Memories from a neighborhood Balkan festival.

Last month on a Saturday, I stopped through an ethnically Balkan Catholic church on the far east side of my neighborhood b/c they were having a church festival and I thought I'd get some food before heading to the beach.

The grilled meat line was huge, so I went to go get some fried dough from a booth, and there taped to the back eave of the tent was a sign reading -

REMEMBERING 

[one first and last name] & [another first and name]

- and the 2nd name was my old landlady from when I first moved to the city, who is of the church's ethnic group and had been fighting cancer for a while and who I hadn't seen all this summer, and so who I assumed was either sick again or had even passed away.

I asked someone at the booth, and the customer behind me said that she had passed away months ago, and that she always helped out at the fried dough booth.

Later, I googled her and found out that she died in December, and was part of the church's Marian Society.

That night on the way home from the beach, I stopped by the festival again to get some grilled meat, if the line was shorter.

It was like ten people, and the person ahead of me said that no-one had been in line like 5 minutes before.

As I was waiting, this (early 30s) (Balkan) grill man in a white sweatband and an MGD 64 shirt torn on both sides stopped turning meats with tongs in order to ask someone behind me in a sports jersey and on a smartphone if he knew the score of the game, and when the guy was like, "Three - three", the grill man was like, "Here," and he took a skewer of chicken off the grill and handed it to him to eat while in line.

After I finally got my order and turned to go, I saw a younger couple, the man (white) and the girl (black), and she seemed a bit skittish, and all of a sudden I suddenly realized that every single other person at the festival was (white) and it must be really weird and intimidating for her.

And that's not even including the fact that it's Catholic (assuming that the [black] girl was something else), and the neighborhood as a whole is known to be historically racist.

Neighborhood Latino happening (2 of 2): Laundromat Woman on Trump.

That same week, I was doing laundry and me and the (middle-aged) (Mexican) woman at the laundromat chatted a bit, in Spanish.

She said she was hot and disliked the heat, and when I asked, she said Mexico's climate was actually better.

After a bit, Trump and his immigration platform came on the TV news, and she was like, "Loco."

I also told her how a Mexican friend was becoming a citizen and I had joked that now he can vote for Trump, and she was like, "No, Hee-lahr-ee Cleen-tahn."

I agreed, and said that all Republicans were crazy, to which she nodded.

Neighborhood Latino happening (1 of 2): Party

Last month on a Saturday night the (Mexican) people 2 yards over had a summer party just like they did last summer:  DJed music blaring out of the garage, and kids running around everywhere.

Though, this year, a small (Mexican) ensemble showed up, a tuba and a trumpet and a drum, and they played for over an hour, somewhere from around 10pm till after 11pm.

I had been planning to listen to this one Saturday night radio show that I like and cook, but instead I just shut off the radio and listened to the ensemble through my open windows.

At one point I wasn't sure if the band had ended or not b/c of the style of music, so I peeked out the window, and I could see a couple dancing in the back alley behind the garage where the party was happening.

I was getting a bit ticked at the loud DJed music, but frankly, I loved the band.

Random person says that I look like my dad...

This summer, during my dad's visit, me and him were standing somewhere downtown, and some (younger) (white) (yuppie) woman told us that it was cute how much we looked alike, you could totally tell that we're related.

I found that both interesting and nice...

Interesting b/c my dad is a now a shrunken 70-year old with big ears, a moustache, and weathered skin, with a camouflage baseball hat and a plaid shirt to boot, while on the other hand I'm me.

I think it's the shape of head and ears, to be honest.

Perspective of a Latino marketer.

I recently had a flashback to this conversation on the 4th of July -

A friend of a friend is an international Latino who does market research into selling things to Latinos in the U.S., including processed food products and the military.

He says that he actually feels bad more about the processed food products than the military, since he's seen kids lift themselves up through military service, but the "just add this and make dinner" processed food product that he sells is "a box of sodium".

Great anecdote about Santana...

...from Clive Davis's memoir The Soundtrack of my Life (p. 425) -

When asked the goals for his music, Santana replied that he wanted to connect "the molecules with the light."

Chalk drawings in my neighborhood.

The other week I went to go return a library book at the local library branch before heading up to the grocery store, and for whatever reason, there were a ton of sidewalk chalk drawings on my way.

With the first, some local (Mexican-American) kids had some scribbles and the words -

HOLA
AMIGOS
AMIGAS

- and with the second, someone had a picture of an adult holding up a toddler on their shoulder.