He feels his heels are really bleeding

A couple of weeks ago I bought a brand new pair of dress shoes: brown leather Tasso Elba shoes. When I tried them on in the store, Macy's, they felt fine. I even had the salesman feel where my big toe was in the shoes to confirm that the size seemed right.

Well, the first day that I wore the shoes to work I realized not far into my 15 minute walk to work that the shoes didn't feel right. About halfway through my pedestrian commute, I began experiencing severe pain in my heels, but more particularly on my right heel. As soon as I arrived at work and took off my shoes, I realized that I was bleeding from my right heel and a good amount of skin had already been lost due to the heavy friction. But since I had bled through my sock and bled on to the shoe, I resigned myself to the fact that I would not be able to return or exchange the shoes at Macy's, bloodstained as they were.

For the past couple of weeks I had decided to wear the shoes every other day while wearing my old, beat-up and worn-in shoes on the alternate days. And although I was wearing bandages on each of my heels so that I wouldn't bleed, the shoes (again: more specifically the right shoe) still felt uncomfortably tight.

So I made the decision right before this week began to go full-force; I decided that I was going to wear these damn shoes every day until they get totally broken in. I will continue to wear the bandages on my heels until they run out; so I have about another week of heel protection. The shoes are now, relatively speaking, more broken in than before, but the key emphasis is on the phrase "relatively speaking." I figure, though, that leather can stretch, and I'm determined to continue breaking them in.

The first couple of days that I wore the new shoes, I was made fun of because I couldn't walk normally. My friend Michael said that I was walking like a stick figure: very gingerly and with unbending knees. In fact, it was taking me fully twice as long to walk to work than normal: from 15 to almost 30 minutes walking. Even now, I still have to walk a bit slower than I would like to; but maybe that'll give me a chance to enjoy the scenery, right?

I've gotten compliments on the new shoes, and the old shoes had completely worn down the outer edge of the sole, to the point of some holes in the bottom of the shoe, my point being that I'm committed to keeping the new ones and trashing the old ones. But the breaking in process goes on. You can call me the shoe-whisperer.

Chilly, chilly in Philly

It's a chilly night in Philly tonight. The weather forecast predicts that there may even be some frost in the northern suburbs overnight tonight. This cool spell is in contrast to the warm, sunny weather -- reminiscent of southern California or Guanacaste, Costa Rica -- that we had every day for about two weeks straight to start the month of April. But I don't mind this cool weather, because it's nice to sleep in, and I'm quite sure it won't last for long; that is to say, I'm sure the warm spring weather will return very soon.

This afternoon I was surprised to see a camera crew filming and taking photographs at my work. For a minute the camera was pointed directly at me; I couldn't help smiling devilishly. And I think it was a good day for it because I combed my hair in a very Republican fashion today: combed down from right to left with a soft (not hard) part on the right-hand side. It was very much in the style of George Clooney or Brad Pitt from Ocean's Eleven. So, you ask, was this my debut as a movie star? Unlikely. I think it was probably just the partners from the head law firm running the project documenting the size and conditions of our work site. But hey, who knows, maybe I'll have my 15 minutes of fame in a movie theater near you later this summer. I'll keep you posted on that one.

Finally tonight, for pure recording purposes, I bench pressed my body weight (185 pounds) 12 times earlier this evening. It felt pretty good.

Well, once again I have to get ready for bed early tonight. Remind me to tell you later about my new dress shoes that I've been wearing to work, and the pain and suffering attached to the process of breaking them in; more on that tomorrow. Until then, I hope you have a great hump day tomorrow! From chilly Philly, your silly Philly friend.

Abbreviate

I've gotta keep it short tonight, because my goal this week is to really focus on getting to bed early so that, hopefully, I can actually get into work at a decent hour each day this week. As of late, my focus has shifted from weekends to weekdays, from an outward-looking perspective to an inward-looking perspective, from them to me, from seeking happiness by looking for a girl to seeking happiness by advancing my own career.

Yesterday afternoon I spent a couple of hours with Rebekka, one of Roland's friends from Germany. She had a 6-hour layover at Philadelphia International Airport (PHL), so we made and followed through on plans to meet for some of that time. We met at 30th Street Station, where she had taken the Septa R1 from the airport. From there, we took the Market-Frankford EL to 5th and Market, where we got out and walked to the National Constitution Center. Although this was technically my second time there, it was my first time to pay admission and walk through the NCC. And I've gotta say: I highly recommend that you check the place out. The introductory movie/live performance, called "Freedom Rising", was really moving and very inspiring. The other highlight was Signers' Hall, a lifesize re-creation -- in the form of bronze statues -- of the signers of the U.S. Constitution.

