On a quiet street in suburban Escondido, in a neighborhood dominated by warehouses and light industrial factories just off Auto Park Way, the inertia of an empty provincial evening is suddenly shattered by a burst …
Thursday, October 29
Thursday, October 22
San Carlos in 1960 was a series of tract homes out in the boonies. There were plenty of hills, trails, and wilderness for a young boy to run wild. My family lived on Lake Aral …
Thursday, October 15
I was born a peasant in a remote rancho in Guerrero, one of Mexico's wildest states. My father, though he claimed political pretensions, was little more than an armed bandit, a highwayman Like so many …
So palpably painful was their parting that even above the bus’s noisy idle and squawking children, it seemed that anyone who passed by could hear the break between mother and child. I did.
Thursday, October 8
Walk through Balboa Park on a weekend afternoon and there is a chance you will come upon a sight you might think had passed with the War of the Roses or the Field of the …
They’d give tortillas to us plain — good enough! Or they’d roll a few drops of lemon juice in one, or a pinch of salt, or both. I ate a couple of these mini-tacos while I waited.
Thursday, October 1
"You’re thinkin’, ‘Uh-oh, this guy’s gonna start askin’ me any minute what the problem is, and if I don’t have the answer. I’m in trouble. I’m gonna look foolish.’ So you gotta withstand that kind of pressure.”