Many of today’s young people are looking askance at the concept of traditional work. What they pursue is entirely foreign to earlier generations, especially the boomer cohort, which is currently aging out of the workforce.
The members of “Generation Z,” for example, seek things that the boomer generation never expected to experience and generally never requested: work-life balance, autonomy, creative freedom, and a rapid ascent into the upper strata of income.
Poverty can cast a long, pervasive shadow over the dreams and ambitions of an untold number of college students. Due to the accumulation of mounting debt as they forgo earning opportunities while pursuing higher education, their academic journeys and the prospects for their futures are often threatened.
Sometimes their dedication to improving their lot in life ironically becomes an obstacle to securing their very basic needs, such as food and shelter. This scenario is further complicated by challenges to their academic performance as well as their mental health.
We cannot deny that artificial intelligence (AI) is rapidly becoming a threat to the livelihoods of writers. How concerned should writers, or prospective writers, be?
The frustratingly simple answer is, “It depends.”
Writers who devote themselves to creating content for publications are particularly vulnerable because AI is remarkably adept at content creation. It scans the universe of language and generates literary content in a flash that is nearly as spirited as that of the human mind.
There are already books sold on Amazon that are generated by AI. Any books that we might write and place on the Amazon marketplace will be competing with a superabundance of books that may or may not have been written by humans.
Decades ago, I had a student in my college classroom who was mathematically brilliant. His behavior, however, was sometimes a bit “unconventional,” and he seemed to have no desire (or ability) to interact with any of his classmates.
Recently, I decided to try to fathom this segment of our population, about which I knew little. I embarked on an exploratory journey that took me to a new, fictitious series, Astrid, on PBS Passport. This French-language program (with English subtitles) teaches viewers about the strengths and challenges of people who struggle with autism.
Astrid opens our minds to the varied tapestry of human experience. It invites us to explore with empathy and understanding the diverse ways in which individuals perceive and interact with the world around them.
The methods used to frighten and manipulate the ancient Mexicans are still being used today, for the same purposes, in modern America.
In the seventh and eighth centuries, the Mayan priests used their profound knowledge of mathematics, astronomy, and politics to control and subjugate the masses within their jurisdiction. American politicians who understand politics and social media, but who have no apparent understanding of mathematics or astronomy, are attempting to do the very same thing.
The 18th-century French writer Nicolas Chamfort had an arguably perceptive view of the effects of time on our human lives. He wrote, “In order not to find life unbearable, you must accept two things: the ravages of time and the injustice of man.”
We who are older are only too aware of the first “thing” that we are expected to accept: the ravages of time. We’ll save the controversial “acceptance of the injustice of man” part of the statement for another article.
The reason many Americans are not benefitting from our health system is because they do not take seriously the advice given to them by their doctors.
To understand this unfortunate situation, let’s consider for a moment the scenario in which a couple of mischievous teenagers are left “home alone” while their parents go out for a weekend vacation. The teenagers decide, naturally, to throw a party. After all, “When the cat’s away, the mice will play.” The teens are the proverbial “mice” while the parents are the storied “cats.”
You may be a college math student, or you may know someone who is currently pursuing a math class at the college level. For those who are prepared, college math is simply a continuation of the material and methods that one has learned prior to entering college.
Some college students are only faintly interested in math, if they are interested at all. But these students fail to understand the enormous importance of math in their lives. They reject math at their own peril.
Are you intrigued by the concept of “seasonal living”? It captured my interest when I read about it on The Smallest Light, a website dedicated to marketing services. One of the articles on this site, written by Laura McMahon, describes ways to celebrate the arrival of spring in our homes.
This article reminds us of the psychic power of a celestial turning point: the occurrence of the vernal equinox. On this day, just as on the autumnal equinox in the fall, day and night are of equal length. This astronomical, seasonal, and spiritual event occurs at the tipping point as winter morphs into spring, the season that contains the promise of renewed life.
Much of the population of this country is of migrant stock. Some are newly arrived, while others are the progeny of immigrants (such as I am).
The newly arrived naturally favor speaking their native tongues until they gain proficiency and confidence in the English language. Their children and grandchildren who grow up here may turn out to be fully bilingual. On the other hand, they may, to one extent or another, lose the language of their parents and grandparents as they become fully assimilated into the American fabric.
Every four years, we get to experience a phenomenon known as “leap year.” This occurs when February has 29 days rather than its usual 28. The “leap” refers to the reoccurrence of days from one year to the next. Normally, a given date that occurs during a given year will occur one day later in the subsequent year. For example, January 1, 2023, occurred on a Sunday whereas January 1, 2024, occurred on a Monday of the following year.
As I was filling out my ballot for the coming election here in California, most of the items were fairly easy choices for me (one of them at the top of the ticket was very easy). But then I came to the choices for judge for the Ventura County Superior Court. We are directed to vote for only one.
I stared at the names. One of them was immediately recognizable because I had seen his name in news items about some of our local civil and criminal trials. His credentials seem impeccable.
But then I realized that I knew essentially nothing about the other three candidates.
So why is it so important to vote for judges and not just skip over this section of the ballot?
The letter X is one of the simplest, yet most enigmatic letters in use today. We’re not even sure how to pronounce it sometimes. The story of its origins is fuzzy.
Just look at the word for the name brand “Xerox.” One word, two very distinct pronunciations for x.
In Mexican Spanish, x has a place in the evolution of the language. It has generally replaced j in such words as “México” vs. “Méjico,” “Texas” vs. “Tejas,” and “Oaxaca” vs. “Oajaca.”
The first Super Bowl, which could have been known as “Super Bowl No. 1,” was played the year I graduated from high school in 1967. “Super Bowl No. 2” followed in 1968, and so on, until we got to “Super Bowl No. 4” in 1970.
The “footballerati” started to think that this numbering system for the Super Bowl games was getting a bit “boring.” Lamar Hunt, the late owner of the Kansas City Chiefs, decided that the Super Bowl needed a more eloquent numbering system…something that would make it sound more important, dignified, and even “magisterial.”
Who can afford college?
This question is uncomfortably popping up more frequently lately. There has been much chatter about student debt, upward-spiraling tuition, lower wages for college graduates, and employers’ increasing willingness to hire people without college degrees. This discussion has led young people to more seriously weigh their options after high school.
The specter of near-lifetime student debt looms large in young people’s decisions.
We who have spoken English all our lives cannot possibly appreciate the magnitude of the gift we possess. English has become the de facto “universal language” that people throughout the world resort to when they have the need for a common tongue.
Most of the rest of the world who wants to learn English struggles mightily with the immense challenges posed by this lingua franca.
This is an updated version of one of the first articles, with this same title, that I wrote for Amigos805 in October 2011.
I have had the experience and privilege of raising a daughter. Many people throughout the years have indicated to me their belief that I had accomplished this task successfully. It was not always easy nor without considerable reading, research, reflection, and discussion with other parents.
I was on a city bus in Oxnard recently when I found myself fascinated by a female passenger that had boarded.
I know…that statement appears to be borderline salacious, but let me explain.
The woman with a dark complexion appeared to be indigenous Mayan. I’ve spent some time in Yucatán, Mexico, so I recognize the Mayan profile, including the majestic shape of the nose, when I see one. It is distinctively different from the indigenous profiles that hail from other parts of Mexico.
What struck me even more was the ease with which she was caring for her very young child, maybe one year old.
Previously I was not known to be a pessimistic person by my friends and colleagues. Quite the contrary. They know me as someone who is forward-looking and generally optimistic about life.
Until recently.
Just over three years ago, I breathed a sigh of relief—not so much because Joe Biden had won the presidency, but rather because Donald Trump had lost.
However, by that time Trump had already primed his supporters to reject the possibility that he could lose. That Biden’s win was not exactly a landslide only served to infuriate his base as they disregarded all evidence supporting the results of the election.
The 2023-2024 holiday season is now in the rearview mirror. Many of us will be resurrecting those weight loss resolutions that perhaps we had attempted last year (and the year before that, etc.).
Now, suddenly, there are new, shiny objects that glisten on our lifestyle horizons: weight-reduction drugs such as Ozempic and Wegovy.
The gravitational pull of these “miracle drugs” is too strong to dismiss them as mere fads. Even the respectable, time-honored Weight Watchers organization appears to welcome these drugs into the fold after spending decades encouraging traditional lifestyle-based changes in people’s lives, such as dieting and exercise.
But before conventional dieters cast their calorie tables and food portion scales overboard, they need to seriously consider the numerous downsides of these drugs.
Editor’s note: Amigos805 welcomes local guest columns, letters to the editor and other submissions from our readers. All opinions expressed in submitted material are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the viewpoint of Amigos805. By David Magallanes •…
was talking with a female friend recently about her ongoing search for a marriage partner. This is not unusual for a woman in her twenties. Her approach, however, is largely unusual in our culture. She is willing to consider submitting her destiny to an “arranged marriage.”
She is of Middle Eastern heritage, though raised in the U.S. from an early age. Some traditions such as arranged marriages, as anathema as they may be in American culture, endure in some ethnic families. There are many reasons why individuals might be open to accepting an arranged marriage for themselves.
