The tie between sports and patriotism is customary and appropriate, and the pageantry of athletic competition is integral to its experience, cherished both by athletes and audience. There is an obvious analogy between good sportsmanship and good citizenship, and we applaud their celebration. National anthems are played and national flags are displayed, both gestures, when done properly, being important reminders of patriotic themes for all participants. We encourage such reflection at every opportunity, and athletic competition provides an obvious one.

Still, athletic competition is uniquely about the athletes; the talents they possess, the sportsmanship they demonstrate, and the many hours and personal sacrifices dedicated to their development. As a result, national interests are, and always have been appropriately made subordinate to personal and team accomplishments. In ancient Greece, a truce existed between all participating city-states three months before and after ancient Olympic games suspending jingoistic matters, in part to celebrate its participants and facilitate their safety. Similarly, both our collegiate and professional sports’ ranks are blessed with foreign nationals, representing the most talented and dedicated men and women in their athletic disciplines. In our view, we must take care, while celebrating their accomplishments, to remain sensitive to their right to remain dedicated to their own, home countries, rather than insist that they pay homage to ours.

We have separately concluded that flag designs are inappropriate for printing, embroidering or otherwise displaying on clothing as a general matter. (See No Flags on Clothing, Please.) We have also broadly construed Section 8(j) of the Flag Code which provides that “a flag patch may be affixed to the uniform of military personnel, firemen, policemen, and members of patriotic organizations.” (See Flag Patches on Uniforms (Non-Athletic).) At issue here, however, Section 8(j) begins in the negative: “No part of the flag should ever be used as a costume or athletic uniform.”

Having begun by waning philosophically, we view this rule as appropriately and categorically prohibiting use of the image of the flag on athletic uniforms.

To be clear, in our research toward that conclusion, we have considered the position that insists on a “strict construction” of this prohibition, to the effect that it should be read merely to preclude a literal “flag” itself comprising part of the uniform. This view holds that reference to “part of the flag” would only prohibit, say, lowering an actual flag and sewing all or some of its parts into the uniform. We believe this interpretation incorrect.

First, such an interpretation would presuppose that the term “flag,” as used in the Flag Code, is similarly narrow and only to be applied literally, to actual “flags,” and all other representations of the flag of the United States Flag are excluded from its coverage, as a result. This is not accurate. For instance, in its prohibition of the use of flags for advertising purposes, Section 3 defines its use of the term to include “any flag, standard, colors, ensign, or any picture or representation of either, or of any part or parts of either, made of any substance or represented on any substance, or any size evidently purporting to be either of said flag, standard, colors, or ensign of the United States of America or a picture or a representation of either…by which the average person seeing the same without deliberation may believe the same to represent the flag, colors, standard, or ensign of the United States of America.” The Flag Code’s context clearly applies to flags regardless of their composition. (See Section 6(c), speaking of “all weather” materials.) To the same effect, “[t]he flag should never be used as wearing apparel, bedding, or drapery.” Section 8(d). “It should not be embroidered on such articles as cushions or handkerchiefs and the like, printed or otherwise impressed on paper napkins or boxes or anything that is designed for temporary use and discard.” Section 8(i). As to this latter authority, if a flag of the United States of America is capable of being “printed or otherwise impressed,” it seems clear that the term “flag” as used in the Flag Code speaks to its likeness and representation, as well as to literal flags themselves.

Second, after its preclusion of athletic-uniform use, Section 8(j) then permits limited use of a “flag patch” (by military personnel, firemen, policemen, and members of patriotic organizations), suggesting that it interprets its own preclusion of “part of the flag” in athletic uniforms to otherwise include the use of the flag patch, for athletic uniforms are not of part of those latter, permitted uses. Very few, if any athletic teams could be or should be “patriotic organizations.” None that we are aware of require an oath to our country as a prerequisite to participation (naturalized United States citizens take an oath to our country, but citizens by birth do not), nor should they, as many sports permit us to enjoy the skills and celebrate the achievements of foreign athletes, and to us it would seem invariably inappropriate to compel their allegiance to the United States solely in order to enjoy the benefits, to them and to us, of their participation in athletic pursuits within our borders.

Finally, we anticipate that our conclusion might be challenged anecdotally, in that the image of the flag has been occasionally found on athletic uniforms (for instance, occasional Major League Baseball uniforms, the United States Olympic Team, among others). We empathize with those gestures, but empathy does not make that display and use proper when, as we have concluded, it is not. We have no quarrel with this statute, premised upon our considered thoughts, and whether it is a rule deserving of reconsideration or clarity is a question for our elected, legislative representatives. To be sure, if the Flag Code is to be overridden by the initiative of private interests (no matter how patriotic their motives may be), then it undermines the very purpose of its existence, and too, the respect for the very emblem it exists to assure.

Question: This year, I’ve noticed that the helmets worn by players in the National Football League (NFL) bear a sticker likeness of the United States Flag. Is this display proper?

Answer: No, it is not. We have interpreted Section 8(j) as prohibiting display or use of the United States flag, or even its image, on athletic uniforms. Moreover, apart from our interpretation of Section 8(j), we have other concerns. Certainly, in that the helmet of a football uniform is, by its nature, intended for protecting a player from the sport’s invariable contact with other participants as well as the ground itself, it is clear that a flag’s image in that location cannot be afforded the respect the Flag Code requires at Section 8 (i.e., “the flag should not be dipped to any person or thing,” at Section 8; “the flag should never touch anything beneath it; such as the ground,” at Section 8(b)). More difficult, we believe that its presence on the helmets of participants who are not citizens of this country puts them in an untenable position relative to the dedication they have to their own homeland, and hence, cheapens the display of that emblem by those who truly do so by virtue of their United States citizenship.

Five credit cards weigh a little more than an ounce. Americans currently carry in their wallets more than 6,200 tons of non-recyclable PVC credit.

Every year about this time I take a look at credit card rates and terms just to see who is offering what and at what price. This year, however, my focus was side-tracked by a very funny rewards card that caught my eye. Funny because Barclays Bank is actually hawking its plastic poison on the back of the “going green” movement. They call it the Gconomy Visa.

I say their plastic is “poison” for a couple of reasons. The first is the Gconomy Visa is like any other credit card, made of non-recyclable PVC and not environmentally friendly in the least. The second reason is the “terms and conditions” of the card reflect the same miasma of penalties, fees and high interest rates that have landed so many unwitting Americans in the poor house over the last couple decades.

Penalties, fees and interest rates aside, let’s just take a look at how “rewarding” the Gconomy Visa, and any other credit card is for that matter if you’re a consumer who is truly dedicated to saving the planet.

We Americans alone are carrying around a couple of landfills-full of credit cards at this moment. Five credit cards weigh a bit more than an ounce. So, if you believe some  data gatherers who say there are at least 1.1 billion credit cards in circulation, then that would amount to about 6,250 tons of wicked waste in our wallets.

