Intersections

Cuernavaca, through the eyes of the 'Revolutionary Tourist'

Above, some kind of water-snake, dead in a swimming pool in a backyard in Cuernavaca. It's the first thing I saw on Christmas morning.

Had a nice Noche Buena at a friend's down there. Cuernavaca, despite its reputation for being overrun by chilangos and gringos, and all their accompanying bad habits, really is the "City of Eternal Spring." The streets are quiet and lush, the homes are just beautiful. I don't know anyone, here or in Mexico City, who is afraid to "leave their homes at night." But then, fear-based class blinders are a powerful thing.

For a more comprehensive and aptly critical portrait of what life is like in Cuernavaca in the age of the drug war, check out the cutting mockumentary "Spring Breakers Sin Miedo," by the provocative video artist Gregory Berger. Watch the whole thing, it's good.

Berger is a longtime Cuernavaca resident who satirizes the spike in narco crime and government abuse in his city by portraying stereotypical spring breakers whooping it up in Cuerna' without a care because their wealthy American fathers financially benefit from an ongoing conflict in Mexico. Berger told me in an interview in September, just before "El Infierno" came out: "I may be wrong, but I believe it's the first comedy about the drug war."

"Each one is a child of someone in a sector who benefits from the drug war," Berger said. "One is a daughter of a gun-shop owner in Texas. Another is the son of the owner of Bell Helicopters."

Berger plays with humor but is spurred by a citizen's moral mettle. He said something in our conversation that's stuck with me, because I and many others I know who are not native Mexicans can relate.

"The more and more it becomes clearer to me that my destiny is to live here, the more I feel incumbent upon myself to work towards the transformation of Mexico. And since my son was born [here], who is a Mexican citizen, it's not a choice. It's something that I have to do for him. So I kind of live this double life, visually. Being this clumsy blue-eyed gringo, I'm always going to appear outwardly as a foreigner, but the fact is I feel more like a virtual citizen of Mexico than I do of the United States at this point."

Cuernavaca emerges in the foothills just south of the mountains that mark the bottom ring of the Valley of Mexico. It's always mild and bright.

You travel up and up and up when returning to D.F., waiting for most of the ride for the descent to the valley floor. The climb through the mountains is much, much longer than the descent, reminding me once more how uniquely spectacular the geography of Mexico City is, like a tall mound of mashed potatoes with a soup bowl plopped right into it.

Right away, at the bus terminal, I had to put on a sweater. And I let out a few coughs.

Enrique Metinides: 'El Niño' with all the shots

Above, a portrait of Enrique Metinides, the great D.F. photojournalist, taken in October 2010 by Eunice Adorno.

Metinides, now 76, is one-of-a-kind, an OG photojournalist whose work transcends the field and enters the realm of high art. In my view, he's among the best to have ever practiced the craft, taking more photos over many more years than, say, Robert Capa, Weegee, or Dorothea Lange.

Here's my end-of-the-year post at La Plaza, my interview with Metinides, marking the latest exhibit of his work in Mexico City. "In the Place of Coincidence," curated by longtime Metinides collaborator Veronique Ricardoni, is up at Garash until the end of January. The video and photo-montages mentioned in the piece display Metinides in new formats and through new perspectives; highly recommended.

"I'm a photographer by accident," Metinides said.

Back in his day, they called him "El Niño." The Kid, a name that followed him for years. Here are a few more portraits by Adorno, who is gracefully sharing them with Intersections. (Earlier this month, Eunice won the 2010 Fernando Benitez national cultural journalism prize in photojournalism, for her work on Mennonite women in north-central Mexico. See this slideshow at BBC Mundo.)

El ombligo de la luna

It's a special day on our calendar, in time.

This early morning, beginning at about 1:30 a.m. in Mexico City, the Earth's shadow in the Sun overcame the Moon behind it, turning it orange-brown in our nighttime. The shadow of our planet moved across the Moon for a total lunar eclipse, representing an extraordinary and sacred point "between the past and the future."