There are also a lot of reasons to tread carefully into an arranged marriage, or to avoid one at all costs.
I remember when I used to gather with my family around a small-screen, black-and-white television. It was the mid-1950s when the Civil Rights era was starting to take shape.
The Jim Crow laws, constructed to blatantly deny equal rights to African Americans, were in full force in many states. These laws repressed Blacks in ways that are unimaginable to us today.
What we viewed on TV was almost completely from a white perspective. There were very few Blacks in the programming of that time. The few that were shown to us appeared in stereotypical roles: nannies, maids, porters, janitors, and criminals.
I also remember watching The Jack Benny Show with my father, a blue-collar worker who enjoyed situational comedy. Jack Benny was a character portrayed as an affluent, though endearingly “cheapskate,” white Jewish man. He was a renowned comedian before, during, and after World War II.
I’ve lived in the Oxnard/Port Hueneme area for nearly 50 years. Throughout that time, I’ve driven past the “Teatro” on Oxnard Boulevard at least a couple hundred times. I hadn’t realized how little I knew about it.
I had a vague understanding of its history. I’ve since learned that the building was constructed in 1929 around the time that “palace theaters” were flourishing in this country.
The venue was originally called Boulevard Theater, but its name changed to Teatro Boulevard in the 1960s in recognition of its importance to the Latino population that supported it. It was a thriving Spanish-language theater in its heyday. In fact, it was the only Spanish-language theater in Ventura County at the time. I seem to recall seeing a couple of films there in the 1970s.
Those of us who grew up in the 1950s received a classical music education not available to later generations. We learned about a wide range of classical music—but not by attending prestigious schools or institutions for rich kids. All we had to do was sit at home and watch the cartoons of that time on our TVs. Those television sets displayed black-and-white images on hopelessly small screens.
Listening to some of that music now as adults conjures images of archetypal cartoon characters in our heads. Hearing some of the music by Strauss, Liszt, Chopin, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Rossini, Schubert, Smetana, von Suppé, and a host of other composers instantaneously recalls visions that we will forever associate with iconic pieces composed by these artistic giants.
Last week I noticed that October 25 was National Greasy Foods Day. Initially, I didn’t know if this was a joke or a celebration.
As it turns out, this day is deemed worthy of a “limited celebration.” This culinary observance is meant to celebrate greasy foods, which we all love, but only as a “special treat” of which we should partake only occasionally.
There are many good reasons to emphasize the “occasional” nature of this kind of food that, unfortunately, many of us tend to crave.
During my elementary and high school years, my history teachers were passionate about imparting their knowledge and perspectives. One of my problems at the time was that I did not appreciate their wisdom and incisive insights into the forces that shape our world.
Looking back, I wish I could have allowed them to fill the vessel that should have been receptive and overflowing. Like most young people, I would venture to say, I did not see the point in learning about a world that, I thought, “no longer exists.”
But the world of the past is still very much in our midst, just as our ancestors have had a powerful hand in shaping who we are today.
We in Ventura County have some interesting challenges along the main artery of transportation in our region—Highway 101. Some of these challenges would be hilarious if they were not also dangerous. And what might be humorous for the locals could be dangerously confusing for drivers from outside our area.
A cousin who lives in Los Angeles was driving north toward Santa Barbara along the 101 last week. North of Ventura he came upon the road construction that we here are all too familiar with. We know that as we approach “the split,” we commit to a single lane, bearing either to the left or right, and continue heading north. Simple, right?
But for out-of-towners, the choice is unexpected and confusing. Most of these drivers, including my cousin from a town as large as Los Angeles, have never in their driving lives encountered such an unusual split on a highway as wide as the 101.
When I was starting my higher technical education, I was studying “vacuum tubes.” These might as well be classified now as archaeological artifacts that young people can view in museums. Vacuum tubes were ubiquitous in the primitive computers of that time. They were also visible in everyday, household life—in radios, televisions, and guitar amplifiers.
I was recently listening to a radio program discussing illiteracy and poverty in our country. These two intractable problems in our society are inextricably linked to each other. They also explain a lot of the darker forces that are shaping our future—and that of our children.
As I searched the Internet for some insight into the aforementioned forces, I came across a few uncomfortable propositions. I was reluctant to accept them. But I had to admit to myself that there were good reasons to at least entertain the possibility that these propositions contained some truth.
This article, in its original form, was first published in Amigos805 on September 1, 2015. It is as relevant today as it was eight years ago.
On those difficult days that we all have, we can feel that “something” in the air as we drive our cars through traffic, walk along the street or the corridors of the office building, read editorial columns or letters to the editor, or as we take a daring plunge into online comments about any news item.
That “something” is unmistakable. It’s that suffocating, toxic, deadly anger that lingers and permeates all levels of our society. From impoverished neighborhoods to elegant offices, from busy highways to quiet campuses, from our homes to boisterous marketplaces and busy factories, the anger simmers. It too often explodes in this most abundant nation on the planet. But that “abundance” is material; our national soul is crying for some semblance of healing, but that healing is elusive.
My eldest grandson recently invited me to watch the blockbuster film, Oppenheimer, with him. He told me that he preferred watching it with me rather than with peers. This grandson knew that I had lived through the Cold War between the U.S. and the now-defunct Soviet Union. He understands that I have a perspective that his friends can’t possibly possess. I felt honored.
I have often thought about the burdens that girls and women have—burdens that are unique to them. It is often difficult, if not impossible, for men to comprehend the joys and traumas of childbirth, the stress of dealing with the menstrual cycle, the health issues that men will never have to consider for themselves.
I also sympathize with women’s constant need to protect themselves—from men. Certainly, female-on-male abuse and violence exist, but male-on-female brutality and assault is several orders of magnitude greater.
Women have one huge advantage over men that induces a secret jealousy in men: the ability to form deep and meaningful relationships with other women.
How could we have gone through those early stages of losing our baby teeth without the help of the famed tooth fairy?
We all have a preconceived image of this ethereal creature, which has been solidified by Disney’s introduction of fairy creatures into our lives. We in the U.S. got our first glimpse of the tooth fairy in 1908, when the Chicago Daily Tribune published an article about this beloved creature. The myth was rebooted in 1927 when Esther Watkins Arnold published the book, “The Tooth Fairy: Three-Act Playlet for Children.”
“Infinity” means, quite literally, “without end.” Since humans could reflect, they have pondered infinity. Very likely, the first inklings of infinity occurred as the earliest humans contemplated the night sky replete with what seemed to be an infinite number of stars.
Having taught college math, I often talked with my students about “infinity,” but in a mathematical sense. For instance, we discussed infinite iterations, infinite limits, an infinite number of classes of numbers, the infinite number line, infinitesimal differences, infinitely large numbers, infinitely small numbers, the infinite decimal nature of constants such as “pi.”
In chess, “checkmate” occurs when the “king” on the board is threatened with capture and has no way out. At that point, the game is, for all intents and purposes, over.
We in the United States are being checkmated by Donald Trump, the current GOP frontrunner for the presidential primary nomination. Rather than a checkmate of the king, the very foundation of our country is being threatened. Increasingly, it appears that there is no way out of the upcoming fraught battle for the very soul of the nation.
Throughout the United States, speakers of English use many different variations of Standard English. For example, the English spoken by the Creoles of Louisiana is quite different from the English spoken by Mexican Americans in Los Angeles, the elites in Boston, and residents of the Bronx in New York.
All of us have heard, or used, Black English. It is distinct in its pronunciation and grammar, differing somewhat from the Standard English that is taught in our schools. This variant of English used to be called, somewhat condescendingly, “Nonstandard Negro English.”
In the 1970s, Black scholars decided to rebrand this form of English as “Ebonics” (Ebony + Phonics). It was an attempt to normalize and respect the English spoken by the majority of African American students in the Oakland, California area. The school board made the decision to account for this background in the students that they served while teaching them Standard English in the classrooms.
In 2021, we recognized, or mourned (I won’t say “celebrated”), the 500th anniversary of the Conquest of Mexico. On August 13, 1521, Tenochtitlán fell into the hands of the Spanish conquerors led by Hernán Cortés.
It was the beginning of the end for Indigenous Mexico. It was also the birth of modern Mexico, along with a unifying European language. The conquerors also introduced a new religion that was forced to shape itself around the contours of indigenous beliefs.
One would hope that when a student chooses to study the Spanish language, it would mean that the learner will become conversant with native speakers of Spanish. The problem is that “native speakers” of Spanish include both European Spaniards and Latin Americans, whose Spanish is similar but at the same time demonstrate distinctive differences.
Editor’s note: Amigos805 welcomes local guest columns, letters to the editor and other submissions from our readers. All opinions expressed in submitted material are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the viewpoint of Amigos805. By David Magallanes •…
Why are so many of us reluctant to follow “the rules.” As it turns out, there is a whole slew of reasons why we just can’t “behave.” But why would we want to, anyway?
There are reasons that rules exist in society. There may be some rules that are unnecessary, coercive, or frivolous. But for the most part, in our country, at least, rules permeate our lives to protect us and others. They also make life better for all of us.
A California high school English teacher, Marta Shaffer, has declared that teaching proper English grammar in our classrooms sustains white supremacy in our education system.