Ok, so that’s a mere drop in the landfill bucket, but don’t forget that each year billions of new credit cards are produced and issued worldwide, which will include the Gconomy Visa. But, the Gconomy promotional website doesn’t bother to mention that its credit card is made of the very stuff Mother Earth cannot digest and conservationists love to loathe. That would be counterproductive in the effort to tug at ecological heartstrings in the name of marketing success.

So, while you can’t recycle those 2 x 3 PVC disks, you can re-purpose them, I suppose. I found a few humorous and clever ideas on a UK recycle website.

If you’re not worried about those little disks of plastic piling up at the dump, then consider the come-ons that, if you fall for them, will affect your finances. The Gconomy Visa’s interest rate is hardly the lowest.

And when it comes to the “rewards,” trying to figure them out at Gconomy’s RecycleBank (which is not a bank at all), is also pretty confusing. If your town’s recycle program is willing to weigh how much your household recycles each week and then tally up your total so you can earn retail points, then maybe this is a credit card to seriously consider. But can you honestly see that happening in Brawley, Calexico, El Centro, Holtville, or any other Imperial County municipality anytime soon? Not gonna happen.

The program also claims to partner with “local” retailers in the going green process. I couldn’t find any Imperial Valley retailers associated with RecycleBank. In fact, most of the program’s retail partners are Internet-based, which means they could be anywhere in the world, and not in the Imperial Valley.

As with any credit card, you need to weigh the fees, penalties and interest rates well before you look at the rewards. As far as I can tell through my long-trusted source of credit card offers, CardTrak, the Gconomy Visa is hardly rewarding when you consider that there are dozens of cards charging about half the interest rate the Gconomy Visa does, and with far better terms.

So, if you really want to save the planet, don’t get anymore credit cards. And if you really want to go green and financially sound, then use only the green cash you have in your pocket.

We have separately concluded that flag designs are inappropriate for printing, embroidering or otherwise displaying on clothing.  (See No Flags on Clothing, Please.)  An exception referenced there and discussed here is selective use of a patch bearing the likeness of the flag of the United States of America.  Section 8(j) of the Flag Code provides that “a flag patch may be affixed to the uniform of military personnel, firemen, policemen, and members of patriotic organizations.”

Anecdotally, most know flag patches to be so used.  By extension and without express authority, however, usage of a flag patch on uniforms is typically extended to analogous, uniformed personnel as well, perhaps by custom, such as uniformed governmental personnel and private security guards.  We are not strongly opposed to that.  One could argue that any uniformed individual charged with service to or safety of United States citizens is inherently a “patriotic organization.”

Placement on uniforms is not dictated by the Flag Code, but in civil use the flag patch is most often found on the right sleeve.  We surmise that this is derived from the ordinary display provisions of the Code, that typically require placement of the flag to “the speaker’s right” (Section 7(k)), or elsewhere, that “no other flag or pennant should be placed above or, if on the same level, to the right of the flag of the United States of America….”  Section 7(c).

Military placement is by regulation of the Armed Forces, and varies between the left and right sleeve among military branches and uniforms.  Conventional military usage, however, dictates that “the star field faces forward,” which “gives the effect of the flag flying into the breeze as the wearer moves forward.”  Army Regulation 670-1.  When this rule is applied to the right sleeve, its use is called the “reverse field flag,” since it is opposite of what one versed in flag etiquette would expect.  (For instance, when a flag is displayed on a wall, “the union should be uppermost and to the flag’s own right, that is, to the observer’s left.  Flag Code Section 7(i).)

Regardless, the prerequisite to application of a flag patch, however, is a “uniform,” as Section 8(j) limits its exception to specified or specifically-described organizational uniforms, rather than mere, casual ornamentation.  Thus, private, individual use of a flag patch on clothing is, in our view, improper, just as we have separately concluded that use of the flag or flag designs in clothing, generally, is improper.

Question: Recently on the highway, I passed a “motorcycle gang,” each member of which had a flag patch sewn on the shoulder of their leather jackets.  Surely this can’t be OK?

Answer: Section 8(j) of the Flag Code has breadth, and we believe it would be proper if, according to the internal rules of this organization, it could rightfully, objectively be thought of as “patriotic,” and carried out its activities with appropriate respect and reverence for the United States, generally, and the flag, specifically.  For example, the uniform of the Boy Scouts of America (“BSA”), too, bears the patch of the United States flag on its right sleeve.  In that the oath required of BSA participants calls for a duty “to God and my country,” it is the prototypical “patriotic organization” and such usage is permitted by Section 8(j).  However, once the “patriotic organization” prerequisite is found, the terms of the Flag Code do not discriminate against any one of them, or between them on the basis of other organizational ideologies; in the United States of America, our view is that is as it should be.

Flag Code Section 8’s concept of “respect” for the flag of the United States of America can, at first glance, seem patent and trivial. There are certainly those who would imagine that any and all demonstrative uses of our national emblem are invariably “patriotic,” simply in their own right. We are of the view, though, that idle exhibitions of patriotism are little more than a tribute to the exhibitor, a self-pat on one’s back as it were, whereas “respect” speaks in terms of the flag itself. American Heritage (4th) defines “respect” as “to feel or show deferential regard for; esteem.” This is to say, one does not automatically “respect” the flag by its use; to the contrary, we suggest that one shows the opposite by its misuse.

Except for patches on certain uniforms (which we address in a separate column), please do not wear clothing of any kind embossed with the American flag. Please. “The flag should never be used as wearing apparel, bedding, or drapery. Section 8(d). “It should not be embroidered on such articles as cushions or handkerchiefs and the like, printed or otherwise impressed on paper napkins or boxes or anything that is designed for temporary use and discard.” Section 8(i).

No flags or flag designs as clothing? This may, at first blush, appear Draconian. But reiterating, one mustn’t confuse pretence with reverence. The first is of no moment within the body of flag etiquette, whereas the latter is at its very heart.

From prior posts, one knows that “[n]o disrespect should be shown to the flag of the United States of America.” Flag Code, Section 8. When the flag is in such condition that it is no longer a fitting emblem for display, it should be destroyed in a dignified way, preferably by burning. Flag Code, Section 8(k). The Flag Code’s lesson: thinking the image of the flag is any less deserving of respect than the flag itself is to miss the mark entirely. To think the emblem of our country might be relegated merely to an idle “design” akin to any beer company or tourist destination, to be thoughtlessly soiled and trivialized as any other article of clothing, shoved in the hamper, unceremoniously laundered, outgrown and over-worn and eventually, summarily relegated to the landfill when its use exhausted or fashions otherwise change—that is, to say the least, distressing.

