SquidRoad

Echa pa' lante: How not to join a conga line

How does that toddler underwear TV spot go--I'm a big kid now" or something like that? Yeah, that's me.

I'm embarrassed to admit I finally attended (strictly as a guest anyway) my first fund raiser recently, for a local Hispanic nonprofit agency. I won't lie though: I was in it 150% for the extracurricular activities. When I first promised a friend I'd go and do my part for a good cause, let's face it--that cause was the live band--a conjunto in Latin terms.

And let me tell you, this gig was most definitely on Latin terms. Hallelujah! Let the fiesta begin.

The week before the event, I asked my friend who the band was.
---Ahh, sabes qué, Nydia, we couldn't get the band after all. We could only get a DJ.

Whaaat? What did she mean they could only get a DJ? Didn't they realize I was rounding up troops for a friendly shimmy-shimmy showdown? What was I going to tell my invited guests?

It's a good thing most of them didn't show. They'd only have gotten my rebellious side.

It's like this. I've never been a stellar conformist. Probably because I've always been the 'different' one:
- The one with dark hair (in the more or less pre-Hispanic Midwest)
- The minister's kid ('priest's kid' when we moved to South Texas...I'll never get that one)
- The one who was a little too 'white' for some friends, and a bit too Hispanic for others (Oreo syndrome, whatever--it's No Man's Land)

That night at the fund raiser, my nonconformist took over.

It was a great event--packed agenda, for sure. Cultural dances, exquisite Latin cuisine, fashion show, more dance exhibitions, auctions silent and not so silent.

And then finally, 10pm struck. The fashion show runway got rolled up. Podiums stashed away. Brooms came out to get the grit off the quasi-parquet surface that was about to let me be me. The parranda got going just moments before my friend and I were about to exit the scene for a more vigorous Plan B.

As often is the case, an oldie but goodie known to salsa dancers everywhere built up slowly over the speakers. (Good sound! Sweet.) It was Grupo Niche's Una Aventura. (Think: "More cowbell.")

It wasn't long before we were rumba-ing to loads of classics, one right after the other. Great stuff from a DJ who knew his crowd of music-hungry Latins.

That's when I got swept up in a conga line.

I don't DO conga lines.

--Vamos! Come on--jump in! they kept yelling to me and my friend. And they would. Not. Give. Up.

My brain told me to run, but I couldn't do that--it would be rude. So I did the next rudest thing. Reluctantly, I joined the line (God help me), took it a few wild directions...and then bailed in a personal detour. But not before I took half the bunch with me, leaving the tail-end of the rumberos feeling a bit decapitated.

I caught a few sneers at first. (That'll show 'em not to recruit a rebel next time.) Lucky for me, I made some friends anyway that night, and we're already making plans for our next fiesta Latina.

Do as I say, not as I do: If you ever have to join a conga line, make sure you really mean it.

10.10.10: I prefer 42

 Something about my past...but nothing to do with the fact that the birthday called "42" is behind me...by a bit. Pfffft.

In college, I was appointed to a crash course in the Hitchhikers Trilogy. The title volume: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. The series ends with So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish. Go figure.

Still, I get all tickly inside w/this memory. My first boyfriend in college actually read the entire trilogy to me--all four books. Out loud. In the Texas A&M library. And then proceeded to crack up (again, out loud) at all the right geeky moments. Stellar.

I can't point my finger only at him, though. This series was funny. Bizarre, but funny. Of course, anything in one's youth that fits that description should be suspect. That suspicious certainly was confirmed when the movie came out a few years ago.

Oy! Some memories of the book series clicked and others were just...off. Or maybe I didn't envision things being said in English accents. It was like a B-version (or less) Austin Powers.

In any case, it makes me laugh now to think that today's date in binary (42)--to some might present the answer to life, the universe and everything. Not that I believe it, but it does make for a fun, quirky answer to life' more serious questions.

I think Microserfs is calling my name now.

Does thinking make your head hurt?

A few years ago, I had one of those Aha! moments.

This one was a sinker: I realized I hadn't done any real, deep thinking in awhile. The kind that hurts. That kind that makes you struggle deep down inside, argue in your own head...so, naturally, it gives you a headache.

Now...it seems deep thinking is all I do. It's good--great, even. Just a little exhausting. Lots of headaches.

In terms of the online space, I've been trying for sometime to figure out what I really want to talk about as a blogger, or where I can make a contribution that's meaningful. My work is nonprofit. I work for an international org...spent years on the international side, in fact. I'm a marketing communications girl with a whole lot of interests.

While attending the NTEN Nonprofit Technology Conference several months ago in Atlanta, I was telling some friends how, when I used to travel extensively, I felt safer traveling nearly anywhere else abroad than here in the US. Got a very puzzled look and a load of disbelief.

It's true, for the most part. I mean, there are definitely cities where you feel stalked if you don't look like everyone else, but honestly, that happened maybe 1% of the time. And closer to home than you think.

But I digress....kind of.

There are two main things I've learned in my work:

1. The human race -- we're all the same. We want the same things--to belong, to be loved, to make life better for our kids than we had it. Everywhere, it is the same.
2. International work is hard. It is supremely rewarding, just incredibly complex.

So I've decided to attempt to write, at least some, about working across cultural lines. Not that there aren't people much more expert than I...believe me, there are many. But I can speak to my own experience struggling with the same things any international NGO works through--making a real difference in the lives of others...and making that difference mean something to the person who supports the cause.

