5 Blocks

What I saw today... within the distance of 5 blocks.




On the first block, a lady is waiting for the bus. The flowers resting on top of the bag and the elongated shadows against the bright sun stopped me at my track.










I called this one, "Spring Time Fresh Guadalupe". On the second block, I found the juxtaposition of the religious mural and the advertisement of household products thought provoking and humorous at the same time.







Two blocks away, I found this newspaper man taking a doze in the middle of the day. He was oblivious to anyone passing by. It must have been a good dream.


Painting on the ceiling of an old theater turned into a swapmeet. Read an article in L.A. Times a few months back on how developers want to renovate it and evict the tenants .

T R A

Burrito

Daughter

Can I Still Be My Mother's Daughter?
by Barbara Lynn Terry

Can I still be my mother's daughter?
Can we still bond together?
Is there still a chance we may succeed,
In being the friends each of us need?

I am in my mid life now;
But can I still show,
How much of a daughter I can be,
Even tho this girl she cannot see?

Can she still from Heaven's view,
See my aura's female hue?
Can we still accept each other,
As mother and wonderful daughter?

Can we bond together in our souls,
Making each one of us complete and whole?
Is it possible for though she's not here,
To bond in our souls without fear?

Can I still without fear and bother,
Be my mother's daughter?

Dog Day Afternoon

Echo Park Lotusless Festival

I took a walk around Echo Park, the site of the annual Lotus Festival. Every year there is a boat race, food and various cultural entertainment, as well as art and photo contest. Visitors from all over southern California make the trip to see the lotus bloom during this time of the year. It has been a couple of years since I attended the festival. The last time I went, the lotus had a late blossom. While it was disappointing, at least there was lotus to see. When I went there for a preview this morning, there was no lotus at all. What I saw was a park maintenance worker fishing out sludge and floating garbage out of the water. I asked him about happened to the lotus, and he told me that the water had been contaminated. I thought to myself, "how could they have a lotus festival without lotus?" It's like having a birthday party for someone who's dead. Nonetheless, it's still a nice place to take a stroll or nap under a shade. I snapped off these couple of shots while I was there.

Fashion Girl

I walked around the fashion district in downtown today. I crossed the street and there she was propped against side of the mobile fruit stand smiling back at me. Perhaps it was the smell of the freshly grilled hot dog wrapped around by the little hand of the child that elicited that mysterious smile. Or maybe even she knows that the difference between a lady and a flower girl (or a fruit girl, for that matter) is not how she behaves but how she's treated.

Star Struck

My friend and I went to Hollywood on Saturday to do some people watching...

"Marilyn Marilyn"

"A Star is Born"

"Mapquest"

"Sushi for Susie"

Take a Walk on the Wild Side

Tour Guide

What I saw today...

"Blue Cup"

"Importer"




"Encased Doll"




"Red Envelope"





















"China"

Go Fly a Kite

I had a rare day off. The community center where I work closed today to observe Cesar Chavez Day.

I stopped by a Vietnamese sandwich shop on Broadway where I bought their "special" sandwich on the menu. If you haven't had Vietnamese sandwich before, you're in for a real treat. They start out with a warmly toasted French roll. They fill it with your choice of chicken, turkey, or slices of pork. Then they top it off with julienne carrots, pickled cucumber and radish, and cilantro. Would you believe it that all the sandwiches are only 2 bucks each? Add another 2 bucks for a cold drink and you got yourself a meal. If you haven't had Vietnamese coffee, I can tell you that they are the best! Instead of adding cream, they use condensed milk, which is a thick syrup. They also use condensed milk in making a well-known Mexican cake called "Tres Leches", which translates to "three (kinds of) milk".