Either Ms. Shaffer has a point, or she is someone who searches tirelessly for supremacist underpinnings where there may be none—or at least not to the extent that she perceives.
Mae West, the renowned and controversial actress whose career spanned several decades over the 20th century, was spectacularly successful. She used her considerable affluence to invest wisely in San Fernando Valley real estate. By all measures, she was a wealthy woman.
She was not born wealthy, however. Her mother, who had worked as a corset model, was a German immigrant. Her father was a “prizefighter.”
One of Ms. West’s most famous quotes is: “I’ve been rich, and I’ve been poor. Believe me, rich is better.”
I taught college mathematics for over 40 years at a local community college. During that time, I witnessed how poorly prepared most incoming students were for college mathematics. In fact, the vast majority required some level of “remediation.”
“Remediating” students meant that they may have had to begin their college math journey as far down as “Basic Mathematics.” This lowest level college class taught them (or reviewed for them) how to add, subtract, multiply, divide, handle fractions and decimals, and deal with some elementary geometric concepts (circles, squares, rectangles, etc.).
People often seek the company of a pet. Their reasons for doing so vary as much as their personalities.
Deciding whether to take on the responsibilities of owning a dog can be fraught with conflicting needs. For example, you may anxiously anticipate the joys of having a furry companion but end up loathing the many inevitable inconveniences that this entails.
Let’s first ponder some of the advantages of owning a dog.
Artificial intelligence (AI) may have burst upon the scene just last November, but it has been a part of our lives for at least several years. We may not have called it “artificial intelligence,” but many of us have been using it for years for our mundane tasks.
Google Maps is one clear long-running example of AI in some of our lives. It became available to us in 2005, not quite 20 years ago. The younger generations may feel particularly adept at using many of the more esoteric features of this app. But those of us of the boomer persuasion might have used Google Maps long ago simply as a digital version of the old Thomas Bros. paper map books that were sold in grocery stores and bookstores before the era of Google Maps.
I had a moment of angst three years ago as I filled out the 2020 U.S. Census form. I froze in my tracks, just as I had with employment forms in the past, when I saw a question asking me to denote my race. I am thoroughly aware that much of the U.S. population, especially in the more conservative states, would not consider me “white.”
Their assessment is based solely on my appearance. I’m not particularly dark, but neither am I of “fair skin.”
In light of recent developments in our country, I am now less willing to declare myself as of the “white” race on any form inquiring about my ancestral background. However, in the following Census question inquiring about my ethnicity (as opposed to “race”), selecting “Hispanic or Latino” was an obvious choice.
For MAGA conservatives, women are fair game. Members of the extreme right wing of the conservative movement can pursue and verbally attack women with impunity. In fact, it raises their profile as they become heroes within their authoritarian, paternalistic tribes.
This was demonstrated recently when right-wing TV host John Fredericks lambasted First Lady Jill Biden on several fronts.
As I read an article this past week about the 75th anniversary of the founding of Israel, I found myself wondering, for a few moments, whether I was actually reading about Israel or the United States.
Israel has been contending with a hyper-religious, ultra-Orthodox contingent in its government that is very influential regarding national policies. Since December of last year, Israel’s government has taken a hard turn to the right, guided by ultraconservative, extremist lawmakers who have strong authoritarian tendencies and who have no intention of negotiating with the Palestinians regarding their statehood. The history of the Palestinian territories has been fraught with dizzying complexity since 1916, around the time of World War I.
I recently decided to construct a family tree—as if I didn’t have enough to do already. At this stage of my life, I might have a subconscious desire to leave something valuable behind for my daughter, my grandsons, and their descendants. It’s also important for me, though, as I seem to have lost track of many of my first cousins (there are over 50 of them). The complex web of their children and grandchildren has become a complete fog for me. But now I want to come to terms with the myriad descendants that originated with my four grandparents, all immigrants from Mexico.
In my last article, I wrote a semifictional account about my horrendously frustrating experience with a bank “chatbot” on a phone call. What starts off as an artificial, yet hopeful, conversation with a robot too often devolves into a maddening experience. Our blood pressure quickly rises, our fury grows precipitously, and for possibly the first time in our lives we just want to “shoot something,” even if we’ve never picked up a gun in our lives.
A Fox News article I came across seemed to gleefully announce the virtual demise of the study of the humanities. The “humanities” consists of areas of study such as philosophy, religion, languages, music, the fine and performing arts, history, and cultural studies. This latter category could include disciplines such as Black and Chicano history, or Pacific American, Indigenous, and LGBTQ studies. Many conservatives view these majors as “dangerously woke,” “unnecessary,” or “disadvantageous.” Some on the extreme right of the political spectrum view these fields of study as threats to their ideology.
We live in a natural world that exposes us, along with all other creatures and plant life, to the natural cycles of birth, life, and death. In nature, we see a form of recycling that transmutes death into renewed birth and life, only to die and begin the cycle again, over and over. As one example, we might consider the leaves of the trees that die, fall to the ground, break down, enrich the soil, which in turn gives new life to the trees and other living forms.
Whereas animals appear to accept death on its own terms, we humans struggle with this acceptance of the end of life.
There may be times when we feel that our lives are “clicking along,” “firing on all eight cylinders,” or simply filled with opportunity and promise.
But then there are those other, inevitable periods during which we may feel that our lives have become stagnant. It is at these times that we find ourselves in circumstances that invite us to take advantage of this stagnation. We are forced to examine our lives and decide what to do to change the situation—if we so desire (we may not feel inclined to do so).
Let’s take a moment to examine the word “stagnant.” It is derived from the Latin word “stagnum,” which, according to Merriam-Webster, refers to “a pool of water without an outlet.” This description might be exactly what our life feels like when we sense a certain stagnation of our vitality. In other words, it might feel as if mosquitoes could breed in our souls. When stagnation enters our lives, it can induce a wide range of sentiments in us: anxiety, anger, hopelessness, boredom, introspection, hope, contentment.
Last week I wrote about the English language as a de facto universal language. No matter where Americans travel, we expect that someone—if not everyone—speaks English.
This might explain why Americans are so stubbornly monolingual: Why learn a new language if the whole world speaks English?
Of course, the whole world does not speak English. When I was visiting France some years ago, most of the people I met spoke very little to no English. I was fortunate to have studied the French language before going.
I recall being in a marketplace in Oaxaca, Mexico, where it seemed that no one was speaking Spanish, let alone English. What I heard the people around me speaking was probably a mix of Mixtec, Zapotec, and other indigenous languages. I noticed a young American couple who stood out like a sore thumb and who appeared to be flustered. In desperation, the man exclaimed, “Does anyone here speak English?
I can’t help but notice that many of the world leaders speak English, to one degree or another. Every day, throughout the day, I read and otherwise consume the news. I always want to know what’s going on locally, regionally, nationally, and internationally. Usually, the news I ingest is written, but I also watch news videos featuring news hosts and interesting personalities.
A few weeks ago, we saw Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelenskyy speaking to a joint meeting of the U.S. Congress in imperfect but easily understood English. Benjamin Netanyahu, the Israeli prime minister (again), has likewise spoken before members of Congress. His English is flawless. But this is not surprising once we learn that he was raised in both Israel and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Furthermore, he obtained university degrees at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and attended Harvard University.
“Who Do You Think You Are, the Queen of Sheba?” We might hear these words directed at a woman who is perceived to be too demanding, too arrogant, too “privileged.” But how many of us know who this “Queen of Sheba” is?
As it turns out, we really don’t know exactly who she was or where she came from. But we have some ideas, thanks to several ancient texts.
I wrote recently about the rising influence of artificial intelligence (AI). This revolutionary advancement is no longer something far off in the distant future. Nor is it a nascent technology that is just now making an appearance. It has been creeping into our lives for decades.
Closely related to the field of AI is the science of robots, which are likewise invading our lives. For example, we are dependent on ATMs, installed at our banks and scattered around our cities. The check-in kiosks at medical offices and airports have replaced myriad jobs.
We order meals from some of our restaurant tables using digital devices. In more technologically advanced restaurants, robots are beginning to deliver those meals to our tables.
For many people there never was a pandemic. They have carried on with their lives wondering what all the fuss was about. After all, wasn’t COVID-19 simply a hoax foisted on us by the liberals? If those who claimed this had the misfortune of becoming infected with the virus after not being vaccinated, they often demanded that ivermectin be administered to them. After all, that’s what their “research” or a talk show host told them was the appropriate response. Health professionals beg to differ and usually refuse the request for ivermectin.
For those at the other extreme, the pandemic continues in full swing. They continue to social distance, wear masks, avoid crowds, and pretty much isolate themselves as much as possible.
Most of us are aware of the story of George Santos, a Republican U.S. House of Representatives Congressman elected in November 2022. Actually, we think his name is George Santos. He has “embellished” his past so thoroughly, we may not ever know who, exactly, he really is.
“Embellished” is a polite euphemism. Apparently, Mr. Santos has lied profoundly to the American people, particularly to those who elected him based on his stated views and history. The story of his life that he provided was, as it turns out, a complete fabrication.