Anyway, I hope you had a great Monday, and may you have an even better Tuesday! From a cool, rainy, and cloudy Philadelphia: the birthplace of the United States of America.

Duty and Responsibility to Serve

With the privilege of living a comfortable, secure life in a developed and peaceful nation comes the duty and responsibility to serve one's community, whether it be the local or the global. This duty and responsibility necessarily entails the knowledge and sensitivity to do the serving -- and this in turn demands that one continue, throughout life, to self-educate in both theory (through books) and praxis (through proactive experience) in order to continually gain and promote this knowledge and sensitivity.

Ballin'

For the second Saturday in a row, I went down to the Schuylkill River Park to play basketball. It was really good to get out and move around. I played for about two hours, about three half-court games and, at the end, one full-court game. Full-court definitely suits me well because I can use my speed and athleticism more to my advantage than I would in a half-court game. In all three of the half-court games, I had to play defense against Eric, who I'm guessing is about 6'2". This forced me to play, defensively, a forward's game: down on the block and in the paint. I don't have a problem defending down low, but I play more like a guard, so I definitely prefer to play like a two-guard on both offense and defense. In the end, though, it was another great afternoon of solid cardiovascular exercise. I certainly hope to continue the pattern of playing hoops on Saturdays.

As I've been typing all of this I've been listening to a Jamiroquai greatest hits cd that I picked-up a couple weeks ago, but only just tonight have I finally imported it into my iTunes. I really like this type of music: a fusion of funk, disco, and acid jazz. It's similar to two of my favorite groups: Los Amigos Invisibles and Tortured Soul. Here in Philly I've seen Amigos Invisibles twice live: once at the TLA back during my first year of law school with my then-girlfriend, Cherise, and again just this past autumn at World Cafe Live with my friend Park and his then-girlfriend. I came across Tortured Soul in the summer of 2006 when I happened to walk through Rittenhouse Square while they were performing for a Philadelphia Weekly summer concert series performance. They had the whole park movin' and groovin'; I loved the music.

So tonight I decided to stay in for the night. As crazy as it sounds, it's taken me a whole week to recover from last weekend's non-stop action. I did go out for a little while last night, though, just to get out of the apartment. Claire and I went to my new favorite neighborhood bar, Ten Stone, for a couple rounds. I drank three Sawtooth beers on draught and she drank a couple gin & tonics. It was cool because I was able to watch some of the Spurs-Suns game on one of their really nice tv's. I was also happy to see that my favorite waitress was working, although she was in the back almost the entire time. Anyway, Claire and I had a nice conversation talking about her job prospects and objectives, among other topics as well.

I didn't get home too late last night, and since I felt that I needed to let some of the alcohol wear off before going to bed, I took the time to finish the last 10 pages of my book, The 42nd Parallel by John Dos Passos. So earlier today, while drinking my habitual late afternoon coffee, I began my next book: Dying To Cross: The Worst Immigrant Tragedy in American History by Jorge Ramos. I'm about 30 pages into it. But it's only 173 pages long, so I'll definitely finish it up by the end of the day Monday.

Alright, folks, that's about all for now. Before signing off, though, I'd like to apprise you of a plan that I have in mind: I'd like to begin transcribing entries from my old hand-written diary into this 'ere blog that you've been so kind to read. In this way, I can record my old trips and experiences on to the world wide web, and in the process, also provide you with another source of entertainment and background characterization of yours truly. So at some point soon, you should check for a tab on the left-hand side that indicates entries from the year 2002.

Peace out from tha Illadelph! Until next time, keep it alive in the 2-1-5-!!!

Just wond'rin'

Ya know, I was thinking to myself just now: what the hell am I going to write about tonight? And it got me to thinking: who the hell is reading this anyway? A rule of thumb for a writer (or also, in terms closer to me, for a lawyer) is to know your audience and to target them specifically with your form and content of communication. Well, here I'm just not too sure. If you catch a fancy to let me know that you're reading this, then give me a holler. But if you don't, then I guess we'll just have to continue our clandestine reader-writer relationship, hidden from all including the writer himself.

