Gabi and the Black, White, and Brown: In Print

I work in dowtown San Antonio in an office. It's pretty awful, nothing but white walls and fully-blasted A/C that makes you wish you were outside in the Texas heat. Today, I had an interesting conversation with one of my co-workers that I keep rolling over in my head. While mentioning some "great Mexican restaurant" in the south side, he was explaining that it is right next door to a recently built public library in the area. He then lowers his voice and leans in, as if he's about to say something really crucial, and says, "but it's the completely wrong part of town for a library," leaning back in his chair and making eye contact as he awaits my response. I'm completely stunned. "Maybe I misunderstood," I think.
"Wait, what? Can you say that again?" I ask.

"All I'm saying is that it's just not the right side of town for a library," he says again.

Beginning to comprehend, I'm trying to look for some kind of miscommunication, giving him the benefit of the doubt. When i don't find any, I give him my most mocking, intimidating smirk and ask, "Are they not worthy of a library, or what?"

Immediately on the defense, he tries to reason by saying, "Well, they're not even going to benefit from something like that, and, I mean, it's only been a few weeks and already there's graffiti."
Before I can open my mouth, he goes even further in his ignorant efforts to justify his words by saying, "Well, I grew up in an area like that, so...."
As if that justifies the misconceptions floating around in his little blonde head.

"I grew up in an area like that too, and I was able to benefit from the public libraries. In fact, I'm an English major now. Your reasoning just doesn't make sense. Aren't libraries built to give free access to books, movies, and information? What benefit would a community get from libraries if they were only built in areas that could already afford to buy their books for $16 each at a Barnes & Noble?"

Sometimes, I feel as though I'm ignorant of the mass ignorance that plagues our communities. I want to give others the benefit of the doubt. For reasons i can't explain, I am still shocked by blatant prejudice, discrimination, injustice, and profiling. I am still shocked by the youth I find that are as cold as 60 year old conservatives, wanting to hoard resources for themselves without an inkling of sympathy or bashfulness.

He's not the first person I've encountered with views like that. Sometimes, I can't help but wonder if people like him confide in me with their gross prejudice because my skin is light. Maybe they don't know I'm Mexican; maybe they don't know that my parents are both immigrants, or that their race used to make me feel inferior with their racial jokes, portrayals, and titles.
I'm not sure how I was supposed to respond to his comments, but what's said is said, and he didn't respond after that.

Gabi and the Cynic

For as long as I can remember, my parents have introduced me as their “mature” daughter. I always hated that title, rolling my eyes and biting my tongue when they’d say it. For me, “mature” alludes to all things boring, dull, conforming, constricting, and too realistic to be creative, imaginative, or progressive. I even remember one guy that I was really into at one point describing me as “the epitome of self-restraint.” Ugh, just thinking of how those few words hurt my little adolescent heart, especially coming from a time when you’re trying to impress your peers by proving just how “wild” and “uninhibited” you can be.

Still, when I think about it, it just doesn’t sit well with me, it never has. This is because when I really try to think of what maturity is, and if I am that, I can’t seem to define it. Really, at the end of the day, the line between childhood and adulthood is blurred, dashed, dipped, or non-existent all together. Adults are simply children with more responsibilities forced upon them, driven by the same physical wants and needs. Adults process thoughts differently, having more physical and sensory experiences to adapt them to and process them through. And adults are physically different sure, in that they’re stronger and more active, but their bodily functions and receptors are still essentially the same.  The responsibilities that define people as adults are simply expectations that condition us into certain lifestyles brought upon us by society. So, if this is the case, then maturity is just one big fallacy, a socially-construed term to help us cope with our lives that will continue to move forward, further from responsibility-free childhood. Of course, it’s never quite that simple, and I am aware that many more factors go into this equation, humans having free will, therefore, actions and consequences, etc, etc. I think what I am getting at is simply a definition of maturity that I feel comfortable with.

Maturity is essentially cynicism. As we get older, we experience more, we see more, feel more, smell, hear more, and perceive more. We are more exposed, more vulnerable. We are inevitably tainted over any period of time. This is maturity. Even when children who are forced to take on responsibilities at a young age are described as “having had to mature at a young age, denied a proper childhood,” with the reasons usually due to them having had to experience something unfair or extraordinary that tainted them at an earlier age than most. We are smarter and wiser because we “know better.” We are not blissful because we are not ignorant. We are mature.

So, if you are willing to accept this notion, that maturity=cynicism, then answer this: What kind of culture are we promoting where maturity is encouraged, even though that is society asking its inhabitants to be tainted, while youth and liberty are criticized as fantasy and selfishness (thank you, Reagan administration)?  

