Because on this blog, we move from serious topics about dissenting bloggers writing under totalitarianism to the orders-of-magnitude-less-serious-topic of Beverly Hills Chihuahua, the movie.



I always knew my little dude was destined for stardom:



Now, I dare you to get that yappy little song out of your head.

I've been remiss these many months in not sharing with you information about one of my new "daily visits" on the Internets. Yoani Sanchez, Cuban "bloguera," writes weekly about the reality of living in Cuba, in prose that is beautiful, emphatic, practical, and clear. Her blog, Generacion Y (in English, Generation Y, here), refers to the many young Cubans with Y names, creative naming leftovers from the Soviet influence in Cuba. If you live in Miami, you know them as the Yaniels, Yadiras, Yanisleysis, and Yereisas of the world. Yoani is one of their number, but she is unique beyond words.

This young woman faces harsh punishment from the Cuban government for her efforts. In truth, I'm surprised she's still blogging, and can't help but wonder what's keeping the heavy hand of the dictatorship off of her. I tend to think that internet access is so limited on the island the authorities don't see her as a local threat, however much international press she garners. In fact, she's recently been awarded the prestigious Ortega y Gasset prize for digital journalism, but of course, has been denied exit to receive her prize. This, of course, speaks volumes about those she writes about.

Of course, Yoani puts it more eloquently when she writes, "Olvidan ellos que en el ciberespacio mi voz puede viajar sin límites, salir y entrar sin pedir permiso." Roughly translated, "They forget that in cyberspace, my voice can travel without limit, enter and exit without permission." Indeed. Visit Yoani's blog and leave a comment, even if it's in English. Join a community without boundaries, hosted by a woman bound physically, though not intellectually or spiritually...

...which leads me to this petition. Please sign this petition demanding the release of Cuba's political prisoners. These men and women languish in jails for doing little more than what Yoani has done.

We've always read to Penelope, but recently (as in, just this week), she's allowed us to read ENTIRE books to her fairly consistently. I set up a little bookshelf in her room, which is already full to bursting because I am a total book nerd and long (desperately long) for Penny to be one, too.

I think I may be getting my wish. She sits in her room and "reads" her books all the time. Her current favorites are The Little Fur Family and I Love You, Stinkyface. Note: If you purchase The Little Fur Family for your little one, you must, must, MUST come up with your own music for the song at the end. I did, and am very, very proud of myself:)

Just this morning, she curled up with a vintage copy of Eloise, one I had "displayed" in the living room because old books are decorative, of course. Yet, there was Penny, paging through Eloise's adventures, as patiently as dawn. I stifled the urge to cringe when she crinkled a very old, vintage page. Whatever. The damn thing is MEANT to be read. She also "read" Wuthering Heights for about seven minutes, and then we talked about Cathy and old Heathcliff at length. Mai dawter haz a genius.

So, picture books are on my brain lately, and to that end, I've discovered a lovely website called Lookybook that lets you peruse picture books in their entirety. I am in love.

Here's one currently on my shopping list:



So, tell me, what were your favorite picture books? Which books did your kids beg to hear each night?

Penny has become, suddenly, quite musical. If it isn't rousing renditions of "Twinkle Twinkle" (or "ten ten lee dar, uh, uh, uh, what what are...") it's the "Hokey Pokey" again, and again, and again. There's also "Halloween" from The Nightmare Before Christmas and her fondness for David Cook on American Idol (I didn't say her tastes were discerning, people).

She can't carry a tune, but Penny's singing is the cutest thing ever. Ever. Here's the proof (just ignore my own, out of tune singing, please):

I made a lolcat, I made a lolcat!


moar funny pictures

Er, a lolgiraffe? and lolduck?

Whatever. Someone should shut the internet down. Srsly.

p.s. By the way, this lolthing is dedicated to Emma, who I totally blame for this departure from quality blogging.

When we first moved to Auburn, I wasn't expecting to find any other Cubans. In Pittsburgh, we, along with our friend Carmen, were the only Cubans around. The local "Cuban" restaurant sold only Pittsburgh-style deli sandwiches and the worst "Cuban" coffee imaginable. The closest thing to anything remotely Latino was the Chi-Chi's chain restaurant, which closed down after a salmonella scare. Or maybe it was cholera. Or SARS? Whatever.

Things were better in Connecticut. We were still the only Cubans in town, but our circle of friends included Mexicans and Brazilians, Italians, Portuguese, Danish, Russians and Koreans. It was a small (though yuca-free) world, after all.

So, I came to Auburn with zero expectations, and was happily surprised to find that there is a real Cuban community here, a good, authentic restaurant, and plenty of native Auburnians interested and sympathetic to Cubans and Cuban-American affairs.

Which all leads me up to the last few days. I've had the pleasure of chatting about what it means to be Cuban-American with three Auburn students. M___ and W____ are lovely social work students working on a project about Cubans in this country. We chatted for an hour about what makes Cuban-Americans different from other Latino groups, Cuban politics and child rearing customs. I even showed them where they might watch a couple of Que Pasa, U.S.A.? episodes. M______ and W_____ were inquisitive, and gracious, and really thorough. They'd found just about every Cuban living in Auburn to interview, and set up a domino game night at the restaurant for them! I really hope they get A's.

Another student, W.G., is working on a history paper about Cuba, and so we spoke at length, too. W.G. had no sympathy for Che t-shirt wearers, and seemed to understand that the "new" regime in Cuba is not really new at all. It was a distinct pleasure talking with him, and a nice break from the piles of grading I still have to do.

In total, I spent nearly three hours talking about Cuba in two days. I could have gone on for three more. M______ and W_______ commented that all their interviewees were just as eager, and it is no wonder. We Cubans LOVE talking about our culture because we are proud of it. Because we wouldn't trade our heritage for any other. Because we feel immensely lucky to be the sons and daughters of Cubans, of Marti and Maceo and More and Cruz. Because we are hopeful, still, that the Cubans on the island and the ones here in the States will be reunited someday. Because we know when that day comes, it's going to be one hell of a party.

And we like enlightening others about who we are because we want them to join the party, too.