Tonight, at 5:38 p.m. local time, the solstice hit. The last time a lunar eclipse occured on the winter solstice was either 1638 or 1544. The next time it will happen, unless the Singularity arrives, we'll probably all be dead: 2094.

We sat shivering on a rooftop last night, gazing up, speckles of nothing in the infinite wideness of the galaxy and universe. The stars danced. For a few moments I suddenly wished I was in space in a jetliner, closer.

In Náhuatl, the etymology of "México," the place we know of today as Mexico City, is "el ombligo de la luna," or "bellybutton of the moon." I keep a belief system that ties all this together for me. But right now, the spirit benevolently moves my tongue and typing fingers into silence.

'I'm a cokehead and I won't deny it'

Here's how we know the drug war isn't going well for the U.S. and Mexico governments: the catchy narcocorrido about life as a fun-loving cokehead. It's "El Cocaino," by Los Buitres de Culiacán. They work among many popular narcocorrido bands whose genre always implies a dance with death.

"El Cocaino" tells about not sleeping, partying with "the plebians," dealing with coke-itch, drinking Buchanan's, and not owing anyone any money. The verses all end with the line: "Soy cocaino no se los niego," or "I'm a cokehead and I won't deny it."

I don't keep steady track on this scene but, to those who might a bit more, what are the other new and good -- as in, outrageous or scandalous -- narcocorridos that you are especially fond of? Besides the golden classics, of course?

Looks like Los Buitres have a busy touring schedule across Mexico, too, hitting this month and into next year Michoacan, Mexico City, Oaxaca, Tijuana on the border, and on Dec. 22, a "private event" in Sonora.

* MORE: My post at La Plaza today, "White House: Cocaine market in U.S. under 'stress'." A cokey heart attack trend in Sydney? Seriously?

White House: Cocaine market in U.S. under 'stress'

Negotiating saints

What do you think about when you are taking off from Earth in an airplane? Gods, spirits, saints, rainbows? The official caption above, via the Big Picture and its 2010 series, is: "An airplane passes in front of a rainbow above the Mediterranean sea in Nice, southeastern France on Aug. 5, 2010."

The perfect quesadilla, at Bosforo *

This is the quesadilla that they serve at the bar at Bosforo, a new mezcaleria in downtown D.F. Arturo, the friendly proprietor, is usually tending bar if you find yourself on Luis Moya at Independencia one hectic mid-week evening and walk in. When I'm there, famished, I often get the quesadilla.

And when I do, I usually stop and ponder the plate before me, thinking: 'This is a quesadilla from a more perfect future.'

The house dish at Bosforo is distinctly 'pre-Hispanic.' Arturo calls it "food from Anahuac," the original Aztec name for the place we now call Mexico. The barfood at Bosforo is noteworthy because it's what we might as well call indigenous fusion.

The Bosforo crew take a handmade blue-corn tortilla, lines it with fragrant hoja santa and white Oaxacan cheese, and fill it with chapulines. On the bar, there's always a fresh red chapulin salsa, homemade, still in the molcajete. They might serve it with whatever add-on dish comes with the house's nightly special, which changes every night, or a handful of fresh kumquats or mandarin oranges.

Always a struggle deciding between the regular quesadilla or whatever dish Arturo came up with that day. I don't even inquire too deeply on what it is; I already know I won't know what he's talking about.

"Tortitas de ahuetle con ayocotes." Yes, that's exactly what I want right now.

It was an incredible meal: Tiny waterbug eggs, in small patties, served with a side of ayocote, a beautiful native bean. The bug patties were delightful, similar in texture to caviar, and probably a delicacy of equal pedigree during the Aztec Empire. Is this what Cuauhtemoc was dreaming about when Cortes had his feet placed over a fire?

Bosforo is a mellow, hoodie joint. Condesa-like airs or pretentions are out of place, meaning there's almost no serving/being-served dichotomy. Neighbors meet up here, indie zines have parties, small presses. Walk in and someone might be playing their best from Brazil or Iran.

