I AM PETTY ENOUGH TO ENJOY THIS

The feelings currently swirling in my heart might not make me the best person on earth, but I have never claimed (and I dare you to quote me if I have) that I am a nice sweet person. This morning, while I tried to find out if the city I live in is going to spend $485,000 in a patriot memorial whose original budget was $80,000, I ran into the news that over the weekend, Anthony Mangione, the head of ICE (Immigration and Custom Enforcement) had FBI agents searching his house because of child pornography allegedly stored in his home computer.

http://www.palmbeachpost.com/news/child-porn-investigators-search-home-and-office-of-1393121.html

You know ICE, that agency that is seen in the news banging down house doors and spiriting away Hispanic people from their very homes, or raiding meat packing companies, or tomato picking farms, or the corner of Wal-Mart where they stand waiting for some day work. That agency that holds, oh such a warm place in my heart, that agency’s Miami Branch has a head of department accused of holding child pornography. The head of department who according to the article has “aggressively targeted child pornography” and spoken against predators.

Ah, and I feel a sweet little tickle spreading like sweet nectar over my chest…sigh.

I am not completely heartless and horrible, however, and I truly wish there was another alleged crime that he had committed; it makes me feel kind of guilty that I am enjoying this. I wish he would’ve been accused of cheating taxes, or hiring undocumented workers to clean his house and babysit his children (the sweet irony) or some other victimless crime. But I am too frustrated with the system and ICE, as long as I remain in limbo waiting for my process to complete, represents everything I fear and there is no room in my heart for feelings of compassion for an agency whose main object is to chase me and those like me out of this country.

I am afraid I feel like I feel every time there is some self-righteous right wing nut that ends up propositioning for gay sex in a bathroom, or discovered with his mistress when he spouts so much about the importance and sanctity of marriage. It just so damn poetic it makes me want to cry a little.

So while Florida seems to be cracking down on those undocumented workers whose only crime was to be here undocumented and work their asses off to help their families (not only the ones here but also the ones from their country of origin) the agency that handles all the cracking has an alleged pedophile at its head.

Nothing has been proven, and Mr. Mangiano, who by the way is the son of Italian and Portuguese immigrants, (go figure), is considered under the eyes of the eyes of the law innocent until proven contrary. Therefore I will say no more. But while this whole deal is being solved I have but one thought in my head:

Swift poetic justice taste divine.

OH, CANADA (AGAIN)

Oh, Canada! Aside from the cold and the baby seal clubbing it sounds like an amazing place. So amazing I have lost another family member to its subtle allure.

My uncle, who has spent a decade trying to legally remain in the U.S. has cut his losses and say goodbye to the good ol’ U.S. of A.

In the past two weeks I have learned of two people that I know who have been stopped randomly by the cops and taken to Krome (the detention facility in South Florida). These people have all been stopped on their way to work. Imagine that, minding your own business you get up that morning thinking that the day is going to be another day of toiling around for a few bucks and that you will be at the end of the day back at home, with your family, ready to watch some Caso Cerrado (Latin court TV). When wham! What these two individuals didn’t know was that this day wasn’t going to be like the others. That today was the end of the journey they had started years ago. That today in spite of being a hard working law abiding non-citizen they would be treated like common criminals and thrown in a detention facility and all the dreams and plans for tomorrow were over.

These cops aren’t stopping the many criminals roaming the streets; oh no, they are targeting hard working immigrants who happen to be illegal. What’s the sense in that? These two people I know worked their asses off, six to seven days a week to provide for their families. What’s the crime here? They aren’t bleeding the state of any funds because they aren’t eligible for any help from the government because of their lack of status, they aren’t robbing anyone of their jobs because I have yet to meet the first American who wants to do the job they do, the only law they broke was driving without a valid driver’s license. Yet there they sit at Krome, waiting to be taken away from the country like criminals while the rest of their family decides to uproot themselves and leave a country that doesn’t want them but that has become home nonetheless.

That easily could have been me. Except that I have the good luck of having DH to drive me everywhere I need to be. But what if I didn’t? What if while I waited for my case to be over I was driving to and from work, the work I am not allowed to have (oh because I am such a rebel, cleaning houses without their permission, how dare I?!) and they stop me and take me to Krome….oh let me tell you that would be the stupidest move they could make, because I am not the preferred target of INS. They like their spics scared stupid and ignorant of their rights. Yes, crazy people who hate immigrants, we do have rights, you may not to acknowledge them but we do. So I don’t fit the profile of their preferred victims, because I am not ignorant and while I would probably be scared for a few minutes there would be another emotion that would quickly taker over fear, anger. And I am fucking loud when I am angry. They need to pick up more people like me, people that can tell them off in their own language, people who aren’t afraid of them, people who get loud, people who ask to call their lawyers, people who realize they aren’t the powers that be; they aren’t the end all and be all of the law.

My family member was on his way to Canada this morning. To look for that famous American Dream that ended being nothing but a mirage. He did everything right, like I did, tried the proper channels, like I have. Worked hard and paid his taxes even though he didn’t have to, like I have. For what? For nothing, he has nothing to show for the decade of hard work he has put in this country.

The problem is that Americans don’t realize is that he isn’t the first one to leave, nor will he be the last. Who wins when hardworking people leave a country? The country most definitely doesn’t. So what will America have to show for when one by one hardworking immigrants leave? Do they realize that Hispanic immigrants make up for the largest minority in the US? That entire markets in the US target us specifically? That there are 50 million of us here in the country and we cannot longer be ignored. Ignoring us or pretending to wean out the undesirables while making it impossible for the ones interested in legally remaining in the country doesn’t fix the “problem”.

