Free Falling by Federico Restrepo Review by Jennifer Ortega

This weekend I went to see an art exhibit, play and a cabaret show all done by Latino theater artist. I did not intentionally plan my weekend that way, but as fate would have it, I bumped into my friend Denise who’s husband Federico Restrepo was having a an art opening, and she gave me an invite. I thought I would take my Finnish houseguest to the opening, but they were engulfed by Times Square and I had to ditch them and go about my plans on Friday night. Free Falling by Federico Restrepo exhibit at La Galleria, Was fun and whimsical, interacting sculpture with paintings, it made me yearn for the fruit which was artfully painted and tested my knowledge at which one’s I had ever tasted. The sculptures of wire, nylon and latex put a layer of realism, as it conveyed to me how we and our planet are interconnected and delicately fragile; man, with the bees, who pollenate plants, which bear the fruits we eat. There was a large screen with a shadow puppet on the screen, the image moved constantly and Federico said “ I dance in front of the screen everyday at 3PM and 6PM sharp” I can only image the dance movement and shadow puppet (which looks like the sculpture pieces) but if you show up at designated times you can let me know what you experienced and if flowed with our relationship to nature and the intent of the artist. While, I was the exhibit chatting by the bar (what is an art opening without wine?) I noticed a postcard for the show La Banda de las Recodas by Las Reinas Chulas, Not ever hearing about the group, I asked about them and I was told they were a lesbian cabaret group from Mexico City. Well, then I had to go and support the Latino cultural cause; I made my plan to see the on Sunday night. Free Falling by Federico Restrepo La Galleria 6 East 1st Street, between Bowery and 2nd Avenue. New York, NY 10003 Gallery Hours: Wednesday through Sunday from 1 to 7:30pm. More at: lamama.org/lagalleria

Jen's Review La Banda de las Recodas by Las Reinas Chulas

I went to by Las Reinas Chulas, cabaret act at La Mama Café in NYC, not really knowing what to expect, since I went on a whim. Their show La Banda de las Recodas was fun, cheeky and full of smart political satire. This troupe, which rides in from Mexico City is clever and entertaining. They’re opening scene is a spectacle, it blasts out the old ideas on the donkey it rode into town on, then descends the modern Banda group with their floaties and sexual appeal hanging out. They have an intoxicating sense of camp and their music and lyrics made me want to boogie in my seat. Las Reinas Chulas use their tools of dance, music, satire, and comedy to hold those accountable for “the culture of violence, corruption that the war on drugs has created through the years and how the Mexican government sponsors and supports it in several ways.” By the use of traditional textiles to make bustier tops, of regional clothing made in Mexico, they confronted a changing cultural identity, which is currently being trashed for modern slutty designs from the likes Victoria Secret and other retailers who have their goods made in China. They addressed female sexuality in a number that had me horny and prudish at the same time. Don’t miss La Reinas Chula’s show at La Mama, this weekend, because who knows when they will be able to cross to this side of the border again. La Banda de las Recodas by Las Reinas Chulas May 17 and 18 at 10PM May 19 at 5:30PM La Mama 74 East 4th Street between 2nd Ave and Bowery New York, NY 10003 212-475-7710 www.lamama.org www.lasreinaschulas.com www.elvicio.com.mx

Taco Review Snack Dragon Taco Shack

SNACK Dragon TACO Shack I walked up to this taco hut starving and excited to eat some comfort food. I had just been told that our wait at Mission Chinese had gone from an hour to an hour and a half to two hours. I scolded the host and said you didn’t say that when I walked in here at 7PM! I invested my time waiting and I was determined to eat at the Mission, but to hold off my hunger and balance out my low sugar, so I skipped over to the SNACK DRAGON TACO SHACK. I looked at the menu, the typical taco fair of carne asada, pollo verde, chorizo, grilled sole and quinoa pilaf (for vegetarians). I watched the taco maker assemble a couple of pollo verde tacos and liked his well-trained taco making technique, so I ordered myself a quinoa pilaf (not your typical taco fare, but anything can go into a vegetarian taco). As I stood there watching the taco maker put out orders of tacos, he took out a stack of blue tortillas. I asked him where did they get the blue tortillas? He answered “a purveyor.” I asked him if I could see the plastic package to see the brand, but he quickly threw it away. This is when I noticed the taco maker was a hipster. He then said to me “ I think the tortillas are especially made for us.” I knew this was a whole bunch of crap because I’ve been eating blue, red, white and yellow tortillas as long as I’ve been able to chew, and unless you got your mama, or a Mexican lady making masa, rolling out the dough and standing if front of fired up comal, no tortilla in a package is made especially for you. It’s made in a molina where they make thousands of tortillas in a day. It was my taco time and as he assembled my taco I had to ask for no cheese or crema, but a professional taco hut would have asked you how do take your taco. Not all taco eaters want there taco served the same way, as in hold the chile, no cheese, extra beans, more meat, no onions, kind of service. He put my blue tortilla on the plate, and served my vegetarian option. As I took my first bite my taco crumbled, and my tortilla was COLD. I wouldn’t have minded if it was hard shell taco, but it was a soft blue corn tortilla, which is supposed to be served hot. I told the taco maker my tortilla was cold and he said “oh, it is; I heated separately just for you” Did I miss something? Didn’t I just see you put a bunch of tortillas in a package into the giant tortilla holder, had I missed the Comal ritual, so I know you were probably goanna nuke the tortillas in a mircowave like some modern Mexicans do (which is lazy and unacceptable), but you didn’t even do that you serve me my manna COLD. Being the Mexican piggy that I am, I ate my taco and but was despaired when my tortilla cracked, split and broke. When I complained you were kind enough to make me another taco at no charge, but you it was too much for you to heat and serve a hot tortilla; This my dear hipster taco maker only encouraged me to begin my blog, because as my husband’s grandma always said, “one must not encourage bad taste” So, as not to encourage bad taste, I have to say Snack Dragon Taco Shack could be all the things you want, when you’re ten sheets into the wind, but if you have a palate for good tacos, this place is no different from the chain of Happy Taco Grill run by a some Asian folks from China. Save yourself and the four to six bucks for and don’t eat a bad taco.

