Will the sun also rise?

It was 103 degrees yesterday. The heat index registered 115 degrees. Thermometers were malfunctioning all over the sweltering city. It felt closer to 500 degrees. In the shade. At 9 am. An unmerciful heat wave has descended upon large parts of the country and refuses to release its suffocating grip. Heat records are being shattered from the Midwest to the mid-Atlantic region. It is hot, muggy and unbearable. During a heat wave, meteorologists issue extreme heat advisories or warnings. Residents are advised to drink plenty of fluids and avoid spending too much time outdoors. They should warn us to avoid movement altogether. Walking anywhere is unwise. Running is impractical and irresponsible. I am a seasoned runner, and I usually heed the precautions to avoid exercising outdoors. Yet I made the mistake of underestimating the heat and defied the hostile elements. Several days ago, I went out for an early morning run. I thought it was safe, but I overheated at 7:30 in the morning and suffered heat exhaustion. My body has shut down and the mere thought of running in the sun sends me into shock. As I ride out the heat wave, I have taken refuge in my books, since I can’t run.

I reread several of Ernest Hemingway’s novels and short stories. Among them was “The Sun also Rises.” The novel centers on a journalist from Kansas City, Jake Barnes, and his circle of friends. They’re American and British expatriates living in or traveling through Paris as they make their way to Pamplona, Spain for the Festival of San Fermin. It’s widely regarded as the quintessential novel of the “Lost Generation”—a term coined for the generation that came of age during World War I. “The Sun also Rises” is one of my all-time favorite novels, and I always recommend it to people unfamiliar with Hemingway’s oeuvre. The novel was published in 1926 and remains one of his masterpieces. It received mixed reviews upon its publication but critics hailed Hemingway’s lean, clear and spare writing style---plain, declarative sentences devoid of adjectives. He adopted a modernist writing style, in which understatement provided more heft to a sentence than exaggeration. Hemingway pared away sentimentalism and presented images and scenes without explaining their meaning or describing them in detail. He truly believed that to write authentically each word had to be meticulously chosen for its simplicity and authenticity. Hemingway was more preoccupied with conveying action and characterization than at hinting at the point of a story. The true meaning of a piece resides away from the surface story because the root of the story lies below the surface. The 1920’s are over but a novel like “The Sun also Rises” still resonates with readers like me 86 years after it was written.

“The Sun also Rises” is an absurd and absorbing narrative, which is what makes it so beautiful and poignant. An in-depth analysis of the novel on my part would be imprudent and inadequate. The novel brilliantly depicts men and women (not young lads and damsels) mired in their disillusions and disappointments, struggling to adhere to a moral code in a shallow, hedonistic and morally bankrupt world, wandering aimlessly from one café or bar (thrill) to the next as they fail to commit emotionally to intimate relationships. I’ve read the novel numerous times, and I’m always captivated by two of the most arresting elements of the text.

The love affair between Jake and Lady Brett Ashley is frustrating and heartbreaking, like most affairs. One senses Jake truly loves Brett and even though Brett claims she loves Jake, her actions belie her words. They can’t be together due to several factors, chief among them Jake’s impotence and Brett’s promiscuity. There are more reasons why their love is doomed but Jake’s physical affliction is something they can’t get past. Ultimately, they can’t consummate their love, which is a crippling blow to both of them. Brett is one of the most witty, fascinating and powerful characters in Hemingway’s canon. On the one hand, she embodies the independence and sexual liberation of a new era. On the other hand, she is fickle, dangerous and desperate for reassurance and love. In her presence, men drink excessively and come to blows. Every man she meets falls in love with her and she has many affairs throughout the novel, even though she’s engaged to Mike. She leaves a string of wounded suitors in her wake, including Jake. But Jake remains loyal to her until the very end. He never leaves her side and rescues her time and again when she needs him the most.

There is more to be said of Jake and Brett’s relationship, but this isn’t a literary analysis on “The Sun also Rises.” Hemingway’s characters are memorable because they’re real. We relate to these characters because they remind us of people in our lives. When I read the passages between Jake and Brett, I am reminded of my own doomed love affairs.