Now you know. Still, you should also know that we do not look askance at those who do not follow our example, for it is that freedom itself that provokes the esteem we afford the United States, which the flag represents. If one chooses to wear clothing bearing flag prints and reproductions, one is free to do so, proving to all who care that he or she is patriotic; congratulations. In permitting personal choice to supplant the Flag Code, however, there should be no confusion that that is not respectful whatsoever of the flag of the United States of America.

Question: Look, for years I have bought the annual “flag shirt” sold in advance of Independence Day by a national retailer, and I am proud of the fact that I have eight different versions of it. Wearing this shirt is a proper display of the flag, right?

Answer: With all due respect, absolutely not. A shirt, even if arguably imbued with intangible value akin to a “trading card,” is designed for temporary use and discard, and hence it may not be printed with the image of a flag. Section 8(i). It is difficult to imagine any of us treating a shirt as the Flag Code requires we treat the flag of the United States of America, so this is as it should be. But we wish to be clear about another unfortunate issue raised by the “flag shirt” campaign. Your question amply illustrates that the effect of this sales strategy is to raise the value of the shirts (to induce their purchase) over the emblem itself which adorns them. Apart from diminishing the significance of the flag’s image, we are also of the opinion that promotion and sale of this “series” of garments is a regrettable, misguided marketing ploy, and “[t]he flag should never be used for advertising purposes in any manner whatsoever.” Section 8(i).

No, not “Red, Red Wine”; that song that the UB-40 reggae band sung in the 80’s, but the song crooned by classically trained pianist Greta Salpeter, accompanied by rock guitarist Bob Morris on vocals.

The duet was supported by their ex-bassist Chris Faller (replaced by Mike Leblanc) and Darren Wilson on drums and vocals.

Did you notice “ex-bassist?” Well shortly after that, the band went on a “vacation,” aka, “hiatus,” aka “we will be back shortly…maybe,” aka, “I guess we should just break up.”

Alright, so they did not say, “break up,” but to their fans they might as well have.

The band released three solid albums: So Sudden (2005), Like Vines (2006), and finally Goodbye Blues (2008).

I was disheartened to read they were splitting up momentarily to create solo work and I knew at that moment, that I might never see them live to perform their indie songs. About half in every album is sung by Greta, half by Bob, and a handful where they both sing; they would trade off verses, or one would only sing the verses and the other the chorus.

This was ‘The Hush Sound’ at their best, both male and female singers exchanging lyrics in what sounded like truly harmonious music. They complemented each other so well you would forget that the rest of their album was split between songs with only Morris, and songs with only Salpeter.

With songs like, “The Boys Are Too Refined,” in their last effort and, “Wine Red,” you can appreciate the two’s dynamics; a reminder of how many of the Beatles albums were split, between Lennon and McCartney, but when they shared credit and both sung they would create songs that 40 years later my 10-year-old cousin sings.

Not that ‘The Hush Sound’ will ever amount to anything. The Beatles did, but their collaboration is a spitting image of the leaders of the Fab Four.

With a pianist who could make any song jumpy or melancholy and a guitar which provided the rougher, but clean-sounding guitar to the jazzy piano, ‘The Hush Sound’ have left the music scene with a cliff hanger.

Will they ever return? I don’t know, but for the sake of my “Studying Playlist” on iTunes, I sure hope so.

If you like ‘The Hush Sound,’ you will also like: Eisley, The Narrative, Metric, Regina Spektor.

I am a very loyal friend.  So loyal that I put my fear of Mexicali’s unpaved, and unlit neighborhoods aside to see my friend’s band play at a “house party.” It should be noted that the standards for what constitutes a house in Mexico are NOT the same as they are here, so it was more like a shack-party.

Given my lack of street-smarts, I would not survive more than five minutes alone in Mexicali’s open streets, so I had my friend Pako give me a ride, (readers will remember Pako from the summer scarf blog).

We drove to a very scary place known as “la Baja,” entire shoe stores hung from electrical wires, and if it were anyone else giving me a ride, I would have sworn I had been kidnapped.

We arrived at the party, again, I use that term loosely, (I guess all musicians need to play slightly self-degrading gigs when they’re getting started).

But it was then that I noticed Mexico’s innovative, and proactive business model for newspapers. Partygoers were drinking caguamas, Mexico’s monstrous 31.8 oz bottles of watered-down delight, which I calculate I would finish in the span of about 3 days. Yet the Mexican caguama industry had two problems. One, the large bottle took longer to drink and would thus get warm before it was finished; and two, it is technically illegal to drink in public in Mexico, and a 31.8 oz bottle is not easily concealed.

The solution: newspapers.

In a world and era where newspapers are failing miserably, the Mexican newspaper industry has discovered a profitabl byproduct--caguama wraps

When you buy a caguama in Mexico, the shopkeeper will wrap the bottle in newspaper, which conceals it from public view, and “word on the street” is that wrapping a bottle in newspaper also keeps your hands from warming the beer.

I believe that in the spirit of American entrepreneurship, we need to take this idea and capitalize on it.

Hear me out.

Publications can form alliances with beverage companies to target consumers. Beer can be wrapped in copies of Sports Illustrated, Starbucks coffee with Vogue magazine, and wine bottles with the bible, or the New York Times, (demographics would need to be considered).

It might be a stretch, but compared with other failed newspaper business models, it’s worth a try.

“Where have you been Raz?”

Well, to tell the truth, I had midterms and finals attack me from both the front and back and let me tell you, not a pretty sight.

But now that my classes are over (at least for me, school doesn’t end till next week) I will let you in on my little secret of how I got through it all.

Silversun Pickups.

Remember back in the 90s when the Smashing Pumpkins actually released good music and wished that the current Pumpkins would have a sort of rebirth?

Welcome Silversun.

With their fuzzy guitars, songs played in minor keys and the band soothingly crooning and growling over the music they introduce a revamped sound that the Pumpkins popularized.

Their latest effort, titled “Swoon,” includes a full string orchestra that kindly compliments the smoother, slower of their songs in the album.

**Note: you have to pay attention to catch it, not hard but it could be easily missed upon first listen**

The rest of their album is what I like to call: Non-stop head-bobbing rock n’ roll.

Not the crazy kind that can be seen at Metallica concerts or people who drink two too many Monster Drinks but the kind that will lift your spirit any day; regardless of previous crappiness.

Swoon’s most popular single, “Panic Switch,” is slowly but surely gaining recognition especially on college radios (as seen in Rolling Stone magazine) and their second single, “The Royal We,” is sure to perk up ears listening to the radio.

Personally, the entire album is well put together.

The track list does their style justice.  When the singer roughens his voice the music volume picks up followed by a decrescendo.  It never quite fades out but smoothly transitions to the next song that compliments the previous jam with a slower pace.