After eating my snack, I decided to take a walk in the newly developed state park in the industrial section of Chinatown. There I met Jerry who was flying his dragon kite on the grass field. He was spending the sunny afternoon relaxing at the park with his wife, children, and dog. He told me that one of his favorite places to fly a kite is at Redondo Beach where the wind is strong. Watching him having so much fun reminded me of when I was a kid. We neighborhood children used to have kite fights with each other. First, we would take glass bottles and break them until they turned into powered glass. Next, we would apply glue onto the string. Then we dipped the string onto the powdered glass. The fun begins when we fly our kites in the air and try to cut the other person's string until one of our kites falls to the ground.




Jerry introduced me to this son, Juan, who is attending a magnet school. According to him, his school is teaching him how to speak Chinese.


Flowers blooming at the park.




For some reason, there were huge, empty wooden boxes around the bend of the trail. My best guess is that they had once contained seeds that had since been planted. You can see the downtown Los Angeles skyline in the backdrop.

Chi' town

Images from Chinatown this morning...

Red alarm bell. Man holder child in background.


The newspaper man opens shop.




A hot bowl of fish porridge and Chinese donuts hits the spot.


Front entrance of newly constructed apartment in Chinatown.








Sincere.

Easter Sunday

I took my camera out on Easter Sunday. Here are a few images I captured.

Various buckles are on display for sale at a stall inside Grand Central Market.















Freshly cut watermelons remind us that summer is just around the corner.









RCA dog wishes hottie would take him home.















Homeless man shines the shoes of a police officer guarding a film set.

Sound Bites

I was in my office when Steve told me about the frantic activity down the block. The police had closed off the streets- a clear indication of a shooting or serious investigation of some kind. As a program leader of the Jr. Aztecs, Steve takes at-risk youths on hiking trips as a way to steer them away from getting involved with gangs. When he saw the commotion that afternoon, he immediately wanted to find out what had happened. Steve came back about twenty minutes later to inform me that indeed there had been a shooting. A boy on a bike had been chased down the street by an opposing gang member and was shot three times in the back. He didn't survive. He was only 14 years old.

Cypress Park is a predominately low-income neighborhood in Northeast Los Angeles. It's an area that I've worked in for the past five years. Over that time I've come to developed a fondness for the community and the people that lived in it. The neighborhood appears so peaceful on the surface, especially during the daytime. In the morning you see mothers pushing baby strollers on the sidewalk. In the afternoon you see parents walking their children home from school and stopping by the local supermarket to pick up last minute groceries. People used to feel safe to come out during the day. Used to.

Someone asked me if I knew the boy. "Jose", I was told. His name did not registered in my mind. "You know *****? It was his brother that was shot." Oh shit. My thought immediately turned to ***** as I recalled the last conversation we had together. The two brothers came to my program two years ago, and on that particular day ***** had gotten into an altercation with one of the other kids. I sat him down in my office to find out what was going on. He started to cry as he told me about his brother's incarceration. He missed him very much, and the uncertainty of his fate had been weighing heavily on his mind. He apologized for his behavior and promised to do better. That was the last time I saw him. There were a couple of occasions when I ran into his mother at the supermarket, and she asked me if I would be willing to take him back. I told her that I would, but they never came back to see me.

I really didn't know Jose well. I remembered him as quiet kid who always kept to himself. You keep your eyes on the loud, rambunctious ones. They're hard to miss. But you worry about the quiet ones even more. The ones that say the least usually have the most to say. What made the killing even more tragic is the fact that just prior to the shooting, the family had planned to move to a safer neighborhood. The only thing that was holding them back was the tax refund check they were waiting to receive so they could pay for the move.

It's only fitting that it rained on the day of Jose's funeral. Although I was not able to attend, I was told that close friends, family members, and caring people from the community went to give support to the family. Members of Jose's gang were also there. The gatherers watched in dismay as members of his gang paid tribute to him by proudly placing items of their gang affiliation next to him. Some people questioned why the parents would even allow the very individuals who contributed to their son's death to participate in his funeral. Those who had the opportunity to hear the mother speak came away with the impression that she was in denial. It seemed that she could not accept the fact that her son was a gangster. He was her flesh and blood. When she first held him as an infant, she also cradled in her arms her hopes and dreams for him. All that she is left clutching now was his lifeless body.