Artificial intelligence (AI) is the quintessential double-edged sword. It has the ability to rescue humanity from some of its most intractable problems. On the other hand, if we are not careful, it could end up subjecting us to its whims, ravaging societies, and, ultimately, destroying us.
Some scientists and social engineers are giddy with the possibilities of AI. They see it as a means toward achieving things such as advances in medicine, more effective education, better tools for fighting climate change, and stronger and more durable materials. Employers are salivating with the potential of AI to help them trim costs—enormously, in some cases.
Editor’s note: Amigos805 welcomes local guest columns, letters to the editor and other submissions from our readers. All opinions expressed in submitted material are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the viewpoint of Amigos805. By David Magallanes •…
When all four of my grandparents escaped the violence in Mexico and arrived in the U.S. in 1923, they couldn’t stop feeling gratitude for the sense of safety that they were experiencing. Despite the prejudice and spiteful attitudes of some of the people around them in Los Angeles, they felt at peace. For them, any societal problems in the city were relatively minor compared to what they had experienced at the hands of the revolutionaries in Mexico.
And yes, of course, we had, and still have, problems in our society. Lots of them.
But sometimes we have to place things in perspective.
“Dance like no one is watching,” they tell us. These words are meant to encourage those of us at the next wedding party who might feel a bit inhibited about showing off whatever “dance skills” we may (or may not) possess.
One female Spanish tourist in Mexico thought she would test that motivational phrase last month at a famous archaeological site. She did dance as if no one was watching. The problem was that there were plenty of people watching her from the base of the pyramid at the site. But, unlike at your typical wedding party, the Mexicans who witnessed this sacrilege were quite angry and vitriolic about her “moves.”
The past few months, I took it upon myself to become “greener.” I wanted to experience and learn about the public transportation system in our Ventura County region. The system we have is quite good. However, of course, it does not afford the innumerable and frequent options available in the massive systems of metropolises such as Los Angeles, New York, Mexico City, or Tokyo.
One of the great deficiencies of our bus system that I discovered is the lamentable lack of restrooms for passengers and for the bus drivers themselves. The transportation authorities seem to think that we don’t need them. Or possibly they think that our bladders are larger than they are. In any case, passengers are left to “make do,” so to speak, with whatever restroom facilities they can find and access.
Initially, I was going to title this article “Decluttering Our Lives, Part II.” But I changed my mind and decided to use a more intriguing title.
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the Herculean task of decluttering my life. I came to a point where I felt a need to rid my life of all the unnecessary “things” that no longer contributed anything to my plans or goals at this stage of my life. I promised to share some of my insights into actually accomplishing this. Of course, not everyone will want to declutter their lives the way that I do. But many of us want to do something to alleviate the “mess” that we find ourselves in. We just have to choose our own path that will take us to DeclutterLand.
A considerable number of children of immigrants decide to “do their family proud.” They decide to commit to studying medicine to become a doctor or dentist. Some of them are first-generation college students who become first-generation professionals.
Although their ambition and successes are admirable, the backgrounds of immigrants’ children may not thoroughly prepare them for the financial jolts they will receive along the way as medical professionals. It is entirely possible that no one in their family ever sat down with them and talked about that traditionally taboo topic: money. It is entirely conceivable that no one talked with them about financial planning because the parents and other relatives themselves had little money with which to plan much of anything.
Many of us of Latino/Chicano heritage grew up listening to rock ‘n’ roll radio in the late 1950s. We were delighted, along with the rest of the country, when the song “La Bamba” hit the airwaves. The singer with the euphonic, captivating voice was Richard Valenzuela, but the world knew him as Ritchie Valens.
Ritchie, a child of Mexican immigrants, was born and raised in the San Fernando Valley area of Los Angeles. He grew up listening to mariachi and Mexican folk music, along with “jump blues” (a precursor to rock ‘n’ roll) and the rhythm and blues associated with the African American community. He accomplished an enormous feat during his transitory journey through our musical landscape. He blended purely traditional Mexican music with the iconic American rock music whose star was rising just as Ritchie was growing into what appeared to be a promising career.
Quebec is the largest province of Canada (a “province” is equivalent to one of our states). The area of this huge territory could swallow up roughly a third of the United States. Quebec, in its earliest incarnation, was a part of New France. This even larger mass of land, claimed by France in the mid-1500s, extended from the cold north, approaching Greenland, down to what eventually became the state of Louisiana. Needless to say, the earliest settlers of Quebec spoke French.
Following a long war, Quebec became a British colony where, of course, the English language was imposed. However, in an effort to discourage the people of Quebec from supporting what would become the American Revolution, the government accommodated the “Québécois” by allowing them to retain their French language. Quebec has been engaged in tussles between English- and French-speaking Canadians ever since.
Those of us who were in grade school in the 1950s and early 60s will never forget the “duck and cover” drills we used to have in our classrooms. This was a Civil Defense exercise that put the fear of nuclear war into our little heads. At least once a month, as best I recall, we would hear the sirens wailing at 10 a.m. on a Friday. We knew what to do: kneel and drop, face down, below our desk—that mighty protector of our young lives—and cover our necks and heads with our arms and hands as much as possible.
The Soviet Union became a nuclear power in 1949, and suddenly we had a threatening nuclear rival. The Cold War that followed World War II was replete with the rattles of sabers and ominous words, not too unlike what we are hearing today from the leaders of Russia, the remnant of the Soviet Union.
I feel fortunate that as I walk around parts of Ventura and Santa Barbara Counties, I am generally not too concerned about my personal safety.
Well, maybe just a little. I have to admit that I’ve encountered a fair number of angry people on the streets and – I’ll have to say – a substantial number of individuals with obvious mental health deficiencies.
I won’t delve here into the myriad factors that I believe foster this discontent and madness in our midst. But it makes me yearn for a place that allows me to walk, especially at night, with a sense of confidence in my fellow citizens.
Laudably, President Joe Biden has reignited the “Cancer Moonshot” that he had previously launched in 2016 when he was vice president. There is now renewed energy, new leadership, and more advanced medical experience, knowledge, and technology. The goal is now more focused: to reduce the death rate from cancer by at least 50 percent over the next 25 years.
The initiative was termed a “moonshot” to evoke the historic call by the late President John F. Kennedy to land a man on the moon within a decade. So far in our history, nothing compares with the boldness, wisdom, and foresight of that vow to take the “giant leap for mankind.” Nonetheless, a spirited call to take on the current, daunting epidemic of cancer in the United States and save American lives is certainly a necessary step in the right direction.
As we know all too well, Californians have been suffering recently with the “heat domes” that seem to enjoy settling, for days at a time, over our region in the Southwest. The resulting inferno bakes us, unmercifully, in a sweltering heat. The suffering we experience forces us to admit that yes, despite those who rant and confuse climate with weather, we are in fact facing a potential collapse of earth’s climate systems.
And yet many of us here in Ventura County live relatively close to the beach. We along the coast, at least, are consistently among the cooler spots in this entire corner of the country—if not the entire country (except for Alaska—usually). We are indeed fortunate when we compare our climate to that of California’s Central Valley, for example.
Still, we suffer, though our suffering is relative. We can’t help but feel that we’ve angered the sun when in fact we’ve angered the earth.
Many Americans who are “done” with the pandemic and its devastation are ready to “move on” and “get back to a normal life.” Would that we could actually do this.
The pandemic may in fact be in the rear-view mirror. The problem is that we just don’t know if it is in retreat as we go on with our lives. We don’t want to think about it anymore. Unfortunately, it may be in that rear-view mirror because it is catching up to us, once again, from behind. This is the kind of thing that happened in the Middle Ages in Europe starting in the 14th century.
The Bubonic Plague, also known as the “Black Death,” caused massive devastation in Western Europe and surrounding regions. We in the modern age, armed with vaccines and highly effective treatments, do not expect to ever face such horrors. Still, we have lost over a million Americans to COVID-19 and continue to lose several hundred American lives each day.
The news of Carmen’s demise was stunning, not too unlike when the shocking deaths of President Kennedy, Princess Diana, and Beatles icon John Lennon were announced. Carmen was a politician who was widely admired. She could be trusted, believed, and embraced as a friend.
By now, we all know the sad circumstances of her death. She was doing the kind of thing that so many of us do on a pleasant summer evening. She was walking to a concert that once again was enlivening downtown Oxnard after a pandemic pause. Unanimously elected to be the first Latina chair of the Ventura County Board of Supervisors earlier this year, she likely had plans in her head for improving the lives of county residents as she took that fateful step into the crosswalk.
My three siblings and I grew up in Los Angeles next door to five cousins. But we are not your everyday cousins. We’re “special.” You see, we are “double cousins.” A bit of explanation is in order.
One of my mother’s sisters is their mother, and one of my father’s brothers is their father. To make this simpler, two sisters from the Rivas family married two brothers from the Magallanes family. We cousins all share the same four grandparents.
We cousins all played together and visited with each other daily. We shared our interests and some of our sorrows. Our parents are gone, and we are all now in our “golden years.” All nine of us today are well and thriving, to one degree or another. Having been raised by parents from the same families means that we understand each other like no one else in the whole world understands us.
