This part of the interview starts at 1:15 in the video:

It’s interesting to think of Plaza as being on a continuum of Latina beauty, one that’s far outside of what people imagine when they hear “Latina” generally or, in this case, Puerto Rican specifically. In the eyes of the mainstream, being Latina is most accurately represented by someone like JLo, with more tan skin:

The one and only JLo

Though–ahem–let’s not forget that JLo was not always she of the straight, golden hair:

Jennifer Lopez, still fresh off “the block”

Of course, there are also those gorgeous Puertroriqueñas like Rosie Perez, as seen here in the opening to Spike Lee’s Do The Right Thing:

And let’s not forget afro-caribeñas like Zoe Saldana, who, at the other end of the Latina beauty spectrum from Plaza, is also so far outside the mainstream’s idea of what constitutes “Latina” that she can be reasonably cast as a southern African American sorority girl in Drumline:

Not that I see myself as a spokesperson for all Latinas, but I’m happy to welcome Aubrey Plaza to the umbrella term that is “Latina.” For in supporting performances like hers in Safety Not Guaranteed, we have a chance to broaden people’s assumptions about what Latinas look like, how they sound, and how they act. There’s no one way to define us. And that’s a good thing. I hope she keeps winning new fans and surprising them when they discover her mixed ethnicity.

So onto our theme: Comedy week continues here with one of my favorite videos: “Mex vs BC (Born Citizen),” a creation of the Latino Comedy Project (LCP) that plays off those “Mac vs PC” ads that used to be on TV all the time. My favorite of the Mex vs BC series is on jobs:

I like to show this video to my undergrads in class after they read sociologist Tomas Jimenez’s excellent book, Replenished Ethnicity: Mexican Americans, Immigration and Identity. Jimenez describes the impact of Mexican immigration on Mexican Americans’ sense of ethnicity as a double-edged sword: on the one hand, having contact with more recently-arrived immigrants helps many Chicanos maintain a strong sense of cultural heritage and gives them a reason to keep up their use of Spanish. Yet on the other hand, because many people in the mainstream can’t distinguish the difference between Mexican Americans and Mexican immigrants, Chicanos experience the frustration as always being perceived as a newcomer to the US and an outsider to American culture.

This misperception is what leads some people to make those annoying comments (which I’ve written about as good examples of microagressions) such as, “You speak English so well!” Meanwhile, you’re thinking, “Well why wouldn’t I? It’s my first  language!” In any case, I encourage you to check out Jimenez’s book; it’s very accessible to non-sociologists (like me!) and a fairly quick read.

But before I get too serious, let me get back to the LCP! Another popular video of theirs is a spoof of the film 300, and here were see the LCP cast bringing to life the worst fears of conservatives and xenophobes who rant about illegal immigration:

And while it’s hilariously depicted here, at the same time it’s scary to think that this is exactly what some people think is seriously happening. If you don’t believe me, just read through the racist, fear-mongering emails of Russell Pearce, the former Arizona state legislator who masterminded SB1070, that state’s masterpiece of racial profiling. I got bogged down the other night reading through those emails, laughing out loud at their absurdity.

Sometimes, when faced with such outright hatred of my people, I at least find some snarky comfort in marking all the grammatical errors that pop up throughout Pearce’s rants. I think to myself, “You think people who look like me don’t belong in this country, and yet I am more educated than you and can at least know basic spelling and grammar!” In that spirit, I leave you with a weary sigh and this iconic image.

Oh, you crazy racists of today and of yore! Please learn the rules of the English language, mmmkay? Then we can talk.

“Segregation, Dimmit, Texas,” by Russell Lee (ca. 1949)

¡Que viva Mexican Mitt!

It’s pretty sad, but I must admit that I wouldn’t know any of the latest news nowadays if it weren’t for facebook. Thank god my fb friends post so many links to the latest in the economy, education, politics and culture.

It wasn’t always this way for me; back in my married days, my ex-husband would watch MSNBC every single night for three hours, starting with Chris Matthews, followed by Keith Olbermann and finally my favorite, Rachel Maddow (I seriously love her!). So I used to get a lot of news. Too much, sometimes, because after the first hour you realize that the pundits are just rehashing the same points over and over again. On slow news days, you could tell that they were just trying to drum up more drama to keep themselves on air.

Anyway, last week, I talked about Craig Romney’s ad that proudly points to his family’s connection to Mexico in a desperate attempt to draw Latinos to his father’s campaign. The attempt to pander–and the outrageous idea that a brief family interlude in Mexico gives Mitt any insight into the immigrant experience–was so incredibly superficial as to be outright laughable.