Relationships end or spiral out of control for different reasons, but I suspect most people sabotage their romantic relationships. I readily admit I’ve sabotaged many a romantic relationship in the past or calmly watched as partners sabotaged the relationships for me. For example, my last relationship ended when my boyfriend moved to another country. While we were together, I got swept up in our romance and believed him when he uttered the words of love we all yearn to hear. Time played a crucial role in the intensity of our feelings. We both knew our days together were numbered. I now see with the clarity and guidance of time how quickly our relationship progressed. There was no time to slow down and ponder the true nature of our feelings. The moments we shared were all that mattered. But even then I knew I loved him like I had loved no other in such an awfully long time. How did I sabotage our relationship? I’m not certain but the relationship was doomed from the start.

In addition to hopeless romantic relationships, the second aspect of the novel I find compelling is Hemingway’s characterization of the “Lost Generation.” Hemingway popularized the term, although he credits the phrase to Gertrude Stein, an American writer who lived in France most of her life. She acted as a mentor and patron to Hemingway during his early writing career. The expression “Lost Generation” was attributed to a man, a garage owner who serviced Stein’s car. He launched the epithet at a young mechanic who failed to repair Stein’s car in a satisfactory manner. The owner shouted at the young man: “You are all a génération perdue.” Stein added: “That is what you are. That’s what you all are…all of you young people who served in the war. You are all a lost generation.”  The “Lost Generation” was widely viewed as decadent, depraved and permanently damaged by World War I. But to Hemingway, who uses the term as an epigraph, the “Lost Generation” was resilient and strong. “The Sun also Rises” exemplifies the post-war expatriate generation. It’s true that Jake is permanently damaged by the war. But he’s noble, strong, and resilient. He works hard for a living as a journalist and always pays the bills. Hemingway juxtaposes Jake’s strong work ethic and workingman image with the leisurely and indulgent lifestyle of the wealthy class. For example, the Count and Brett don’t work and rely on their inheritances to sustain their privileged lifestyles. But this is not the way to live a genuine and authentic life. People who can’t pay up and refuse to work for a living are indeed a lost generation. Brett always waits for money to come in and depends on others to pay for her drinks, marriages and divorces. She plans on marrying Mike, an “undischarged bankrupt.” In effect, she’s banking on being supported by someone who has no means to support her. What rot, as Brett would say. In contrast, Jake understands everything in life has a price. Sooner or later the bill comes and when it arrives, you better be damned sure you can pay it. You pay for things some way: through experience, by learning about them, by taking chances or through money. The point is anything that is any good and worth having has a price. Sure Jake loses his way at times but he’s not lost because he realizes everything has value. But even if the majority of the characters in “The Sun also Rises” appear lost, there is a redeeming quality to the way Hemingway depicts them. With Hemingway’s characters, you learn not to judge. You see them with all their horrors and imperfections without criticizing their faults harshly. Hemingway refuses to compromise the true nature of his protagonists. They are faulty and lonely human beings dealing with the aftermath of war and trauma. Their actions ring true and Hemingway never makes them act in direct contradiction to their true nature. He’s honest about their intentions and doesn’t cheat with them. At the end of the novel, one is left to ponder several questions: Will this motley crew of thirty-something expatriates find what they’re looking for? Do they know what they’re looking for? You don’t know. But you get the sense that some will rise above the emptiness, like the sun.                   

I have often felt lost in this generation. The year is more than halfway over. It has felt like a beautiful nightmare. I've been unemployed for 5 months, and it's starting to dawn on me that pursuing a degree in Creative Writing degree will not increase my odds of landing a stable and permanent job. The job market is unstable and unforgiving for Liberal Arts degree holders. Pursuing a second Liberal Arts degree is impractical and suicidal. I’ve resigned myself to this fate, like I have with so many other things in my life. The economy has damaged my aspirations and dreams. But I am resilient and strong. I am now more convinced than ever that there is value in getting my stories published. If I can take a small sliver of my past experiences and bring them to life for others to read, then I will have done something right with my time on this earth that abideth forever. I won’t waver from my commitment to the people I love and the images I want to immortalize.

"Where is she going?": The Venus Transit of 2012

She was a breathtaking sight to behold. The Venus Transit took place on June 5^th shortly after 5 pm (CDT) in Chicago. Venus resembled a tiny black mole or speck against a smooth red surface as she traced the burning solar surface of the brightest star in our solar system. She glided gracefully in an East-to-West direction across the sun’s scorching façade. Her slow dance lasted nearly 7 hours before she moved on to the other side of the world. I caught a glimpse of Venus’ dark, regal glory for a few heavenly minutes yesterday evening. She is a goddess and she never looked more spectacular in the celestial expanse.   

