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In reality it involves tractors and hoses and tanks and spreading manure and chasing wild pigs out of the vines. Occasionally there's a quick burst of energy where they pick all the grapes in one day so that the rest of the year can be spent in leisure. Ask most people to describe the working life of a vineyard and they'll imagine scenic vistas with people lounging around with lutes, reciting poetry. While I agree with the idea that sacred cows make the best hamburgers, I do think this attitude stunted American attitudes towards wine for a long time. For so long, wine was merely a prop to signify an expensive restaurant, a special occasion, a rich person, or to engage in satire about those targets.
#My secret identity theme tv#
He would have remembered me.On Facebook I love to post screencaps of old TV shows and movies that feature wine scenes, particularly with comedies. “Just last month he chased off two wetbacks who were trying to come onto my property.” “My dog is very protective,” the old man said. He then proceeded to tell me about the virtues of his little dog. When we first met, he stared at me and said: “Don’t I know you from somewhere? You look familiar to me.” Narrow-minded people will continue to hold on to narrow-minded ideas, despite the lessons of the riots and the ensuing “Day of Dialogue” and President Clinton’s initiative on race relations.Ī few months ago, I was sent to interview an elderly man whose dog was named dog of the year by an animal rights group. ”Īlthough we live in one of the most diverse regions of the country, I’m not surprised that comments like this are still common.
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Often, the offending party tries to make amends by saying something like: “Oh, I wasn’t talking about you. I have friends who are Amerasian or light-skin African Americans who have recounted similar stories. “That is who I am trying to get away from!” she shouted before she turned and stormed out. “What is wrong with that? I’m Mexican too.” “All I want to do is build my home in the hills so that I can get away from these people,” she repeated.īut I was already tied up in another story, so I suggested she pitch her story to the paper’s morning assignment editor, Stephanie Chavez.
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She refused to build the road, arguing that it was too expensive. As she explained it, the city would not let her build her dream house in the Hollywood Hills unless she agreed to build an access road wide enough to accommodate emergency vehicles. An angry blue-haired woman stormed into the office, demanding that I report an injustice she was suffering at the hands of the bureaucrats. I had an incident like this about two years ago when I worked in The Times’ City Hall bureau. In most cases, they walk away, frustrated. The wheels in their head start to spin, but words fail them. The reaction I get when I disclose my “secret” Latino identity to such people is priceless. Normally, this is not an issue except when I run into a closet racist who assumes I’m white and feels compelled to spew anti-Latino bias in my face. But I don’t have the energy or inclination to rattle off 10 syllables every time I introduce myself.
#My secret identity theme full#
I suppose I could go by my full name: Hugo Humberto Martin Casillas.
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My last name sounds pretty generic unless you pronounce it properly, with the accent on the last syllable. If I had a name like Ramirez, Sanchez or Martinez, I would be easy to pin down. My name offers no clues to my background either. I have Latino friends and colleagues who are often confused for valets or gardeners because of their complexion. I have dark hair, but I’ve often been confused for an Italian or a Spaniard. I don’t look Latino, but both my parents were born in Mexico. You see, I am what you might call a stealth Latino. I’ve had several interviews end this way.