Turns out, though, that I’m merely a Johnny-come-lately to identifying the weakness of Romney’s Mexican claim. Because–as I just discovered through a friend’s facebook post–for many months now, Mexican Mitt, “the most Mexican Man in the world” has been lampooning Romney’s presidential bid on Twitter, facebook and elsewhere on the web. [Interesting note: the person who posted the Mexican Mitt image (above) is my one libertarian friend, and I had no idea what her political views were until she began posting about Ron Paul and how cute she thinks he is...woah! I am just amused because I don't think she realizes that the liberal critique embedded in Mexican Mitt is one she would ever endorse.]

Mexican Mitt is a satirical, pocho (which is to say Chicano), outspoken take on Mitt Romney…and totally hilarious, which isn’t surprising, given his creator, Chicano satirist Lalo Alcaraz, the man behind Pocho.com.

Mexican Mitt’s facebook page features his rancho relatives.

I love the Chicano humor Mexican Mitt employs, such as explaining that he’s from “MITTchoacan” (a play on the Mexican state of Michoacan) and declaring things like, “I am going ALL THE GUEY till I pain the White House BROWN!” and “Latinos need Labambacare, pronto!” Btw Labambacare apparently includes the staples of Chicano folk-healing:

• FREE 7-Up
• VICKS VAPORUB
• SANTERIA CURES involving CHICKEN BONES and FEATHERS and such
• Counseling about the DANGERS of Aqua Net hairspray
• MEDICAL MENUDO (I got this idea from my amigo Congressman Ron Pablo)

Best of all is Mexican Mitt’s reggaeton-inspired music video, where he sings, “Soy Morman, soy mor-man than you!” Check it out:

To borrow Mexican Mitt’s own words, let’s hope he’s not the “only JUAN left” come election time in November! As for me, I’m off to check fb and collect more breaking news. This is looking like HUMOR WEEK at the Daily Chicana…

You know what that means: I gotta get out of here, or I’m gonna lose it. Yes, a dreaded case of the Mondays.

Fortunately, though, there’s an effective antidote: Mexican American comedian Anjelah Johnson. She hails from San Jose, California and, in addition to being Mexican, proudly claims Native American heritage, too. She’s best know for two characters: The first is Tammy, the Vietnamese nail technician.

And then there’s the one and only Bon Qui Qui, who takes your order at King Burger (thanks to the “Out of the Hood Program”) and serves it up with a huge dollop of ghetto-fabulous attitude:

And now Bon Qui Qui’s back! In a video for her new single, “I’m a Cut You.”

So if you are like me and battling a case of the Mondays, just sit back and let Anjelah’s comedy work its magic! Happy Monday!

Designer Beatrice Guapo from Season 10 of Project Runway

In recent months, I have made a dramatic change in my life: I have been watching much less television than ever before. The only time I watched less than I do now was in my senior year of college, when I moved in with my then-boyfriend, a history grad student who saw himself as far too intellectual to partake of pastimes that entertain the masses. By contrast, the all-time high came when I was married, because watching television was more or less the only thing my ex-husband and I did together; each night came with a particular schedule of shows. It was very depressing. Lately, though, I’ve been so busy that I made an inadvertent, surprising discovery: The less I TV watch, the less I miss it. I realize now that for the most part, TV provided a background chatter so I didn’t feel so alone during the day as I worked from home.

That being said, however, there are three shows that I commit to watching, no matter what: Mad Men, Top Chef and Project Runway.

So you can imagine my excitement that a new season of Project Runway just debuted last night. Woo-hoo! And–hold onto your seats, folks–there was a Chicana contestant vying for the ultimate prize!

She is 28-year-old Beatrice Guapo from Southern California. Pretty, personable, and seemingly down-to-earth, totally not one of the attention-hogging diva designers. In the hour-long “Road to the Runway” preview that aired before the season premier, we saw pictures, like the one below, of Beatrice with her family, and in one touching moment, she tearfully spoke of losing her father.

La familia Guapo, rockin’ classic ’80s style.

The clothes she designs are drapey jerseys and knits, comfy-but-stylish concoctions designed for the chic, modern woman-on-the-go. (An incredibly skinny white woman-on-the-go, but still, I get it.)

What more did I need to see? I was on board: Her clothes look like something I’d wear and, as a bonus, she’s Chicana. Go, Beatrice!