Thankfully, if you're not looking for it, you'll miss the bar from the street. But if you are looking, Bosforo is located at Luis Moya 31 just before Independencia, half-a-block down from a new Ecobici rack.

The Bosforo mezcales that I most covet are the "espadin amarillo" and the "chocolate." It finishes with a sizzling note of cacao. An extra FYI: Tambien curan su propio pulque.

'Idioteque,' in dance

A choreography collaboration between L.A.'s Ryan Heffington, and Bubba Carr of Atlanta, to "Idioteque" by Radiohead. Movement as freaky as the song is.

Heffington has singlehandedly created a whole dance subculture in the center of Los Angeles. He runs or helps create Hysteria dance company, the Sweat Spot dance studio, and the art-band We Are the World.

Maybe his greatest creation, though, is a piece reminiscent of performances I caught at the earliest iterations of Fingered or Mustache Mondays, the downtown L.A. meta-queer disco party. Please strap yourself into your chair for this brilliant genderfuck: "Dirty Diana."

On the sound of Mexico City *

* Yeah, it's noisy. Above, Eje Central, by Daniel Perlin.

What does Mexico City sounds like, right now? Maybe, from at least two particular perspectives, a little like this. It's "The Sound of Mexico City," a mixtape I co-curated at the invitation of sound designer Daniel Perlin on the soundscape of D.F., for the Italian design and urbanism magazine Domus. Perlin led the project and mixed the mix.

Throughout, I read a portion of "Down & Delirious in Mexico City" in which I rhapsodize on the city's noise. (It's the first time I've read any section of the book for audio online publication, so I'm a little nervous right now. Will the listener/reader get this particular excerpt's sense of exaggeration, the overblown sound-pyschosis, the humor?)

In addition, there's a pretty haunting piece in there by sound artist Rogelio Sosa. It includes the infamous clip of former President Gustavo Diaz Ordaz saying he was "most proud" of his role in the crackdown on the 1968 student movement.

Perlin and I had to turn around the mix pretty quickly, but I think we managed to string together a decent sample of various musical genres that define the D.F. soundscape right now, cumbia, tribal guarachero, ska, rockabilly, hip-hop. Thank you to the artists whom I personally contacted and agreed to supply a track. They are ...

The Kumbia Queers, whose garage-y lo-fi sound captures a certain "right now" aesthetic that bridges cumbia, punk, and queerness -- particularly of the female sort. The Rebel Cats, the slick maestros of Mexican rockabilly; they play tight and sport a good look. MC Luka, one of many hiphoperos doing it big in the Gran Tenochtitlan; I particularly like Luka because he addresses transnational cholo/barrio culture -- and spits so good overall. Sonido Sonoramico, one of several cumbia bands who play somewhere in town just about every week of the year, easily in the elite of this street subculture. And finally Maldita Vecindad, true OGs of the old-school ska/fusion scene in Mexico City, which in my view operates as an umbrella for many subsequent genres and groups. They've been at it for two decades now and remain committed to a sociopolitical vision of music and its ability to liberate and build community. Respeto.

Perlin gathered the hot tracks by friends Toy Selectah, Afrodita, Sonidero Nacional, Erick Rincon & Alan Rosales, Sekreto feat. Morenito de Fuego, and Sonido Espectral.

In the near future, with more time than this project allowed, I'll be linking up more artists who I think define the sound of Mexico City as I've lived it these past three years. I'll also be posting, soon, on my "Top Ten Mixtapes of 2010."

Nos vemos en la calle, cabrones!

Diane Arbus on freaks: 'They're aristocrats'

Doon Arbus, daughter of the legendary New York photographer Diane Arbus, opens this beautiful 1972 short film on Arbus's images. Doon is phenomenal in her period Afro, her sense of empowerment, and her sharp analysis of work so intimately tied to her personal history. Please watch.