I was one of thousands of skywatchers who headed over to The Adler Planetarium yesterday afternoon to observe the transit of Venus. For almost 2 weeks, I read everything I could lay my hands on regarding the rare astronomical event scheduled to take place on June 5^th at 6:09 p.m. EDT (2209 GMT) in the Northern Hemisphere. A Venus Transit occurs when Venus passes directly between the sun and Earth. During the transit, Venus appears as a small black dot superimposed against the sun’s fiery exterior. Transits of Venus occur in pairs, with 8 years in between. The first Venus Transit occurred on June 8^th in 2004. The last transit was yesterday and today, June 6, 2012, which completed the pairs of transits. It was the last Venus Transit of the 21^st century and our lifetime. There won’t be another Venus Transit until December 10-11, 2117.

There was no way I was going to miss catching sight of Venus in all her splendid glory during the transit. I missed her in 2004, and I would never have the opportunity to watch her voyage across our solar disc again in this lifetime. I ventured to the Adler, which was the best place to observe the Venus Transit. I have a severe aversion to massive crowds and avoid them like blind dates, unless I’m joining a protest. People tend to crowd together and shuffle along aimlessly, which exasperates me to no end. Plus, I’m vertically challenged and naturally clumsy, which always works against me in crowded situations. But I threw caution to the wind and dutifully followed the great throng of people vying for a glimpse of Venus. When I arrived at the Adler, I died a little inside. There were people milling about on every square inch of the lawn and sidewalks. Where was I going to behold Venus' dimensions? I immediately became annoyed. But then I realized it was my fault for not camping out overnight. Clearly. Who knew thousands of people were going to take this once-in-a-lifetime celestial spectacle so seriously?   

The Adler Planetarium also was unprepared for the massive number of people streaming in to observe the Venus Transit. They sold out of disposable eclipse shades as soon as I arrived, which I didn’t appreciate. But I wasn’t going to be foiled by the Adler’s failure to fully prepare for this historic event. I simply headed outside to stand in one of the many lines that had been arranged for people to take turns and view Venus through a filtered telescope. It was there that I saw her.

An older woman overheard my sarcastic comment about how people jump in lines that aren’t even lines. In the back of my mind, I was thinking about a George Lopez skit regarding Mexicans who get in lines when they see lines without bothering to ask what the lines are for in the first place. She assured me I was in a line to view Venus through a filtered telescope. She held a pair of the coveted disposable eclipse shades the Adler had failed to stock in large volumes. She must have noticed a trace of dejection upon my face because she offered me her eclipse shades. I masked my euphoria and accepted her offer in a composed manner. I briefly considered taking off at a high speed with the shades but instantly realized I wouldn’t get far with so many people in the way. Besides, I was wearing heels and a skirt: a combination guaranteed to cause me to stumble and flash unsuspecting bystanders.      

I slid on the pair of disposable eclipse shades. My heart began to wobble erratically in my chest. They felt surprisingly light and flimsy on my face. I tilted my head back gently and peered directly into the blazing sun. The azure, cloudless sky was the perfect backdrop for the Venus Transit. I didn’t see her at first. "Oh Venus, where art thou?" I asked underneath my breath. The older woman told me to look toward the top, upper-right portion of the sun. And there she was like a perfect black pearl tucked near the sun's harsh edge. Forgetting my manners, I squealed: "She looks gorgeous! You're a stunning goddess!" Several onlookers chuckled at my observations. I didn't want to avert my gaze from her fine beauty, but I had to return the glasses. I thanked the older woman and continued to wait in line. 

Venus was a breathtaking sight to behold. During her transit, I felt small and incredibly insignificant yet connected to everything. Yes, I am smaller than a tiny dot. We all are: the universe is a much larger place than our imaginations can conceive and measure. But we are also a part of it and its awe-inspiring energy and beauty. We can't exist without each other: everything in existence is connected. I know I won't be around for the next Venus Transit in 105 years, which is why I'm glad I witnessed Venus' rare passage in this lifetime.          

