Who's That Girl?

Photo by DiKLiX
(Click on image to enlarge)



Once again curiosity kills the cat.

Or at least half an hour of our precious time.

See here. The “famigerado” Wes Broadway (one of my many local mentors and a Master pedestrian philosopher) and I decided to take a refreshing walk on a beautifully sunny Spring afternoon.

When, lo and behold, in a New York minute we were amidst what looked like something which might turn out to be a noteworthy occasion.

A horde of marauding paparazzi staging the siege of a high fashion Soho clothier blocked our path.

“This entertains the possibility of some amusing star gazing,” says Wes, also and avid modern urban adventurer as all philosophers are.

Wes is a man who threads the streets of the modern Babylon devoid of fear because he knows that in New York “death is a state of being instead of an imminent occurrence,” or something like that.

Unlike Gracián, an old mentor from the island who never traveled after leaving Spain, his motherland, because, as he used to say: “no matter where I go, things are always a lot better someplace else,” Wes likes to go out and about, an urban nomad at heart.

You see, Wes is a merry fella and always brings along the party, the joy and the good times with him wherever he goes. A budding photo-chronicler, he likes to snap digital pictures of abstract street fixtures, of the capricious shadows cast with ease over the urban sidewalks and of other photographers caught in the act.

Adroitly, he shows me the ways of the land adorned with the most unusual pedestrian philosophy, jewels of useless savvy, the rule of the metaphor and the sharp, yet florid one-liner.

Drawn by the aforementioned and cat(time)-slaughtering curiosity, Wes asks one of the more prominent members of the click-quick fraternity of paparazzi, who was perched vulture-like with his finger practically glued to the shutter, why the commotion.

Wes's tone was gentle and polite, as is the habit of most philosophers, but the vulture with a Nikon didn't flinch, his gaze riveted to the door of the store - and his lips were sealed.

“¿Qué pasa?” Asks again the polyglot Wes, a man versed in many languages as philosophers generally are, in an attempt to bridge what in his book was an obvious matter of linguistic differences. “Guá Sápenin?”

The man, his stare glued to the door of the building in front of him, answers with a dry and mortified “I don’t speak Spanish.”

Quicker with his tongue than most philosophers, Wes sized the man up and down and replied: “Ah, so you just want to be an asshole then.”

Bound by curiosity, we stick around. About a half and hour later, out comes the celebrity, entourage in tow, beefy bodyguards with looks of solemn concern rushing the convoy of black SUV’s down the street to fetch them with flash like speed.

Wes snapped a still of the moment, frozen in time the hurried instant when two obviously important personalities rushed past and into their vehicle. The only problem: we don’t know who they are!

Who is that cute girl so jealously guarded? Who is the lady behind? Why all the fuss?

Which brings us to the moral of the story. There is so much positive stuff happening everywhere: the Spring trip Northbound of the Monarch butterflies, the National Spelling Bee competition, the blooming of the cherry trees, the first rains of May…

There are also more urgent and solemn subjects to ponder like the war, the spread of lethal viruses, drought and famine, global warming, immigration and hate crimes, human dignity, democracy and liberty, yadda, yadda, yadda and yadda and yadda…

To cap off the event, the photographer later got on a yelling match with a comrade at arms who jumped in front of his lens stealing his precious shot, in hunting jargon: obliterating his view. Too bad for him, it is not his fault that he is an asshole, the world is filled with them, at least everybody knows one and it is definitely not a favored subject.

Should we expect more from a society which gives more time in the media to panty-less blonds, dead blonds and jailed blonds and, just to add a bit of variety, they feature with prominence some anorexic brunette here and there and then throw in a drunk redhead passing out on the curb, just to spice things up instead of devoting all efforts to real newsworthy events. Hey, the world is also filled with 20 something’s making stupid decisions. Dumb kids getting drunk and rowdy, drinking beer by the keg and puking their cheeseburger-filled humanities behind the bushes of urban capitals all around this great big ozone depleted planet of ours, hallelujah. And I know, I was one of those.

What are we to expect?

Right now, the least I expect is change…

As it is written in the Talmud: If I will not help myself, who will? If not now, when?

Still, curiosity kills…

If anyone can identify the "celebrity" in the photograph, please send in your answer right away because I for one am dying to know.

Ken Burns revisited

Shall we just drop the subject and keep on going? It is Summer out there, so sunny and beautiful…that it almost inspires one to just forgive and forget, toast to life and make merry?

I don’t think so!

I do take offense with the fact that Señor Burns (lets say it candidly) “forgot” to mention the contribution of Latinos to World War II. I do take offense with the fact that when advised about such blatant and shameless attempt at historical revisionism, the famed maker of documentaries and all around audiovisual artiste stuck his nose up in the air and stated, as divas tend to in a very Bob Evans anecdotal-way: “The brown kid stays OUT of the movie…”

He wrote off the contribution of Latinos to that great event, the Last Great War, a significant contribution by any account, but some of us have not, and will not!

We can not write it off, or so conveniently “forget,” because it is a memory embedded in our soul, made of blood, sweat and tears. Just like all the rest of such memories (no matter from whom and where in this planet). Just like the ones featured so prominently in Señor Burns’ documentary.

So sad that it has to come to this, but it is a matter of respect. Respect is a mutual thing, Señor Burns. You have to give a lot of it in order to expect the same in return. And it should be as fair as Death is in the midst of battle, and just as blind as the bullet capable of taking away a life.

There are attempts, honest, humble, yet bold attempts to write a reliable account of what World War II did to America, to the world, to us, trying establish in all fairness what were the consequences, what was the real human price paid in such a pivotal event in modern history.

Noemi Figueroa Soulet (Producer/Director/Writer) is about to release of The Borinqueneers, (www.borinqueneers.com) “the first major documentary to chronicle the never-before-told story of the Puerto Rican 65th Infantry Regiment, the only all-Hispanic unit in the history of the U.S. Army.”

Set to premiere August 2007 on most PBS stations and narrated by Latino actor Héctor Elizondo, the documentary “explores the fascinating stories of courage, triumph and struggle of the men of the 65th.

“The 65th Infantry Regiment was created in 1899 by the U.S. Congress as a segregated unit composed primarily of Puerto Ricans with mostly continental officers. It went on to serve meritoriously in three wars: World War I, World War II and the Korean War.

“When they were finally called to the front lines in the Korean War, the men of the 65th performed impressively, earning praise from General MacArthur. They performed a critical role containing the Chinese advance and supporting the U.S. Marines in the aftermath of the Battle of the Chosin Reservoir. Sent to every corner of the peninsula, they showed outstanding resilience and a legendary fierceness as combatants, even as they faced discrimination within the Army,” reads the synopsis of this documentary project.

Kudos to you all!

Although thousands of Latinos have served courageously in the Armed Forces since World War I, their contribution and sacrifices have gone largely unnoticed.

Until now, but there is so much to tell, so many inspiring Latino stories of courage and sacrifice.

Señor Burns’ high-nosed attitude and stubborn disposition, plus the fact that he insists on keeping his film intact tells from the onset the “veracity” of his documentary (or lack thereof) and, in my book, puts the reputation of this gentleman at the level of dirt, but we can’t let him go off that easy.

I don’t know who said that there is no use in beating a dead horse, but even though Ken Burns plays the dead, the deaf and the dumb, this horse is still very much alive and ready to kick at any moment.

So I say, hey, “ojo pela’o” (keep your eyes peeled) and, to quote the famous Forrest Gump, Master of the Modern Pedestrian Philosophy: “That is all I have to say about that.”

…for now ;-).