Violence comes in waves like the aftershocks of an earthquake. As is the case with aftershocks, they are sometimes more jarring and vicious than the initial jolt. The week following Jose's murder there were three additional shootings, the last of which was fatal. A thirty-six year old man had just picked up his granddaughter from Kindergarten when school ended. As they headed home together, he held her in his arms. That's when unidentified individuals pulled up in a car and started shooting. The man was hit numerous times at close range and dropped the child on the ground. It was a miracle the little girl was not killed. An alert passerby saw what had happened and pulled the child to safety. The man was not so lucky. The initial report was that he had been shot 10 to 12 times. He was rushed to the hospital where he was announced dead.

A few days later a mother whose daughter used to come to my after school program came to see me. "George, do you know the man that was shot?" No, I said. "He is *******'s dad. "The doctor said that he had so many holes on his body that he looked like a Swiss cheese. "When ****** found out, she kept saying, "My heart is dead, mom. My heart is dead. First my grandfather, and now my father." Fuck. When ******* first came to my program about three years ago, she was an extremely shy kid. She did not play with the other children or interact with adults. When you asked her a question, she would not say more than one or two words in response. I rarely saw her smile, except when her mother picked her up from the program in the evening. Mother and daughter were inseparable. She was a single mother struggling to provide for her daughter. She was out of work but enrolled herself in school in hopes of bettering their future. From my understanding, the father of the child was not involved in their life. I've also heard that he had fathered six or seven other children. Then you begin to understand why the little girl might be the way that she is. What a shame. She was making such good progress. Just about the same time her mother started dating a new man, we noticed that she was happier and more outgoing. From what I could tell, he has been a positive influence on her. He regularly picked her up from the program and always spoke to her like a loving father would to a daughter. In fact, the mother told me that she calls him her 'dad'. The mother plans to enroll her into my program once again when the new session begins in the next few weeks. I am concerned about how the little girl will respond after this tragedy. Will she continue to emerge and grow out of her shell, or will this push her back into seclusion? I don't know. We can only try our best to help her through it.

The community organized a fund raiser for Jose's family. Together it raised over $1,600 from the taco plates that were sold to the many supporters who came to the community center luncheon. When I think about it, it's just so surreal. Families in affluent neighborhoods have bake sales to raise money for field trips and soccer uniforms. Here, we have car washes and taco plates to raise money for funerals. As in the saying goes, we live in one world but we all live in different ones.

Roots

You traveled
a thousand miles and
search far and wide
to steal a glimpse
of beauty,
only to find it
a few steps
from where you
began and realize
it has always been there.

No Rain On My Parade

It has been raining all week. I'm one of the people who doesn't mind the rain, as long as it doesn't happen on the weekend. I was stuck inside my studio on Saturday after doing my usual errands- doing my laundry and grocery shopping. I usually reserve Saturday afternoon to have lunch with my mom. However, she was visiting my grandmother who was recovering from ovarian cancer surgery in the hospital. I took the extra time I had to clean up the remnants of the party I had this past Monday- empty beer bottles, left over drinks bathed in melted ice-water in the cooler, and piles of dishes left drying in the kitchen sink.

When you're stuck inside the house, there are only so many things you can do to keep your mind occupied. You can read a book, watch television, play some music, surf the Internet, talk on the phone with a friend, and such. I really appreciate the freedom I have as a bachelor. I can come and go as I please. I'm not accountable to anyone but myself. If I make a mess, there is no one to tell me to pick up my things. If I don't feel like talking, I can just lock myself in my room and shut the world out. However, there are also times like today when you're rained in that you wish there is someone in your life that you can have company with. It would be nice to be able to lay in bed together, pop in a DVD, brew up some hot cocoa, top it off with whipped cream and chocolate syrup, and just chat about nothingness while the movie plays in the background.

