Intersections

Ian Curtis: 'I never meant for it to grow like this'

The dominant buzz at FICCO seems to be over "Control." It's the 2007 biopic on Joy Division frontman Ian Curtis. The film's screenings during the festival have so far been selling out hours in advance. When I arrived at Mexico City's World Trade Center cineplex to nab my reserved tickets for Thursday night, a sign had been typed and printed and taped to the box office window: "Control = Sold Out." The film is by first-time director Anton Corbijn and is based partly on the book by Curtis's widow Deborah, "Touching From a Distance." Joy Division's influence on "post punk" and modern "indie rock" cannot be overemphasized. "Control" however is focused on humanizing Curtis in the rawest terms. An epileptic and embattled poet, the singer committed suicide at age 23.

Mexican Coke vs. Pepsi Retro: Future soft drink war?

Mexican Coke is one of the hottest recent discoveries for foodies in the U.S., even up in Nebraska. The secret is in the ingredients. Mexican Coke uses sugar as its sweetener and U.S. coke uses corn syrup. The taste difference is stark, but absurdly, Coke world headquarters insists there is none. Any good Mexican food joint in L.A. will carry its home-nation's Coke in those sparkling Spanish-covered glass bottles, an excellent choice to accompany a torta or huarache. I'm happy to report that Mexican Coke is just as tasty and satisfying in its natural environment. Here Coke is so popular Mexicans are known to have it with their breakfast. (It actually does go well with eggs and beans.)

Now, what can we expect with the onslaught of something they're calling Pepsi Retro, new and for now available only in Mexico? I haven't seen it for sale anywhere, but if Pepsi Retro makes like an immigrant and crosses the border, will there be a taste-testers' defection?

* Hat tip, Mi blog es tu blog.

Temporary passage on Insurgentes Norte

Walking through Ciudad Tlatelolco, deep into the mini-city past the Plaza de las Tres Culturas, we came across what blogger Mario at Candyland calls one of the city's most "amazing and much over-looked modernist ruins," the apparently empty Torre Insignia.

We couldn't get much closer than the torre's base. The girders you see in the foreground above belong to a temporary pedestrian bridge under Insurgentes Norte, placed there while the government works on a commuter rail line that will finally connect central Mexico City, at nearby Buenavista, to the far-off metropolitan sprawl in the state of Mexico.

The bridge is very temporary, very rickety, and very unstable. Fun. * Thanks, Candyland.

Christ on the cross in a San Angel chapel

This highly, uh, charged Christ is at la Parroquia de San Jacinto, a picturesque church in San Angel. * Click the image for a larger view.

Figures and filth: Wolfgang Tillmans at the Rufino Tamayo

If you missed the travelling Wolfgang Tillmans show at the Hammer in L.A. or any other place it's been recently, its final stop is in Mexico Ciy, at the Rufino Tamayo contemporary art museum (which by the way really gives me in its design and lay-out the beautifully Brutalist Berkeley Art Museum at the UC campus). The retrospective's opening here was last Thursday. A handsome crowd came out to take in the show of large-print photographs of naked people, people making out, dirty floors, branches in windows, crumpled linens, hair, etc., and collages of headlines and news articles. Then it seemed everyone went to the Covadonga, the gentlemanly old Spanish cantina that has long been adopted by the local art and cinema folks.

Tillmans won the Turner prize in 2000. My gut reaction: Gee, these are good MySpace pictures.

* Also, this week the mavens and mavericks of the film industry meet in Mexico City for FICCO. The opening Tuesday night was a red-carpet event at the glittering Antara mall in Polanco. The marquee feature was "Eastern Promises," screened in the super luxe Cinemex theaters. They serve gourmet food, at your reclining leather armchair if you so wish. Afterwards, downstairs, Don Julio tequila for everyone, without limits.

Los Pumas de UNAM: ¿Como no te voy a querer?

What's it like to be in the middle of the madness of a soccer match in Mexico City? See the clip above, from the traditional celebration after a Pumas win at the tunnel that connects the UNAM central campus with its Estadio Olimpico. The ravishing Naomi Palovits -- music promoter, blogger, writer, proud native chilanga, and die-hard Pumas fan -- took me along to watch the legendary UNAM futbol squad duke it out with the Jaguares of Chiapas on Sunday. We watched with her sister Karen and their friend Happy from the rowdy and rather violent Rebel section, which is filled with insanely hyped-up people who may or may not be UNAM students. Not that it matters. By the end of the match I was drunk, wet from whatever liquids were being tossed around, a little bruised, and hollering along with La Rebel's famous chants. My favorite is the one that very Mexicanly asks the team, Como no te voy a querer? ("How could I not love you?")

Here's that link. The Pumas beat Chiapas 4-1. Goya! Goya! Cachun cachun ra ra! Cachun cachun ra ra! Goya! Universidad!

* No original pics because my camera's batteries were confiscated on my way through the double security checks. But here are some shots Naomi took during her last adventure with La Rebel at the Estadio. And here's Happy's analysis of that match. Naomi operates HelloDF and posts about everything else at Love Naomi. * More later!!