After I got home from work today, I ran over to the neighborhood gym for a quick work-out: back and legs. For my back I did lat pulldowns, upright rows, and reverse flies. For my legs I did leg curls and dumbell lunges. So ladies, did I mention that I live in that direction <flexing my arm while pointing in the direction of my pad>?

Enough of that, right? Well anyway, after my work-out I ran home, got changed, then ran out again to head to Continental Midtown, to meet a group of friends gathering in honor of our friend Jeff's 27th birthday, which he celebrated today. As I was about to pass through Rittenhouse Square on my way there, I saw a girl who I went to law school with, who I've randomly seen quite a bit of lately. I waved at her and said, "hello.....again" and she replied by asking "are you following me these days?" and I replied with something like "maybe, it sure seems that way." A typically lame yet practical conversation while passing someone in that situation. But I have to admit that it has been strange seeing her so much. I guess that happens occasionally in the city though.

For my fourth paragraph tonight, I'm gonna go through a story that I was reminded of -- and told everyone -- earlier this evening. While we were sitting around the brown round table, discussing whatever came to people's minds, Julie brought up a story about a friend in college who was a big eater and about the time when this guy passed out and they stuck a piece of food in his hand and underneath his nose to rouse him. Well, her story reminded me of a time in college when my good friend Lorge drank too much and passed out on the couch at our apartment at Ice House. To get him good, my roommate Puma and I came up with the idea to spray-paint his knees and bellybutton with this deep dark blue paint. It was over a week of taking showers two and three times a day that the paint finally even began to wear off. For a week Lorge looked like a smurf in his knees and bellybutton. I still have photos of that prank; man that was funny.

Comemoscas

There's a girl at my work who always walks around with her mouth open. It makes her appear really slow and dim-witted.

Earlier today I was daydreaming about what it would be like to throw a piece of popcorn into her mouth as she walked by, or maybe how funny it would be to flick a booger into her mouth before she even realized what was happening. I mean, really, when you walk around with your mouth wide open, you're just asking for it.

This girl reminded me of a character from a book I read about five years ago. Back at that time I embarked on a solo backpacking journey up the Pacific coast of Costa Rica and Nicaragua. Before leaving on my trek, I went to a bookstore in San Jose to pick-up a couple books, anticipating the need for nighttime entertainment in the many sleepy towns along the way. One of the books that I picked-up was "Lituma en los Andes", written in Spanish, by Mario Vargas Llosa. About twelve pages into the second chapter, the author describes one of the characters in this way:

"Desde nino a Pedrito Tinoco le habian dicho alunado, opa, ido, bobo, y, como siempre andaba con la boca abierta, comemoscas."

"From the time he was a boy, they had called Pedrito Tinoco half-wit, moron, dummy, simpleton, and since his mouth always hung open, they called him flycatcher, too."

Quite coincidentally, after I had returned stateside after four months in Central America, my father gave me a book he had just finished reading. It was called "Death in the Andes" by Mario Vargas Llosa; yup, you guessed it, the English translation of the book I had read during my pilgrimage up la costa pacifica. Reading the English version, I once again revisited this memorable character: Comemoscas. Just as I do now, day in and day out, at my job, every single time I see this dumb-looking girl with her mouth wide open all the time. <flick!>

An Unlikely Assortment

Clinton seems to have won Pennsylvania. So the Clinton-Obama battle continues for who knows how much longer. More and more I have the feeling that McCain is gonna win the presidency.

Earlier this afternoon, while walking up Locust Street, having just left Rittenhouse Square and heading home, I saw a girl riding a bicycle whom I recognized. It was a girl who I had gone on a couple dates with back in late October of last year. Of course she acted like she hadn't seen me: typical cowardice. We'd had a great couple of dates, but then she freaked out and sent me an email saying: "I think you are an amazing person. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm amazing for you." That is a direct quotation. Despite my reply to her ("as respectfully as I can say this, please don't tell me what I find amazing."), urging her to reconsider, she made it pretty clear that the wall was up and any further communication would be a waste of time. I swallowed my pride and accepted the inevitable, wondering for a while what the fuck had happened. Over time, I also accepted the hard lessons learned: that I have to slow down and keep my emotions in check next time -- even and especially when -- I meet a great girl, that I have to hide my cards a bit in spite of my innate instinct to always be upfront and honest, and that getting a girl from law school is a long shot due to the lawyer's tendency to choose a guy based on his employer, resume, and/or parents' name (i.e., the typical competitiveness that is bred in law school). Anyway, bringing this back to today's chance observation, seeing this girl definitely brought up a feeling of resentment. And, once again, a reminder of the hard lessons learned the hard way.