Instead of being cooped up in my studio for another day, I decided to head to Chinatown. I needed to get out and get some fresh air, even if it meant getting wet while doing so. I took my point-and-shoot camera with me knowing that I might capture some interesting images in the rain. I first stopped by my favorite noodle house in the plaza. I ordered a hot bowl of beef brisket and tendon noodle soup with a side order of won ton dumpling. It really hit the spot, especially on a chilly day like this. Chinese restaurants are not known for the quality of their customer service. I had to ask three times before I got my cup of ice water. I thought about not leaving a tip at first, but I try to give the workers the benefit of the doubt. They're overworked and underpaid. To me, I won't miss a dollar or two, but to them, their tips are their livelihood.

After lunch I wanted to get some pastries at the bakery to satisfy my sweet tooth. But first, I stopped by a Chinese supermarket to purchase some ingredients for the curry chicken dish I had planned to make for dinner. I needed to pick up an onion and some mushrooms. I thought it would taste better if I used fresh mushrooms, so I went to the vegetable aisle. While heading there, I accidentally bumped into an attractive woman holding a shopping basket. I immediately apologized to her, and I noticed that when we made eye-contact, she held her gaze for a while. Just so happened that when I went to the check-out to pay for my food, she was the customer right ahead of me. When she realized who I was, she tried to start a conversation with me. As that was a happening, an old man in front of her came back in line with another item he had gone back to get. She muttered her disapproval under her breath. Instead of letting it go, she admonished him to get to the back of the line. I would understand it if the old man held up the line, but the cashier hadn't even gotten to him. Before the incident, I thought about the great opportunity I had to talk with her, but after what happened I had lost interest. I just couldn't see myself being with someone so impatient and inconsiderate.

As I left Wonder Bakery with my Chinese donut and soy milk in hand, the beads of rain covering the outside tables caught my eyes as did the abandoned Chinese chess pieces. Before I took the photo, I could imagine the players running for cover when the rain first fell, leaving the match in suspension. The plaza is usually bustling with tourists during the day, but on a damp afternoon like this, the only evidence of life were the merchants who made their living in the plaza, such as the fortune teller who sells not of souvenirs but he sells you on a bill of good just the same.

Any Reason is a Good Reason

On Martin Luther King Jr. Day, my friends Jovy, Agnes, and Melissa came over to my place for a small party. There was no particular cause for celebration. No one had a birthday. Nobody had a graduation or work promotion. To me the fact that we all had a day off was good enough of a reason to get together. That's why I named the invitation the "Any reason is a good reason to party party." I had intended to have the gathering in my backyard, but it had been raining all morning. Because of that we decided to take the festivity indoor. Melissa was the first person to arrive. A couple of days before, she had convinced me to go ahead with the party as scheduled despite the ominous weather forecast of showers throughout the day. I was a little hesitant at first, but after thinking about it, I really liked her idea. Even if it rains or shines, whether one person or one hundred people show up, we were going to make our time together an enjoyable one.

Melissa brought a homemade pasta dish to the party. Having gone to school and lived in Italy for an extended time, she's not only fluent in conversing the language but also accomplished in the ways of Italian cooking. I wouldn't know the difference between linguine and fettucini, so I won't be able to tell you the name of the dish. What I can say for sure is that it was quite tasty. I liked the creamy, cheesy, tomato sauce with bits of sausages baked into the pasta. Besides, she took the time to make it from scratch, which made it even more special. One of my fondest memories as a child was coming home after school and finding my mom in the kitchen stir frying up a plate of noodle for me to eat. I remember being so satisfied to have eaten a meal that she had prepared for me. It wasn't so much the taste of her cooking that was memorable. More than anything else, it was the wonderful feeling of being taken care by someone you care about that I cherished the most.