I might have made out this album to sound as gritty (which it is) but it is not to the extent that it burns ears such as screaming.   However it is just enough to understand the power of it.

As loud as they get, they are also as soft which in any indie album it makes a killer one-two punch for any person who needs to relax but release some anger as well.

Nope. That wasn’t the case. The dentist said it had to be pulled because the bone around the tooth was basically gone. There was just no saving the tooth.

Have you ever had an adult molar pulled from your skull? (Forget wisdom teeth… they don’t count.) It’s actually quite painless and very quick. The numbing shots are what hurt, and for days afterward! But it’s also that grinding and gnashing sound from that ugly stainless steel gadget they use to extract a tooth that gets y’ all icky and wanting to hurl.

Did I disgust you enough there? Good. Because what was even more disgusting to me—and hopefully to you—was the follow-up visit a week later.

What is it with medical people that they think it’s okay to make patients wait unreasonable amounts of time for a mere cursory visit with them?

Right after they pulled the nasty old tooth from my head, I was told to schedule a follow-up for exactly a week later. Now, I have learned over many, many years that since I am a prompt person then taking the first appointment of the day is advisable. I know I’ll be on time, and also I’ll be the first person in line to see the gods of medicine.

I walked into the dental office in El Centro promptly at 8 a.m. the following week—my appointed follow-up scheduling with the dentist. I actually waited there for five minutes in the front reception area without anyone coming out from the mysterious depths of those dental offices—suites, as they call them at that particular office. I said, “Hello?” a couple of times. Nothing. I looked around for a bell that might be left on the counter for patients waiting for service. Nothing. Still, I felt the need to hold onto my position at the reception desk JUST in case someone else came in and might try to claim my position as the first patient in line.

I could have riffled—undetected—through patient files in that five-minute window if I were a crook looking for Social Security numbers, addresses and other vital info. But I’m not a crook. I am, however, a very impatient patient! If you make an appointment with me, then you darned well better keep it!

Finally, at about 8:08 a.m. I was escorted into a “suite” just so the dentist could eyeball the newly formed canyon in my upper jawbone and tell me whether or not it was healing correctly.

At about 8:15 a.m. I was told by one blue-clad person, “We’re waiting on the doctor. She’ll be right in.” At about 8:20, another blue-clad person walked in and chirped, “How are we doing today?”

“We,” I responded with mild irritation, “have been waiting for 20 minutes to see our dentist.” I explained that I was there promptly at 8 a.m. and if by 8:25 I haven’t been consulted, then I would have to leave because, I too, have business to attend to and certainly wasn’t expecting the dentist to be a no-show.

Am I peeved about that visit? You betcha!

At about 8:22 a.m. another dentist—not the one who was supposed to see me—came in, took a look at my mouth and said, “That’s great… you’re doing well… Goodbye.”

No apologies for his missing colleague. No, “Thank you for your patience.” Nothing.

It took that man longer to sheave his hands with latex, grab a seat, and roll up to the chair I was sitting in than it did for him to look into my mouth and pronounce my healing a success.

Getting my tooth pulled a week before was the more pleasant experience, by far.

I have read media reports recently that the trend is picking up where doctors and dentists are starting to financially penalize their patients who are late to or miss appointments. I hope those are not the medical professionals who cavalierly make their patients wait unreasonable amounts of time.

It seems to be an expected—and accepted—part of visiting a doctor’s office in the Imperial Valley. I have frequently taken my mother to appointments at different facilities and have never seen the doctor within 30 minutes of the scheduled appointment. And a couple of times we had to wait an hour. Much to my mother’s embarrassment I let her doctor have it one day for making us wait so long. His response was more like we should be beholden to him that we got in when we did.

Arrghh!

The moral of this story is brush and floss your teeth regularly and carry around a lot of hand disinfectant.

Surely there are few sights more stirring for citizens of our country than that of our national flag flown during a parade. Civic pride is appropriately provoked by the pomp and pageantry of such times, and too, these community gatherings and celebrations are fitting occasions to reflect on the many gifts of our citizenship, and the sacrifices made by those who secured them. Still, the flag of the United States must be afforded its proper and fitting place apart from and above the ancillary festivities.

In parades themselves, the flag of the United States is generally to be carried in the front. Accordingly to Section 7 of the Flag Code, if it is carried with another flag or flags, the flag of the United States “should be either on the marching right; that is, the flag’s own right, or, if there is a line of other flags, in front of the center of that line.” “No other flag or pennant should be placed above or, if on the same level, to the right of the flag of the United States of America. Flag Code, Section 7(c). (Section 7(b) cautions that generally, the flag should not be displayed on a float in a parade except from a staff.)

Section 9 provides that the salute to the flag should be rendered at the moment the flag passes. All persons present should face the flag and stand at attention, and except for those in uniform, should place their right hand over their heart. Those in uniform should render the military salute. When not in uniform, men should remove their headdress with their right hand and hold it at the left shoulder, the hand being over the heart.

Question: I will soon be traveling abroad and will have occasion to be a spectator at a parade in a foreign country. Given my United States citizenship, and my commitment and oath to this country, what tribute, if any, should I pay to the flag of foreign countries should they be displayed on this occasion?

Answer: The provisions of the Flag Code apply to the display and respect shown for flag of the United States, so have no literal application. However, Section 9 of the Flag Code provides that “[a]liens should stand at attention” during any ceremony of hoisting or lowering the flag or when the flag is passing in a parade or in review. This symbolizes that, while we do not ask foreign nationals to pledge their allegiance or otherwise afford undue reverence to our flag in deference to their own citizenship elsewhere, certainly it is expected that they show their respect for our national emblem and the country for which it stands during their time here. Applied by analogy, as a citizen in the United States, we believe that the Flag Code recognizes world custom, and you should stand at attention at any time the foreign flag is hoisted or lowered, without formal salute, and do the same at the moment the flag passes in a parade or in review.

Because I didn't have a picture of the near-death event, I attached an approximate dramatization of what happened

rights, ping pong “out-of-line” disputes, and when feeling violent, punching at the sight of UPS trucks. Yet, an argument which I’ve brought up a good four times still continues to stir controversy. I am speaking, of course, of the drowning vs. choking definitional dilemma.

A few months ago, during a excruciatingly hot lunch break, the valley’s severe heat drove me to “chug” a water bottle at an abnormally fast pace. Too fast, and while some of the excess water managed to spill from my mouth, it was too late. And as I sat there, with my airways constricted, I thought about the appropriate wording that should be used to describe the event. If guided by the correct use of the English language, then what I experienced was choking. But it is because I am a big fan of the proper use of English that I think choking does not accurately define what I experienced.