On Friendship and Memorial Day

As I stood next to my father along the shores of Lake Michigan two years ago on the Sunday before Memorial Day, I sensed it would be the last Memorial Day weekend we would ever spend together. The steel blue lake shimmered with shattered images as we gazed quietly into its uncertain depths. I traced the horizon with my fingertips and longed to dismantle the boundary separating air from water. A light breeze gently lifted the waves, parted their frothy edges and merged them with my heavy questions. The blazing sun burned a hole in the dirty sand where doubts could be cast and buried. I glanced over at his impassive silhouette with its deeply etched lines. The corners of his eyes reflected the most life and fragility. They were the part of him that scared me the least. The seagulls flapped their wings in clumsy arcs and glided soundlessly overhead. I hesitated then tucked my arm into his arm in an attempt to breach the distance separating us. It was a useless gesture, but I have never known how to give up on the people I love. My father continued his quiet investigation of the grainy scene before him, scanning the footprints and garbage strewn haphazardly on the finely ground rock. Was my soul as ancient as this coarse rock? Had it settled and then resettled into layers? Did he hope to find it there, weathered and dependent on another soul? He refused to acknowledge my feeble token or break his intense reverie. The late afternoon light diffused his intentions and cast a soft glow around his harsh frame. I wondered why we couldn’t let it go. I gripped his arm and held on, anticipating he would eventually let go, but he was tireless and unbending. When did our arguments lose their purpose and substance? What were we waiting for on this fragmented beach with its ancient stories of change and transformation? It would only be a matter of time before he would force my hand and resolve. I lost him that Memorial Day weekend, and it has taken two years to regain the part of myself that left with him.       

I spent this past Memorial Day weekend in the warm presence of my friends and family. Memorial Day always is tinged with sadness for me because I instinctively remember a dear childhood friend who died almost 6 years ago while serving in Operation Iraqi Freedom. His death left me in a stricken state for quite some time. The thin line separating the living from the dead no longer appeared so ethereal or ephemeral. Memorial Day also marks the last summer I spent with my father. After more than two decades of castigations and quarrels, we parted ways two years ago and severed all contact. No human being has damaged my soul as much as my father, not even the man who sexually assaulted me. We will never reconcile, and I have grown to accept his permanent absence. Nonetheless, I dread the Memorial Day weekend because I know I will spend the extended holiday thinking about my beloved friend and father. So when a close friend told me he was hosting a bbq in his backyard, I jumped at the opportunity to surround myself with individuals I love and admire. My friends are the most important people in my life, next to my son and family. It’s hardly a novel revelation, but now that I’m in my 30’s, I realize more than ever I am nothing without authentic and supportive friends by my side. It’s a small and select group, and I can count the number of friends I have on one hand. I don’t believe in quantity, but I do swear by quality, and I am fortunate to have such a tight knit inner circle. I have known them for a large portion of my life, and I can’t imagine getting through the rough chapters of this mortal existence without relying on their comforting words for strength and perspective. I befriended some of them before I met my father and they have stuck around much longer. 

We sat around Saturday evening, drinking beer and wine (a 40 for me because I know how to keep it classy), listening to music and eating a simple dinner prepared by my friend’s wife (who was kind enough to remember my vegetarian diet). At some point during the night, I looked up and felt incredibly at peace. This was my home away from home and would be for as long as we lived. The melancholy of Memorial Day had dissipated with every hug, laugh, word and smile they offered. In the company of my friends, I have grown to understand the true meaning of loyalty, affection and commitment. 

The past four months have been bleak, stressful and heartbreaking. Not only am I unemployed (again!), but I am broke and several members of my family are battling severe illnesses. In the midst of all these trials and tribulations, I am raising a child on my own and struggling to figure out whether I should go back to school for a Master’s degree in Creative Writing or leave the country to live in Mexico. There have been many sleepless nights and moments of severe loneliness and self-doubt. In the past, I have coped with tumultuous times by isolating myself from human contact. Instead of reaching out to trusted friends and family, I pushed them away in anger and frustration. It doesn’t take an in-depth psychoanalytic examination to figure out why I rebuffed my loved ones in such a callous manner. But by rejecting my family and closest confidantes, I inadvertently damaged my interpersonal relationships. The same friend who has opened the doors of his home time and again for me and my son told me (without mincing words) I pushed people away with my hostility and “me-against-the-world” attitude. Any other person would have told me where to park my aggression but not my friend. He helped me understand I was holding on to resentment and bitterness (created by my broken relationship with my father) and unfairly antagonizing people who loved me. Like I didn’t know. But no one else had ventured to expose my fallacies and foolishness. I made a bold move two years ago as I stood on that lonely beach with my father. I was tired and it was time to break away. Other people loved me as much (or more), and I had an obligation to nurture those relationships. I lost him two years ago, but I gradually awoke to find a new type of existence: one where love doesn’t break but nourishes the soul.            

