Go Animate Your Lesson Plan

My 6th graders had better appreciate this... GoAnimate.com: Bad Birthday by odlugo

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Charlie bit me...

...and that really hurt.

I have Big Love for this show.

My best friend and ex-roommate Tina and I began watching HBO's Big Love together back when it first began. We were instantly addicted. I'm all for polyamorous unions and the story's approach never took itself too seriously. The acting talent is everything one could ask for--I mean, Chloe Sevigny in prairie outfits? Genius. I was fortunate enough to attend a screening of the film 'Nine Lives,' from director Rodrigo Garcia (son of famed writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez) my senior year of film school at CSUN. He is an eloquent man, his feet rooted deep in the ground...a man who deeply understands women. In fact, most of his work revolves around female storylines. Anyway, he went on to tell us about writing and directing the pilot for Big Love. I'd never payed attention to the credits, so I was pleasantly surprised. Gave me more reason to adore his work. It's because he understands women so well that Big Love works. Not only are the plot points completely involving in an infamously exclusive world, but the characters are so real sometimes it seems you actually know them.

Dong Wook and I finally got all caught up and finished season 3 last night without even knowing it was the final episode. Thank God it'll be back January 10th. After Avatar premieres, Big Love is next on my horizon.

These things do happen.

Last week, a 19 year old Puerto Rican boy who was gay was decapitated, dismembered, and burned. It's still unclear why exactly these atrocities were carried out, but we do know the chief investigator said, "He asked for it." Do you think his mother accepts that reasoning? Please pass this on so that more people can understand what hate creates...and destroys.

What if I don't wanna?

It's time to make a buck and spend that buck on things that matter. Things that last. Homes. Babies. Furniture that pleases our aesthetic. My family would be pleased. I'd be there. I'd be close. I'd be accessible.

It's time to go back to school. It's time to learn again. Exercise my brain. Get the blood flowing north again instead of further south. Crack the spine of those books. Progress. Prepare. Get that Masters. It's passed due.

It's time to get married. Time to pay for a joint living. Time for health insurance. Time for a car you share. One car. Time to become what everyone is supposed to become.

It's time to face the facts. It's time to wise up. Act now before it's too late. Look at what your friends have accomplished. Did you see your cousins new house? Did you hear who had a baby?

What if I don't wanna?

In my (our) near future we have choices. One major one, in fact. What happens after Korea? Where do we go? What do we do? How do we do it? I'm ready to go at any moment. Let's go now!

Here are some possibilities for our future: a) Move somewhere and go to school, together b) Move to the US or Canada and attempt to work c) Stay in Korea d) Save up and travel the world before having to worry about a & b, because we all know c is an impossibility.

What to do, what to do?

Where to go? Here. This is my inspiration...

Because when it gets cold we cook.

Latinos love to cook. All day everyday. The only thing we enjoy more than cooking is eating, or forcing other people to eat with us. Most of my favorite Mexican dishes are cooked in the winter time, when the temperature drops and no one wants to go outside--they just want to sit, eat, and chat. My best memories as a chunky little mejicanito were dipping Pan con Azucar y Canela into a warm mug of either Chocolate Mexicana (made with Chocolate Ibarra, of course) or Atole / Champurrado. There's something about the cold weather (as if it got that cold in Southern California) that, for me, has always equated with sweets--sweet breads, sweet drinks, sweet men, etc. I was too young to care much for the conversation of my elders but as long as they kept that delicious, crispy toast coming, and those mugs of thick, chocolaty liquid flowing they could talk all night as far as I was concerned. There was always room in my belly for the savory as well. My family never celebrated Christmas. In my youth while the children around me (my cousins and classmates) received presents to last them until their birthday's, the only thing I had to look forward to were Tamales. Didn't matter if they were filled with beef, chicken or pork. I'd gobble them up spicy or not. One after another, corn husks everywhere. Damn. What I'd give for one (five) now.

Korea as of late is very cold. I could say freezing but that would be an exaggeration. But to my Californian standards yes...my balls have icicles on them. These foods, the idea of these foods, are what keep me warm now--from inside out. Not having them here, readily available to me, is probably more difficult than not having my family. See my mentality? That's a true fatty, through and through. I'll have to make due and get creative. Making these delicacies from scratch could be very well impossible, depending what I can sniff out at the various import stores available here--but I just may attempt it.

There are two delicious treats I will partake in because they are easily made and result in a huge payoff. The first is not even a Mexican dish, it's a Cuban dish called Papas Rellenas (stuffed potato balls). My friends and I would make pilgrimages to a bakery in Burbank, California called Porto's Bakery where they specialize in Cuban sandwiches, desserts, as well as various Cuban appetizers and other popular international desserts. It's by far one of the best places I have ever eaten. Crazy-delicious. Anyway, I am missing these balls and plan on making a batch. Fried mashed potatoes filled with spicy meat? Hello! Can't wait. Along with this I'll pair a very popular Mexican alcoholic drink called Rompope. Plainly put, it's Mexican eggnog that nuns used to whip up in their boredom. Thank God for boredom. The bottle, most popular with a nun from the Santa Clara convent as mascot, reminds me of my grandmother. I recall her reaching for it, atop a shelf, too high for most to reach. She would stand on a chair, still barely reaching. She would pour some for the adults and only a small portion for the children, to taste. That flavor, that aroma, will always be with me. Egg. Cinnamon. Vanilla. Sugar. Rum or brandy. The reason she had it up so high was because it was so good my siblings, and cousins and I would guzzle it down like that yummy orange-flavored Triaminic (remember that? First addiction!). Drunkenness at eight-years-old. That's another thing Latinos love.

The winter is cold but I'm warmer now with my memories; of bread crumbs on my childhood belly, the women of my family gathered together wrapping cornmeal into husks, and my grandma drunkenly trying to place the bottle of rompope neatly back on the shelf.

(Recipe for Rompope here)