Nearly 20 years ago, I was on a pilgrimage. I went to France to trace some of the steps my father had taken during World War II. He went through this war-torn country before entering Germany and then Belgium to deal with the Nazis.
While in Paris, I visited several art museums. I will forever remember a sight that I will never see in an American art museum.
“Fall out!” the sergeant screamed at us. I didn’t know what he meant and feared that I was obligated to take that command literally.
It was September of 1967 at a military base near San Antonio, Texas. We were kept up all night to be processed into the military and were given our ill-fitting uniforms. We were “compassionately” granted two hours of sleep and then marched off for a hasty breakfast before a full day of intense training.
Throughout the history of the world, there have been challenges to classical science.
It took a couple of centuries for people to embrace Isaac Newton’s heliocentric model, developed in the 16th century, establishing that the sun – and not the earth – was the center of the universe. That the earth was displaced from the center of the universe clashed with the belief that we were “exceptional.” Galileo had proposed this very idea nearly a century earlier, but he recanted when his life was threatened by the Catholic Church.
As our country tilts menacingly toward a theocratic autocracy, the attacks on our public education system are becoming relentless. In some states, there is a determined effort to infiltrate school boards and administrative posts with supporters of an ultra-conservative, right-wing ideology. A traditionally conservative philosophy in our schools’ governance might be something society could tolerate and even negotiate, but this is different.
In certain states (not so much here in California), there is a troubling Christian nationalist facet of this movement that seems to be working to undermine traditional public education. Curricula and books in public schools are being unmercifully scrutinized. Anything that smacks of “wokeness” is discarded and replaced with a “patriotic” form of education. “Wokeness” is a euphemism for “liberal education,” and “patriotism” is a nefarious euphemism for censorship and distortions of history and science that are destined to warp our students’ understanding of the world and their place in it.
For the past two and a half years, I have tried every way imaginable to understand how election deniers think. Of course, I’m referring to those who are convinced, or have convinced themselves, that the 2020 presidential election was stolen from Donald Trump. Why do they so stubbornly refuse to accept Trump’s defeat despite the unambiguous evidence proving that he did indeed lose?
Before we attempt to answer that question, here are several noteworthy facts:
For some time now, I’ve written here about the difficulties faced by young people today in comparison with those faced by the baby boomers. The boomer generation grew up in relatively prosperous times after the Second World War. In retrospect, we may have had contentious issues to deal with, such as the lack of racial equality (once again a burning issue), but our democracy seemed secure. Transitions of power at the highest level of our government always seemed to take place seamlessly.
Among people of Mexican heritage, there exists a wide variety of cultural backgrounds that determine their place in the social order. Some of them arrived in the U.S. as adults – possibly seeking work or other opportunities. Others arrived as children, brought into the country by adults who arrived without the proper documents. Some of these children who qualified for the politically controversial DACA program are now young adults (known as “Dreamers”) living in a maddeningly indeterminate state of limbo. And of course, there is a portion of us of Mexican heritage who have the blessings and privileges of having been born here, enjoying all the benefits of U.S. citizenship. Our parents or more distant ancestors made the trek to “el otro lado” (“the other side”) before we were even born.
Which brings us to the Spanish language. Many Anglos assume that if we have a Spanish surname, then either we speak Spanish or should speak Spanish.
Aliso Elementary School in Carpinteria is a “California Distinguished School,” according to its website. It proudly proclaims itself the “Home of the Lions” and appears to be a school enthusiastically dedicated to “STEAM” – Science, Technology, Engineering, Arts, and Mathematics.
I occasionally saunter past the school grounds when I explore Carpinteria on my walking expeditions. Aliso is an unassuming school with nicely maintained lawns, trees, and plants on the premises. Signs on windows and doors of the school tell me that Aliso welcomes students from all strata of society with open arms and is unabashedly determined to give them, from kindergarten through fifth grade, a high-quality education. Aliso’s stated mission is to help students reach their full potential.
However, there is no “History” tab on the website, and that may be just as well. Like many schools in California and throughout the country, Aliso’s early history is a bit “murky.” Nonetheless, that history does not appear to hinder the fine job that this acclaimed school has been doing throughout the latter half of the 20th century and up to the present day.
On top of the ongoing, seemingly never-ending pandemic, we have several epidemics taking place in our country: opioids, guns, voter apathy…
Over and above these scourges, we now have inflation, soaring gas prices, supply chain disruptions, and political unrest that threatens the foundations of our democracy, which until last year we had taken for granted.
As a result, many of us are angry. We’re angry at Big Pharma, the gun manufacturers, the “liberals” who allegedly want to rip people’s guns out of their hands.
Last week I was studying a map, looking for hiking trails in the Ojai area. As my eyes wandered across the map of the region, I randomly noted the various paths, highways, streets, communities, and cities in this part of Ventura County. Something caught my attention: a community labeled as “Ojala,” north of the city of Ojai and near Lake Matilija, just off Highway 33.
Those of us who speak Spanish are very familiar with the language’s most aspirational word: Ojalá. It is a magical word with deep roots in the history of Spain. It sounds very “Arabic” because in fact it is derived from an Arabic expression for hope and longing (inshallah, or ma sha alla), which translates as something along the lines of “God willing,” or “should God will it.”
Beware the impending chaos in our schools.
As conservative politicians make inroads to our local governments, they will be charged with the political duty of acquiescing to parents who demand “control” over school boards and other educational entities. Ostensibly, parents on the far right of the political spectrum want to ensure that their children are taught only what are deemed to be “American” or “Christian” values. Unfortunately, this is often code for the elimination of lessons and discussions that investigate our troubled racial history. Anything that barely grazes age-appropriate matters of sexuality will also be off the table.
Several years ago, I invited my eldest grandson, around 10 years old at the time, to take me around the go-kart track at a local Golf ‘n’ Stuff. He greatly enjoyed feeling the power of the vehicle and the control he had over it.
Last week, he took his DMV driving test (he passed). He had been taking driving lessons. Before he took the test, he asked me to let him practice driving around the streets with me so that he could accustom himself to my car with which he would be taking his driving test. We all know how we celebrate young people’s independence and at the same time fear for their safety at these critical moments in their lives. Regardless of our reluctance to allow them such formidable freedom, which carries an enormous amount of responsibility, we must hand over the keys and hope that they are lucky, smart, sensible, and safe on our highways.
Throughout our history, Native and African Americans have been disrespected and despised. That was obvious to our entire country as recently as last March during the confirmation hearings for the nominee to the U.S. Supreme Court, Ketanji Brown Jackson, an African American woman. During the hearings, several senators disrespectfully and contemptuously grilled her almost as if she were a criminal on trial.
Last week I wrote about the treatment of Native Americans at the California missions. Although it is rarely admitted, we may as well accept that Native Americans were in fact treated as slaves for the sake of the glory, power, and expansion of the Church.
Over the past 20 years, a stealthy health risk has been creeping up on our youth. Parents need to be made aware of prediabetes—and even diabetes if the disease has already advanced to that stage—so that they can help their children deal with the threat.
As it turns out, prediabetes is frighteningly common among U.S. adults. A disheartening 80% of those with the precursor to diabetes are not even aware of the significant risks to their health.
For children, the threat over the horizon for them is equally ominous: some 9.4% of people in the United States have diabetes, but one in four of them don’t even realize that they are afflicted with this dangerous condition. At the same time, the rate of prediabetes in children has more than doubled just in the past 20 years.
The U.S. Senate recently approved a bill, enthusiastically and innocently named the “Sunshine Protection Act,” which would end the annual ritual of “falling back,” i.e., setting our clocks back one hour each fall. If it passes, we will permanently conduct our lives in Daylight Saving Time.
As can be expected, there is both enormous support for, and strong resistance to, the idea.
Last week was National Library Week, “a time to celebrate our nation’s libraries, library workers’ contributions and promote library use and support,” according to the American Library Association website.
Libraries are not the places we boomers knew as children. In the late 1950s, computers and the Internet were just a twinkle in technology’s eye. We may not all have walked to school uphill in neck-high snow, but we did work to get information.
There is so much we have learned from birds, and there is much more to learn as we unlock the secrets of their magnificent abilities.
By observing birds over millennia, we finally figured out, just over a hundred years ago, how to emulate their flight and soar through the air—first in propeller planes, and now in jets. Birds gave us a solid starting point for developing our ability to fly.
One of the memories I have from my childhood in the 1950s is the sound of the glass milk bottles in a small crate being delivered early in the morning on the side porch of our home. The “milkman,” a friendly, jocular, “older” man (who was probably in his 40s) always had a friendly greeting for my mother when she opened the door to retrieve the fresh milk.
But then just like clotheslines, answering machines, and typewriters, the milkman’s role faded away from our lives. Technology’s slow advance began accelerating and then, like an avalanche, seemed to suddenly overtake most facets of our lives. The milkman’s visits were no longer necessary in a world that now provided refrigeration and plastic.
On December 12, 2019, I finished teaching my last mathematics class at a local community college. I announced to my students that I was saying good-bye to my life as an educator. I was completely retiring after teaching for more than 40 years as both a full- and part-time math instructor. We were all looking forward to 2020 and beyond, with the kind of promise that only a new year can offer.
