Xenophobic LPGA?

So the Ladies Professional Golf Association decided that all its members learn English or they will not be allowed to play on their tour. First I thought, this is the most ridiculous rule I have ever heard in any American sport, something that goes against the tolerance the U.S. claims to have. The LPGA claims that there are so many foreigners, specially Koreans, that do not speak English and the tour is losing sponsors. Yao Ming from China didn't speak any English when he first joined the NBA, and some professional baseball teams have more Dominicans on their roster than they have Americans, some of them can barely say a word in English, but I don't see them losing any sponsors. I can understand why an American Association would want to keep English as its main language, yet I can't stop thinking that this is another sign of a competitive world where economic standards are higher than ever and people in other countries are receiving the same opportunities as the ones only America and a handful of countries used to have, and in order to maintain a certain degree of supremacy, absurd rules have to apply. What seems to fly under the radar is that desicions like this one could send the LPGA on a downward spiral to self destruction. The question remains under the stupid vail of political correctness, who's the xenophobic? The LPGA, the sponsors or the people of the U.S.A?

::HUH?

I haven't written here in a long time. Maybe because I am too busy trying to cope with the fast pace of my everyday life, or maybe because my native language is Spanish and I prefer, as you would do, to write in the language that I know best, yet sometimes I find myself unable to express what I need to say using my own language, so I borrow yours. Then I come here, and with so many things speeding inside my head all day, I open my blog and I can't follow a single story worth writing. Yet I write anyway, because I can't live without it, and since I am what you would call quiet, not shy, shy is reserved for some kind of mild fear, I find writing an amusing relief, to the point where I am currently writing a book, slow, turtle slow, but I promise I will one day finish it, and then translate it so you can love it or hate it, whatever you please. I won't hold it against you. Now I should go to sleep, because being tired makes you stupid, just like being drunk, but without the fun. Not sure if I'm making any sense here so I better go before you hate me. Cheers!

True colors of nature

I was watching a program about zebras on the Discovery Channel and My PUG was watching it with me. After minutes of staring at the TV he started barking like crazy at the screen. It was hilarious! Good boy Jagermeister! At least I know that if zebras decide to attack New Jersey my dog will let me know.
At the very end of the show, a zebra gives birth to an already dead colt. It was a sad ending indeed, but also a reminder that nature doesn't measure things from the "good and evil" point of view. It is about balance, and if one animal has to sacrifice its own life for the sake of the rest, then that life is worth a million.

That is the difference between the discovery channel and Animal Planet. The first one is for those who understand nature as a whole, beauty and beast, life and death. The later is for those who live their lives based on emotional attachments they mistakenly call love and seem to stay blind to the true forces of nature. At least that is my opinion.
We are educated to ignore the duality of nature, and while we would love to save every single animal there is we never stop to think if that is really the best for the species. Again, individuality prevails over the collective. That is why we fail.

Shame on you, crazy producer!

I used to feel flattered every time I received a phone call from a movie producer telling me they were looking for an animator, and of the hundreds of websites they found, they were impressed with my work. Back then I had no job, me and my wife had little money in savings, and scarily watched how our bank account approached the "no money" line with every day that passed by. I was desperate and naive, so I got caught in some of the worse deals you can imagine, if you can call them deals at all. Working hard for pennies that didn't cover my bills, or didn't even arrive. I am glad those days are over.

Now I laugh when a film maker calls me asking for my services, telling me how talented I am, they want me on their team because they have this great project in their hands that is going to make millions, Blah, blah, blah. The crucial word is "budget", and it usually comes handcuffed with the word "tight", which means that they can only pay two or three hundred dollars for something that normally would cost several thousands.

The funny thing is, they don't even offer the $200 at first, they offer... listen to this, your name on the credits list! Like a friend of mine said "your name will appear next to a million other names on a screen that scrolls at 25 km/h!!!"- Thanks Tato, you are absolutely right. We are not talking about a Star Wars film here, we are talking about a movie 99% of the population will never know about. The occasional spider crawling on the theater screen gets more recognition that some guys on the credits, and unless there is a way to convert movie credits into Walmart coupons, that is not going to put food on my table.

