By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
By Charles Lam
The Centro Cultural de Mexico in Santa Ana is a sweet, DIY box of a room, with a little video corner—it's got, like, seven videos on a shelf—some history and geography books, a violet bathroom, and some canvas purses you can buy with "Peace" scrawled on them in black fingerpaint. At the entrance was a sign explaining that Grrl Fair is a safe place for womyn—with a Y!—of all races, religions and sexual identities and to check your inner bigot at the door. So checked!
After Son del Centro, a woman—sorry, womyn—sat down on the floor with all of us to talk on the topic How Punk Rock Changed My Life. A law student with the cutest retainer-y smile, she talked about Chumbawamba waking her up to Apartheid back in the '80s and discussed how punk rock is not about your patches, but rather is the ultimate adjective denoting radness of every kind. People who ran the Underground Railroad? Punk rock. Organizing against Proposition 21 and walking out of high school? Way punk! Telling your grandma you can't help her with something because you're too busy going to a show? Not punk rock!
During her talk, the scary Mexican rock dude next to us (he was one big bubba) went out into the sweltering day to buy bottled water; he came back, opened it and offered it with a smile to the nearest strangers.
The Centro will host Old Skool Hip-Hop Dance Night March 20. It's a $5 donation, and it's all ages. Don't think I ain't taking my buttercup de mijo poquito; we'll be the ones running from the fuzz.
* * *Final Thought: I don't read about celebrity crimes because I like to keep myself pure and untainted should I attain that fabulous jury pool in the sky, but as for convicted felon Martha Stewart? I think we can all agree: it's a good thing.