Steven Rubio's Online Life

happy birthday, neal!

Holy moly, he’s 37!

mother’s day, penelope cruz, and me

I hate to link to the anti-vaccine Huffington Post, but my RSS feed directed me to an article on their “Cultura” page today, titled “Happy Mother’s Day: Our 35 Favorite Latina Celeb Moms”. It’s the usual slideshow-with-brief-introduction, and features the women you’d expect: Jessica Alba, Jennifer Lopez, Salma Hayek. One person in particular caught my attention: Penelope Cruz.

Why would I care more about Cruz than the other 35? Well, Alba is half-Mexican, Lopez is Puerto Rican, Hayek is Mexican-American, and there were even some “celebs” I didn’t realize were Latina (mostly because I don’t pay attention) made the list, such as Nicole Richie (half-Mexican) or Mariah Carey (part-Venezuelan). (I should note that I am using the HuffPost descriptions of these women.)

Penelope Cruz, though, is Spanish. And I have long had a minor obsession with my own heritage, and whether I “deserve” the label “Latino” (or “Hispanic), because I am half-Spanish. Culturally, I was raised a suburban white boy, and I didn’t even know I looked Spanish until my first visit to that country when I was already in my 30s. I get all of the advantages given to white males in the U.S. And when I think of Latino/Hispanic, I think of people from Central and South America, not people from the European country where they speak Spanish.

Yet I know that “Spanish-American” has started to turn up on forms over the past couple of decades, and that is an accurate description of me. Then there are census categories like “white hispanic”.

There’s no real reason why any of this would be of interest. But I spent the first 30 or so years of my life thinking of myself as a white guy with Spanish roots, then the next fifteen or so years thinking of myself as a Spanish-American. But only in more recent times have I considered the possibility that I am, also, a Latino.

jim o’donnell

My primary extra-curricular activity in junior high and high school was acting. I probably spent as much time in high school on stage with Jim O’Donnell as I did with anyone. In this picture, Jim is front and left, gesturing … that’s me in the back with the goofy grin:

Last summer we met up at a class reunion. From left to right, this is our friend Bob, Jim, me, and Robin (picture taken by Joe Faletti):

Jim passed away this morning.

Back in 1980, when Robin and I did our “five Bruce concerts in three cities in seven days” tour, we stayed at Jim’s house for the LA part of the tour. Jim went with us to one of the shows. Bruce sang “Promised Land” that night: “Mister, I ain’t a boy, no I’m a man, and I believe in a promised land.”

more on the rubio family

Ancestry.com is offering free access to the 1930 U.S. census this weekend. I checked my father’s side of the family.

The family consisted of Mike (head), Frances (wife), Barbarita (she was Auntie Bobbie to us), Mike (son), Josephine (Aunt Feena), Joe (my dad), and daughter Mary. They owned their house at 904 I Street in Antioch; it was valued at $2500. In the parlance of the day, they were white. My grandfather was 45 and my grandmother 35, with the kids ranging from 3 5/12 to 11. When they were married, my grandparents were 27 and 17. All of the kids except Mary were in school; the parents, along with Bobbie and Mike Jr. could read and write. The parents, obviously, were born in Spain, the kids in California, and the parents (again obviously) spoke Spanish before coming to the U.S.

My grandparents immigrated to the United States in 1913 (I assume this means Hawaii). Here’s something I don’t quite understand. Under “Whether able to speak English”, my grandparents get a “no”, the two oldest kids get a “yes”, and the three youngest kids have that one left blank. (My dad was five years old at the time … I assume he spoke something.)

My grandfather worked as a “yard man” at the paper mill. My grandmother worked as a “packer” at the cannery.

Two other families lived on I Street. One was a mother with four daughters and a son. The mother was from Portugal; the oldest daughter was born in Massachusetts, the other kids in California. The mother worked in the cannery, the oldest daughter at the paper mill. The other family was a young married couple with two small children. The husband’s mother also lived at the house. All of the adults were from Spain; the husband worked at the paper mill.