Cinco de Mayo

It’s Cinco de Mayo and if you’re of Mexican descent, you know at least one thing about it: the pseudo-holiday is just another reason for the masses (i.e. gringos) to go out and get wasted on copious amounts of cheap Mexican beer and shudder-inducing Jose Cuervo margaritas. Not that the masses need a “historical” excuse to drink and party. There are plenty of reasons to get plastered, what with the sluggish economy and depressing unemployment rate, which still stands at 8 percent. For better or worse, Cinco de Mayo is largely considered by many in this country as an opportunity to crash a fiesta (i.e. happy hour), eat a couple of tacos, listen to mariachi music, and gulp down some Coronas. It’s also obvious the drink specials in honor of Cinco de Mayo are a tacky and heavily commercialized ruse to persuade people to carelessly waste money on booze. How did Cinco de Mayo, which literally means fifth of May, become such a mockery? 

I’m a Chicana who identifies strongly with her Mexican roots, and I find it bothersome that the people consuming cheap tequila on Cinco de Mayo are blissfully unaware of its origins and apathetic of its cultural significance. And I’m not the only Chicana who feels this way. Many of my friends, who also have Mexican roots, deride the “holiday” and avoid participating in any of the festivities. But I’m not here to rain on your Cinco de Mayo parade. You can sip on the discounted Mexican alcohol (who drinks Cuervo anyway?) and eat greasy nachos but not before reading a little history lesson on the origins and significance of Cinco de Mayo (SPOILER: it’s not just another beer-drinking holiday, like St. Patrick’s Day).

How many people reading this blog entry believe Cinco de Mayo is a major holiday in México? Or that it represents México’s independence? It seems there are many misconceptions about such a popular holiday in the United States. Even people of Mexican descent get Cinco de Mayo all wrong.

First, Cinco de Mayo does not commemorate the independence of México. September 16^th is México’s Independence Day, which is the day in 1810 when Miguel Hidalgo (a priest and one of the greatest revolutionary figures in México) issued a proclamation known as “El Grito de Dolores.” On the morning of the 16^th, Padre Hidalgo called mass and in front of a crowd of 300 Mexicans and Spaniards, he urged his parishioners to abandon their homes and join him in a struggle for freedom against the Mexican royal government. México eventually achieved its independence from Spain in 1821.  

Second, Cinco de Mayo celebrates the victory of 4,000 Mexican soldiers against 8,000 French forces at the Battle of Puebla on the morning of May 5, 1862 in Puebla, México. On July 17, 1861, President Benito Juárez issued a moratorium and stated all foreign debt payments would be suspended for two years. México had never experienced financially stable times and the country underwent a severe economic crisis during the 1850s. The Mexican Treasury was nearly bankrupt after several consecutive wars and México owed hefty sums to France, Britain and Spain. They were demanding repayment and México, as they say in Spanish, “no tenía donde caerse muerto.” In other words, México couldn’t even afford to dig its own grave, let alone repay substantial foreign debts. Needless to say, the three European nations of France, Britain and Spain greeted the moratorium with hostility and armed forces. They sent naval forces to Veracruz in order to demand reimbursement. Britain and Spain negotiated with México and eventually withdrew. But France saw this as an opportunity to expand its empire and seize territory in México. At the time, the French Army of Napoleon III was considered the premier army in the world. So if the French ruler went around issuing military threats, you best believe he meant invasion business. Late in 1861, a well-armed French fleet stormed Veracruz. They expected to march from the port city to México City without encountering much resistance. Indeed, President Juárez and his government were forced to retreat. But they eventually sent troops, under the command of General Ignacio Zaragosa, to Puebla to confront the French. The Mexican troops consisted almost entirely of indigenous soldiers. General Zaragosa's troops were outnumbered and also severely under-equipped. La Batalla de Puebla raged on for two hours, after which time the French were forced to retreat to Orizaba. The Mexican military prevailed under the leadership of General Ignacio Zaragoza and overcame overwhelming odds to defeat a much larger, better-trained and equipped French army.

Third, Cinco de Mayo is mostly observed in this country. Cinco de Mayo is a regional holiday, limited primarily to the state of Puebla. Although other parts of the country commemorate the event with a parade or festival, it isn’t widely celebrated in Mexico like it is in the United States. In fact, it's virtually ignored. September 16^th (Mexican Independence Day) gets top honors as the largest national patriotic holiday in Mexico.  

