Sigmund Freud would have had a field day over how sex and perversion have spilled out onto the front pages of US media: not only am I referring to Time Magazine’s foray into incest with a cover picture of a skinny-jean clad baby-mama breast feeding her three-year-old toddler, but also to the sexual antics of the US Secret Service during President Obama’s recent visit to Cartagena, Colombia. On the lighter side, sex momentarily edged out gladiatorial violence as the film based on Steve Harvey’s book “Think Like A Man” took the number one spot at the box office, knocking off “The Hunger Games.” The momentary lapse of insanity was only temporary, because before the week was out, the viewing public had once again turned its attention away from sexuality back to its other favorite perversion: massive and indiscriminate violence. A film like “The Avengers” makes me wonder how many times can we witness the destruction of New York City? Is this not “breads and circuses” to keep our minds off the $2 billion loss by… Continue reading →

It was then that faculty felt obliged to take action. They organized a committee, held lengthy discussions and hearings over the virtues of following the university’s strict guidelines regarding the minimum levels and standards of digestive function. They also examined the State laws, which stipulated that student who complained of a graduate teaching assistant’s anal eruptions could legally request transfer to a different course, and the department was bound by the civil code to honor these requests.

After several months of painful deliberation, the Ad Hoc Committee on Farting produced a White Paper that detailed the intricacies of the problem and proposed that the department grant teaching assistantships to students that had a score of 20 or higher on their digestive and rectal exams.

This proposal met a firestorm of questions and comments from faculty:

“What if we get a promising student who blows a 19? Is this scale unnecessarily stringent?”

“What evidence do we have that this is a widespread problem? Can the committee conduct a review of the scores on the previous applicants’… Continue reading →

Jose Emilio’s cheese cutting was unlike that of others. According to the ancient Sanskrit texts, there are three levels of “malodorous emissions” that can afflict the unenlightened human condition. The first is reminiscent of a stifled trumpet or clarinet. The yogis and saduhs referred to these ass blasts as musical in nature and recommend a diet of yogurt to restore the body’s pranna. They added, “These anal whistles strike high notes and they quickly subside.” The ancients referred to the second type as the “silent but deadly.” If there is a sound it may be similar to escaping steam and are likely to go unnoticed until they are right on top of an unsuspecting victim. They referred to the third level as the “blat-blat-blat” because they “roll along as does thunder.” These are the wicked eye-stingers, the gassy funk and stink bombs that leave residue and a toxicity that penetrates fabric and adheres to the cilia of the nasal passages.

The department quickly discovered that plan to recruit Jose Emilio had backfired, both literally and… Continue reading →

Once upon a time there was an academic department at a Midwestern University that recruited international graduate students into is master’s degree program. The program was successful and, at the end of the summer of 2011, brought in a promising student to teach and study in their program. At least he was promising on paper, but he had one little problem that would curse all of those around him: chronic gastritis. The student’s name was Miguel, but for the purposes of this post we will can him Jose Emilio.

When the sub-director of the program picked him up at the airport, Jose Emilio confessed the dark secret of his recent struggles with a daunting condition that ran in his family: gastro-intestinal dysfunction. It was true. He had to endure painful intestinal cramping and his application to the graduate program indicated that he had lower levels of gastric function than what the university required. Nonetheless, faculty concurred that the candidate demonstrated the requisite digestive skills and believed that his skills would surely improve over time.

Back… Continue reading →

Despite the intent to recast the “Last Sitting,” there are some noticeable differences between the two shoots. The original sitting was shot with a soft white background, which created the illusion of sorrowful innocence, an image that also appeared in Monroe’s films. But what did we really see? Monroe was obviously stoned on a mix of downers and booze, stretched out on white sheets, hidden behind semi-transparent veils, and reclined on carpets and draped in white pearls. The photos evoke more pathos than eros because they bespeak of a “save me” fantasy. “Save me from Hollywood,” “save me from myself,” “save me through your love.” Even the new biopic entitled “My Week with Marilyn” alludes to the same tragic scenario: a woman tortured by the fantasies she has to create, and all it takes is a man who loves her to save her.