There are a few entries from other neighbors on the particular page that includes my family, with six family listings. In every case but two, the kids were born in California. The husbands and wives were from: Spain/Spain, Mexico/Mexico (two of their four kids were also born in Mexico), Spain/Spain, Mexico (husband had died, eldest son born in Arizona), Austria/Spain, and Spain/Spain. One house had a lodger, also Spanish, who worked at the rubber mill with the head of the family.

You can see why it seemed as I was growing up that there was this small neighborhood in town with a bunch of old Spaniards.

All of the heads of these nine total families (seven men, two women) had jobs. Five of the wives/mothers had jobs, as did one daughter. Their “industry” (i.e. work places) were paper mill, cannery, rubber mill, ranch, steel mill, and farm.

For comparison purposes, I checked out my mom. She was two years old at the time; her younger sister hadn’t been born yet, her parents were 30 and 26 (24 and 20 when they got married). Her dad was from Tennessee, her mom from Kentucky. My grandfather worked as a Mechanical Engineer.

They owned their house at 1522 Buena Avenue in Berkeley, which was valued at $5500. 1522 Buena Avenue is less than two miles from where I live now.

happy birthday, sara!

This is going up a little late today, because we spent last night and this morning staying with her in Sacramento. Happy birthday to the best daughter!

time flies when you’re having fun

This is my nephew Sean in the 1990s … he’s the one in the red shirt (that’s Eric Wynalda with his arm on Sean’s shoulder):

This is my nephew Sean, along with Drumming Guy, in the English magazine 442 in the mid-2000s:

And this is my nephew a few minutes ago, on ESPN2, sitting at the San Jose Earthquakes draft table for the 2012 draft, with Quakes coach Ian Russell and head coach Frank Yallop to Sean’s left:

For perspective, when the first picture of Sean with Waldo was taken, Ian Russell was 20 years old and playing for the University of Washington, while Frank Yallop was 31 years old and playing for the now-defunct MLS team, the Tampa Bay Mutiny.

Oh, and I think that might be the first time I’ve ever seen Sean in a suit and tie.

snapshot of my family, 354 years ago

I’m looking at the will of my great-great-great-great-great grandfather on my mom’s side of the family. John Cralle II died in Virginia in 1757. Some excerpts:

To Thomas Cralle Lamkin, son of Mary Jones, widow and relict of Charles Jones, late of Northumberland County five negoes vixt: Little Ben, Isaac, Peggs Bess, Blacka Top and Aggy. If he should die before he arrives to age or day of marriage, his mother Mary Jones to enjoy two of the said slaves that may be left at his death, she to have her choice during her natural life, then to revert to my children the remaining part

To son William Matthews Cralle nine negroes vizt: Chnce, Cate, and their daughter Bess, Frank, Alice, Stephen, Cate, Dominy, and Edmond.

Mulatto man Will, may be free at my decease.

To son Rodham Kenner Cralle three negroes vizt: Harry, George, and Nanny and my watch.

To daugher Mary Foushee my silver tankard, and negro wench Rose Anna

Rest of my estate both real and personal to be equally divided between five children Kenner, John, Rodham, William, and Mary, except Ben and Matthews whom I give to my son Kenner, son John to have Rachel, Old Ben to make choice of his master among my children.

xmas then and now

This xmas, one of my siblings got the idea to do one of those “let’s duplicate the past” pictures. I always like seeing those, so I knew from the start I’d have to post it here. My brother David fiddled around with the photo a bit, with the following result:

Funny how we’ve all changed, yet Santa looks exactly the same.

gardening

A little over nine months ago, a friend of ours died. He was only in his 40s, and his death was unexpected. He grew up on our block, and could tell us stories about who had lived in our house back in the day, and what kinds of shrubbery and such was in the front yard.

This was a guy who had more than his share of struggles over the years, but he smiled as much as anyone I ever knew. People noted this at his funeral … one after another, old friends and family would talk about how they could count on him to lend a hand, any time, any place, and how he’d do it with as much good cheer as he could muster.