I walked out of the classroom thinking about the possibilities. I reflected on the many decades of work that I always had to come back to, even if I took a few days off for a vacation. Now, finally, I could consider more time with my family, longer trips, and the ability to pursue interests for which I never had the luxury of time.
Much of that was not to be—for several more years, at least.
In years past, American companies that sell items such as cars, military weapons, food, gasoline, airplanes, baking supplies, and items for personal use found that using Native American words in their product names was good for business. Now, however, some of these companies are taking a second look at their choices. In the current age of cultural awareness, appropriating words from Native American languages is deemed “unseemly,” and in some cases just plain bad for the bottom line.
The vast majority of Republicans believe Trump’s Big Lie about last year’s election. They support the “alternative fact” that the election was “stolen” and “fraudulent” and that Trump indeed “won.” They cling to this belief despite the mountains of evidence and reams of data to the contrary. There are thoroughly fact-checked, credible reports about the 61 courts, including the Supreme Court, that struck down lawsuits claiming election malfeasance. This means nothing to the “True Believers” who consider themselves “real Americans” and “patriots.”
“Trump won.” That’s their belief and they’re sticking to it.
As I sit down to write this article, the Russian army is waging war on its neighbor, Ukraine. This is of enormous concern in Europe and around the world. But there is a different kind of war in our own midst that threatens to undermine the very foundations of our country’s success as a nation.
Until recently, education of our children and young adults was something that we valued – something in which we took pride and strove to provide for them. We thought it was important that our children were learning math and history and music. We used to admire young people who chose to go to our colleges and universities. Now we also recognize that higher education is not the only path to financial and personal success.
A mortified and remorseful priest who served the Diocese of Phoenix in Arizona for more than two decades resigned from his duties this month. No, he was not embroiled in a sexual abuse case. He had not pilfered any proceeds from contributions to the church. He was not accused of having a flagrant affair with a female parishioner. He was a good man who made an honest mistake. But in the eyes of the Bishop of Phoenix, that error carried huge implications that will reverberate through the congregation for years. The shock waves are no less unsettling than those of a convulsive earthquake.
During his tenure as pastor at St. Gregory Parish, Father Andrés Arango performed thousands of baptisms. However, in all those baptisms, he had replaced one itsy-bitsy but crucial word with another. The formulaic “I baptize you in the name of the Father, etc.” became “We baptize you….”
David, this is your older self writing a letter to you from nearly 70 years in the future. I have a perspective that people acquire only after having lived through several decades, watching their own children and grandchildren navigate the rivers that are their lives.
At your five years of age, you are living in relatively prosperous times. The world is ten years down the road from the end of World War II, and people are still rejoicing as they build back their lives in a booming economy. The adults around you are creating their families, and that Baby Boom bulge will travel down time like a rodent travels down the gullet of a python. Take full advantage of the opportunities that are going to be laid at your feet. As you become older, you will see that the young people won’t have what your generation takes for granted.
Several years ago, I was shopping for sliced bread at my favorite local supermarket. I headed over to the aisle where a cornucopia of breads, cookies, crackers, jams, and nut butters burst into view. The innumerable choices at American grocery markets are legend throughout the world.
And before I digress too far, let’s return to my quest for bread. I almost never buy the same kind of bread twice in a row because I enjoy experiencing the flavors, textures, and the very essence of “our daily bread.” Bread, after all, is an ancient food representing the life force. It possesses deep religious—even sacramental—connotations.
Millions of Americans have come to depend on credentialed online pharmacies outside the U.S. for their prescription medications. These pharmacies have strict guidelines. They will sell only to adults who are able to produce a legitimate doctor’s prescription for a particular drug or medication. Quality control of their products is of utmost importance. Quantity limits are imposed.
For the struggling masses of Americans who would normally be unable to afford highly inflated prices for these vital pharmaceuticals, these online vendors based in Canada and other countries are a godsend. They offer a legitimate service that allows untold numbers of people to purchase lawful, medically prescribed drugs for a considerably discounted price. People shouldn’t be forced to decide which they can afford to pay in a particular month: food, rent, heat, or prescription medications.
Last week, the new mayor of New York City, Eric Adams, quickly found himself embroiled in a self-inflicted controversy. At a press conference, he casually referred to cooks, dishwashers, messengers, shoe shiners and fast-food workers as “low-skill workers.” That got the attention of some powerful and influential people.
Liberal U.S. State Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez fired back via Twitter. She claimed that calling workers “low-skilled” plays into a “myth perpetuated by wealthy interests to justify inhumane working conditions, little/no healthcare, and low wages.”
But looking past the outcry over the mayor’s remarks, we might want to pause and consider the implications of the issues at hand.
We are all traversing this time that will remain in our memories the rest of our lives. If we are old enough, not only we but also our children and grandchildren are experiencing the disorientation, stress, and anguish of the COVID-19 pandemic. Someday, these children and grandchildren will be telling stories of the Great Pandemic of 2019 – 2022 (hopefully not longer than that) to their descendants, possibly including our great-great-grandchildren. We cannot begin to guess what technology will be used to record those stories for posterity. Some of us may even have venerable photographs of immediate ancestors who suffered and died during the Spanish Flu of 1918 – 1920.
I never forgot a story I read in a college English Literature class about wealth, privilege, and compassion. The title of the story, The Garden Party, is simple and plain. Nonetheless, this narrative, written by Katherine Mansfield, encompasses a range of emotions ranging from the indifference of the wealthy to the suffering endured by the less fortunate. As seen in this story, the two groups often live side by side, hardly aware of each other’s existence. This is happening more frequently here in California as the state seeks to build more affordable housing, even if it happens to be adjacent to moneyed neighborhoods.
“I’m not going to see a doctor. Why should I? I feel fine!”
I’m willing to bet that we’ve all heard this line, or variations of it, from people we know. Or perhaps we ourselves have this belief that if we are feeling well, then visits to doctors’ offices are futile, a waste of precious time, and a fool’s errand. Admittedly, for many people, visits to their doctor could also very well feel like a waste of their money if the test results indicate, over and over, that “all is normal.”
As one example of the cost of ignoring routine medical tests, let’s consider one “silent disease” that often goes undetected: glaucoma. According to the Glaucoma Research Foundation, over three million Americans have glaucoma, a disease that seriously affects vision over time, but only half of them are aware of their condition. However, early detection can prevent the otherwise inevitable loss of vision.
Unbeknownst to most people some 20 years ago, a great war was being waged in our country. Only a small slice of the population, consisting mostly of educators, was actually involved in the battles, but the outcome of that war determined the academic fate of millions of students in our classrooms.
The Great Math Wars of the 1990s pitted the “reform advocates” against the “traditionalists.” It wasn’t until 2008 that a form of “cease-fire” was called, and cooler heads prevailed as compromise between the more extreme positions was hammered out.
Which brings us to today. A recent article on the front page of the Ventura County Star published on November 23, 2021, exposed the “shot across the bow” announcing the stirring of a new conflict. Unfortunately, that clash could merge effortlessly into the broad river we know as the “culture wars” that are shredding the fabric of our society and the very basis of our democracy.
Much of the world regards the United States with either admiration, envy, jealousy, anger, mistrust, or outright hostility.
I have a cousin in Mexico who frequently mentioned the U.S. with rancor and a hint of animosity. She disdainfully described her own country as “Third World.”
However, I’ve come to understand that the term “Third World” is now considered derogatory. It’s no longer “politically correct” to refer to a country as “Third World.” The term is a relic of the Cold War. It was originally meant to designate countries that were not aligned with either NATO or the communist bloc. At the time, Mexico fit that description, and the term stuck.
Last week I wrote about the importance of being informed. But as I mentioned in the article, it is even more important that we be properly informed and not misled by heavily biased news sources with ulterior motives.
So then the question we could ask ourselves is, “How can I stay adequately informed about news that matters?” What matters to us could be, for example, subjects such as politics, health, legal decisions, science, religion, family issues. We could also have a particular interest in specific regions of the world such as Europe, the Middle East, Asia, Africa, or the Americas. It would be best for us to be aware of local issues, especially when they have a direct impact on our lives.
Let’s look at a list of twelve things we can—or should or shouldn’t—do:
For me, keeping abreast of the news is a lifelong habit. For some reason, I tend to think that everyone keeps up with the news at least as much as I do. But then not everyone is as obsessed with the news as I am! And there are others who are far more diligent than I am about analyzing the affairs of the world.
I often talk with people I know about something in the news on the national, state, or local level. I mistakenly assume that “everyone” knows what I’m talking about, but I’m often faced with a blank stare. They may be interested but not aware of the circumstances that make something newsworthy. They may be embarrassed that they don’t know what I’m referring to. Or they flat-out may not care.
And then again, sometimes I’m the one with the blank stare.
In a few days, on November 2, we of Mexican heritage will be celebrating one of our most cherished traditions: honoring the departed souls of our family members on “Día de los Muertos”—the Day of the Dead.
This day is one of our cultural treasures. Our observance on this day is the culmination of the blending of three powerful influences: 1) the Aztec obsession with natural cycles, including life and death; 2) the medieval Spanish practice, brought by the conquerors of Mexico, of honoring the dead; 3) the Roman Catholic belief in the everlasting life of the dearly departed. The Aztec final resting place, Mictlán, was transmuted into the Christian heaven.
