development in Pomona (DF, NYC)

Since moving to NY this is problably the longest i've been at my parents house (Chino Hills) and kicked it in Pomona: my hometown...
As I drive to my friend hector's pad for some futbol or to pick my sis up at the amtrack, I naturally feel nostalgic for my hometown. "Sunday" leaque soccer with men that should have hung up their cleats years ago, the house parties with the same 10 banda songs, coaching at pomona high, the pool hall on second street, etc...Yet, like many parts of Brooklyn and the historic center of Mexico City, "development" is coming to Pomona. Second street and its surrondings continues to see the opening of restaruants, galleries, and bars that cater to denizens from surrondings neighberhoods (read white and middle class). While on hold there is a current project to build condiminums for US (young educated professionals). As part of a cohort of educated, young, and liberal individuals I both enjoy and frequent second street, the historic center, and Brooklyn...Yet I am troubled that consumption is what passes and guides "development" in all of these areas. With consumption come higher rents and the slow displacement of the working class, . Sadly, I dont see a competing vision of "development" or even a hint of ambivalance/resentment/anger in those that partake in these activies. Intellectual bankruptcy?

Welcome to LA: Party with Chicano Dynasty…

On my first day back in Los Angeles, as can be expected, hit up a party on the Westside. Sis used to work at the Latino Theater Company (http://thelatc.org/about-2/latino-theater-company/), so we went to Jose Luis Valenzuela’s house for the annual Christmas party…Upon entering had the mandatory shot of patron, followed by frijoles, arroz, and tamales…and of course more drink: corona and pacifico all night…Walls covered with work of iconic chicano/a artist…Drank some more headed come, talked to some old school chicano/as... Good first night. 

Los Angeles for turkey break

The sun gently entered my brother’s room, reminding me of my promise to run in the morning…Fuck, they are staring at me, taunting me, their too pristine to be running shoes. I get up, slip them on and head to the park. As soon as I make it up the last step, the beautiful soccer field opens up, this is my sun rise. I stare for a few and then walk home. I need to buy some shades I tell myself. Fresh squeezed oj, eggs, and sis’s potatoes.

soccer on the pavement with los primos

, with mom, pops, and siblings in the park

with brother, hector, his brothers  on the turf

tio raymundos backyard, rancheras, relajo, and beers (maliciala)

house party in long beach, cumbias, tecate, and holding little (yet heavy) maximo.

 moc job talk for friend’s upcoming interview at UofA, tacos koreanos, al pastor, horchata

 pool hall from my high school days with hector, as in 1999, the doors, pink floyd, Santana, and los tigres blaring from the juxe box.

Palabra, chicano literary art journal

·      Burbank, seat 28b,

·      The 1 train-cross the Columbia campus, wind slapping my face,

·      hugs con caridad (home).