Now, I know members of the Webster’s Dictionary patrol will point out that drowning is defined as death through submersion in and inhalation of water, as opposed to choking, where a constricted throat is responsible for the loss of oxygen. But if my scarce knowledge of anatomy and childish experiments transporting milk up into my nasal cavity have shown me anything, it is that oxygen inhaled through the nose follows the same path as oxygen inhaled through the mouth.

A similar distinction can be drawn between the terms “eating” and “drinking.” One can’t eat water, nor can they drink food (unless you’re a jock-type who needs to consume all food in the form of milkshakes). So by the same logic, it should be impossible to choke on water. The closest term to define choking on water, I think, is drowning.

My friends still mock me for my strong pro-word-redefinition stance, and it is unlikely that I will see the problem clarified within my lifetime. I know Oxford Dictionary, with it’s alleged 59 million words, will be reluctant to accept my request, but I think we can start with UrbanDictionary.com and move up from there.

I understand that Nobel Prizes are not yet awarded for redefining terms, but I will gladly accept the “Peace Prize,” for the thousands of arguments I would be setting to rest.

From the crushing crowd at the Blink-182 reunion kick-off in Vegas, July 24, 2009

I have spent the last week in what we here at UCLA call “finals syndrome.”

Its symptoms tend to include a zombie-like stare (no drool, although it is not uncommon), hair that vaguely resembles a Picasso painting, and a slight twitch from the previous night’s lack of sleep due to neighbors’ alcohol-induced retching.

Now that finals are over I FINALLY have a chance to write about the Blink-182 concert.

What’s my final verdict, you ask?

I think it was…**drumroll**….the best time I’ve ever had!

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I was officially blinked on July 24, 2009, the second performance by the band at the Joint/Hard Rock Café in Las Vegas.

I would like to thank my friend who was kind enough to pay for just about everything on the trip.

Ok, now let’s get down to it.

If you are not a fan of the band then do not worry, their performance was not pitch perfect (not that any band can do that) but it was how they presented themselves on stage that really made the occasion special.

They were back with their poop jokes and plenty of curse words towards each other between songs. The jest which was gone in their final tour of 2004 before splitting is now back and stronger than ever.

And yes, the youngest member is 33 years old. Ok, so they are not the best role models for eight-year-olds, which I did see at the concert including elderly people who were almost pushed to death due to the constant pushing and jumping during the concert. But anyway, my point is that, albeit, their raunchy jokes and behavior do not depict maturity, the performance did seem as a mere continuation of their musical career—not a reunion.

It means that these three musicians will be around for awhile as Blink-182.

Now to speak to their music, they played all their hits including most of the fans’ favorites such as “Not Now” (only released in their greatest hits album), “Don’t Leave Me,” “Dump Weed,” and “Reckless Abandon.”

Blink-182 in concert on their reunion tour debut, Las Vegas, July 24, 2009

Travis Barker seemed to be fully recovered from the nerve surgery performed on his hand after the plane crash in 2008. He was plenty energetic that night which included a three-minute drum solo.
Mark, who is the oldest at 36 years of age, was showing no grudge against Tom as he jumped in front of him mid-song.

Enough about the band. Sure, they put on a good show but the crowd was ecstatic to see this band live (including myself). Of course there is an expected amount of crowd-surfing and moshing (people running around in circles hitting each other, literally) in any concert but this particular concert, the whole venue was running mad.

I could not even stand without being pushed one way or smashed by the taller, heavier people. Every song was accompanied by dancing, even for their one ballad.

Case in point, I enjoyed this concert thoroughly, not only because it was my “fun” before finals week, but also because it was the first time I would see my favorite band live.

P.S.- nothing thought-provoking today, but just you wait till next time. I’ll test your patience so badly you’ll want to call me out on it.

Scam artists know that last little ditty about old folks’ telephone manners and they use it to their slimy advantage.

Now, my mom is a sweet 80-year-old who won’t tell even a little white lie on the telephone just to save her daughter from unwanted phone callers.  But for some reason this last week, she fibbed to a magazine telemarketer.  My shock at her fibbing wasn’t quite as great as it was to the telemarketer’s response.

Actually, the telemarketer did two things that raised red flags in my skeptical mind and leads me to have no qualms about suggesting to my gentle readers that Annie Blackwell from the phone number 561-253-0000 in West Palm Beach, Florida is a scam artist.

On Wednesday morning last week, ‘Annie’ called my mom to sell her some magazines.  My mother told ‘Annie,’ “We only subscribe to National Geographic.”  And Annie’s reply was, “I see that here, and your subscription expires next month.”  She went on to tell my mother that if she renews the subscription right then with ‘Annie’s’ company (which apparently was never identified) my mom would save big bucks.

My mother wasn’t interested in renewing any subscriptions and thanked the woman (that figures) and hung up.   But the interesting thing is my folks haven’t subscribed to Nat Geo in almost two years.  That was my mom’s little white lie.  But ‘Annie’s’ big red lie really rankled me.  Where exactly did she see a subscription that doesn’t even exist is about to expire?

Simple answer is, Annie lied to make a sale.  Her misfortune was she lied to my mother.

Caller ID shows the West Palm Beach phone number calling in shortly before 10 in the morning on August 2

I didn’t hear about this whole thing until this morning.  I thought it might be a good idea to look into the 561-253-0000 in the interest of my new consumer blog.  But lo and behold, not long after my Sunday morning coffee conversation with my mom, she got yet another call from ‘Annie,’ who asked her if she was enjoying her subscription to National Geographic and would she like to renew it.  Again, my mom said no thanks.

Red flag number two shot up, so I immediately called back the phone number on caller ID and got a gentleman who answered with a curt hello.  I asked to speak to Annie Blackwell, but he said, “This is a business.  There’s no one here by that name.”  I explained that my mother had received two phone calls from a woman at his number.  He said he didn’t know how that was possible and excused himself from my call.

Now, maybe there’s an employee somewhere in that West Palm Beach ‘office’ who’s working her dirty routine under the nose of an unsuspecting boss. But, in my experience—especially with a number of shady South Florida businesses—the boss is usually the fleece leader.

The Federal Trade Commission has successfully prosecuted fraudulent magazine subscription “services” in recent years and they continue to investigate others.  But unless they are alerted to people like ‘Annie Blackwell,’ there is not much they can do.

Federal authorities estimate financial losses to fraudulent telemarketers to be anywhere from $3 billion to more than $40 billion a year.  Why the big gap in those figures?  Many victimized people are too embarrassed to tell anyone they’ve been taken, so the crimes don’t get reported and recorded.  But typically, the victims of telemarketing fraud are seniors because of that polite thing they were taught way back in the 1930s, 40s and 50s, and because they’re usually at home, and because they usually have nest eggs they can draw from.

If you’re interested in the FBI’s take on senior citizens as targets of fraud, click here.  The bureau also explains in detail the different telemarketing scams against the elderly and how to tell the difference between the good guys and the bad guys.