Fourth, Mexicans and Latinos living in California during the American Civil War were the first to celebrate Cinco de Mayo in the United States. Then, during the rise of the Chicano movement in the 1940s, Cinco de Mayo started to become a fashionable holiday to celebrate. But while the holiday crossed over into the United States in the 1950s and 1960s, it didn't gain popularity until the 1980s when marketers, especially beer companies, capitalized on the celebratory nature of the day and began to promote it.

Fifth, there isn’t a fifth. Lists just always look more legitimate and well rounded with a number 5 or a fifth in a series.

And there you have my fine historical lesson. Now you know more about Cinco de Mayo than you did 10 minutes ago. But will that stop you from knocking back a Tecate or Dos XX this evening? Probably not. Just remember: while there might be many people (i.e. Gringos and Mexican-Americans) looking for any excuse to party on Cinco de Mayo, there are others, like me, who care about its origins and cultural significance. Although La Batalla de Puebla on Cinco de Mayo appears militarily insignificant in light of France's subsequent invasion, it did inject Mexicanos with pride and patriotism. Since its independence from Spain in 1821, México had suffered one tragedy after another. But for one brief moment in history, Mexicanos could look upon the rubble of a battle in triumph instead of defeat.

It’s important for me to reflect on an event like La Batalla de Puebla and remember fighting is in my blood. Mexicanos never give up the fight or lay down their arms in the face of impending doom. Even after the odds look incredibly grim and victory is nowhere in sight, a Mexicano always stands tall, proud and fearless. They say the guerreros come from Guerrero but if you look back in time, there are guerreros in every Mexicano. So while I don’t care for Cinco de Mayo and its commercialization, it hasn’t lost its real meaning for me, despite the advertisement industry.

On a different note, there’s a supermoon (when the full moon is closest to the Earth) rising this Saturday on Cinco de Mayo. If you’re going to toast to something this Cinco de Mayo, toast to the lunar spectacle. At least it’s a more fitting toast to give on a day that shouldn't even be celebrated here, assuming you're not holding a Cuervo margarita in your hand (shudders).    

Every Single Night

The wait is officially over. After 7 long years without producing new angst-filled material, Fiona Apple finally released the first single off her forthcoming album, The Idler Wheel (full title: The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than The Driver of The Screw And Whipping Cords Will Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do). If “Every Single Night” is any indication of the musical goods Fiona has crafted for her highly anticipated album, then fans will not be disappointed--Fiona is back stronger and more tortured than ever. In typical tormented fashion, Fiona sings about an endless and agonizing battle with (surprise) herself. Her expressive voice starts off serene and soothing but quickly reveals the pain, anger and torture she struggles with every night. She can’t shut her brain off—her ideas saturate more than her restless mind. The lyrics vacillate between intensities throughout the duration of the song, from cycles of calming, whispered utterances to sullen and frenzied orders and observations (“If what I am is what I am, cause what I does is what I does, then brother get back cause my breast’s gonna bust open”). Fiona’s unrestrained words serve to reinforce the interchangeable layers of her erratic thoughts during the unrelenting internal battle. Her ceaseless questioning and ruminations aim to drive her mad and keep her up. “Every single night’s a fight with my brain,” she bellows in the second verse. And we understand her conflict and predicament. We’ve all waged war at one point or another with our own ideas, fears and insecurities during the darkest hours in bed when peace and solace elude us. But in the last verse, a part of Fiona’s tortured psyche realizes she must renounce the battle: "So I'm gonna try to be still now, Gonna renounce the mill a little while." She needs to relax and the refrain “I just want to be everything” shows her vulnerability, as well as a simple desire to be free of confinement and a part of something more than the battle. The arrangement of the song is as sprightly as it is multi-layered. From the opening lullaby-like notes, to the percussion driven chorus, nothing about this song is simple or neatly arranged. The Idler Wheel will be released on June 19 through Epic, and I think I speak for everyone when I say, "It’s about damn time."

Pedro Infante: El Idolo de la Gente

Jose Pedro Infante Cruz, better known as Pedro Infante, is undoubtedly one of the best singers and actors Mexico has ever produced. He died in a tragic plane crash in Mérida, Yucatan 55 years ago on the 15^th of April but remains the “idol of the people” to Mexicanos and Latin Americans as well. A national day of mourning was declared in Mexico when news of his death reached the radio stations. Not surprisingly, all the radio and television stations of Mexico gave programs in homage to their idolo, playing Infante's songs all day long. When his coffin arrived in Mexico City, a multitude of mourners descended on the airport. Mexicanos paid their respects to Pedro at the National Association of Actors and Composers in the Jorge Negrete Theater where his body was placed. Mariachis bid farewell with "Amorcito Corazon," the bolero he immortalized.