So, I was never a mature child; I was a cynical child, more pessimistic than fantastical. I mean, if you had asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, at age seven, I would have said mermaid, but I wouldn’t have said artist, knowing monthly bills would be rough, and I had seen my parents struggle. If you were a loved one and couldn’t make me let go of your hand, it wouldn’t necessarily have been because I wanted to be close to you, but because I wanted to be protected from men I did not know, who stared and lurked. If you had asked me what I was gonna name my future daughter, I’d say I wasn’t interested in birth pangs. If you had asked what color I wanted my new bike to be, I would’ve thought of my friend, who was dragged off his bike and accused of theft for having dark skin. If you would’ve offered me drugs, I would’ve said “no, because I want to be in control.”

In the end, this maturity I’m cursed with is irreversible. I’m not trying to play the victim, I’m just satisfied with my definition, and I’m curious to hear what others think. I still dance, blush, chew with my mouth open, blow bubbles during class, and stick my tongue out at passers-by who stare, but maybe it’d be more laughs and less business if I had had different experiences thus far in life….Or maybe it’s all intrinsic, throwing my whole theory down the toilet:)

Gabi and the Quest for the Polka Dot Skirt

So, I haven’t bought anything full price in years, I’d say. That’s how frugal I am. Still, I love to shop. Now, everyone has their preference for where they like to shop, and every city/town has its own watering hole of good fashion finds; so, I can’t tell you where to go. However, I can tell you, if you have a local Buffalo Exchange, you should start there. Sure, Goodwill’s and Salvation Army’s are good sometimes, but you have to do a lot of digging through the same perpetual racks of Fruit of the Loom XXXL shirts before finding your diamond. So, at stores like Buffalo Exchange, or any other second-hand fashion store, because they are selective with their clothing to begin with, it lightens your load. Of course, each second-hand store tends to cater to a certain clientele. So, you’ll eventually find a place that fits you and your style just right, perhaps through trial and error. The best Buffalo Exchanges I’ve been to were in Austin and New Orleans. Also, just scanning through your city’s alternative newspapers/magazines will usually give you the low down on obscure fashion thrift stores. It’s like bird-watching, except you’re buying the birds and then wearing them. Don’t worry, animals look better off of me anyway.

This pink, black polka dot skirt is one of the few clothing pieces I own that is authentically vintage, meaning it is 50+ years old. Yeah, the word “vintage” is thrown around pretty loosely nowadays. It’s interesting, because according to the guy that was helping me out at the store, you know, the one owning me in heels, a lot of girls tried it on but I was the only one that walked out with it. You see, today, we expect our skirts to come with a basic kind of structure in the waist that we’re already familiar with. However, in the 50’s and 60’s, and even before that, the skirts fit differently, sometimes annoyingly. In this case, the skirt has a tiny waist that doesn’t really hold itself up, and is continually sagging, but it was so adorable that I took it anyway. My guess is that, because it was the norm for women to wear brassieres or… I don’t know how to say it in English, but I’m talking about fajas, you know, the really tight undergarments women wear to tighten themselves up, like spandex corsets, and that was what provided the structure of a “womanly” figure. Today, we are more natural with our figures, and basically either work hard to achieve that air-brushed Barbie look, or we just shake what we got. In this case, I don’t have a Barbie doll figure or a faja, so I’m just gonna use belts to keep the skirt up around my waist.

People mix and match for various reasons. If you can justify it, you can wear it. Some people get away with bolder patterns than others. Me personally, I’m 5’4”, not nearly tall enough to carry heavy, messy prints. So, this works for me because the prints are different, yes, but they have a common ground, in that the top has a picture, but it’s neat and simple, not busy and crowded. Also, the top has a base color that identifies with the skirt. Plus, the basic black belt brings it all down a few notches.

Now, remember that you’re never too old for any look, just probably too boring, but unlike age, that can be reversed! Above all else, though, never forget that the outfit doesn’t make the person, the outfit Adds to the person, so make it a good commentary not narrative.

Welcome

Boys, girls, freaks, geeks, and intellectuals, welcome to "Geek Brains," where brains are bad, good, and bizarre, where it's ok to stare, and it's ok to speak. It is a pleasure to have you as my guest. We will be good friends for a long time, I reckon. Allow me to introduce myself first. My name is Gabriela Preiss. My parents are both immigrants, but I was born in America. I was raised in San Antonio, TX, where my two sisters and I have reveled and marinated in the heat, smells, colors, festivals, rythyms, words, peoples, superstititions, and streets of Mexican/Latin culture. I am an English major, finishing up my final school year at UTSA (UTSA and UT having the leading Chicano literary depts. in the US), and I will begin my high school student teaching in the Spring of 2012.

My summer has only begun, and I plan on enjoying it. I am working, struggling to save up money to travel somewhere, anywhere, before school ends. My last trip was back in december, I had the fortune of visiting New Orleans for the first time, a dark, strange city that is undeniably gothic even on the sunniest days, celebrating their delapidated architecture, fast rythyms, and laid-back dispositions. The whole city seemed to be pressing in on itself, struggling to hold itself up from the constant pressure emitted by  the humidity, heavy basses, and swallowing cobble-stoned streets.