Where would you go if you want to party with, say, a few thousand of your closest friends? At the cemetery, of course! Each year Hollywood Forever Cemetery hosts a special event with dance, music, art show, live performances, and food to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos.
Dia de los muertos, also known as "Day of the Dead", is a traditional Mexican holiday when friends and families celebrate and honor loved ones who have passed away. To commemorate their life, they create elaborate altars with offerings, flowers, pictures, and personal items that used to belong to the deceased. A young girl was asked by a reporter what Dia de los Muertos meant to her and who is the inspiration for her altar. She answered that she created it as a remembrance of her sister who committed suicide. Her participation in the event has allowed her to turn something tragic into something positive. In remembering her sadness, she also recalls happy times together. The only true lost is when you have forgotten. And as long as you still remember, the person's spirit lives on.
Here are a few of the images I recorded at the event. You can read more about the history of Dia de los Muertos as well see past photos of the event here.
I made a couple of investments yesterday. And I'm sharing the hot tips with you. No, they're not one of those "no money down", get rich overnight schemes. They don't promise that you're going to miraculously grow a full head of hair, lose fifty pounds, or instantly feel invincible to conquer the world after listening to some motivational guru on audio CDs. In fact, the people handling the investment will tell you up front that it will take months before you'll see a return on your money. In fact, there's a slight chance you might not see any part of your money at all. And if everything goes well, you will get back the exact amount you had originally put in. Why would anyone do that? Because this investment you make has the potential to change lives. And that's no small change. I first heard of Kiva.org when the organization was featured in a public television interview. What they essentially do is to match lenders like you and me with entrepreneurs in third world countries. As a banker to the poor, the lender does not make any interest on the loan. The borrower has a certain time limit to repay it. When the loan is paid in full, the lender could either choose to withdraw the amount or reinvest it on other borrowers. For instance, I recently made my first loans to Mr. & Mrs. Srim Yan and Daria Diaz Leon. The Yans needed money to rent a plot of farmland to grow crops to feed their family of five. One of their children is a student and the other two work in a garment factory. Mrs. Yan also plans to use part of the money to purchase rice stock to make traditional medicinal wine that she could sell to supplement their income. Daria Diaz Leon share a similar story. She is a mother of two children, one of which has Downs Syndrome. She makes her livelihood selling flowers and fruits. She needed to borrow money in order to purchase fertilizers to grow her crops. What I like about this concept is that it is not a hand-out. Instead, you provide others the opportunity and resources to help themselves. It's like the old saying about teaching others to fish, except many of these people already know how to fish. They just need the fishing line and hook they could use to catch their own meal. What is great aboutKiva's websiteis that you can purchase electronic gift certificates for someone you care about. Instead of buying that special person another tie or fruit cake (also known as "door stop") for Christmas, you can give a gift that could literally change another person's life. And that's one present you don't have to worry about being returned because it doesn't fit.
(By the way, for those of you who have seen the infomercials by Feed The Children. They received an 'F' rating from American Institute of Philanthropy. If you are thinking of making a donation, I recommend that you read about them first onAIP's website.)
(Pictures ofMr. & Mrs. Yan and Daria Diaz Leon taken from Kiva.org's website)
I spent this past Sunday shooting street photography. I started out the morning in Chinatown where I had breakfast in my favorite Chinese/Vietnamese restaurant. They have an assortment of tasty soup noodles, pan fried noodles, and rice dishes. On this day, I had a hot bowl of fish porridge with a side order of Chinese donut, which is essentially elongated dough that is fried in hot oil. After the meal, I took a short drive to downtown that is only a couple of minutes away. I walked around for about an hour but didn't see anything that caught my eyes. Having been to downtown perhaps a hundred times or more, you would think I know the place like the back of my hand. What became apparent to me that I didn't realize before is that there's an undeniable connection between downtown Los Angeles and New York City: It is impossible to find a restroom when you need it most. Every fast food restaurant I visited did not have one. I would understand it if they denied non-customers. But paying customers too?! Shouldn't they have laws that require certain establishments to offer public restrooms. I'm sure they don't ask their employees to just hold it for an eight hour work shift. Whatever happened to the old saying, "customer is king"? Now, tell me, how could a king rule his kingdom without his "throne" ;) Anyways, after walking the distance of about 5 blocks, I was finally able to find a restroom on the bottom floor of the Grand Central Market. I must say that it was 25 cents well spent, considering you can't buy anything for a quarter these days. Except for a 10 minute meter parking and apparently a good piss. I find it ironic that both have time limit and if you run of it, you're screwed. And you know what's funny? The restroom was so crowded that they hired an employee just to stand inside it to make sure everyone who goes in pays the cover charge. That place is a gold mine. I figured, if the owner of the Dodgers, Frank McCourt, could make millions as a parking lot operator, why couldn't I become a millionaire as a restroom mogul? Taking a page out of Starbuck's marketing play book, I would have modernized porta potties on every block in downtown. I'm just kidding. Anyways, I wasn't quite satisfied that I didn't get any good pictures, so I decided to drive 10 minutes away to Boyle Heights to see if I would have better luck. It was about noon by the time I got there. All day I've been craving for some good carnitas (roast