Later this evening, while waiting for my clothes in the dryer at the laundromat, I walked down to the Schuylkill River. The sun was setting and there was a warm, auburn hue to the clouds. I sat down on a bench overlooking the water and read some of my book, The 42nd Parallel, book one of the U.S.A. trilogy, by John Dos Passos. The surface of the river was shining and rippling and the air was comfortably cool. Behind me a long train sluggishly crawled by on the tracks immediately alongside the riverside park, pulling away, boxcar after boxcar, clanging and clanking until fading off toward the south, to the train depot.

The Philadelphia Flyers won game 7 against the Washington Capitals, thereby winning the series. Game 1 against the Montreal Canadiens is this Thursday. Go Flyers!

Dissection of a Candidate's Claim

On one of these political commercials, a local Philadelphia candidate (I believe it's John Dougherty) says, "I won't give up until crime is down."

Here's my response: So if I'm hearing you correctly, if crime goes down, then right then and there, you'll just give up, right? It won't matter what other issues are confronting the city at that time, you'll stop getting out of bed in the morning once crime goes down.

Which leads to the next logical conclusion: this guy doesn't really expect crime to go down, because if he truly did, then his campaign would reflect his striving -- once crime goes down -- for an unfulfilling job, and this defies logic and human nature.

Weekend Recapitulation

Friday. Paul came into town from New York. We went to dinner at The Striped Bass. I ate the black sea bass, with crispy yucca, lemon-garlic vinaigrette, and pickled vegetables. The food was good. We went to Alfa for drinks. We drank a couple rounds of beers. There were several good-looking girls there. We went to Vango. We stayed on the main floor for a little while. We went up to the roofdeck, a.k.a., skybar. The view of the surrounding Center City skyscrapers was amazing. We tried to go to G-Lounge. But because I was wearing sneakers, hip though they are, we were not let in. We went to The Walnut Room. We drank a couple rounds of beers. I ended up meeting a very good-looking girl right before we left.

Saturday. Evan drove up from Baltimore. We caught up while I ate breakfast: vanilla clusters with almonds cereal. We walked down to the courts at the Schuylkill River Park, just down at the end of Spruce Street. We shot around for a while. Eventually, several of my co-workers came: James, his brother Pat, and Jeff. Paul came later. And my friend Mike ended up coming too. Eric, another co-worker, showed up at the very end. I ran full-court for over two hours. I had a few flashes of my former brilliance. Despite some obvious rustiness, I'd say that overall I was impressed that I was able to hold up and run for so long. Evan, Paul, and I returned to my place to take turns showering up. We drove down to Citizens Bank Park to meet our friend Bill for the Phillies-Mets game. After having been out in the sun for two hours, playing full-court basketball, I was totally exhausted. I barely made conversation at the baseball game due to my lack of energy. We had amazing seats: just 20 rows directly, and I mean directly, behind home plate. Thanks for the tickets Bill! Unfortunately the Phillies lost by a score of 4-2. It was annoying how there were so many Mets fans cheering at the game. At some point someone was thrown out of the game for apparently starting a fight. Paul left immediately after the game to drive back to Hoboken. Bill drove Evan and I back to Rittenhouse. The three of us had dinner at Ten Stone. Then Bill left. Over the course of the rest of the night, Evan and I ended up bar-hopping: The Black Sheep, then Misconduct Tavern, then Loie, then Pulse. Although I had been running on empty since the baseball game, I somehow managed to stay out until 4 in the morning. After we left Pulse at 3:15am, we went to Tower Style Pizza for some late-night slices. We were back at my place and I finally crashed at 4:15am.

Sunday. I woke up at 12 noon. I cleaned up a bit around the apartment. I spent a good part of the afternoon just dozing on the couch while watching auto racing then the Lakers-Nuggets game on the television. Later I got up and out to do one load of laundry and food-shopping at Trader Joe's. While walking to the laundromat, I ran into the now-unemployed and homeless former attendant at my last laundromat, which recently closed down so that the owner could convert the property into a nail salon. I offered to take Al to the market with me so I could buy him a drink and some food. He took me up on my offer. I told him to pick out whatever he'd like and I'd buy it. He chose milk and ice cream. We walked back toward my place. He waited while I went upstairs to unload the groceries. We returned to the laundromat so I could transfer the clothes from the washer to the dryer. We walked out. I went to visit my friend Claire. Al went to sit down in Fitler Square. Claire and I hung out for a little while. I had to pick up a movie, "I Am Legend", from her that she wanted me to return on her behalf to our co-worker Ken, with whom she no longer works due to a general lay-off at our project just over a week ago. I also had to pick up a couple of cd's that I had lent her: "un dia normal" by Juanes and "The Venezuelan Zinga Son, Vol. 1" by Los Amigos Invisibles.