Last week I wrote about the demise of Chávez Ravine, originally a neighborhood of primarily Mexican American families and its metamorphosis into the world-famous Dodger Stadium. But initially this transformation came at a cost to the Dodgers.
Mexican Americans resented the disrespectful treatment that the inhabitants of the early Chávez Ravine had received at the hands of government. They had been on the land for generations, yet the City of Los Angeles appeared to dismiss their concerns, rights, and sense of dignity when the land was earmarked for “redevelopment.” The families were told that they had to move, but they were promised “first choice” of the new units in the proposed housing project.
During the current National Hispanic Heritage Month, we might note that the discussions regarding the proper label to be affixed to “Latinos” are often animated, if not contentious.
This cherished “month” extends from September 15 (the anniversary of several Central American countries’ declaration of independence from Spain) to October 12 (“Columbus Day,” which has morphed into “Indigenous Peoples Day”). That this special month was instituted in 1989 by a Republican president, George H.W. Bush, makes it all the more significant.
I used to read story books to my grandson. I would entertain him with action heroes, wooden cars and board games. Suddenly (or so it seems), he is asking me questions about colleges and career choices. My grandson is, after all, a high school senior. So he should be asking those kinds of questions and seeking guidance, and I am grateful that he is doing so.
His growing awareness of the urgency to make some of his life’s most impactful decisions is welcome. I would like to see him avoid the scenario in which so many other college students find themselves. Too many students have no clue whatsoever regarding their choice of career or even area of interest, which of course determines their program of study in college. My grandson still has not nailed down any clear choices, but we have narrowed down the list to two or three possible pursuits.
A number of years ago, I was pursuing a college degree in liberal arts at Oxnard College (OC). I wanted to soften the sharp edges of the decades of technical education that I had acquired up to that point. The classes that I took at OC imparted to me a vision of the world that no physics, math, or engineering class could ever have given me.
Some of my most cherished classes in the liberal arts program taught me to appreciate poetry. Those classes in poetry were taught by one of my colleagues, English professor Shelley Savren.
One of the poems that deeply impressed and mesmerized me was Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese. It conveys sheer, unvarnished truths—the ones that are not easy to confront and that we don’t want to admit are relevant to our lives.
I have a family member who works at a fast-food restaurant. Several in my extended family work at medical offices and retail stores. Several others who were from the “old country” (Mexico) worked in agriculture. Some in the family drive trucks for a living. My brother worked at a warehouse, manually tracking inventory. A sister’s entire career was dedicated to serving as a grocery cashier. My father was a linotype machine operator. In her first working years, my daughter was a bank teller (relatively few people work as bank tellers anymore). I myself worked in the college classroom as an educator.
What do all these jobs have in common?
Answer: they have either disappeared, are being judged as less essential, or are about to exit stage left.
Sometimes we reach for an artifact, a bauble, a seashell, or a book because something—we don’t know what—attracts us to the object. It’s almost as if the object chooses us.
I’ve often randomly reached for books or watched a movie or documentary. For reasons unknown to me, they caught my attention and ended up giving me a new perspective that helped me understand more about the world around me. These sources of information have pulled my life into different orbits, and at times even changed the course of my existence completely and irrevocably. One of my latest book choices certainly had me reconsidering some of the things that I had observed and learned throughout my life.
There has always been a certain degree of distrust toward science in this country—sometimes justifiably so. But over the past year and a half, that distrust has been amplified to literally dangerous levels, mostly via social media (many people’s only source for “news”) and extreme right-wing hysteria on the news channels.
The severe lack of science education in this country has fomented the massive paranoia that brings many of our fellow citizens to misunderstand, misinterpret, despise, and deny scientific information. National and state leadership that plays into the hands of an insidious disinformation campaign are decimating conservative bastions throughout the country with completely preventable illness and death.
Several months ago, I was sitting in a doctor’s office waiting to be called in. Facial masks are required. After all, this is a medical building. Given our circumstances over this past year and a half, medical staff is intensely focused on maintaining an atmosphere in which patients can feel relatively safe.
I was reading a book as I waited. I didn’t notice that my mask had fallen below my nose. The receptionist kindly reminded me to lift the mask up so that it covered my face properly. I apologized and immediately took care of the problem.
The infrastructure bill passed by the United States Senate last week has been hailed as a bipartisan victory. It was passed in the face of fierce opposition from a considerable number of Senate Republicans, regardless of how much the bill stands to benefit their constituents. After all, why make President Biden look good when you can make him look bad?
But enough Republican senators saw an opportunity to make things better for the country despite the usual threats from a certain former president. The bill is not yet signed into law, but it is expected to end up on President Biden’s desk for his signature after further discussions.
I was calmly reading an article in my favorite newspaper one morning when I came across the term “pregnant people.” I nearly choked on my coffee. Words get my attention, and I had never in my life seen those two words together.
I started to mumble about “liberals” (although I am one, with conservative leanings). I wondered if this was some far-left conspiracy to ignore womanhood or reduce it to “peoplehood.” Before I went off writing letters to the editor and state representatives or clamoring to appear on talk shows to rant about liberalism gone amok, I thought I had better investigate. I needed to find out what this nomenclature was all about.
At the time, it was hard to imagine that patiently spitting into a plastic tube would unlock some of the secrets of my ancestry. But such is the process that allows 23andMe, a “genetic service” that provides DNA testing, to provide ancestral information to their customers.
The results of such genetic inquiries can range from shocking to embarrassing to simply confirming what we may already know—or at least suspect—about our family background.
I thought I would try something new and different this week. I’m pretending that I don’t have a car. I have had a car ever since I graduated from high school, so I knew this was going to feel “different.”
Several weeks ago I started studying the bus routes in Oxnard and saw that, except for the harbor area, I could take a bus just about anywhere I want to go within the city of Oxnard from my home in Port Hueneme, provided I was willing to walk a bit. But I walk or run just about every day of my life, so that’s not an issue for me.
Once upon a time, there was a little Black girl who used to compose music in her head as she read stories about Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. She “heard” music as she gazed upon the lyrics of Peter’s morning song. She thought that everyone could compose music in their head like she did.
Last year, Emily Wilson interviewed the gifted African American composer Nkeiru Okoye (click on the link to read the interview and for YouTube videos of her work), who as a girl did not recognize her formidable gift. Her story, in more than one sense of the word “classic,” is a classic American story that spans a full range of human experiences: giftedness, discouragement, prejudice, encouragement, recognition, and ultimately triumph. As a young adult, she studied at the Oberlin Conservatory of Music and earned a doctorate in music theory and composition at Rutgers University, one of only nine “colonial colleges.” These colleges have deep roots, as they were chartered before the American War of Independence.
The news media and the health establishment continually preach to us about the importance of eating a healthy diet (substantial portions of fresh, seasonal, raw fruits and vegetables, whole grains, and limited red meat intake). A healthy diet, in turn, enhances our lives, allowing us to be more active and productive.
This is all well and good for those who have access to foods that are rich in nutrients and low in fat and calories. But many of us living in this part of California amid agricultural abundance may take for granted the food that is available to us. We may not be fully aware of the “food deserts” [NOTE: not “food desserts”!] scattered throughout many of our neighborhoods. “Food deserts” condemn many of those living in impoverished communities to poor health, sinking them even further into poverty.
In 1949, George Orwell’s novel, “1984,” was published. What was predicted to happen in “1984” in a fictionalized Britain came about for us in the U.S. quite recently. “Orwellisms” seem to be guiding our country into a dark forest from which we seem unable to emerge, and possibly never will. Just as in “1984,” truth at this time appears to be amorphous, fluid, and often inverted.
Politicians of the rightist persuasion often attack their Democratic opponents with round condemnations of their “socialist” platforms. The word “socialist” drives hard-right conservative voters into paroxysms of rage and disgust. Its impact is much the same as the label “commie” was in the 1950s when “Communists” were being pursued under every rock and wooden plank. There are aspects of socialism that should be of concern to us, but it is not an ideology to be feared without understanding what it is and what it is not.
I can recall evenings sitting around the new television in the home I shared with my parents and siblings in the 1950s. The TV with a small screen that displayed black-and-white images was a new and wondrous phenomenon for Americans, who were just beginning to experience it. My father seemed enthralled by the magic of images beamed from across Los Angeles to the antenna mounted on our roof and into the television—that mysterious apparatus that was powered by glowing red vacuum tubes and voltages that could kill a horse.
I have never owned a dog. I don’t plan on ever owning a dog. I am (obviously) not a “dog person.” Some mornings on my walks along the water at the marina (dogless, of course), I feel that I am in the minority. I must look like the “odd person,”—the outlier—without a dog.
But for a brief period yesterday evening, when my daughter invited me to go for a walk with her at the marina, I was able to experience the joys of the “dog person” life.