The photos in Playboy draw a parallel between Monroe and Lohan as actresses who have had troublesome working relationships, their ups and down with the tabloids, and numerous bouts with drugs and… Continue reading →

Terry Gilliam’s 1985 film, entitled Brazil, comes to its conclusion soon as the protagonist Sam Lowry informs his girlfriend, Jill Layton, that he has reported her dead to the authorities. As a result, she no longer has to fear detention. Relieved, she kisses her would-be hero and responds, “Care for a little necrophilia?” After the two spend an evening together, a black-bag, goon squad kicks in the doors and hauls off both of them to a secret detention center where they are tortured until they lose touch with reality. Since Sam has already reported Jill as dead, Brazil’s totalitarian government will have no difficulty in doing away with her because she is already legally dead.

The whole notion of necrophilia came back to me back in December when Playboy released it much awaited photo spread of Lindsay Lohan, the bumbling alcoholic actress who has spent more time in jail, drug rehab and community service than Paris Hilton. Despite her inability to hold down a job other than that of court-imposed morgue attendant, she was… Continue reading →

But my remote control victory was short lived. The Electro-Doggy-Shock crushed your Alpha-male ego and it produced so much anxiety that you developed a rash, a skin condition that manifested itself with little suppurating boils and lesions on your back. My wife freaked and called the vet, who in turn consulted veterinarians from California, Nebraska and throughout the Eastern Seaboard. The goddamn vet gave us some antibiotics and a bill for over six-hundred dollars. But the worst was yet to come. The medicine irritated your bladder so you overdosed on water, draining all of the downstairs toilets, and if that wasn’t bad enough, you then pissed all over the floors. It was like having a faction of Al Qaeda based in our house, a mobile shit factory. We never knew where you’d strike next: on the wall next to the door, under the kitchen table, in my shoes, or in the hallway next to the bathroom.

And, then it all stopped.

My wife and I were wondering where we could dump your lifeless body, and… Continue reading →

Dear Dog,

It finally happened. Three weeks ago, the men in the white coats came in and took you away. They separated you from us, and they separated you from yourself. You lost your manhood, or at least your dog-hood. Never again will the world be cursed with your horrific brood. The vet and his team chopped your nuts off. It went down like a scene from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Nurse Ratched took you away and we figured you’d come back docile as a lamb. But you went willingly, strutting with your tail in the air. After the deed was done, the lack of doggy testosterone appeared to take the edge off of you, but you fooled us all. It was just the calm before the storm.

You were chilling on the sofa when my daughter left the front door open while she went to get the mail. You must have had it planned. You saw the fat old lady walking her Pomeranian, the same old witch that you bit last… Continue reading →

Final words

by Angie Sánchez

The reason for writing this was not so that the reader feels pity for me and my situation. I did it so that people will try and understand me and those in my situation. I just want a piece of the pie. My parents brought me to this country so that I would obtain a better future through education and that is what I want for myself. I am not asking for a free ride. All I’m asking for is an opportunity to pursue my dreams and goals. I’m so glad that I have made it as far as I have, but I believe that some of the things I faced I should not have had to face.

I have not been able to return to Mexico since I left 13 years ago. When I left I promised my family that I would return soon, but I have obviously not kept my promise. My grandmother on my Dad’s side passed away from diabetes and I did not get to say… Continue reading →

Hi, folks,

This poem is the recent work of poet, independent mystic and all-around seeker: Meslos D. Soreno, a person I have known forever but who I have just recently met. I hope to see more contributions from him in the future.

Jimmy

The Unknown Reality

By Meslos D. Soreno

Is this not a shared dream?
This place we call reality
In this struggle for lucidity
The chance to become who I want to be
All of this inner agony
It fuels my creativity
If I keep it inside of me
I’m sure I’ll lose my sanity.