Divorce, assists, Sedaris: Distilling kooky 'white culture'

In the coming post-racial future, where the subaltern is not only just speaking but also running for President, will it be okay to mock and satirize stereotypical "white culture"? Stuff White People Like seems to thinks so. And whoever its authors are, they're doing it in a way that takes the early 2000s sensation Black People Love Us to its natural evolution: biting, devastating blog form. From #26, Manhattan:

White people like New York because it has artists, restaurants, a subway, history, diversity, plays, and other white people. It literally has everything white people need to thrive!

From #19, Travelling:

What’s amazing is that all white people have pretty much the same experience, but all of them believe theirs to be the first of its kind. So much so that they return to North America with ideas of writing novels and screenplays about their experience.

From #15, Yoga:

Yoga is also an expensive activity. It gives white people the chance to showcase their $80 pants. The cost of four yoga classes is equal to the amount of money it would take to pay for uniforms and travel costs of an AAU Basketball team in the inner city. Lastly like other stuff that white people like, yoga feels exotic and foreign (ties into post #2 about eastern religions) and deep down in some way, white people feel that participation makes up for years of colonial rule in India.

From #61, Bicycles:

But not all white people love bicycles in the same way, there is much diversity. First up, we have the younger urban white folks who absolutely love their fixed gear bicycles. These are seen all over college towns, Silverlake in LA, Williamsburg in Brooklyn, Queen West in Toronto, and Victoria, British Columbia. Fixed gear bicycles meet a lot of requirements for white person acceptance. They can be made from older (i.e. vintage) bicycles, thus allowing the rider to have a unique bike that is unlikely to be ridden by anyone else in town.

What's interesting is that a lot of the "stuff white people like" according to Stuff White People Like are shared by bourgeois-urban-yuppie-hipster U.S. people of color, and also many Mexicans in Mexico, I'm finding. (As I'm writing this, I'm consuming Stuff White People Like #1, Coffee.)

* Photo above, from the Stuff White People Like about page.

** A NOTE ON FRIDAY'S bombing in central Mexico City: Since I've been asked a bit, here's what we know about what happened. A bomb went off in the hands of a man on Avenida Chapultepec near Metro Insurgentes around lunchtime, about two blocks away from the capital police station. The man died, and two others were injured. The city went on high alert, and the government is saying that the Sinaloa cartel is responsible for the botched attack, which it alleges was intended for the SSP headquarters. It couldn't have been a very big bomb; the papers today are running gruesome images of the dead man on a stretcher with only his hand blown off and shredded skin hanging from his legs. Interesting side-bar, the D.F. government will seek to house the urban Otomis who had been squatting on the empty lot near the blast site and are now displaced.

Sweet heaven, found on a corner in Tepito

Dodgy Tepito is where I found this knee-weakening street snack. A bag of banana crisps topped with sweet milky cream and chocolate sprinkles. For 12 pesos. Saw the stall out of the corner of my eye and made a decisive U-turn. When it comes to the sidewalk dessert impulse buy in Mexico City, always trust your instincts.

Lonely sunset at the Monument to the Revolution

El Monumento a la Revolucion is easily the most Soviet-looking monument in Mexico City (and there are many here with that sorta vibe). Towering high like a hulking attack machine from "Star Wars" or something, the monument is right in the middle of town but slightly off the beaten path, if the neglected nature of the surrounding neighborhood is any indicator. In its pillars and foundations the "great men" of the Revolution are resting for eternity: Francisco Madero, Venustiano Carranza, Plutarco Elias Cales, Lazaro Cardenas, and none other than Francisco "Pancho" Villa himself. Holidays and major demonstrations are celebrated here. Yet all I saw on a recent stroll under and past it were couples making out and a lonely guy with a chess board waiting for a challenger.

Scenes from a mall: Fanaticos de Apocalyptica

Hit up a mall on Friday afternoon because the Finnish "progressive metal" band Apocalyptica was in town for a show and supposedly was going to sign autographs at the MixUp at Plaza Universidad. Apocalyptica, who are famous for playing Metallica covers on cellos, have a huge following in Mexico City. (If you recall, one of the youth voices in my original LA Weekly cover story on Mexico City mentions the band as her favorite.) Unfortunately, I arrived too late to get near them. The scene was a madhouse.

The kids below were cool and were eager to talk about why they adore Apocalyptica and all the other bands they're into. Their names are Santiago, Rodrigo, Fabian, David, and Guillermo. David is actually their school teacher! They came to the mall directly after classes.

That's a shot inside Plaza Universidad. * More later. **

Unable to resist: The incredible, edible bacon-wrapped hot dog

So tonight, while doing field research in Roma, the unmistakle scent of the grilling bacon-wrapped hot dog drew me to cart on the sidewalk. How could I resist honoring L.A.'s most decadent street snack here in Mexico City, especially tonight? The dog I had just now was garnished only with relish and onion, but still, I had to have two.

(At 15 pesos a dog, I should have had FOUR.)