My only solution at this point to keeping my mom from being cornered as a consumer was to register the 561-253-0000 phone number in a complaint with the National Do Not Call Registry.

Someone somewhere in that bureaucratic mass in Washington now has Annie’s number.

One of my favorites is the old we’ll-fix-your-debt-problems-for-only-$250 scam.  They don’t, won’t and they especially can’t since it’s illegal.  But that’s a different story to tell on these pages somewhere down the road.

But the purpose of consumer news and comment is to help the consumer avoid getting jacked—legally or illegally.

Now, not all “bad” businesses I’ve dealt with personally and professionally are doing illegal things; but they are doing underhanded things, or they sort of try to cloak the real costs of things by offering “specials.” Those marketing guys and gals—they’re a hoot.

Take the dinky-dish satellite companies, for example.

Yesterday I tried to make good on my promise to Time-Warner cable that I am taking my business elsewhere because of a persistent lack of reception on one channel, which I’m basically paying eight bucks a month for because it’s lumped into a “tier” of other channels I don’t watch and I don’t want.

The Time-Warner rep in Denver—a somewhat bored, apathetic guy by the name of Justin—really peeved me when he said that unless a whole lot of customers complain about poor reception on one particular channel, then they really don’t bother addressing the problem.  That remark was enough to make me start looking at the dinky-dish services.

And what a nightmare that was.  I started my search for reliable, affordable television viewing at DirecTV’s website. Their website was slathered in “specials,” y’know the different attractive prices that have little eensie weensie print underneath with the real price?  They were also giving away three months of some premium channels.

Not 15 seconds into my website visit a “chat” window popped up asking me if they could be of any “help.”  So, I bit.  (Note:  There’s something really insidious about poring over a website and in the middle of the page pops up a “chat” window that addresses you as though they know what you’re doing and what you’re thinking.)

For 90 minutes I grilled the guy in the little chat window, bouncing back and forth from package page to premium prices to required equipment and yada yada– every aspect of purchasing a DirecTV package with a couple of premium channels.  Problem is, without “chatting” with their rep, James, it would have been very difficult finding all the answers to my questions.  In fact, most of my questions would not have been answered if I didn’t have the used-car-style sales guy “chatting” with me.

I could get 200 channels a month for 40 bucks and HBO and Starz for an additional $25.  That’s not bad, I thought.  That’s about $20 less than what Time-Warner is charging for even fewer channels. So, I was excited.  I was making headway.  The fact that the pricing would tick up another $20 in the second year of a required contract was bearable since Time-Warner would probably do the same thing a year from now.

The receivers would be another $10 a month.  Okay, that’s fine.  We’re still under the current Time-Warner bill.  It’s when James tried to hard-sell me on sealing a deal then and there that I should have bailed.  “You need to commit by tonight otherwise all that special pricing goes away,” he chatted.  (If you take a look at their website, the “specials” are still there and purportedly good through September, and even now they’re offering five months of four premium channels, not just three months and three channels.)

I also found it very attractive that there were no set-up or installation fees at DirecTV.  In my mind’s eye I could see James’ fingers tap-tap-tapping while he prayed for a sale with me.  And finally at about 90 minutes into our chat I said, “Okay… let’s do it.”  I could hear the sigh of relief 200 miles away in Los Angeles where James sat, “chatting” with me.

And then the bomb dropped during the sign-up process.

The one question—the ONE question—I never asked in that grueling 90 minutes was, “Gee, does DirecTV have local channels?”  A person just assumes the most likely TV programming that would be available through any service would be local affiliate television.  That’s not the case, especially with DirecTV.  Their satellite doesn’t pick up Imperial Valley/Yuma Valley television stations.

So, when I learned that, I “chatted” with James about how you go about getting local programming with DirecTV.  Oh, well, James chatted, “For each receiver there’s a one-time $50 charge plus a $200 installation fee on special equipment.”

BONG!  You’re gone, James!  My house needs three receivers, which would be a $150 fee.  Add that to the “special equipment,” and I’d be out $350 just to put an ugly little gray dish on top of my house so I can get the same stuff that the cable company offers and eventually pay the same price as the cable company charges.

James was less than polite as he ended our chat.  No thank you.  No goodbye. Just poof.  As insidiously as the little chat box appeared, it disappeared

I am a seasoned consumer advocate.  I know that you should read fine print and other hidden conditions and the like before you dive into a service agreement.  But I didn’t.  And it wasn’t until after James hung up on me that I noticed DirecTV’s conditions also require the consumer to receive emails from DirecTV.  Now, that’s got to be some form of extortion.  Had I read that little ditty before that 90-minute chat session I wouldn’t even have bothered with DirecTV.  My email is sacred, and it’s also valuable to companies like DirecTV.  I don’t give it away and I don’t expect to have to use it as leverage for some dubious service.

I checked with DishNetwork.  Their pricing packages and hard-to-find conditions are not much different than DirecTV.  But, Dish does indeed offer local Imperial Valley television—for a $5 monthly charge.

Back to square one with Time-Warner.  Of course, I have yet to look into the possibilities of planting one of those mammoth, NASA-style satellite dishes in the backyard to get every channel imaginable on earth.  But that might annoy the neighbors.

So, for now, I’m going to stay with Time-Warner cable, but not by choice. I’m just merely cornered as a consumer. But I did have a conversation with El Centro City Manager Ruben Duran about how you go about complaining to local jurisdictions about the cable monopoly not offering 100 percent service, a conversation that lends itself to a complete blog entry next time.

My word, as always:  don’t get cornered as a consumer.

Who am I talking about?

I refer to the late 90’s pop-punk band Blink-182 composed of Tom Delonge (lead guitar, vocals), Mark Hoppus (bass, vocals), and Travis Barker (drums) who disbanded in 2004.

Their major label debut album titled, Enema of the State (1999) produced hit singles such as “All the Small Things,” “What’s My Age Again,” and “Adam’s Song” and went multi-platinum (multi-platinum= several million copies sold, platinum= one million copies sold).

Their second major label album Take Off Your Pants and Jacket (2001) gave teenagers songs like “The Rock Show,” “First Date,” and “Let’s Stay Together for the Kids.”

With all this success that came with their multi-platinum album, the band could not continue past 2004 and their music came to an abrupt end.

But earlier this year they announced at the Grammy Award Show that they will produce music as a band once again.  Curiously enough, this reunion followed Travis Barker’s (their drummer) nearly fatal airplane accident.

His near death experience seems to be the reason that their in-band feud five years ago dissipated and brought them back together as friends and then as musicians.  His departure from the band, which did not continue after his departure, according to Delonge, was the result of the ultimatum imposed on him by Hoppus: family or band?