I began to get worried, though, as soon as Beatrice admitted to having trouble sewing and needing more time for her designs than the challenges would allow. And sure enough, the dream of a Chicana designer actually walking away with the top honors ended all too soon. Beatrice was the first contestant to whom Heidi Klum bid “auf wiedersehen” on behalf of the judges’ panel.

It turns out that the judges were not a fan of what she sent out onto the runway. First, there was a gray knit dress paired with a printed cape:

And a gray knit skirt and shiny, gauzy shirt combo:

The judges didn’t like the “sad” colors of her designs and didn’t think she effectively articulated a larger design vision, beyond an enthusiasm for knits and jerseys.

Michael Kors went as far as to describe the cape from her first look as an “Aztec bathroom rug”:

One online commentator (I can’t seem to find the link now) wonders whether there’s a racial meaning behind Kors’ description: Beatrice is Mexican, therefore an ugly pattern she picked must be “Aztec.” The viewer who left the comment thought that the pattern could be better described as “Navajo.” Though his choice of words didn’t strike me as racist when I saw the show, it’s an interesting read. I thought I’d throw it out there…discuss amongst yourselves. (Btw, I googled “Aztec bathroom rug” and actually found one here.)

To me, an even more critical, unexamined racial moment is when Beatrice gives a walk-through of her apartment and holds up a glass monkey designed by her grandfather:

Woah! Note to Beatrice: Please educate yourself ASAP on the history of minstrelsy and racist sambo imagery, mmmkay? I know that your grandpa made it and it has sentimental value for you, but this is not something to proudly display. Yes, Mexicans have their own terrible history of racism towards people with African ancestry. Check out Afro-Netizen’s post about sambo stamps printed in Mexico in 2005. Yikes!

Okay, back to the show: To her credit, Beatrice took the news of her elimination like a trooper, politely thanking the judges for the opportunity and managing not to shed a tear on camera as she bid farewell to the other contestants. In her exit interview, she calmly shrugs and expresses a wish to have simply experimented with her fabrics while she had a chance. She seems like she has a strong sense of self, and I wish her good luck in her future endeavors!

Nevertheless, even though Beatrice left the competition before getting to show us her broader range, it was just a thrill for me to finally see on television a positive representation of a real-life Chicana pursuing her passion. For one wonderful, ephemeral moment, here was on national TV a Chicana to whom I could relate. Of course, I don’t know Beatrice in real life, and despite the “real life” they claim to portray, reality television shows are highly crafted fictions who exploit certain kinds of characters for drama and entertainment. All that (plus one horrible glass sambo) aside, though, it was cool to see a Latina like me, someone who started out as a sweet but dorky, glasses-wearing kid:

to a teenager involved in extra-curriculars in school:

and finally to beautiful, successful and ambitious woman pursuing her passion:

Why can’t we see more Chicanas and Latinas like Beatrice? Someone who is not representative of the cholas and maids that we’re usually portrayed as, but instead this other kind of Chicana, one you actually might encounter in every day life. A real person, not a walking stereotype.

I must admit that the significance of this point is forever lost on some people though, like a blogger who describes Beatrice as a “spicy, exotic Latina.” Excuse me while I barf. What exactly is so exotic about her? She’s from friggin’ Marina del Rey, not Amazonia. She has blond highlights, for god’s sake!

Tonight I’m going to light a big ol’ Virgen de Guadalupe candel, light some copal and blow a conch shell to the four cardinal directions in the hopes that next season, Project Runway and/or any other reality competition might feature another Chicana, and maybe next time, she’ll make it past the first episode. Dare I continue to dream that one will make it all the way?

Last week I wrote about the minor kurfuffle caused by Utah Valley Magazine’s white “Women of Color.” Well yesterday, I came across this story on Huffington Post: “Craig Romney Touts Family’s Mexican Roots in Spanish-Language Ad.”

Whaaaat?

According to the Latino Decisions blog, Obama leads Romney among Latino voters by a wide margin (70% to only 22%), so I’m sure the Romney camp is praying that this ad can make a difference.

Here it is:

Quick translation:

I’m Craig Romney. I want to tell you how my father, Mitt Romney, thinks. He really values that we are a nation of immigrants. My grandfather George was born in Mexico. For my family, the greatness of the US is that we all respect and help each other, no matter where we come from. As president, my father will work for a permanent solution for the immigration system, working with leaders of both political parties. I invite you listen to him.

My first thought: Wow, homeboy’s Spanish is pretty good! At least, it’s a lot better than his father’s stilted “I approve this message” addendum. Moreover, Craig’s clean-cut appearance neatly underscores the sweet, soft-focus scenes of inter-generational Latino heteronormativity.