While part of me is filled with furious indignation because of the fate of the people I know who now sit in Krome, the other part of me is simply resigned, resigned that Florida has come to so closely resemble the Arizona of mid 2010, resigned that Canada or some other country looks so damn attractive and seems to be calling my name.

This country has plenty of policies, customs and traditions that I don’t agree with, nor understand, but slowly yet surely the other many, many things that I approve of have wiggled themselves into my being and turned me into who I am today. I love it here, this is my home now and it hurts to think that in the future I will have to make the same decision that took my relative so long to make. Leave here.

It feels much like the stabbing pangs of unrequited love. Loving a place so much, liking its craziness and enjoying how nonsensical it is just to realize after ten years that that place you cherish doesn’t quite feel the way you do.

There is nothing to do but sigh. Sigh and be happy that this time it wasn’t me, that this time it wasn’t a family member that this time it didn’t hit close to home like it could’ve. These are mere acquaintances but what if next time is someone closer? What if next time is me? What if next time I have to be the one to leave?

Praying started sounding like a waste of time years ago and I sure as hell ain’t picking that up now. There is nothing to do but act; I am not the praying kind, twiddling my thumbs while I wait for some superior power to solve my problems. My frustration knows no bounds because I have nothing to do but seethe in indignation and wait for my circumstances to change what I could do is done; now we wait.

I can’t help but wonder though, what about the others who aren’t like me? What about those who aren’t as lucky?

MARCH MADNESS AND OTHER AILMENTS

March Madness is over. Praise the Lord and thanks the heavens! Sadly the Butler Bulldogs are not the National Champions. My household is now in mourning. DH is from Indiana and a fervent Butler fan and losing the National Championship to UCONN is a blow to what had been so far an amazing season. I rather concentrate on the fact that they made it this far, that they made it to the final four twice in a row, a feat accomplished not only because of the talent and determination of its players or the amazing skill of their cute as hell coach, but because DH wore his Butler shirt all month without ever washing it. Save me from superstitious sports fans.

I won’t lie, I like March Madness, I like basketball (college basketball) the fast pace of the game, the last minute winning, the promise of greatness from such young people, the tall, tall guys… So of course I was rooting for the Bulldogs, although my reasons have nothing to do with sports and everything to do with the fact that I have a huge crush on Coach Brad Stevens. Who I must say is the walking, breathing, living image of that female fantasy of a take-charge nerd. Meowrrr, Grrr, and yum.

When I came home from work and went to shower DH closed the door to our room and kicked Zoey and Max (cat and dog) out to “do ab work”. While I showered I was sure that in reality he was on his knees praying to the Basketball Gods for Butler to win. Apparently the Basketball Gods weren’t listening, and so March Madness end in a sad note for Butler diehards who so wanted to see Blue walk around court strutting his stuff in front of all those Husky fans.

I have seen ONE full Butler game. Last year during March Madness we were in St. Augustine celebrating our one year anniversary and had more drinks than I care to count at awesome Scarlet O’Hara pub while watching the game. After that I was emotionally invested and decided for the sake of DH not to watch future games with him.

See, Hispanic people don’t do anything half assed and I don’t know what it is but sporting events bring out the worst in all people regardless of gender or nationality and it brings the fucking loud out of Hispanic folks.

Poor DH was a witness to this when we saw Spain (go my mother land!) kick Germany’s ass at the World Cup’s final game. He was amazed that we were so loud and that I was jumping up and down about something that had nothing to do with fashion or Harry Potter. That’s why I don’t watch the games, once I am emotionally involved and invested on the team there is no fan that would love them better and no fan that would scream louder than a Hispanic one. I get nauseous and scream, get cold chills and depressed if they lose. It is better for my (and DH’s) mental health if I just find out what happened after the fact.

As much as I enjoy sports, on those seldom occasions when I give a damn about the teams, I cannot claim to comprehend this country’s obsession with sports.

As soon as football season is over (I hate football with a heated passion) here comes March Madness and March Madness ain’t over yet and Baseball season is already here, then baseball season is over and hell in the form of football shows up again. There is no end to this, is just a never ending cycle and circle that repeats, over and over again, ad nauseam and ad infinitum. Kind of like the never ending torture of Dante’s hell. And for those few who do not like those, there is always boring ass Golf and Tennis (which I discovered I was partial to when I discovered Australia’s Patrick Rafter back in ’98).

Back at home we have baseball (in Venezuela) where the fans are crazy as you can get and I used to not talk to my best friend as soon as the season started. In Colombia we had futbol and in its coast at Barranquilla (where I am born) when the Junior plays (our football team) there is no class, there is no work there is only Junior. That’s it. Either baseball or football.

I guess is a sign of both U.S. excesses and also its diversity that makes the entire year revolve around sports. It’s not like other countries that have futbol, or curling or hockey (if Canadian, who are the only people that should like Hockey). Americans must have it all, baseball, football, baseball, hockey and more.

I actually am writing this post while DH screams downstairs. I wrote this post with the assumption that Butler would win and I will have to change the first paragraph if they don’t. He is at the moment screaming obscenities (charge mother fucker, charge!) at the teams. I hope he doesn’t read this post and then blames me for his team’s loss since I jinxed it by writing that they won before they did.

As much as I enjoy basketball and coach Brad Steven’s glass-wearing hotness I am glad March Madness is over because I will finally have the TV to myself for a couple of days and will catch up to my DVR’s of Glee, Bones and Fringe.

When there is no Brad Stevens in sight there is always Mr. Shuster, Peter Bishop and Seely Booth.