Over the river and through the woods….

Well, we’re not going through the woods and we certainly ain’t going to grandma’s. But we are going over the river, the LA river to be exact. From Boyle Heights just past the LA river is another world, a world unique to Downtown LA. I’m talking about the alleys.

Now, for those unfamiliar with LA, going to the alleys doesn’t sound too charming. Don’t get me wrong, some alleys in downtown shouldn’t be traversed by anyone who doesn’t live there. In fact, just a few blocks over, you’ll find these alleys, infamously known as Skid Row.

I’m talking about the alleys between Santee Street and Maple Avenue. These alleys have been re-imagined as the Fashion District, but they’ll always be the alleys to the locals like me. Here, you’ll find finger-licking-good food, small pets, bootleg DVDs, and knock-off’s of all kinds, from Louis Vuitton wallets, ipods, Gucci watches and who knows what else.

I was there recently, and man oh man, has it ever changed! What used to be a narrow alley has blossomed into mini-malls and store fronts down every parallel and perpendicular street. But what’s really changed is the prices. Back in the day, if you wanted a deal, the alleys is where you’d find it. But now, the prices are so high, you might as well go to the mall. At least at a mall you’ll have a parking lot or garage. And that’s another part of the adventure that is a trip to the alleys. Good luck finding parking.

When I first had this idea to write a blog about the alleys, it seemed a lot more fun and exciting. But this is all I was able to muster. So there it is. The alleys. Just one of the many interesting communities that surround the great Boyle Heights.

PS: Here’s a surprising fact I found: Fashion District retail sales exceeded $495 million in 2005—topping sales at The Grove. Take that you yuppie assholes!

Turkey Day at the Zaragoza Residence

No warm memories of a hot, golden turkey right out of the oven. Or of warm, fluffy stuffing. Or of tangy sweet jiggly cranberry sauce. Nope. My fondest memories of Turkey Day will be of my dad hammering and sawing away while we're dressed in our Thursday finest.

Take, for example, this picture taken on Turkey Day 2008. While our dining room table is set, brimming with delicious food, my brother and uncle are busy helping my dad put up a ceiling. This is normal in the Casa Zaragoza. Just another day in Boyle Heights. Never mind that it's Turkey Day and the family is gathered to spend an hour together gorging ourselves while watching Dallas play on the big screen. Never mind that we're all waiting to dive right in. Never mind that this is the only day out of the whole year we actually eat together at the table. Nope. We have to wait until the construction zone is closed for the day.

It's typical. It's funny. And, for better or worse, it's my family.

So much fun!!!

Thanks reese81! I LOVE THIS! Wordle is where it's at! Now I have to create one for everything I adore!

Like USC Football!

And the beach!

Oh, too addicting.....

Ahh....this is the life

This is where it all starts. The beginning of a long night in the alley, chowing down on good grub, throwing back some Tecates, shooting the shit with the fam bam. Some people’s idea of a good time may involve hitting the hottest spot on the Sunset Strip or wining and dining at an overpriced fancy restaurant. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy that too, occasionally. After all, I am from LA. But my idea of the BEST time is kicking it with my peeps. There's nothing like firing up the grill at the spur of the moment, grabbing some food at the grocery store down the street, and just hanging out talking about whatever. It's times like these when the best tasting food is made, the funniest stories are told, and true bonding happens. Not the sissy kind of bonding like telling each other how much we love each other and all that nonsense. I mean the unspoken bonding that occurs between a brother and sister who, though never said aloud, will do anything for each other and always have each other's backs. I mean the kind of bonding that can only happen between uncles and cousins and nieces and nephews and brother-in-laws at 3 in the morning after 5 bottles of cheap wine and several tortillas later.

This may not be what Hallmark cards are made of, but it's what Boyle Heights is made of, and it's what I'm made of, and that's a whole lot better if you ask me.

Are you going to dress up for Halloween?

I remember when trick or treating was actually a treat….now you’re likely to run into tricks standing on the corner making a living the only way they can.

Halloween when I was a kid was all about roaming the streets with your friends, having a night out elementary-kid-style, with no adults, only grocery bags and cheap plastic costumes. Ha! Those costumes were crazy! I remember my face getting all sweaty, not being able to breathe, but refusing to remove my mask for fear that it’ll ruin the illusion I was so desperately attempting to achieve—a princess or a cartoon character—a costume most likely bought at the market.