On closer inspection, though, emerge the Republican party’s extremely facile assumptions about what will sway Latino voters. Among these wrong assumptions are:

1. Apparently, one must speak Spanish to reach Latino voters. (In fact, the vast majority of US-born Latinos speak fluent English.)
2. The idea that having an ancestor born in Mexico automatically translates into affinity for–over even basic familiarity with–that country’s history, cultures and traditions. Which it doesn’t.
3. Finally, there’s the notion that merely stating a belief in the value of immigration is enough. Are Latinos not smart enough to ask, “Where’s the proof? What have you actually done to support immigrants and Latinos?”

Also among the “things that make you go ‘hmmm’” (shout out to the 1990s!) is what’s not stated: Romney’s forefathers were in Mexico because they wanted to continue their practice of polygamy , which had been outlawed in the US. How do you suppose this aspect of Romney history will go over with the 70% of Latinos who identify as Catholic? Funny how that wasn’t mentioned as part of their “Mexican” history.

This Craig Romney ad very much reminds me of when George P Bush, W’s nephew with Mexican ancestry, was conveniently trotted out to court the Latino vote for his uncle and sprinkle Spanish into campaign stops.

[Sigh.]

Do Republicans really think we Latinos are so monolithic and stupid as to be easily swayed by someone with brown skin or by someone who speaks decent Spanish? In light of the evidence, I’d say they sure do.

No, this is not what I look like.

I’m back from the weekend getaway…which, truth be told, was no leisurely vacation, but instead an apartment hunting trip, as I’m getting ready to move back to the city where my campus is located. My sabbatical year is coming to an end and in just two weeks from today [gulp!], my significant other and I will be driving a van full of my things cross-country.

I’m sad to leave my little apartment, the first place I ever lived truly on my own. It’s a cute 1 bedroom, 1 bath unit with a separate office, big walk-in closet and high ceilings, a perfect space for me and my little dog. It was my bachelorette pad, decorated just how I wanted it to be and with no one else’s mess laying around. I was free to watch all my Bravo TV shows and eat only salami, cheese and crackers with a bottle of wine for dinner, if I felt like it. The best part: the rent was only half what it would have been had this apartment been located in the city where I’m moving back to.

On the bright side, though, I’m looking forward to living in the place my partner and I just rented, which is a 2 bedroom, 2.5 bath townhouse in a great location of the city. Most significantly, it will be our first home that we share together, and I’m excited about this opportunity because I’m deeply in love and want to “nest” and make a comfy space for us to share with each other. (It helps that, like me, my boyfriend is a Virgo and keeps his things organized.) The townhouse is a good size for the two of us–not too big, not too small, and because it’s a townhouse, we’ll have more privacy and fewer neighbors than we would in an apartment complex. Moreover, it’s also in a part of town that I’ve never lived in before or even spent much time in, and so even though I’m returning to the city where I lived while I was married, it will feel like a new experience.

But for now, as my time at the current apartment winds down, I look around wistfully at my things and think about how much I’ll miss living here. Tied in with the wistfulness, though, is dread and a feeling of being overwhelmed by the prospect of having to pack everything up again. As anyone who moves to a new living space knows, you never realize how much stuff you have until you have to sort through and pack it all.

The last time I moved I was inspired to undertake a massive purging of belongings. At the time, I’d lost a lot of weight through the stress of divorce (I was barely eating), and so I got rid of all my clothes that were too big. And I didn’t want to keep much of the household stuff that I had with my ex-husband, as there were too many memories attached and at the end of the day, I just wanted to be out of there. Totally out. I looked at all the pots, pans, furniture, towels, etc. and said, “I’m just going to walk away from ALL of this!” Fortunately, my mom was there to talk me down from the ledge and point out that I should take some it to save the cost of starting completely over from scratch.

So again, wanting to pack as little and as efficiently as possible, I began the process of purging once more. I began with the clothes, trying on everything I own and putting on an impromptu fashion show for my dog, who weighed in (telepathically) on what looked good and what didn’t. However, because I did such a thorough job last time, I could only come up with two garbage bags full of clothes for Goodwill and one small bag of professional clothes that I’ll donate to an organization that helps low-income women find jobs. (Btw I encourage you to read “The Afterlife of Cheap Clothes,” a Slate article on what happens to the clothes we donate to Goodwill–it’s a real eye-opener!)