My "bui mui" or cousin Agnes arrived about an hour later. Well, she's not my actual cousin by blood. It's a nickname I had given her because our last names share the same pronunciation-"Tam". I tease her that she is not from the true Tam clan, because the spelling of her last name has an extra 'h', which makes her "Tham". According to my uncle, it can be quite an ordeal to visit family members in China. In local custom, anyone who shares the same last name as you do in a village is considered your "brother" or "sister" whether you know them or not. As such, they expect you to offer them money and gifts when you visit from America. It is not unusual for total strangers to follow you to the restaurant, sit at your table, and order meals for themselves! I heard of the saying that it takes a village to raise a child, and apparently, it takes a brother/sister to raise a village too!

My friend Jovy was the last to arrive. I felt both surprised and honored that she came, because by her own admission she has commitment-phobia. The closest you will ever get to nailing her down on anything is a definite maybe. Jovy will be moving out of the area in the next couple of weeks, so I'm glad that we've all had the chance to hang out before she goes.

I had a memorable time at the party, from seeing the girls make homemade ice-cream with zip-lock bags to Jovy teaching Melissa how to do Salsa. Jovy also treated us to a wonderful piano performance that you see here.

Picture of Peace

My program had a family picnic this past December at the Santa Fe Dam in the City of Irwindale. I had gone there the day before to pick the best spot for the outing. As I walked along the sandy shore, I came across an empty life guard station. The picture you see here is from the view of the tower. As you can see, the place was deserted on that day, except for some ducks waddling across the lake off camera. It's a peaceful setting that most people would readily trade to be a part of- a welcome respite from the stress and daily grinds. As inviting and glorious the vista may have been in its natural wonders, it was meant to serve as a necessary but temporary need, which is a momentary escape.

Being in a serene environment such as this reminds me of a story I heard long ago:

There once was a King who offered a prize to the artist who would paint the best picture of peace. Many artists tried. The King looked at all the pictures, but there were only two he really liked and he had to choose between them.

One picture was of a calm lake. The lake was a perfect mirror, for peaceful towering mountains were all around it. Overhead was a blue sky with fluffy white clouds. All who saw this picture thought that it was a perfect picture of peace.

The other picture had mountains, too. But these were rugged and bare. Above was an angry sky from which rain fell and in which lightening played. Down the side of the mountain tumbled a foaming waterfall. This did not look peaceful at all. But when the King looked, he saw behind the waterfall a tiny bush growing in a crack in the rock. In the bush a mother bird had built her nest. There, in the midst of the rush of angry water, sat the mother bird on her nest... perfect peace.

Which picture do you think won the prize?

The King chose the second picture. Do you know why? "Because," explained the King, "peace does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. Peace means to be in the midst of all those things and still be calm in your heart. That is the real meaning of peace."

Today, my friend Josh and I went to Hollywood to do some people watching. He usually works on weekends between two jobs, so it's a real treat for me to be able to spend time shooting photography together. We made our first stop at Famima, which Josh described as a Japanese 7-11 convenient store. What initially caught my eyes was the unusual poster display outside the store of Chinese style steam buns. I expected to see something like that in Chinatown, yes, but in Hollywood?

Being a generous guy that he is, Josh treated me to a sparkling cider and a curry meat bun. For himself, he got a chocolate milk and a fried chicken bun. While we were enjoying our snacks, I noticed two girl friends having a conversation at the sidewalk table. I really liked the soft lighting on one of the them, so I took this picture of her through the glass window from where we sat. She looked so contemplative, lost in thought.

This is Rob. He is one of the many street entertainers on Hollywood Boulevard. I consider him a "real" entertainer in the sense that he actually has some talents. He plays the guitar and can carry a tune. While I was there, he put his own twist on John Mellencamp's Jack and Diane and other catchy songs they used to play on the radio. He also sang an original song he wrote called, "The Man". In contrast, the majority of street entertainers on Hollywood Boulevard only put on costumes of popular stars and movie characters like Marilyn Monroe, Dark Vader, and Elmo, and make their living posing pictures with tourists.

I'm not sure if this gal was trying to dress like Little Orphan Annie, but I love the huge 'fro' she's wearing. I took this shot of the sketch artist doing a caricature of her.