pork) tacos. I found a restaurant on the corner called, Tamales Evas and chose to have lunch there. I was greeted at the counter by a very attractive young lady. She was articulate, and I noticed that she really enjoyed wearing jewelry. She had multiple rings on her fingers as well as bracelets. Since the restaurant's name is Tamales, I assumed that they must be pretty descent. I was not disappointed by my chicken and pork tamales. You can tell the ingredients were fresh and not simply pre-made and reheated in the microwave before serving it to customers. I like the little touches, such as making sure the plate is heated in order to keep the food warm. Just before I left, a couple of ladies came in with some kids. It was obvious that they are very close friends or part of the family. The waitress called them by their names and warmly kissed one of the little girls. It was a lovely scene. As I was leaving, I complimented the cook on his cooking, and he thanked me for saying that. I would definitely return again if I have craving for some good Mexican food. I decided to take a stroll up and down the block to see what I could find. It was interesting seeing traditional Mexican musicians in their cowboy hats and guitars in their hands hanging outside different restaurants. They don't make much money performing for customers, but it's a living. After walking for about 3 or 4 blocks, I noticed a very colorful mural in a hidden alley that you see here. I had just purchased a new point and shoot camera-Canon G9. The widest angle on the camera is 35mm. Though I wish it could be wider, it does its job well. I did not have a tripod with me, so I just hand held the camera and took a series of overlapping shots. When I got home, I used Photoshop and digitally "stitched" them together. I'm no expert at Photoshop, but I'm satisfied with the result. If you would like to see the details of the mural, simply click your mouse on the photo to see an enlargement. You can do the same thing on any picture in my blog.
What a concept... a father as hero. Not a celebrity. A sport superstar. An "American idol" . Or anyone with great wealth, fame, or power. Well, perhaps power. Power not in the sense of being able to control or dominate over someone. But the ability to make someone feel that they are important. That they matter. Even when the world tells them otherwise. One of my favorite quotes is, "To the world, you may be just one person, but to one person, you may be the world." The story of Dick Hoyt and his son Rick epitomizes the spirit of this quote and what family and love between a father and son should be. I hope you find inspiration in the article and video.
Strongest Dad in the World Rick Reilly for Sports Illustrated
I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay for their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots.
But compared with Dick Hoyt, I'm lousy.
Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in marathons. Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars -- all in the same day.
Dick's also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. on a bike. Makes taking your son bowling look a little lame, right?
And what has Rick done for his father? Not much -- except save his life.
This love story began in Winchester, Mass., 43 years ago, when Rick was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him brain-damaged and unable to control his limbs.
"He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life," Dick says doctors told him and his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. "Put him in an institution."
But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way Rick's eyes followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 they took him to the engineering department at Tufts University and asked if there was anything to help the boy communicate. "No way," Dick says he was told. "There's nothing going on in his brain."
"Tell him a joke," Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a lot was going on in his brain.
Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? "Go Bruins!" And after a high school classmate was paralyzed in an accident and the school organized a charity run for him, Rick pecked out, "Dad, I want to do that."
Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described "porker" who never ran more than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he tried. "Then it was me who was handicapped," Dick says. "I was sore for two weeks."
That day changed Rick's life. "Dad," he typed, "when we were running, it felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!"
And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon.
"No way," Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren't quite a single runner, and they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few years Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, then they found a way to get into the race officially: In 1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the qualifying time for Boston the following year.
Then somebody said, "Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?"
How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn't ridden a bike since he was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick tried.
Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii. It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you think?
Hey, Dick, why not see how you'd do on your own? "No way," he says. Dick does it purely for "the awesome feeling" he gets seeing Rick with a cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together.
This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best time? Two hours, 40 minutes in 1992 -- only 35 minutes off the world record, which, in case you don't keep track of these things, happens to be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the time.
"No question about it," Rick types. "My dad is the Father of the Century."
And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries was 95% clogged. "If you hadn't been in such great shape," one doctor told him, "you probably would've died 15 years ago."
So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other's life.
Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston, and Dick, retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass., always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreaking race every weekend, including this Father's Day.
That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy.
"The thing I'd most like," Rick types, "is that my dad sit in the chair and I push him once."