I got tremendously slowed down, though, by a box of old letters, planners and other mementos from my past. Because it turns out that when it comes to anything handwritten, I am *extremely* sentimental. I pretty much keep every single piece of paper ever mailed or given to me. Overwhelmed by the amount of paper (because in addition to this box are two others), I am instituting a new policy: I’m only keeping those cards and letters that (a) have an actual personalized message inside, not just a signature appended to a Hallmark-produced sentiment; and (b) are from people I actually like and keep in touch with today.

Amidst the letters, I found the following:

What I kept

• My weekly planners from 1998 – 2001, which detail the constant work of my early graduate school days. I decided to keep these. I like looking back and seeing what I was doing on such-and-such a date so many years ago.
• Letters from my friend Tom when he was serving in Iraq, one of which included a dinar with Saddam Hussein’s visage. We communicate a lot less nowadays, I think because we have a hard time tolerating each other’s political views (he’s extremely conservative while I’m extremely liberal). In any case, his observations about Iraq were entertaining and so interesting.
• Letters from my favorite high school English teacher, who whipped my writing into shape better than anyone else and who acted as a wonderful mentor to me long after I graduated. When I was sending out my Ph.D. graduation announcements, I was so sad to learn that she had died of cancer, and so these letters are that much more valuable to me.
• Long, thick letters from my friend Yolanda, who was also a mentor to me. She and I recently connected on facebook and seeing the sheer number of these old communiqués inspires me to strengthen our connection once again.
• Surprisingly, letters from my sister, who normally hates to write. When I posted a funny quote from one of these on fb, she responded, “A letter?”
• A ton of cards from my parents on every birthday and holiday. My mom’s handwriting is famously difficult to read, but she always signs off, “Love, Mother Hubbard.” My dad’s handwriting is neat and all caps, and though he doesn’t show much emotion in person, the notes he adds are always sweet and thoughtful. Of these, I only kept the ones with extra special messages.
• Well-wishes from my maternal grandmother, written in Spanish (often spelled out as things sound rather than formal and grammatically), which mainly consist of telling me how she prays the rosary for me every day and that God and the Virgen de Guadalupe are always watching over me. With these, I’m torn: the messages are almost always the same, but I love her handwriting and she’s currently so frail, I hate to toss any anything from her.
• Scraps of paper with ideas for short stories, back when I was still trying to write short stories. I kept most of these, in case I ever get inspired to do my creative writing again.

Tossed!

• Cards from my grad school roommate. I didn’t know who these were from at first, until I saw references to adventures we’d shared. For reasons unknown, she stopped talking to me back in 2004.
• Cards from my ex-husband. I thought I’d gotten rid of all of them, but some slipped through the cracks.
• Holiday cards from friends (featuring pictures of their growing families over the years), postcards from friends’ travels, even a “we changed our names” announcement from a couple who combined their last names when they got married.

Though the “tossed” list is much shorter, it is a miracle that I was able to throw away/recycle anything at all. Back home, in my dad’s basement, there are several boxes of letters and mementos dating back to my childhood. Seriously, like my notebooks from junior year AP US history; a draft of a five-page letter that I wrote to a high school crush, explaining why we should not break up; notes passed in class in eighth grade; letters from my seventh-grade pen pal; a Cabbage Patch diary I kept in fourth grade; artwork from first grade . . . . It is strange to look upon any of these items, especially the ones from my middle school years: Who is this strange person? I wonder. Did I really write these things?

What is the point of keeping all this? Even now, as I look at my “keep” pile, I know that I will never have the time to really reread letters from Yolanda, Tom or anyone else. If I’m honest, then I’ll admit that a part of me grandiosely imagines that one day, when I’m a famous writer, these will all be valuable archival materials: Perhaps another young Chicana academic will become interested in researching my life and work, and she will be pore over these documents, searching for elusive clues. It’s akin to what Brazilian singer-songwriter Chico Buarque so eloquently describes in “Futuros Amantes”:

E quem sabe, então
O Rio será
Alguma cidade submersa
Os escafandristas virão
Explorar sua casa
Seu quarto, suas coisas
Sua alma, desvão
Sábios em vão
Tentarão decifrar
O eco de antigas palavras
Fragmentos de cartas, poemas
Mentiras, retratos
Vestígios de estranha civilização

Roughly translated: And who knows, maybe Rio [de Janeiro] will be a city submerged, and divers will explore your house, your room, your things, your attic. Wise men in vain will try to decipher the echo of ancient words, fragments of cards, poems, lies, pictures, vestiges of a strange civilization.

FYI my favorite version of this song is performed by Gal Costa:

So it is in that spirit that I end up keeping a lot of personal documents. And one day, you just might see me on one of those hoarding shows.

But probably not because, I am, after all, a Virgo.