The weekend has now been recapitulated. Consider yourself updated. Guan and have a good week now, ya heard?

Solitaire

I just got back in from going out tonight. It was really good to catch-up with Paul. But I'm left with a feeling of emptiness after the conversation we had over dinner and the ensuing course of events over the rest of the night. As an aside, I'm surprised that I'm able to express myself thus far due to having drank several beers tonight.

I feel empty because I'm alone right now. I'm typing into my computer at 2 in the morning, while listening to the album "Things Fall Apart" by The Roots. Perhaps the title of that album is appropriate. Tonight, as I have felt for a while now, I was in no mood to talk to mediocre girls. My tolerance is especially low. I mean, what's the fucking point? Sure, I've talked to plenty of good-looking girls. But where is the substance? Where is the girl who I can truly call my equal? Where the fuck are they?

In my state of mild inebriation, I'll go ahead and admit a couple things here and now. Earlier tonight, a group of four girls approached me and began to rub their hands on my chest; they were impressed with my pectoral muscles. By writing this am I showing off right now? Sure. But what does it matter? It seems apparent that I work-out for no one's benefit but my own. No one sees the fruits of my labor, physical or otherwise. The main girl who was showing me attention just annoyed the fuck out of me. She was a Persian girl, not bad-looking at all, but my gut just told me that she was a waste of time. She said that she was a psychic, and somehow predicted successfully that I have a tattoo. Great, I thought to myself, can you predict when I will actually meet a girl that I'm attracted to who will likewise be attracted to me?

It's all really pointless. The only girl who I'm really, totally in to these days is totally inaccessible, already dating someone else, and my credentials come nowhere close to his, because for me to do so would mean to delete my educational degrees, height, intelligence, and any number of other factors. This kind of thing deeply demoralizes me. It makes me believe that I'm either too good or -- what I really think is the case -- I'm not "normal" or "average" enough for any girls. And ultimately, when I reflect upon this situation, I realize that it makes me feel that I'm being arrogant and condescending, which only makes me feel shittier about myself.

Fine, I'll go to sleep now. And I'll wake up tomorrow feeling optimistic again, right. But how long can I go on deceiving myself? Am I really destined to be alone? Or, to be realistic, am I truly destined to end up with some hot girl who is as empty as a poor man's cookie jar? Should I accept my destiny as having to fuck the shit out of a hot girl, who simultaneously has no interest in a single book I read, no interest in my career as a lawyer, no interest in my heart and soul, no interest in the thoughts that constantly course through my head?

Right now, I hate every fucking girl who exists. You can all go to hell. You can all strive for mediocrity. You can all chase your dreams while ignoring the need to be with a man. And in a year or two years or five years or ten years, you can all curse yourselves for having your head up your ass for so long.

Yeah, you better believe I feel bitter at 2:11 in the morning, after going out on the town tonight. Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink. I feel that I'm too good and, at the same time, not good enough for anyone. And yet, I'm still too stubborn to ever fucking settle. That shit's not gonna happen, and you can take that shit to the bank.

I end this while listening to "You Got Me" by The Roots. And despite all my bitterness and frustration, I dream for the day that a girl will actually feel the words of this song, and sing it to me in her own words, from her own heart, to me, to my heart, to my soul, while looking deep into my eyes:

If you were worried 'bout where
I been, or who I saw or,
what club I went to with my homies,
baby, don't worry, you know that you got me.

Yo Samaritan!

There are only 2 days left to vote in the poll. If you haven't already done so, then be sure to do so, so that way you have done it already and it'll be done for sure.