Yeah, those were the days. I guess every generation reminisces about days long gone when things were just different and better than they are now. It was better back then. Now I see parents driving up, parking, walking their kids to a couple of houses, then getting back in the car, and driving to the next block. What the hell kind of fun is that? I guess I can’t knock parents for being careful and taking every precaution. Shit, I don’t remember hearing about pedophiles back in the day and now everybody you encounter might be one. So I guess they gotta be careful. But it makes me sad to think all these kids won’t have the same carefree memories I have.

Memories of walking around at night, giggling, trying to get the most candy, feeling cool, and getting excited to see a kid from school outside of school. Are those days gone forever? Will I never get that ooey-gooey, creepy-crawly-spiders in my stomach, candy-coma, don’t-want-the-night-to-ever-end feeling again?

Nah. I can make Halloween in Boyle Heights fun again. It ain’t all that bad. You just gotta know what streets are off-limits and which houses give out the good candy. (FYI—It ain’t mine. Shoot, I eat them all up before the kids even get there. Or I stash ‘em. Hey, that’s me. And what?)

You know what though? We can still make warm memories even though things may have changed. So tonight, I’ll be the big bumble bee pushing kids out the way to make sure I fill up my grocery bag. That’s how we do it in Boyle Heights.

Happy Halloween!

Like scars cutting through my ’hood

The Metro Goldline Eastside Extension—the main reason for my starting this blog.

I have witnessed its construction—and resulting destruction of my hometown—since its infancy. I regret not having documented the phases of the deconstruction of Boyle Heights. Nor have I captured my hometown prior to it being torn apart by outside investors. How sad I am to know I will never see Boyle Heights again as I did growing up here. And the most bitter pill—I scarce have any photos to relive my memories.

I hope this humble blog entry will justly serve as a homage and remembrance for what once was my Boyle Heights.

It pains me to see how this line has caused such upheaval. The streets I once traversed so easily were blocked off, my daily schedule interrupted, our lives cut straight down 1st Street, all for the construction of the Metro Goldline Eastside Extension. This image captures perfectly what I have been and am witnessing (and I have to give credit where credit is due). Signs of growth and progress are everywhere. But I feel invaded, my neighborhood razed for the profits of outside investors.

Boyle Heights was always a sanctuary for me. A warm blanket I could wrap myself in to keep all the bad things out. It was my own little paradise closed off to outsiders. A secret little hangout. And now, it, I , we have been opened up, without our consent, to anyone who pays $1.25 and hops aboard a sleek train.

Maybe I’m stubborn against change. Maybe this will turn out to be a good thing. (It hasn’t for the homeless population who call the streets of Downtown L.A. their home). I don’t have an answer. I just wanted to give a shout out to Boyle Heights. Hang in there. We’ll make it through this. You’ll always be my old Boyle Heights.

Hey, on the bright side, at least the “gentry” will be able to return to their pedicured streets having gotten some “culture” i.e. “eastside flavors.”

More on gentrification:

We won’t go down without a fight.

Self-Help Graphics is one of the latest victims of gentrification. Listen here.

Artists respond to gentrification.

Gentrification in El Paso.

The light of my life. The center of my world. Join me, won't you?

Boyle Heights. Two simple words. But oh so much more. A community. A collection of homes, panaderias, carnicerias, schools, liquor stores, stray dogs and cats, parks, carcanchas, paleteros, loud music, taco trucks, and of course, mi gente.

Today I announce the birth of “My Heart. My Soul. My Life. Boyle Heights.” A blog about mi barrio, my hometown, my neighborhood. But mostly about how Boyle Heights is more than just where I’m from—Boyle Heights has come to define who I am.

Along the way I'll share esto y el otro with you. I invite you to join me and visit often.

So take a ride down Evergreen Avenue with me. We can stop by Jato’s and enjoy some fresh mariscos. Or we can just chill at Hollenbeck Park, talk, and explore this mystery we call life. Either way, I am honored and blessed to share this Boyle Heights life with you.

Peace.