I never met Pedro, nor did I grow up during the Golden Age of Mexican cinema. He was one of the leading men of this golden era along with Jorge Negrete. However, I grew up watching old Pedro Infante films like, “¡¿Qué Te Ha Dado Esa Mujer?!" There was little else to view on a Sunday afternoon after all the cartoons were over. Besides, my uncles were territorial when it came to the TV. As a child of 6, Pedro was the most beautiful man I had ever set eyes upon. Charismatic and comical on-screen (and off screen), he commanded your undivided attention and unswerving devotion. You could not help but follow his every bold move and hold on to his every sharp word. But Pedro's majestic voice was the icing on the cake. His elegant and cavernous voice possessed the power to quiet every voice in a room. It channeled such raw emotions and transmitted them to you in a way you could not comprehend but only feel. I know my need for music and the importance of music in my life sprung from those moments when I would sit in front of the television in a semi-comatose state, listening intently to Pedro’s powerful voice and songs. He took me away, if only for a moment, from the constant misery and sadness of my childhood. 

Pedro sang waltzes, cha-cha-chas, rancheras and boleros. In fact, he is among the most popular singers of mariachi and ranchera music. He is recognized, along with Javier Solis and Jorge Negrete, as one of the Tres Gallos Mexicanos (Three Mexican Roosters). His film career began in 1939 and he appeared in more than 60 films until his untimely death. Starting in 1943, he recorded about 350 songs. His natural talent for acting resulted in a Silver Bear for Best Actor award at the 7^th Berlin International Film Festival in 1957 for the film "Tizoc."

Every year, Pedro Infante attracts a large number of fans of all ages to his shrine in the Panteón Jardín of Mexico City. His fans honor him with a mass, honor guards, music and the songs he made famous. There are four statues erected in his honor: one in Mexico City made out of thousands of bronze keys, the second in Mérida, a third in his birthplace of Mazatlán, Sinaloa, and the fourth statue is in the town square of Guamúchil, his adopted home town. 

Pedro’s enduring legacy is a result of the urban hero status he earned from the working class. Sure he excelled at playing the fun-loving charro in many of his films, but it was his “common man” character that won him the love and admiration of the public in Mexico and other countries, such as Venezuela and Guatemala. Pedro worked as a carpenter in Guamúchil from a young age before his musical talents led him to pursue his dreams in Mexico City. He became a huge star, but he always represented the common poor carpenter to his fans. The public could relate to Pedro because he came from humble origins, yet he worked himself up from nothing to become one of greatest figures in Mexican history. He is an “orgullo Mexicano” and to this day, singers of the ranchera and mariachi genres pay him countless tributes. Pedro is immortal and time will never erase his musical magic or influence. 

5 Steps for Surviving a Breakup

Breakups are a pain. Literally. Research published in the “Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences and the United States” confirms what most dumpees have always known: getting dumped feels like physical pain. The authors of the study assembled people who had been dumped six months before and placed them in a brain scanner. High heat was applied to the subject’s forearms and later they were instructed to look at a photo of the person who dumped them. The scans demonstrated that emotional pain activates the same area of the brain that processes physical pain. Apparently the brain can’t differentiate between the two.

So yes. Love hurts. And all dumpees have the right to heal their broken hearts. But how much time does it take to recover from a breakup? It can take anywhere from six to 18 months to mend a broken heart, according to Rachel Sussman of “The Breakup Bible.” I’m approaching month number two of my recovery, so the thought of dealing with heartache for another four to 16 months feels daunting and distressing. But this too shall pass. And until we’re fully over our exes (18 months? really??), there are at least five steps we can take to help ease the process of a rough breakup. 

1) Avoid your ex, which really means, “Cut off all contact, dammit!”—Look, in the beginning it’s hard to let go because you’re still in love and desperately clinging to the memories. But how can you move on and start healing if you’re texting, emailing or “Facebooking” your ex? A clean and total break is the most essential part of getting over someone. This isn't negotiable, heartbroken people. Trust me. I stopped emailing my ex several weeks ago and recently unfriended him on Facebook. Maintaining occasional contact with him was not helping me confront the daily reality of being without him. Plus, it stung to see how much he’s enjoying himself in a new country and meeting all types of interesting people (including beautiful women). What sane dumpee wants to see that after a breakup? You might think I'm resentful, which is the furthest thing from the truth. I'm just abnormally plagued with an immense amount of pride, dignity and self-respect. We all possess these traits (in normal doses). So use any means necessary for closure. If that means erasing her phone number, unfriending your ex from Facebook, and deleting his email address from your contact list, then so be it. You have to do whatever it takes to move on, including dismissing your ex from your life.      

