my childhood memories of L.A. are green, lush even. i was five-years old, and the neighbors kept asking my mom how come my sister and i were mexican and blond.
we lived in the not-quite-middle-class albeit gated workman's mill in whittier. all i remember is our "townhouse" surrounded by fake tropical landscaping, fake waterfalls and ponds and even little frogs. it was 1985 and my hometown mexicocity had just been half-destroyed by the earthquake (we watched it on t.v). so to me, as a kid, this was as close as it got to heaven (besides, it was like a twenty-minute drive to disneyland). of course i didn't know shit about crips, bloods, crack, riots or south central, for that matter.
l.a. in my head still brings up these weird happy confusing and even hopeful images
ok, i'm not mike davis; but i'm not that big of a michael eisner fan anymore either
l.a. like mexicocity is a huge overarching constantly happening place, you have the tips of the worst and best and all the shit and charm and life that goes in-between
xxx
in the past few months there's been a buzz on urban agriculture, from edible lawns to ruralizing detroit
so, it's kinda sad to read about the rise, resistance and (temporary?) fall of the south central farm
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+ déjà-vu
+ toppings: wassup rockers read this to the soundtrack (chicano punk, yes, there is such a thing). the movie is airy, and features skating and cute long-haired mexican boys in tight pants, if (like me) you dig that sort of thing...
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