And definitely follow on to Part 2 and the rest. As Doon explains, a Japanese photographer learning English recorded Arbus in class sessions. In the film, an Arbus friend reads Diane's words "over glimpses of Diane's photographs."

Her frank thinking on the moral conundrums of documentary photography is golden. From Part 2 of the film as it appears on YouTube, and my transcript, Arbus on "freaks":

Freaks was a thing I photographed a lot. It was one of the first thing I photographed and it had a terrific kind of excitement for me. I just used to adore them. I still do adore some of them. I don't quite mean they're my best friends, but they made me feel a mixture of shame and awe. There's a quality of legend about freaks, like a person in a fairy tale who stops you and demands that you answer a riddle. I mean, if you've ever spoken to someone with two heads, you know they know they something you don't. Most people go through life dreading they'll have a traumatic experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They've already passed their test in life. They're aristocrats.

"Freaks," in the words of Lisette Model, who follows in the video, are in the same group as "homosexuals, lesbians, cripples, sick people, dying people, dead people."

Diane Arbus committed suicide in 1971.

Teen prostitution in Oakland: Drinking the 'pimp juice'

* A girl, 15, is arrested in Oakland on prostitution suspicions. By Brett Myers.

Oakland-based Youth Radio has an impressive two-part series up this week on teen prostitution, produced in partnership with "All Things Considered" on NPR and led by young reporter Denise Tejada.

Here's the Youth Radio link and here's the link as the story appears on NPR.

Tejada, in Part 1 of the series, talks two former teenage sex workers who were coerced or forced into hooking on the streets of Oakland. Their descriptions of their time under the control of pimps -- they have subcategories, apparently, such as "romeo pimp" and "guerrilla pimp" -- are pretty chilling.

One girl identified as Brittney explains how she entered the underworld. She was kidnapped when she was 15: "All I heard was, 'Man, go get that girl,' and one of them came out and dragged me by my hair and pulled me into the car."

She was then gang-raped.

Interviewed in the story, Alameda County District Atty. Sharmin Bock is up-front: "Remember Guyana and Jim Jones where everybody's drinking that Kool-Aid drink? Well, that's exactly what these girls have had. Let's call it pimp juice. They've all had it and they can't see past either their affection for him, or their fear for their trafficker."

Part 2 of the series, on how sex-trafficking has "gone global and more violent," airs Tuesday.

The Youth Radio page for the "Trafficked" series also includes essential web extras. The "Pimp Business Plan" is ... wow ("Make every hoe take a vow to hoeing."), and the Davey D audio essay on rap's connection to pimping and the "hustling" culture of Oakland is also good listening.

Addenda, on the media:

Denise Tejada, by the way, is the kind of natural new-generation journalist who should rightfully make old media models and old media institutions a bit nervous. I found a post with video where Tejada is first interviewed by NBC-Universal's mun2 then manages to turn the tables, getting an interview from her interviewers.

That's what's up Denise, and all young people of color; never permit yourself to be merely a subject. We all know how ugly that paradigm can get. So congratulations is due to the young journalists at Youth Radio, and all their supporters, for their strong work.

Keep at it!

Sports nerding: Manny vs. Marquez?

* Above, Marquez hammers Katsidis, via LAT.

Everyone it seems wants a Manny vs. Mayweather fight. There's a whole website about it. But after Juan Manuel Marquez impressively defended his title against challenger Michael Katsidis on Saturday, there's a chance after all that Marquez could get his re-match with the Filipino Pacman.

Marquez, a D.F. native, came back from getting knocked down in the third round by the Australian (who came into the Vegas arena dressed as a gladiator) to eliminate Katsidis once the ref stopped the fight in the ninth.

In the post-match press conference, Marquez reportedly wore a T-shirt that read "Marquez beat Pacquiao twice," the kind of stunt that's pure stacks of gold for any good promoter -- one who understands boxing's allure is partly in its politics and ego-drama.