Sometimes it doesn’t make any sense
Why we’re here, why are we here?
Is it all just meaningless?
A life without a purpose?
The answer I’ve found is to co-create
To create our selves before it’s too late
Cause passion burns deep inside
A passion that lives after I die

All of this inner energy
It’s reached a level of intensity
I look around me and what do I see?
Synchronicity after synchronicity
Is there some deeper meaning?… Continue reading →

By Angie Sánchez

Although I was in good academic standing and my dad did not and still does not make enough money financial aid was not available. This is sad because I really wanted to become a successful and productive member of society yet I did not have the assistance needed to reach my goal. Thanks to my determination and the fact that my grandmother is a citizen I qualified for the desperately needed loan. If it was not for her I don’t think I would have been able to continue with my education. The financial aid office at the university I was going to attend also made it possible for me to actually continue my education. At first the school was not going o process my loan due to the fact that I had not filled out FAFSA. I explained to them that it was a private loan, but they still said I needed the FAFSA to be filled out. This happened a week before classes began. I was extremely devastated and fearful that… Continue reading →

By Angie Sánchez

The education I received at the community college was great. The advisors and instructors were also phenomenal. Attending that college opened my eyes I learned many new things. I was also very proud of myself because I was enrolled in course with students that were not in mediocre level classes like I was in high school. In fact, some of the students were members of the National Honor Society. My grades in college were better than the ones in high school even though the work was more challenging. I was also working at the same time and it was challenging because I was working an average of 32 hours a week but I managed. I met a lot of cool people during my time there and I'm glad for that. I’m especially thankful for my advisor. She provided me with information that I had never been exposed to before. She provided the guidance that I needed and assistance that I needed.

The reason why I began working was so that I could have money of my own and help my dad with some of the bills. That summer I worked as much as possible and I saved a lot of my money. I knew that I wanted to go to college but I did not realize how expensive it was or how I was going to get the money to pay for it. When the school year started and I made an appointment to visit the college I was interested in. The staff there was very welcoming and most of all informative. The adviser I spoke to informed me that I qualified for a $2,000 scholarship and that upon acceptance that scholarship was going to be mine. Unfortunately, I could not receive that scholarship or any other form financial aid because of status. I was devastated, especially since I had been accepted to the school. When this happened I decided that I was going to work extra hard and save up money. At $6.50 an hour I was going to need way more than 32 hours to save up $12,000 per semester.

By Angie Sánchez

Employment

I began working the summer before my senior year of school. I worked at the mall at a specialty food store. Since I did not have legal documents to work I had to get some. And that meant getting a fake social security number and a fake Green Card. We went to La Villita which is a predominantly Mexican community in Chicago. All you do is walk down the streets and there are guys walking around asking if you need a Mica (green card). They usually make hand gestures, like holding up their hand as if they were holding a card in their hands. A guy walked by us and we told him we did. He asked what name we wanted on there and if we had a social security number we wanted to use otherwise they make one up for you. I made mine up on the way there. The name on the social security card was different than my real name. The only thing I changed was my last name. I did this because if someone that knew me ever came to my place of employment they wouldn’t address me with a different name than the one on my application. I also did this because if I ever applied for residency and if it showed that I had worked with a fake social they would use that against you. He told me to go to a shop where I was going to have my picture taken for the mica. It was a bridal shop, places where people go to take their pictures range or you can come with your own picture. An hour later we met up with the guy again and he had my social security card and my green card. I could now work “legally.” I paid a total of $150; the prices have gone up since then.

Mojada, part VIII

By Angie Sánchez

At the end of my junior year I finally realized that I was not being challenged so I asked to be placed in higher level classes for the following year.  What bothers me is that if I wouldn’t have asked for that I would’ve stayed in the same mediocre classes. I was getting bad grades. I just think I was one student in the masses. Otherwise I would have been moved up a level by sophomore year.  The counselor I was assigned in high school was probably the worst any one could ever have.  Whenever I would meet with her to choose my classes for the following semester she would never ask me what I was interested in. She would just placed me in the courses that she thought were the most appropriate for me. I never said anything to her because I felt that she knew what she was doing.