All three band members are parents so I find it hard to believe that an ultimatum of that nature was thrust upon Delonge.  According to the guitarist, he chose his family but nonetheless continued his musical career with Angels and Airwaves, a band he formed post-Blink-182.

Hoppus’ and Barker’s disappointment with Delonge and their continued silent treatment towards him, was a result of how he presented his plans to leave the band.  According to Hoppus he spoke through his manager and didn’t “…man up to the situation,” (Hoppus).

Essentially they labeled him as a coward.

Yet, despite the lack of communication, all this fades when Barker began his recovery in a hospital.

I don’t know about you, but it smells funny.

You would have to take into consideration the fact that Barker’s nerve reparation surgery on his left hand would take a considerable amount of money to pay for.

It appears too convenient that their reunion or “comeback” tour happens after his accident.

Is it to help him pay for his bills? Are these rock stars doing it for the money or enjoy playing their rock sound which has been emulated endlessly since then?

I do not know.

But this is not going to stop me from attending their Las Vegas show and sing along to my favorite band.

I’ll fill you in on that next week and give my review of their first official concert since 2004.

I was reminded of this when watching Sonia Sotomayor’s confirmation hearings earlier today.  A number of senators continually questioned her impartiality on the basis of her race and gender. I understand some of the concerns expressed by these senators, but I have much more sympathy for Judge Sotomayor, who is faced with outlining and revealing an internal struggle of identity that so many assume she has.

At the NAHJ’s Student Campus orientation one of our mentors asked the 21 participants a question he wanted us to think about overnight. The question was whether we were Latinos or journalists first? The next morning, each of the participants gave their responses. There was a close-to-even split; many said that since they were born Latinos and not journalists, they were Latinos first. The others said that as journalists they had to put the integrity of the profession first. I sided with the latter of the two, but was disturbed by the premises the question suggested.

It is true that we were all born with Latino ancestry, but does that automatically entail sympathy, or even identification with that ancestry? Even I, who was raised in a border town, don’t feel a strong connection with my culture. If anything, what I know about the culture, as a relative outsider, has led me to be a strong critic of some aspects of Mexican culture.

I strongly disagree with the assumption that all Mexican-Americans have this melancholic longing to express their culture in whatever they end up doing. As a Hispanic writer, my worst nightmare is to fall under the Gary Soto literary category. Those stories that depict the alien world of assimilation in progress, with a sprinkle of slang Spanish terms here and there. (No offense to Gary Soto as a writer, I own one of his books and enjoy his writing.)

Likewise, I don’t have a strong connection with American culture for obvious reasons; I was raised by Mexican parents in a border town with about 12 white families.  As a child, my Hispanic teachers taught me American culture through textbooks, and I tried to assimilate into that culture through the Disney Channel.

It is perhaps that childish thirst for assimilation which eventually drove me to seek knowledge of literature, history, and politics, powered by the dream of having an understanding of things immigrants were not expected to understand.

It is true that Hispanics have suffered discrimination, but that discrimination is not being surpassed to just ponder those hurdles. Discrimination is being surpassed, I hope, so that Hispanics will be characterized by their actions and abilities, and not by predetermined cultural assumptions.

That Hispanic hardship theme was predominant in NAHJ’s student campus lectures, and while I do acknowledge the discrimination Hispanics have had to overcome, there comes a point when culture is used as a crutch.

If journalism is what I continue to do in life, I want to eventually be known as a great journalist, and not a great Hispanic journalist. The use of a cultural crutch could eventually create a proverbial, and self-imposed, glass ceiling.

So really, people like Judge Sotomayor and I, who grew up in a state of cultural limbo, are specifically qualified to reason without a cultural bias.

Some new friends from the NAHJ convention in Puerto Rico

Not even the anticipation of flying first class could drown down the premature melancholy I felt as I prepared to leave Puerto Rico.  It’s neither the horrible humidity nor the glorious finger foods that I will miss the most, it will be the people.

My blog is called “The College Cynic,” so no one was as surprised as I was to find that strong friendships could indeed be formed in a week.

Fabian Caballero, me, and Agnes Trenche in one of San Juan's forts

A portion of the program’s younger participants almost organically formed a small “crew.” We were lucky enough to have two Puerto Rican natives in the gang, they kept us from entering any of the crime-infested neighborhoods in San Juan. Together, the crew experienced San Juan’s nightlife, the National Association of Hispanic Journalists Convention, and the depressing state of the journalism industry.

I’m old and cynical enough to know that it is likely that I will never again see these people, but like many people do, I will try to temper my actual emotions by self-comfort

The evil Mofongo dish

with unlikely reassurances. I mean, we are the next generation of journalists, right? We have to see each other again, right?

Yet I do have to admit, having the option of steak over pretzels on the plane did help me, momentarily, forget my friends.

Random Puerto Rico/NAHJ Fun Facts

• You don’t need to be a Hispanic to be a member of the National Association of Hispanic Journalists, you don’t even need to like Hispanics, as shown by NAHJ lifetime member Lou Dobbs
• God gave Puerto Ricans–all of them–an innate and superior ability to dance, kind of how he gave all very intelligent people the need for glasses
• Puerto Rico is surrounded by sharks and the Puerto Rican Trench, the deepest trench in the Atlantic Ocean
• Daddy Yankee, the Puerto Rican reggaeton singer, was the moderator for the island’s gubernatorial elections
• Puerto Rico should be invaded, it is they who hide weapons of mass destruction; their  Mofongo dish needs to be stopped
• It takes less than five hours to drive across the island’s widest part
• In Puerto Rico, people know who the president of the Senate is, he is considered to be the second most powerful politician in Puerto Rico

I was walking with some friends from the UCLA main campus toward my apartment—a 10-minute walk away, when the three of us noticed several news channel helicopters hovering above campus.

We thought that a riot finally broke out amongst the Iranian protestors and police that were located not even half a mile away at Wilshire Blvd, plus we even joked that they were after my friend for the diva that she was.

As we walked, the girl in our trio received a text message from a friend claiming that Michael Jackson was at the UCLA Children’s Hospital, which is adjacent to the UCLA Medical Center.

Then we realized why so many news channel helicopters were nearby, it was not because the Iranian people who were demanding a regime change in their home country due to an alleged rigged election that had gone violent, it was because a pop star entered a hospital comatose.

Shortly after receiving that text, my friend received a second reading: “Michael Jackson is dead!”

Those four words were being repeated by every student we walked past towards our apartments: “MJ died!”

The entirety of this past weekend all I could hear was chit chat on this tragedy however everybody gleaned over the fact that this pop star had several child molestation charges.

Granted no person would point out the flaws of a dead person at their funeral however the nation, it seems, mourned over the musical talent that he was while easily forgetting the illegal acts of which he was eventually acquitted.

Do I listen to MJ’s music?

Just three months ago I bought his “Number Ones” album which I thoroughly enjoyed.