Ode to the (illegal) bacon-wrapped hot dog *

This is Elizabeth Palacios, the Mexico City native who is the primary voice in my last LA Weekly feature, published this week. That's several months after I completed the reporting and writing back in L.A., but I'm very glad it's out nonetheless. Thanks to my Weekly editors for seeing it through. Here's an excerpt:

Not quite Mexican and not quite American, the bacon-wrapped hot dog, like the city that so fervently embraces it, has a curious romance about it. You can smell one from blocks away. The grilled bacon, twisted around a wiener, is topped with grilled onions and a mountaintop of diced tomatoes, ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise. Then one whole grilled green poblano chile is plopped impossibly on top. You take a bite and think, This is so good, no wonder it's illegal!

Read the rest here. Palacios holds it down on Los Angeles Street in the Fashion District, where she sells, reluctantly, non-bacon-wrapped hot dogs. Resulting in her financial strain, mind you. The piece explains why. As mentioned, here's Deep End Dining, the L.A. food blog by Eddie Lin, and the KCRW "Good Food" piece where he's interviewed.

Elizabeth is just one of many countless hot dog vendors on the streets of L.A., but in reporting the piece I decided to concentrate on just one person, in order to bring into focus the Catch-22 dilemma these vendors face. Of the many licensed vendors I interviewed, some had similar if not worse experiences with the often mysterious L.A. health code-law enforcement apparatus. What worries me of course is that the authorities will now somehow retaliate against Elizabeth. I certainly hope not.

(P.S. The other night while Mark Hunter was here in Mexico City and I tried vainly to get him in to the legendary "high-energy" club Patrick Miller [no cameras allowed], I had a hot dog-adjacent hamburger on the street outside that was soooo goood. Here's the evidence. One question I never quite answered was, Where did the bacon-wrapped hot dog actually come from? Mexico? Back East? Planet Meat? ** No, friends, I'm hearing it's Sonora, from Mexpert Gustavo Arellano.)

* Previous posts in Intersections related to the march of L.A.'s gentrification are found here, here, here, here, here, and here. * LA Weekly photo above by an L.A. original, Gregory Bojorquez.

Scenes from a manga comic convention in Mexico City

These are just a few of many shots I took at the Expo Manga Comic TNT over the weekend at the World Trade Center. It was a huge, three-day comic con even a San Diegan could love, with blaring video game consoles, archery, sword jousting, live bands, and lots and lots of people in highly detailed costumes.

Trust me, based on interviews and observation, kids in D.F. know their manga. And Marvel characters. And Harry Potter. And ninja gear. And home-made magical cyborg samurai mouse creatures like homie does below. (He said he got help for his razor-sharp cosmetic dentures from his dad, who is a dentist.)

* More later ...

Art ≠ Vida: Conceptual actions from Latin America

"In December 1983 the Argentine Conceptual artist Marta Minujin and a group of helpers spent 17 days building a full-scale model of the Parthenon in a public park in Buenos Aires," begins the Roberta Smith review of the current exhibit at El Museo del Barrio in New York City. The model was built with books that had been banned by the Argentine juntas. It "stood for about three weeks. Then the public was allowed to disassemble the piece and keep the books," the article says.

"Arte No Es Vida: Actions by Artists of the Americas, 1960-2000" looks like a rich survey of Conceptual art happenings from Latin America and a worthy precursor to what promises to be a landmark exhibit upcoming at LACMA in Los Angeles, "Phantom Sightings: Art After the Chicano Movement." That show opens in April, and I've been told it will be traveling to Mexico City. The East L.A. "art outlaws" Asco are set to be a prominent thematic force in "Phantom Sightings," as I wrote in this LA Weekly piece. Interestingly, the New York Times piece on "Arte No Es Vida" notes that Asco works are present in that exhibit. The implication is that in the new narratives of art history, Los Angeles is a location within Latin America.

Venturing into territorito haute cuisine in Mexico City

* Above: Not Izote, but El Cardenal.

A rule in life everyone can agree on is that you should never turn down a dinner invitation to a place you would otherwise never try on your own. On Saturday night my good friend Adam, in from New York, asked to treat me at Izote, one of those trendy neo-Mexican haute cuisine joints that the high-end food media have been writing about back in the States. (Flash: For fancy dining in Mexico City, Mexican is back!)

Izote is right on Presidente Masaryk, possibly the ritziest avenue in all of Latin America. The interior reminded me a bit of Ciudad in downtown L.A. To get a good sense of star chef Patricia Quintana's skills, we decided to share four dishes: deer meat with achiote and oranges, enchiladas de langosta with pipian sauce, a tartar of guacamole and spicy cured salmon, and duck in mole negro. For dessert we had a lemon tart with rasperberries and white chocolate, and a chocolate tart with cajeta and vanilla ice cream. Went good with the steamy cafe de la olla. And, of course, throughout the night, a fine reposada sipping tequila. Lots of English and French within earshot. I'd venture to say we were the only ones in there who were not Polanco aristocrats, visiting multinational businessmen, or high-level envoys for one of the foreign embassies nearby. (Not bad, I'd say, for a pocho mostly accustomed to eating tacos on the street.)

** The photo above is one I've always loved for the expressiveness of the women in the foreground, and for how it captures the vibe in upscale restaurants in D.F. Almost looks like a film still. By Adriana Zehbrauskas for The New York Times.