Cross-posted at My Ongoing Struggle with Misanthropy

Part I/Part II/Part III/Part IV/Part V/Part VI

Mojada, part VII

By Angie Sánchez

By the time I reached high school I was fluent in English, however, I had a little bit of an accent.  I knew the language now but I did not know what high school was all about.  My parents had no idea what high school was.  They knew I was supposed to attend but that is it. I did not realize that high school was going to be big stepping stone into my future.  I knew that after High School, College was next and that was it.  I learned about college and the possibility of me attending one day through my friend who was a senior at the time and she was taking a course at the community college. She was planning to attend Northern Illinois University.  I did not have sufficient information on the classes I needed to take or how important my grade… Continue reading →

Mojada, part VI

By Angie Sánchez

The school year ended but I was enrolled in summer school and that summer was great. I made friends both Latino and American. I became friends with two little girls living in the building as us. Imagine they spoke no Spanish and my sister and I spoke no English, but we still managed to have the time our lives. Hanging out with them helped me practice basic English words. But I was still very hesitant and I would avoid using long sentences. My parents kept telling me that I needed to practice the language otherwise they were going to send back to México. At that time I really did not want to go back because I wanted to be here.

Part I/Part II/Part III/Part IV

Mojada, part V

By Angie Sánchez (via Jimmy Gabacho)

My first day of school was nerve wrecking. It only got worse when I boarded the bus. My dad was with me at the bus stop and he showed the bus driver the bus pass and I proceeded to board the bus and the bus driver told where to seat but I couldn’t understand her so I sat on the wrong seat. So, I’m standing in the middle of the aisle staring at her trying to figure out what she was telling me finally she gets up and points to the seat she wanted me in, she did it in a very rude manner. As a mater of fact I remember what she said to me now that I know English and she said something along the lines of me being stupid. So I think to myself and say “Umm No I was not stupid I just didn’t speak English!” She kept telling me where to seat and finally she gets up from her seat and points to where she wanted me to seat. I felt so stupid and embarrassed because everyone was looking at me and probably thinking how stupid I was or that poor girl doesn’t speak English.

Hi, folks,

This is another post in my American Dream series. This week I am handing over the reins to a former student who beat all the odds. She crossed the border mojada (i.e., wet), did great in high school, and was an even better student in college. She is an illegal immigant, though, and she has a great story to tell. I will let her say it in her own words.

See you all next week.

Jimmy

Mojada

My name is Angie Sanchez, I’m 22 years old and I am an illegal immigrant. I arrived from México 13 years ago, from the state of Zacatecas. I was born in a small-rural town with a population of about 800 people. My story is about my experience crossing the border as a young child, my early education and my struggle trying to obtain a college education as an illegal immigrant. My reason for doing it is so that people gain an understanding of some of the struggles that people of my status face when trying to… Continue reading →

Last summer, while the rest of the country was celebrating Independence Day, waving flags and shooting off fireworks, I decided to do something terribly unpatriotic: I dug out a picture of my Great Grandparents, Sicilian immigrants, who came to this country around a century ago, not because it was an emerging military superpower, but rather because they had a dream of finding a place that wasn’t so entrenched in class privilege and family connections that he’d be able to make something of his life.

Grandpa Giani landed at Ellis Island in New York on November 29, 1908. He left Sicily because he didn’t have much to look forward to. He lived in Alimena, a sulfur mining village between Palermo and Catania. He was born out of wedlock and because of this he was marked as an outsider, an illegitimate child in a country where family connections meant everything. So, leaving was easy because nothing grounded him.

In the summer of 1912, Angelina Colombo, her brother and sister-in-law arrived on a ship from Palermo. She was… Continue reading →