Some People Simply Don't Mind The Sulfur

I’ve been bouncing around New York City over the last four days revisiting every nook of inspiration. It’s been four-months since I left Little Italy. The clearest difference I’ve found so far between living and Mexico City and New York City is the freedom I have to roam, or saunter, as Oso loves to say, throughout the city. Whether it’s Park Slope, Prospect Heights, the East Village, Alphabet City, or somewhere in between the Upper West and the Upper East, I’m usually granted miles of space to expend my energy and curiosity. Yesterday I walked from 57th, up Central Park West, to 86th, cutting through Central park and arriving at the Met. I had a pretzel and it gave me the willies. In Mexico City, the offerings of Avenida Chapultapec towards Reforma and the Centro are hardly appetizing. Besides winding through hordes of men, women and children, sometimes motorcycles taking to the curbs, the streets are insanely long. (Thing Avenues in Manhattan.) Also, like Los Angeles, you usually hit a mile stretch where you can be on the street alone for blocks. What’s the fun in that?

There’s a street in Roma Norte called Medellin and it’s corner with Alvaro Obregon smells of sulfur. The asphalt is broken and the street is a mixture of gravel, dirt, concrete, tar and trash. Roma Norte suffered devastation in the last earthquake and I imagine these are the remnants left from the carnage. This street intrigues me because it’s scent, condition and link to a far off land once plagued by intense Narco-traffic inspires feelings of agitation, distress, fear and anxiety. Yet I never see anyone there. In the LES, there’s a street called Essex and it’s corner with Stanton reeks of sulfur, fart, exhaust from cabs and everything else in between. It’s walls are stained with graffiti, piss, shit and everything in between. Its sidewalks aren’t uprooted, but it gives me the same feeling as Medellin. Only difference: the street is hardly deserted.

Citizen 192
All Rights Reserved.

SuperBama Is In The House

Bowery is the perfect spot for SuperBama to unleash his powers.

I spent my entire Sunday afternoon walking around Lower Manhattan with some friends. We stumbled upon this Obama poster walking South on Bowery and immediately snapped picture after picture. If you look closely, you can actually see his cape fluttering in the wind.

Citizen 192
All Rights Reserved.

Podcast 1: We Should All Visit Alaska In The Winter.

I'm heading to New York City to reacquaint myself with some friends, gastronomic goodies and sights that these eyes are eager to see. This is my first podcast. It's concise, but I need to crawl before I walk, que no? Enjoy the track and you'll be hearing from me again after a night out somewhere between a train and another train.

click to play

Citizen 192
All Rights Reserved

I'll Let My Gut Do The Talking

I was asked the other day, "What's your favorite thing about Mexico City? Something you've enjoyed the most?" There was a considerable pause and I couldn't come up with one straight answer. I was like Palin dodging the "Bush Doctrine."

I can tell you what I don't like: not being able to get Moleskins, or the NY Times (unless I'm somewhere in Polanco) or feeling the "pena" that David Lida describes in his book First Stop In The World: Mexico City, The Capital Of The 21st Century" when changing my order at a restaurant. In the states, In 'n' Out will gladly change my order with no questions asked. But here, it would be more likely for me to ask for a back massage from the "joven" then get fruit topping on my hotcakes.



Which leads me to the answer I finally gave: food. Mexico City doesn't contain a surplus of exotic foods from other parts of the world. The only Indian place I've tried was decent, but the only Thai place I tried (a restaurant that charged me 500 pesos for the worst meal I've ever had in my life. And that's no hyperbole.) almost killed me. I lived in New York City prior to my D.F. move and maintained a healthy Vietnamese, Vodka Sauce Pizza and Pad See Yew diet. Here, it's all tacos and torta, enchiladas and chilaquiles and fish tacos every Tuesday. But I won't mince words: I love it.