2) Wallow in self-pity—This doesn’t necessarily mean you should throw a pity party for yourself every single day for the entire breakup period (18 months??). But you do have to mourn. There is no shame in being devastated over a breakup. After all, you love(d) this person, right? And you miss this person, yes? So accept these truths and mourn! Don’t put off the lengthy grieving process, which will surely backfire on you. Take a couple of weeks to cry, reflect and work through those painful emotions. Analyze the positives and negatives of your most recent relationship while listening to some pitiful music. There are happy memories to consider along with the realization that you’re growing and learning something valuable from this breakup, which you will carry into the next relationship. Then, after you’ve suffered enough, find motivation and get back into the thick of life. How?

3) Exercise!—We’ve all heard of endorphins. Well, exercise is an excellent way to improve your mood and get in shape. In fact, many studies indicate that people who exercise regularly benefit with a positive boost in mood and lower rates of depression. How does this happen? When you exercise, your body decreases stress hormones, such as cortisol, and releases natural, feel good chemicals called endorphins. Exercise also releases adrenaline, serotonin, and dopamine (Depression is related to low levels of certain neurotransmitters like serotonin and norepinephrine.) These chemicals work together to make you feel good. Endorphins interact with the receptors in your brain that reduce your perception of pain, both physical and mental (I bet those people in the study I referenced earlier weren’t exercising). Not only do endorphins act as analgesics, but they also work like sedatives. The neuron receptors endorphins bind to are the same ones that bind some pain medicines. So sign up for yoga classes. Take long, scenic walks along a lake or river. Run! I’m a runner and running has been a blessing these past two months. Running is physically demanding, but the feeling I experience immediately after a grueling run (the so-called “runner’s high”) always gives me a more positive and energizing outlook on life. Not only have I lost weight (which means I’m bikini ready!), but I’m also being proactive by managing the stress of losing someone who meant a great deal to me.   

4) Pamper yourself!—Watch TV marathons (I’m partial to All in the Family, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Three’s Company reruns), get mani-pedis, buy new clothes or underwear (the cheap kind!), get a facial or massage, sign up for dance classes (I’m getting back to my Flamenco roots!), try a new haircut (bangs?) or take a mini vacation. The point is to put yourself first once again and take care of your needs (it’s easy to put yourself second when you’re in a relationship). Do what makes you feel good. Enlist your friends for these pampering sessions if you don’t want to go solo. Before you know it, those six to 18 months will have passed and you’ll be a pro at the Flamenco (or Tango)!   

5) Wait before dating again—This is about as hard as breaking off all contact with your ex but just as necessary. It’s tempting to get back out there again after a breakup. You may want to distract yourself from the heartache by dating. Or your friends and acquaintances may pressure you to pursue new romantic interests. But don’t! You have to wait until YOU are completely ready to face the dating world once again. I learned this lesson the hard way several years ago after a difficult breakup. Barely a month had transpired before I was dating again. I wasn’t over my ex, but I hated feeling so lonely and miserable, so I jumped into a new “relationship.” Big mistake. After the initial excitement of a fresh body, I only ended up feeling more upset and conflicted. Rebounds rarely go anywhere but down (unless you get pregnant!). Besides, it's essential to be alone after a breakup in order to gain a fresh perspective and clear vision for the future. Being alone is not the same thing as isolating yourself from your friends and family. For you need moral support to get through a breakup. But you should embrace your new status as a singleton and be free of romantic entanglements. Remember: this is an important phase of self-rediscovery and independence, a time to reassess or redefine the meaning of happiness and fulfillment. As Sussman says, “You need to be happy again first and then you can find a new, healthy relationship.”

Duly noted. I’ll be running, writing, reading, dancing, working and socializing until I’m completely over my ex (18 months?) and feeling like my old self again. Then, I’ll re-enter the dating world with a renewed and sanguine outlook (I mean, those OkCupid and Chemistry inboxes are getting out of control).


If you're going through a breakup, what are some steps you're taking to cope with the process? Please share in the comment section!