Earlier this afternoon I stepped outside of my office building with Eric, Jeff, and Dave to meet Claire outside. She was coming by to drop-off the movie "Falling Down," which she had borrowed from Ken. While standing at the corner of 18th and Arch, an old woman walking with a cane approached us. She mentioned something about the bus having just passed by, and asked when the next bus would be coming. Since I had some difficulty hearing what she was saying, I leaned closer to her in order to answer her question. Then she told me that she was blind (I assume only partially so) and asked me if I would walk her across the street. So I offered her my arm and we walked across Arch Street together. When we reached the other side, I told her that there was some shade just a little way up the sidewalk -- responding to her comments about the strength of the sun and how it bothered her. Then I jogged back across to the group, now standing at the southern entrance of the Bell Atlantic Tower, and resumed my part in our conversation.

So did you vote in the poll yet? You really should, ya know.

Yo Samaritin, a couple Claritin & some air wit' 'em,
if you sharin' 'em wit' Claire & them.

Hello.

It's been a week since my last post. I know, I know, I've been lax in my updates. Well, the reason for this is that the past week has been largely unremarkable, with the only highlights being quite personal. Perhaps in a way my motivation to post updates goes in and out like the tide. In this way I believe it's quite cyclical.

As far as the unremarkable goes, I'll simply remark that work has been practically non-existent. That is to say that I appear at work and remain physically present on the premises. But very little work has been demanded of me, or any of my other co-workers for that matter.

As far as the personal goes, well, it would no longer be personal if I wrote about it here, now would it? I'll merely offer this: has Aleida arrived?

Well, tomorrow is Thursday, which is a good day, since it's the day before Friday. And the weather should be perfectly splendid. Pura vida!

Lost without Lost

Ever since getting back from Egypt and Europe, I've been trying periodically to watch the two episodes of Lost that I missed while I was away. Of course I've had no luck. I'll log-on to abc.com, then click to watch full episodes; I'll choose the first episode that I missed, and then, hopefully enough, a commercial plays, and I always think, good, here we go. But after the commercial plays, the computer always gets stuck loading the episode. Perhaps my connection is not that good or fast. Or maybe I just have bad luck getting the things that I really want. I'm really not sure what it is. But it's annoying. And I'd really like to watch the two missed episodes before the next new episode airs on April 24th. The way things have been going though, I shouldn't expect to catch-up at all. Anyway, I'm sure this post doesn't make your day any better, but I had to write about something. And that's what's on my mind tonight. So there.

Green eggs and ham

My head is scrambled today because I went out last night with my new upstairs neighbors. We pre-gamed up in their apartment by eating some pizza and drinking a few beers. Then we went to The Mansion, at the corner of 19th and Sansom. I played a really close game of pool with the guy, Corey, as soon as we got there. After that, I drank a few gin & tonics, and mingled with the crowd. So today I'm feeling das efx. Seacrest out.

Shedding my skin

Rain dripped from the skies on to my head as I walked; it characterized what was said after I talked.

I realize tonight, what goes around comes around; I once was lost, and I'm still not found; I hear my destiny but I'm still not sound; though the king has arrived, I'm still not crowned.

I rolled the dice and it didn't suffice regardless of how nice I could be. I realize that it's no surprise that, once again, I see snake-eyes. It bites my ass, as the illusion shatters like glass, and ain't that crass?

I was deserted in the desert, then dissed and was dissed in the two-one-fifth. I miss what's yet to be; and my being is yet to be missed.

Allow me to follow my sorrow and wallow for just one night. 'Cause the sun will come again, and that's when I'll be alright, a'ight!

April showers bring May flowers

That old adage seems to be holding true, at least judging so far from all the steady rain that we've been getting. Last I checked, it's supposed to keep raining through Saturday morning. As long as high temperatures continue to hang around the high-50's or even low-60's, and we eventually get those May flowers as promised, then I'll be happy.

Another thing that's already making me happy now, though, is the fact that some of the trees are already starting to blossom:

Whoa!!! Have a wonderful Friday, y'all! (photo source)

Take me out to the ballgame

Let's bring this blog back down to a less stressful topic. I realize that the last two posts have been on serious issues. "I'm not preaching bullshit, just speaking my mind" (penultimate line in "The Update" on Ill Communication by the Beastie Boys). But as important as it is to speak one's mind sometimes, it's just as important to sometimes not take things too seriously either.

On that note, I'd like to report that I went to Phillies opening night tonight at Citizens Bank Park, down in South Philadelphia. Of course, in typical Phillies fashion, they lost their opening night game, by a score of 1-0 to the Washington Nationals. I say this because it seems that every season the Phillies get off to a really slow start, then somehow start to build up steam as the season goes on. Although that kind of season can make for some great drama and excitement towards the end of the season, it serves -- at the beginning of the season -- to feed into the stereotypical Philly pessimism and "underdog-ness."