On the nonprofit side, this is where I'll start. Wish me luck.

If I get anywhere near my target, it'll feel like a homerun.

Can being utterly bad at something be good for you?

Here's a fresh perspective for our anal, Type A, hyper-driven society.

From Scott Berkun's blog (uh-hem):

...being good, as in proficient, isn’t good all the time. No doubt being good is good: I’ll hire a good doctor or lawyer over a bad one every time. But as I get older I realize how important it is for my soul to be bad or awful in at least one thing I do, and to take pleasure in it anyway.

One ringy-dingy...two ringy-dingys

Free international phonecalls?

How long this will last, who knows...But check it out.
Hat tip: Lifehacker

Finding great Latin music

If you want the most authentic Latin music, Descarga.com is the place to go. Music reviews are thorough and show the depth of knowledge of veteran reviewers like Bruce Polin and Peter Watrous. These folks know their stuff about Latin music and its roots.

Of course, I use that info to shop the iTunes store and download my music there. Sorry, Descarga. :(

Here's one example of a great body of work: Rústico by Pedro Luis Ferrer. This Cuban artist has no doubt encountered trouble with Fidel because of his lyrics, but the arrangements and vocals are absolutely gorgeous*. Clean, slimple and clever. This album has been quite instrumental (no pun there) this week in lowering my blood pressure.

As my old friend Bruce Garrison used to say, "All good music is from God." Amen, brother!

*Notice the Carole King-like female vocals in places on this album. Nice stuff.

Yanni: Up close and personal

OK. It's been weeks now since I've begun seeing this guy on my way to work. He's always on foot. May be homeless, but I'm not sure.

This guy looks just like Yanni, the (once?) famous new-age pianist. That Yanni performs in flowing white garments to huge crowds--mostly chicks, I'm guessing--who are really into his flowing, black hair.

Not our Yanni. This guy's always dressed in black, and walking toward a soup kitchen. I passed him on the street downtown the other day, and now I'm convinced he lives in my town--my severely conservative town. How does he do it--keep that long, flowing hair in this clean-cut, thriving metropolis-grid in the Rockies?

Stay tuned for more Yanni News. I expect there'll be more updates.

Button-down shirts vs. Polos

I noticed something odd today. Given we live in a city with lots of tourists, conventions and conferences (must be the view, because there's certainly no oxygen here), it's not hard to tell a tourist from a sales conference attendee from a geek-conference attendee.

Tourists nearly always wear visors, t-shirts and shorts--topped with the perennial camera around the neck. Sales conference "guys" (aren't they always guys?) wear short-sleeve polos with one logo or another on them. Geek conference guys (again, usually guys) wear button-down shirts and khakis.

I'm thinking those sales guys are always ready for a round of golf. The evergreen polo is just like day-to-evening wear for women--wear it at your trade show booth, then again to happy hour and on into the night. Just like the girls.

And then there's the rum cake

I needed to take something with me to Mike's folks' house. So, as usual, we got the dessert assignment. It was time, I thought, for rum cake. It had been a couple of years since I'd last made it, and I still had some dark Barbancourt rum from Haiti (and a little more from the Dominican Republic, Haiti's neighbor to the east)...good stuff.

So I checked around for the cake ingredients. It was definitely time for rum cake. I drooled just at the thought of it. Between Mom and Dad, our neighbors and us...that cake is gone (cakes usually last more than a week with us).

I have to admit my new appreciation for anything remotely related to sugar cane (which is what rum comes from). When was in the DR earlier this year, we visited a mixed family--the mother was Dominican, the father Haitian. He had hands that resembled worn, stained leather. There's a tautness to the skin of the fingers that, coupled with the scars, tells a very rich and painful story of labor--often slave labor, especially for Haitians living on the eastern half of the island of Hispaniola.

One great source of a feel for true Haitian life is Edwidge Danticat. I love her work, though it brings me to tears more than I would expect or (almost) want from any writing. I think her art through words is so poignant, and it's even more powerful if you've been to Haiti, a place that will endear you, break your heart and make your blood boil all at once. I want to return soon but need to take a really deep breath and psyche myself up to do it again.

If you ever have this opportunity, please take it. You won't regret it. Beware, though: it might just  turn your world upside down.

Blogging Miss Universe

I know, it's silly.

But it's interesting, how The Final 5:

• Are all from the Western Hemisphere
• Do not include the U.S.
• Are all brunettes (Are you SURE you have more fun?)
• Are, for the most part, from Latin America (Mexico, D.R., Venezuela, P.R., Canada)

My heart goes out to Miss Venezuela, who just had to answer The Question (randomly drawn): What issues exist today in your country, and what would you do to fix them? The tears came immediately, even before she'd begun her reply. I hope she's rewarded for her poise in handling a very tough question at a very tough time for her country.

Oh--it's all over, and Canada, who endeared the audience with her Kapkun Ka and a smooth traditional Thai greeting called the wai (sorry for this particular example; the page is actually very, very educational and tells me I made some goof-ups last time I was in Thailand...not to mention the time before that).

Miss Canada--does she strike anyone else as a young Elizabeth Taylor look-alike? Wow.

UPDATE: Venezuela was 4th Runner-up; Mexico 3rd; DR 2nd; PR 1st.)