Immigration Papers

Immigration Papers by Jennifer M. Ortega

May 30, 2010

The Arizona Law SB 1070 requiring anyone to show their immigration papers if stopped by police. Well, what if you don’t have any because you were born in the U.S.?

I often leave my apartment in Greenwich Village to go on my morning walk or to the deli to pick up some juice. I leave with twenty bucks in my pocket, my iphone, and keys to my apartment. My exercise clothes don’t have pockets, so I stuff the money into my bra, clip my phone to my pants and carry my keys. I usually don’t take my drivers license when I do these activates. Usually leaving my I.D. I can’t buy liquor, get into a secured building, or risk being found in the Hudson River and buried in potters field because no one can identify my decomposed body. It’s a risk I choose to take. However, lately I’ve become a perturbed if I do not take my I.D. I might be shipped to a deportation center and or harassed in general by the police. I know this really kind of outlandish to be thinking coming from a MAP (Mexican-American Princess) like myself, but it’s what crosses my mind now when I prepare to leave my home.

Like I’ve said in previous postings I am brown, as brown as they come. I love being a brown beauty, but it doesn’t stop me from being identified as “other”. For example if I hangout with my niece and nephews in the park, I usually am taken to their nanny. Last year when I escorted my mother-in-law to a cocktail party at Pretty Brook Tennis Club in Princeton where her parents were founding members, a friend of hers Mr. Buck (who owns the Philadelphia Phillies) asked me “how long, have you worked for Ms. McGraw?” I politely answered, “I do not work for Ms. McGraw, she is my mother-in-law”. He said “Oh yes, that’s right I went to your wedding”. I was somewhat daunted but felt sorry for him because he didn’t remember me and embarrassed himself by asking me if I was the hired help.

Three weeks ago I lost my wallet with my ID and credit cards. I had to go to meeting in Irvington, NY. I decided to take the train, when I could have taken our car on the twenty-six minute drive from Manhattan because I didn’t have my license. This was a true precautionary tactic, because I just didn’t want to have to explain to an officer why I didn’t have my license. Fortunately, I live in New York, but still, I carried my passport with me on the train just in case I got asked to show my papers.

What a surprise! Someone nicely mailed back my wallet to me, of course, after I ordered my replacement license online. What a relief, I could drive again without feeling paranoid when I saw a cop. I can’t tell you how freeing it was, to be free again. Now, when I leave my apartment I take my license because you never know who will ask you for your immigration papers.

Death Match vs Jen's Blog

I sent out invitations to my blog yesterday to my friends. Today, at dinner with some very dear friends, they laughed at because I started a blog. They thought it was a joke. I said I started it to get myself in the habit of writing, but they just laughed and thought the whole thing was ridiculous. I started to laugh with them too, once I figured how, stupid I was thinking blogging could help me write. Blogging is self –indulgent and egotistical. Really? Does anyone give a dam? I don’t.

Hoarding and Purging My History

I’ve decided it’s time to purge my home of stuff. It is usually this time of year when I change from winter clothes to my summer time clothes. However, this year it’s a bit different. I’m giving away a house full of things I’ve haven’t used for a long time. Twenty years of collecting, traveling, shopping, impulse buying and gift exchanges have left my apartment full. I would keep my stuff, but I’m about to begin inheriting stuff from my mother and mother-in-law and they have finer, nicer stuff than I do.

My husband and I live in a two-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village. It’s perfect for us. Enough room for our selves but when you get, get, get or buy, buy, buy and receive, receive, receive, the stuff begins to pile up. My greatest fear is becoming the Collyer brothers and being literally buried alive by stuff. Not only that but I have to admit my mother is a hoarder and so are all her sisters. They can’t get rid of anything because they can always use it. My mother won’t even throw away a coke bottle she found under her house because “it’s worth something, it’s valuable, people collect bottles”. In January I went to visit my mom in Texas and as I waited for her in the car I noticed that the walls of her little red house were literary bulging.

Did you ever watch the sitcom Sanford and Son? Well, that’s how my mom lives times ten. Her front door is unusable because she has stuff in front of it on the inside and the outside of the door. I haven’t been inside my mother’s home since 1998, but when I was last there pathways connected the rooms of the house. From the living room you can vaguely see the front door because she has a sofa, linens, and boxes of unopened mail piled in front of it. On the outside of the front door she has very large plants which block the door, you have to navigate your way from the curb to the front porch where the doorbell and mail box are located because the yard has so many plants randomly planted. I think my mom just digs a hole whatever she is standing and plants get planted right there. She has accomplished making a seventeen-foot wide cactus barrier between her house and her neighbor whom she despises.

My mother-in-law is very similar to my mother, but she has more money for storage places and people to help her organize her stuff in an orderly fashion. My mother and mother-in-law even collect houses and cars to store their stuff and now that they are getting up in age, they have to consolidate their stuff. My mother-in-law is moving into a smaller house and selling her proprieties. So, alas I am cleaning out five houses and one apartment. If I haven’t started clearing my mother’s junk before if she dies, I might just light match and set it all on fire. I bet it will be one of the best bon fires in South Texas.

Hopefully the organizing will take shape into a home with minimalism at its core. I only want things that are useful and being used, or at least that is my goal even if it may be unreachable.