People in our lives who can “do no wrong,” such as doctors, teachers, religious leaders—and, yes, even some lawyers and politicians—are said to “walk on water.” This is in reference to the biblical story about the time that the disciples of Jesus were crossing the Sea of Galilee. Jesus was not with them. The water was turbulent, and they feared for their lives. According to the narration, they suddenly saw Jesus walking toward them on the water. One of the disciples, Peter, armed with the faith that moves mountains, got out of the boat and likewise started walking on the water toward Jesus. That is, until his faith wavered, at which point he began sinking like a rock, just as any of the rest of us would.
John Cox, a businessman and political activist, has been a perennial candidate for political office. He has not quite yet achieved his goal. He has run for Congress, a county office in Illinois, and even president of the United States. More recently, he ran for governor of California, but lost to Gavin Newsom, a former mayor of San Francisco, in the 2018 election. Now he is one of the current Republican candidates vying for the governorship of California in the effort to recall Mr. Newsom this year. Cox has his eye on being the incumbent in California’s gubernatorial election in 2022.
As young as I was in the latter part of the 1950s, I was acutely aware of the Space Race between the United States and the Soviet Union. I recall that we were hell-bent on “beating those Communists.” Except that we didn’t. Twice.
Both the United States and the Soviet Union were planning to launch the world’s first satellite. Whoever accomplished this would be recognized as the world’s technological leader. The Soviets beat us to the punch in 1957 when they launched into orbit their Sputnik I satellite. In comparison with modern satellites, it was nothing sophisticated. But its impact on the American psyche was profound.
As I was coming of age in the 1960s, the United States economy was galloping along after the end of World War II and still heading for its peak. By then, we had established ourselves as the wealthiest and most powerful country in the world.
In the 1950s and ‘60s, college was the indisputable ticket to the middle class, which at the time was an indicator of affluence. Young people were acquiring college educations to graduate and fuel the engines of prosperity. Single-income families were the norm. Except for the scourge of racial discrimination, it was by some measures almost an idyllic society compared to today’s problem-ridden existence for far too many Americans.
But now, even some wealthier families are questioning the intrinsic, assumed value of a college education.
Former senator from Pennsylvania Rick Santorum echoed last week what many of us learned in school about the history of early America: that the original white “settlers” who arrived from distant shores had planted the seeds of American culture. In fact, he said that there was “nothing here” when the colonizers arrived. He flatly declared that “there isn’t much Native American culture in American culture.”
Mr. Santorum’s baseless claims about the absence of Native American influence on our national character is a continuation of white nationalist propaganda that ignores, or at least gravely understates, the vast impact of Native American culture upon ours. To say, as he did, that the first settlers to arrive on our eastern shores “birthed a nation from nothing” is to erase the wisdom and knowledge that was already present and predated the birth of the United States by several millennia.
A Gallup news item from last month describes the precipitous drop in religious affiliation in the United States since the turn of the century—not that long ago. In just over 20 years, the number of those who declare themselves members of a church, mosque, or synagogue has decreased more than 20%. In fact, according to the Gallup poll cited in the report, less than half of Americans claim to belong to a religious organization.
I grew up with a father, a typesetter by trade, who was obsessed with the rules of grammar, spelling and punctuation. Starting in my school years, informally proofreading everything that was printed on paper was as natural as breathing air. I hardly realized I was doing it. Now, fast-forwarding several decades, I am a recent graduate of an online proofreading course. I have become like my father, obsessed with the rules of grammar, spelling, and punctuation.
Lately, I have become acutely aware of several troubling trends in writing among the general public.
This past week I had an appointment with a friend, a shop owner I’ve known for several years. Like so many other shop owners this past year, her business has been closed more than it’s been open. Our encounter felt a bit eerie as we took those first tentative steps up from the depths of the Great Pandemic Lockdown.
As I was setting up some equipment for a video I wanted to make, I realized that I had lost a small mounting screw that I needed. I started looking for it all over the house until it dawned on me that this search could take hours, if not days. I could have spent precious time wandering around hardware stores searching for a replacement. In any case, without that piece, I was “dead in the water,” not able to proceed with my project.
Parents of young children need not panic. “No more boys’ and girls’ toys” does not imply the prospect of a world without toys.
What it does mean is that a California Assembly bill, AB 2826(19R), is proposing that large retail department stores have toy departments that are gender-neutral; i.e., no more division between the boys’ and girls’ toy sections.
Last week I saw an article in Yahoo News condemning a more liberal approach to teaching mathematics in Oregon, that bastion of liberal thinking (rivaling that of neighboring California!). Don’t get me wrong. I’m a political moderate with strong leftist leanings. But the way “liberal mathematics” was described in the article left me gobsmacked—not to mention incredulous. The article’s characterization of modern mathematics education was outrageous. But then I considered the news source and understood why the facts were being distorted.
The state of Oregon was encouraging teachers to receive training in “ethnomathematics.” This branch of mathematics, which never appeared in my college catalog back in the 1970s when I was a student, explores relationships between mathematics and culture. Fair enough. Understanding how Native Americans and the ancient Chinese, for example, viewed and used mathematics can be fascinating and enlightening.
Some of us Ventura County residents may be in high school or recently graduated, trying to find a path forward as we wrestle with a daunting number of higher education and career choices. Some of us may be middle-aged and “drifting,” or restless in our current careers.
Then there are those of us who are retired and looking for something new to challenge us. Perhaps we have a new interest—and the time to pursue it. Retirees may even be seeking a career that is either an extension of their life’s work, or possibly something quite different from what they had done for decades.
In a matter of weeks or months, if all goes well, the world will begin to transition into a new era: the Post-Pandemic Age. When we emerge and behold the new world order, a different work landscape will present itself—for better and for worse.
Upon the death of a parent, we children find ourselves scrambling about, muddling through the logistics: finding a mortuary, arranging religious and/or memorial services, choosing a cemetery and possibly meeting with family and friends for that last goodbye at the burial grounds. Of course, much of this can be pre-arranged.
“Ok, fine, but I go wherever I want and don’t worry about anything. In fact, I don’t believe what the scientists say about the coronavirus.”
This was more or less the response I got from a family relative who wanted me to go into Los Angeles, the global epicenter of COVID-19 at the time, to meet with her. She had arrived from out of town. We hadn’t seen each other in years. This would have been our big chance to reconnect, but I couldn’t bring myself to contravene the health guidelines that the health authorities have been pounding into our heads for the past year—guidelines, by the way, that have made perfect sense to me.
Why Personalized Nutrition Is Important
By necessity, the standard nutritional support recommendations tend to be generic; there’s nothing “personalized” in your nutrition plans, given your uniqueness even within a particular demographic. It’s true: there’s only one you. You may have a friend of about the same age, the same body type. Maybe you exercise about the same and eat about the same kinds of foods. But you have your own routines, stressors and family history that set you apart and play a role in how healthy you are and how you feel.
Amanda Gorman, our country’s first Youth Poet Laureate, stood proudly, if not nervously, before the country and the world during President Biden’s inauguration as she delivered her poem, aptly entitled “The Hill We Climb.” It was a formidable image, reminiscent of watching Barack Obama delivering his inaugural address to the nation as our first African American president.
The past few days in our country have been exhausting, frightening, sickening, traumatic, dispiriting. The attack on the Capitol, with threats of even more violence in the coming weeks and months, starkly demonstrated the power of words.
An impeached and diminished president stands accused of incitement to riot. He may well believe that his words were “appropriate,” but then he believes many things that are not true. Even several of his supporters in Congress have admitted that his words carried the weight that crushed any remaining sense of stability we might have had.
Many of us consider ourselves to be “healthy eaters,” possibly to the dismay of others around us who chide us for our discipline and call us “fanatical.” We’re conscious of our health and proud of our food choices.
Even so, we might well have one or two little “weaknesses” that food companies like to exploit, not unlike the coronavirus seeking to exploit any weakness it detects in our behavior and circumstances. Our alimentary lapses may occur with others, or in secret. In their extreme form, these deviations from our better judgment might be more accurately classified as eating disorders. But generally, our occasional missteps do us no harm and can be attributed to us “being human.”
We’ve just bid adieu to The Terrible Year. Yes, 2020 was the year that many of us simply want to forget and make believe it never happened. But it did happen. And we are not going to snap back to normal in the very near future, at least, just because a vaccine on a white horse is about to ride into town. Maybe we’re “done” with the pandemic and believe that we should “take our chances” because we’re so tired of the lockdowns and restrictions that robbed us of life as we knew it.
When Latinos in this country think of indigenous music originating in Mexico, our thoughts and hearts turn wistfully to the Aztec dancers we see performing at our cultural festivals, political protests and religious celebrations. The music consists of unfiltered rhythms from the sacred beating heart of Aztec ritual that celebrated life and death as both sides of the same mystical coin. Copal incense wafts past us, reminding us of the frankincense and myrrh that is cast into the air along with our prayers at Catholic rites such as the exposition of the Eucharist and funerals.
Classical music composers throughout history have taken cues from their own cultural roots. They wove the fabric of their ancient and folk heritages into their music to produce masterful works that resonate with listeners. The composers were influenced by music that stirred their spirits by dint of its power. These compositions are melded together by forces that we dare not try to understand. As we listen to them, we discern the echoes of something that accompanied our ancestors as they danced, prayed, or celebrated. Our DNA is imprinted onto the soul of these classic works.