So, in spite of the almost expected Phillies loss today, it was great to watch a game down at Citizens Bank Park. It really is a very well-designed ballpark, and by that I mean that every seat in the house -- even in the nosebleeds -- offers a great view of the field and puts you right on top of the game.

To top things off tonight, it was dollar dog night, meaning that hot dogs only cost $1 each. And best of all, everyone got a free Phillies t-shirt for attending opening night.

English-only laws = Bad & Wrong

At work earlier today I got into a discussion with a teammate about the issue of language rights and the status of English -- and other languages, particularly Spanish -- in (North) American society. She asserted the position that immigrants should be mandated by law to learn the English language. I asserted the position that the law should never be used to codify any aspect of the dominant culture, including language, because to do so would infringe upon a person's freedom of speech, here quite literally a person's freedom of how (i.e., in what language) to speak.

The following are verbatim excerpts from my law school thesis, entitled "The Hazleton Ordinance’s English-Only Provision: An Unconstitutional Attempt to Use Language to Expel Racial Minority Immigrants." (Citations will be provided upon request).

On the myth of linguistic homogeneity:

There is a long history of linguistic diversity in the United States. In fact, the United States is not now and never has been an exclusively Anglo, English-speaking, monolingual nation. Despite this, a historical view persists – a myth of linguistic homogeneity – that allows many people to regard English as the only truly American language. The perpetuation of this popular myth is critical for the survival of the English-only movement, since this myth is the primary justification for rejecting other languages. Thus, the converse is that the demise of the English-only movement must necessarily involve, at least in part, a deconstruction of the myth of linguistic homogeneity in the United States.

On the constitutionality of English-only laws:

First, and most notably, the Constitution does not provide for an official language. Second, the U.S. Supreme Court has explicitly proclaimed that the protection of the Constitution extends to all – to those who speak other languages as well as to those born with English on the tongue.

On language and politics:

English-only laws take an ethnic trait of the dominant culture, the English language, and give that trait legal, governmental sanction, creating second-class citizenship for Americans who possess different (hence unofficial), but equally American traits. Undoubtedly, the English language is a key symbol of the ethnicity of America’s dominant core culture. English-only laws thus use the language symbol to assert and enforce the dominance of the core culture and to marginalize all other American cultures. Thus, on a symbolic level, the debate about an "official" language (and the concomitant creation of "unofficial," un-American languages) is, at its core, a debate about cultural and political dominance and power. Because politics is human relations, and language is an organic component of such relations, language is politically significant.

On language and national origin:

There is a close correlation between language and national origin, which statistics strongly reflect. A 1984 study indicates that 97 percent of persons who usually speak Spanish are of Latino origin or descent. According to the same study, approximately 77 percent of American Latinos speak Spanish. These statistics demonstrate how close a proxy language is for national origin and, thus, how close a fit language discrimination can be for discrimination because of national origin.

On language and culture:

The assertion of English-only proponents that language is a culturally neutral medium is not defensible. Language is "the quintessential cultural tool." [. . .] For many it is the only means through which members can have access to their histories and through which many of the cultural rituals can be performed.

From the paper's conclusion:

Historically, the United States – including and especially Pennsylvania – has been and continues to be linguistically diverse. The notion that the United States is or ever was linguistically homogeneous is a myth. And in over 230 years of existence, the integrity of the nation has never been threatened on account of its linguistic diversity. Legally, English-only laws unconstitutionally infringe upon First Amendment rights of members of the public to communicate with government in a known tongue. Freedom of speech protects not only the right to speak, but also the right of the public to receive information and ideas. Socio-culturally, language holds a unique place among all other cultural characteristics as it is the medium by which cultural and familial roots are transmitted and by which one’s cultural and ethnic identity is maintained.

My recommendation to the Hazleton court, after reviewing the case-law and scholarship on English-only laws:

Under a textualist analysis [of the U.S. Constitution], the First Amendment says nothing about freedom to speak English only; the freedom refers to speech, without reference to any particular language. Accordingly, this constitutional freedom is not restricted to any language; if it were, it would contradict the very idea of freedom itself.

The concluding sentence of my term paper:

The law has made the mistake in the past of providing favored status to the dominant culture – and subordinated status to a minority culture – on the basis of a socially constructed cultural trait; we must now hope that it does not make this kind of mistake again.