And it seems that others continue to buy his albums, according to billboard.com, three of Michael Jackson’s albums sold 100,000 copies last week, not only that (and not surprisingly), MJ radio play increased 1,735 percent.

I am not reprimanding people for the thriller of a pop star that he was, but I wish that the media stopped glamorizing him as the god of popular music.

Every celebrity may shine in their respective line of work but ultimately we all return to dust that should not come as a surprise.

In the Noche de San Juan ritual, worshipers fall back seven times to knock evil spirits out of their souls

Like in any mass grouping of Hispanics, parties are a large part of the National Association of Hispanic Journalists’ (NAHJ) agenda. Today is the day when all attendees to the convention arrived at the Carribe Hilton, an obvious cause for celebration. Moreover, today happened to coincide with the “Dia de San Juan,” a celebration of Puerto Rico’s patron saint. But that’s not the crazy part.

It is Puerto Rican tradition to honor San Juan by performing the “Noche de San Juan” ritual. The very popular ritual calls for worshipers to fall backwards seven times into the water in order to wash the evil spirits away. There is no need to say that there might be a fault in the ritual’s logic. I would rather keep the evil spirits in me than risking a concussion after hitting my head against another cursed soul.

Nevertheless, I stood only a few feet away capturing the display of crazy, hoping one of the evil spirits that escaped them was the bandwagon spirit.

Moving on, as promised, today I visited Puerto Rico’s capitol building and the governor’s palace. As for the

Ornate rotunda in the Puerto Rican capital building

capitol building, Washington, D.C. has some competition. With all certainty, I think the rotunda of Puerto Rico’s capitol building outshines our own. While the Puerto Rican rotunda is much smaller than our own, it is covered with amazing gold-leaf trimmed mosaic which tells the story of the people of Puerto Rico. Also, while most important American government buildings are built using limestone, the Puerto Rican capitol is, externally, entirely covered with over 10 types of international marble giving it a unique shine.

Fort surrounding the governor's palace

The governor’s house is just the opposite of the capitol. Instead of displaying opulence, the governor’s Palace is a 1400’s military base built by the Spanish. It is the longest continuously occupied executive palace on the North American continent. It is situated in the middle of Old San Juan, looking over a fort’s wall into the Atlantic Ocean. Sadly, we were not allowed to see the inside of the very small palace, we were only allowed into the courtyard, and the gardens—which were great.  We were explicitly

Palatial gardens in San Juan

instructed to keep our cameras and our eyes away from one of the governor’s cars—it was a hybrid Escalade. But I was the happiest to find that the governor shares a common hobby with me, ping pong, as shown by the folded ping pong table in the courtyard.

Ping pong table in a breezeway of the governor's palace

Today ended the Student Campus program and begins the NAHJ National Convention (which surprisingly begins with a large party). I will have more free time blog… so stay tuned, I have a feeling Puerto Rico has a lot of crazy I have yet to see.

For those who haven’t been here, I’ll give a brief overview of what a traveler would see. I am staying in San Juan, the capital city of the commonwealth of Puerto Rico, key word common… not wealth, at least not in monetary terms. The history behind the city is very intriguing; San Juan was the landing spot for Christopher Columbus on his second voyage to the “new” world. Puerto Rico then became a Spanish colony, and for protection purposes, massive stone forts were built to defend the port. There are at least four of these 16th century forts that silently welcome a colossal flow of cruise ships.

On the other hand, welcoming people to the non-tourist areas are not forts but the realities of Caribbean life. The cityscape of high-rise luxury resorts and cruise ships is replaced by one of third world urban sprawl. With it’s decaying infrastructure and the buildings’ even faster decaying paint, San Juan proves to be what most South/Central American “resort cities” are—to borrow the bad joke from Republicans—third world cities with lip stick on them.

***

Yesterday, after weeks of insisting from my journalism teacher, I went to USC. And by that I mean the Universidad del

Universidad del Sagrado Corazon in San Juan Puerto Rico

Sagrado Corazon, which strangely uses the same colors as our USC (University of Southern California), and even stranger, still follows a religious curriculum.

One great thing I will always remember is an appetizer we were served at a very dirty and unsanitary looking restaurant. It was a glorious greasy version of jalapeno poppers, made out of fried “Yuka” root, melted cheese, and ground beef….I think. I’m not really sure what I was eating, I just know it’s what God would eat on a trip to Puerto Rico.

Old San Juan with blue cobblestone streets

Moreover, today a story assignment took us to the historic 15th century Old San Juan; that was the San Juan I was expecting! The architecture was better than any Disney set, the old townhouse style buildings are painted in vibrant colors, and the humidity is forgotten at the sight of the imposing and awesomely monstrous forts. The historic site’s comfortingly narrow streets are lined with blue Spanish cobblestones. I will not set myself up for failure by attempting to describe the historical treasure, so just look at some of the pictures.

I will return to “Old San Juan” tomorrow and tour the inside of Puerto Rico’s capitol building and the very exclusive governor’s palace, commonly known as “La Fortaleza.” I will try to take pictures of the interior of the palace but I doubt I will be allowed to do so, the governor is probably afraid that the Americans will use the pictures to incite a military coup in Puerto Rico—and I wouldn’t blame him.

The bumpy road trip over, this is Alessandra in much happier moments at Mission Beach

Yesterday was the first time I ever took Alessandra (my baby) to the beach. She’s been up to San Diego many times, but for some reason this time she didn’t like highway 98 and all the bumps that come with it. She has been teething so I think she was just not really feeling up to doing anything.

Each and every time the car drove over a bump she would freak out and get scared. You would have thought that she was on a rollercoaster. She was gripping onto her seat with both hands. My mother even tried to hold her hand, but Alessandra wasn’t having it. She was too scared to let go. By the look on her face she looked queasy….you know kind of like when someone older is drunk or hung over and they are about to throw up? Well sure enough after being in the car for a while and going over each bump she finally threw up.

She’s never gotten car sick before, so could it have been the fact that she’s teething or maybe she is just getting more sensitive towards movement?

Where can we find this kind of fun in the Imperial Valley?

She slept the rest of the way up. We finally arrived at Mission Beach in San Diego. I love Mission Beach it reminds me of my childhood. Spending summers there with my family and especially when my mom would take my older sister and I

up there for the day. I love the water….my husband hates it! lol. So I was hoping that Alessandra would enjoy it too. We only lasted a little while there because she started feeling sick again.

Taking a carriage ride at Seaport Village

The next best thing was to take her for a carriage ride at Seaport Village. She loved it, she was princess Alessandra for the day!

What exactly does a mom do for fun with a little infant here in the valley?  I usually go up to San Diego, but I’d like to think of some creative things to do here in the valley for me and my baby to spend quality time together. Let me know if you have any ideas!