Take this weekend. I was mulling over taking a recess from eating red meats for a bit when I was struck with an overwhelming craving for a torta. And not just any torta, but a torta from Salon Corona in the Centro Historico. Yes. They pack the meat and veggies and avocado slices as if they had a neverending supply stored somewhere in a cellar. The bread is soft, the meat is spiced and cooked to perfection, the avocados are always ripe and the pickled carrots, free of charge and provided as mostly a heaping garnish, add a delightful spice my sensitive palette can enjoy.



Then there's the variety of a street market. Where else can I find white pomegranate, carnitas, cod fish dipped in batter and assembled with fresh pico de gallo and avocado, arranged into a hefty 12 peso taco, or gnaw on some fresh jicama fruit with sweet spice all in the same place? It's an assortment that makes my gut scream "glory glory hallelujah!"

Just be wary of the street vendors shrimp cocktail. You can never be too sure where that water comes from.

Citizen 192
2005-2008 Citoyen du Monde Inc.
All Rights Reserved.

This Blog Won't Get A Lot Of Page Views And I'm Content With That: Part I.

I wake up. Google feeds. One thousand websites to scour for the best story of the day to duplicate, repackage and sell to Latinos.

We have to make sure it's "digg gold." We can't use "newsy." We can't use "flowery." We have to pitch to everyone. Sell Gawker a story they already wrote about it. Google trends says the zip code 71209 is "Volcanic." Write up the post. Best not to be "too racial" about it.

Check the numbers. Sports Illustrated linked us. Nice.

Have we posted about the Mexican model who recorded a sextape on her cell phone? "It's huge!" Sell it.

Silence. Silence. Silence. For days and days and days. 1,000,000 page views and I couldn't be more vulnerable to bashing my head in with my new DVD player.

Twelve hours go by and I'm still in my pajamas.

"Alejandro, I don't care about good writing. I care about page views."

What is this place? It's myopia maximized. I'm writing for a Latino audience, correct? Hello?! 427 different beats crunched into a cramped 10 hours. I swear there was something about this project that involved Latinos.

Linked to Gawker again. Not, like, a hyperlink. People think the website is Gawker. Right. It's the model. I forget.

"Alejandro, it has to be GQ fused with Maxim, or maybe Esquire. But you know. Like, Latino."

No. I really don't.

Citizen 192
2005-2008 Citoyen du Monde Inc.
All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Morning Skype Sessions: Jacob's Guitar Skills.

I figure some regularity on this blog will keep me writing and keep you coming, so I've decided to start "Sunday Morning Skype Sessions." Basically, I'll have a chat with someone every Sunday (from friends to family) and record some clips I think are entertaining, powerful, and/or something you'll be intrigued by. Enjoy.

Mom and pops decided to take the kids on a weekend excursion to Sea World to, as mom put it, "have breakfast with Baby 'Shamu.'" My parents are without a doubt, and as cliche as it sounds, the greatest grandparents in the world. Not only do they enjoy the idea of spending time with their grandkids, but they have the energy and patience to deal with my two-year old nephew Jacob who is, by accounts of this video, the next Jimi Hendrix.


Jacob's Guitar Skills Over Skype from Alejandro De La Cruz on Vimeo.

He also has his own skateboard and, by some stretch of the definition, can already ollie. I'm sure I'll get that on film soon.

Citizen 192
All Rights Reserved.

Trying To Testify In St. Paul: Rage Makes Impromptu Appearance

It's been eight years since Rage Against The Machine took the stage outside of Los Angeles' Staples Center, exonerating their angst upon a clan of political dissidents, peace-lovers, anarchists, politicos, and embedding a sense in all of us that it was ok to scream, shout, yell, and exclaim a proud finger-thrust towards the institution we were so confident in.

This year, the first year Rage Against The Machine has come together since their disbandment in 2000, the Los Angeles rockers decided to take the mic again, but the police were ready for them. Electricity was cut at an impromptu concert in from of Capitol Hill in St. Paul, MN, but it didn't detour the band from taking a megaphone and preaching their "lyrical spit-fire" to a crowd ready and poised for a dose of volatility.



Citizen 192
2005-2008 Citoyen du Monde Inc.
All Rights Reserved.