Sports Illustrated Issue date: June 20, 2005, p. 88
There is a new craze in the Chinese community. Foot massage parlors are popping up all over town. Within a half block of a busy boulevard, we counted no less than 3 foot massage joints in two strip malls we visited. I first heard about it from a co-worker who spoke glowingly about his positive experience. Besides getting a relaxing message, the price was supposed to be ridiculously cheap. It sounded appealing, and when two friends of mine visited from out of town for the weekend, we decided to take the plunge. Two banners hang outside the store front of two competing massage parlors in the same strip mall. The advertised price was identical, $15 per hour. We decided to scope out the place before settling in. The first joint we strolled by looked dark from the outside, and we could see busy massage workers attending to the clients inside. It was nothing more than an office space furnished with cheaply made, out-of-style, couches you typically find for sale at a Chinese furniture store or at your local Salvation Army. We decided on the second parlor, because we liked the fact it had individual recliners. After being seated, we proceeded to take off our shoes and socks and rolled up our pants. The workers brought each of us a wooden bucket filled with lukewarm water to soak our feet. We agreed that the water was barely warm, and thinking back now, I think it was probably more meant for the purpose of washing off the odor of customer's feet than to make them feel relaxed. It was close to midnight when we first arrived, and the place was almost at full capacity. There were approximately 30 recliners in all. Every few minutes new customers came in to get treatment or inquire about the price. It was my first time getting a foot massage. The male masseur first worked on my upper body. He twisted and stretched me in different directions. I felt like a human pretzel. Then he pounded me and slap my back with great force as if he were tenderizing a piece of steak. I thought the experience was quite funny and painful at the same time. I couldn't help myself from laughing and grimacing whenever he rubbed a spot too hard. My squeamish reaction made him laugh, and that seemed to break the ice between us. He joked with me that instead of getting massage next time, I should just get an oil rub down. He thinks the pain threshold level is one I could better handle. Hearing that made me feel like such a girly man. "After massaging people all day, you probably need a massage when you get home," I joked. I asked him how long he had been working that day. "15 hours," he answered. "You see?" pointing to his swollen hands. "No English....no money. Driving truck, make the same." he said. After hearing that, I was swept with an overwhelming feeling of sadness and guilt. In fact, I didn't feel like talking much for the rest of the session. For the remaining hour, I just observed him and his co-working whispering to each other and glancing at the owner surveying the floor, as if they were afraid that the owner would overhear what they were saying. One way I would describe the atmosphere of the place is that it is like a Walmart of massages, a place where cheap prices and profit are religion and the spirit of the congregation is sacrificial offering. When the session ended, I paid the masseur for the massage and gave him a $15 tip. While walking back to my car, I told my friends that I vow to never get another foot massage again. I too wondered as you may whether the masseur was exaggerating his hardship just to gain my sympathy. Perhaps so, perhaps not. I tend to believe the latter to be more true. My guess is that, at best, the owner probably paid the workers less than half of what they charged the customers. I would be extremely surprised if the workers receive any benefits. I was talking with my mother the other day when we had lunch together. I told her about my experience and how I felt about the situation. She said that many of the workers in massage parlors are illegal immigrants. Many of them come to the U.S. with tourist visas but they never return to China. Because they could not speak English and don't have green cards, they are forced to do menial labor to survive. She's heard of an owner of a massage parlor who rounded up workers in the morning in a van and then dropped off the same group when the shop closed at night. I wondered aloud whether my decision to boycott their business would actually help or hurt the workers. Although the work is difficult and the owners may be unfair or even cruel, the workers were able to have a job because the business continues to exists. "If they had better choices, they would not be working there in the first place," my mother said. Maybe she's right. Things may look dark right now, but there may still be hope for them in the future. As long as one can survive in American, anything can happen.
"It is by chance that we met, by choice that we became friends." "The best way to destroy an enemy is to make him a friend." -Abraham Lincoln "A friend is one who walks in when others walk out" -Walter Winchell "A friend is one who knows us, but loves us anyway. -Fr. Jerome Cummings
"Go through your phone book, call people and ask them to drive you to the airport. The ones who will drive you are your true friends. The rest aren't bad people, they're just acquaintances." -Jay Leno "In prosperity our friends know us; in adversity we know our friends." -John Churton Collings "True friendship comes when the silence between two people is comfortable." -David Tyson Gentry
"Purchase not friends by gifts; when thou ceases to give, such will cease to love." -Thomas Fuller "If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together... there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But most important thing is, even if we're apart...I'll always be with you." -Winnie the Pooh
"We do not so much need the help of our friends as the confidence of their help in need." -Epicurus "It is better to be in chains with friends than to be in a garden with strangers." -Persian Proverb
"Life without a friend is like death without a witness." - Spanish Proverb
"Great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget."
"Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over." -Gloria Naylor
"There isn't much better in this life than finding a way to spend a few hours in conversation with people you respect and love. You have to carve this time out of your life because you aren't really living without it." -Real Live Preacher
"Don't flatter yourself that friendship authorizes you to say disagreeable things to your intimates. The nearer you come into relation with a person, the more necessary do tact and courtesy become. Except in cases of necessity,which are rare, leave your friend to learn unpleasant things from his enemies; they are ready enough to tell them." -Oliver Wendell Holmes
"Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Walk beside me and be my friend." - Albert Camus
"Never explain- your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway." -Elbert Hubard
"To the world, you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world." -Brandi Synder
These are the faces, colors, and stories I captured on the streets of L.A. and beyond. What I learned is that everyone has a compelling story to tell and that beauty can be found anywhere if we consciously look for it. When we take time to share them with each other, we become strangers no more. I hope you enjoy reading my blog. I look forward to hear from you.
We subconsciously believe that we are the main character in a movie. The main character never dies and that's why we live like there will always be tomorrow. Let me remind myself everyday that I am here only for a short while. I must try to savor each moment wherever I am before the final credits roll.