If people are willing to work for nothing, that's fine as long as there is honesty from the beginning. I did it a couple of times and I met great people that way. But please don't offer movie credits like they are some sort of gold coins. They don't shine, they don't pay the bills and I can't tell my wife "Babe, today we are having movie credits for dinner".

Why war can't be stopped.

"Stop the war" is a common saying these days. Some people make it sound so simple, like just saying it is going to change the world. Ironically, many of those same people have their own unsolved personal conflicts. The man who blames everyone else for his own failure. Or the father and daughter so pissed off at each other that haven't talked in years.

So if you can't solve a tiny personal conflict, how dare you ask for immediate solutions to problems a million times more complicated? How dare you give advice to others about morals, about reason, about life? How dare you say "protect the environment" and buy your dream house at the brand new development where there used to be trees? How dare you talk about peace if you don't have it in you? How dare you blame "your enemy" without realizing you are "their enemy"?

Don't TELL ME you want the war to be stopped. SHOW ME how you are going to do it.

George Bush: a new breed.

When George Bush won his second elections America I couldn't believe it. How is it that this clown is back in the White House? And if you ask anyone on the street, no one will ever admit voting for him. So how did he get there? Doesn't really matter, does it? You think he is stupid, but the guy, or at least his puppeteers, know very well what they are doing.
One thing I have to give him credit for is his ability to re-invent himself. You would think that a guy that can't say three words straight without making a mistake would try to improve his image by taking a couple of lessons on HOW TO BE A PRESIDENT. But a deeper thought tells me that in a country where reality TV is mainstream and everyone is hungry for the next Omarosa (The Apprentice), a clown/jerk personality seems to be the perfect choice. It is like a car accident: not pretty, yet you can't take your eyes away from it. And it seems to be working wonders.
While those who oppose him call him names, he laughs in our faces and flips the finger when he appears on TV. We think he is stupid, but the joke is on us and our sisters and brothers in uniform who are giving their lives to protect the pockets of a few who will be long gone before the dust settles.

A slap in the face.

I was the third person standing in line at McDonald's. Between me and the counter, a woman, a man and a 10 dollar bill sitting on the floor. I knew the bill wasn't mine, but who's bill was it? Was it the man's, or the woman's? The guy was first in line, he had just paid for his food, so it was logical to think that it was his money. The woman was second in line but closer to the bill. To my surprise, none of them had noticed the money on the floor.
Here I am, thinking of a solomonic solution to the problem. Who's money is it, and if I pick it from the floor, to whom should I offer it? Should I just wait for them to leave, pick it up and give it to the cashier? But it is not her's either, and Mr. McDonald doesn't really need another 10 bucks, does he?
After a couple of minutes they both left and the bill was still on the floor. It was my turn to walk to the counter, but before I gave my first step, the woman behind me walked forward and picked up the 10 dollar bill. I got upset, I knew it wasn't her money! But before I continued my trail of irrational thoughts, the woman walked forward and put the money in one of those charity boxes on the counter. It really felt like a slap in the face for starting up the judgmental machine we all carry in our heads. And why the hell didn't I think of that!
-"That was very nice." - I said to the lady. With a smile she replied, -"It is better than keeping it."

Office Space

A couple of weeks ago the company I work for moved to another building and now we share the floor with other companies. I am part of the creative/graphics department and before we moved here, me and the other three people in my department shared a nice common space. We could see each other's faces and share a joke every now and then.
But all that changed in the new building and now I have "my own" cubicle. The joy of having one's own private office space is comparable to a dog pissing on a tree to mark his territory: grrr, this is mine and there's nothing you can do about it! Do we really need more walls in this already dismembered world of ours?
We already have enough barriers: race, social class, language and money, to name a few. The so called social animal that we are supposed to be is fading out to make room for what I like to call the ant-man, a marching robot of productivity. Only those who have had the pleasure of being free range workers can taste the bitter flavor of imprisonment. The cube, like the backyard fence, is nothing more than a small version of the Berlin Wall.
But when you look at the present world, the "make-money-or-die" capitalism war that we are all being sucked into, the cube claims a whole new meaining. The apparently harmless cube is the difference between caged and free range chicken. Or is it caged and free range workers? It's all the same.