He knew a lot of stuff. He would come down and ask me about just about anything, because he thought since I was a doctor, I must know everything, but the truth was, he knew about way more things than I do. And, unlike me, he knew practical things. He started off doing basic yard work for us a long time ago, and since we were grateful for his work, we’d tell him to be as creative as he wanted, so he always had projects going, especially in our backyard. Some of them were goofy, but they always had creativity, and plenty of them worked just fine.

Meanwhile, like I say, he knew how to do everything. Once he rented a jackhammer and tore up some concrete for us … later, he’d use the broken up stones for decorative purposes in the garden. Earlier this year, an old fence rotted away. He and I and Robin went down to the hardware store and bought some green wire fencing that would blend in with the greenery and make a good place for berry vines to grow. He installed the fence for us … don’t worry, he said, I’ve put in more fences than I can remember, and sure enough, that fence was in before two hours had elapsed.

Since his passing came as a surprise, and since he always had several projects cooking (oh yeah, he was a pretty good cook, too), when he died, there were many half-done Winchester-Mystery-House-like aspects to the yards, front and back. We had the front lawn mowed a time or two, but mostly, we couldn’t bear to even look at the backyard, and we did all we could to avert our eyes when we crossed the front yard. Things started to look pretty ugly … he would have hated it, and would have had it looking better in a day, but he was gone … and somehow, I think we believed fixing things up would finalize the loss of our friend, and we weren’t ready for that. Stupid, to be sure … like I say, the best way to honor him would have been to keep things up, but it was too depressing.

Well, after nine months, we finally had someone come out today. A team of three guys spent a little more than six hours clearing out both front and back yards, and they will now come by twice a month for maintenance. And it’s a relief, as if we can finally say goodbye.

This crew is “green” … seems funny that there are gardeners who aren’t green, but they exist (“mow and blow” is the term for them, I think). They did a lot of the clearing on their hands and knees, pulling stuff out manually. They were thorough, and things really are a lot better. But the best part is, they’ve left the quirky parts. We may decide in the spring to start afresh, but for now, the backyard still looks like our friend has been there. The vegetable garden he had started this year was still in place … a couple of exotic-looking bushes are still growing in the center of the yard … there’s a mix-and-match feel to everything. Robin got home when it was dark, and hasn’t seen it yet, but I think she’ll be very happy.

Here’s a photo I posted back in March:

And here’s another I haven’t posted before:

smith-rubio family xmas update, 10th annual edition

Holy shit, this is the tenth time I’ve done this? To be honest, there’s been enough good news in our family this year that I don’t have it in me to spew out too much snark. So I’ll offer some highlights from years past. But first:

Spot is still alive! Our first Spot was a girl, but she passed away many years ago, and this Spot is a boy. You can tell by the scar where his balls used to be.

Now, since xmas is nothing without nostalgic looks back, the history of the Smith-Rubio Family Xmas Update.

2002: The beginning of a tradition. This one was full of happy news, all of it made up, of course. I didn’t get a single comment, which made me think perhaps happy news wasn’t what the audience wanted.

2003: The original girl Spot died of a urinary infection, after spending her final days peeing on all the furniture. I was out of work. Robin punched me out, so I broke her foot, which led to my incarceration. Still no comments, which made me think perhaps Xmas Updates were not what the audience wanted.

2004: We got a replacement, male Spot. Robin went to work at a place she liked so much she is still there. Things were looking up. All of which elicited the first-ever Xmas Update Comment, which asked if I’d gone soft with the return of the happy stuff. Which made me think perhaps I have no idea what people like about these updates.

2005: This post was so mellow, it got 400% more comments. The mellow nature of things was probably due to the Wellbutrin and Depakene I started taking that year.

2006: Perhaps the most reflective Xmas Update ever. Don’t believe me? Here’s a direct quote: “a tip of the cap to the supreme being.”

2007: Still the most infamous Xmas Update in the history of Steven Rubio’s Online Life. The second paragraph began, “Xmas ... how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.” I called everyone out for being fake friends, bitched about religion, complained that Santa Claus wasn’t real, said I thought Spot was dead, and finished by quoting Lou Reed’s lyrics to “Street Hassle” (the one that begins, “hey, that cunt’s not breathing”). The comments section erupted. My wife said I was overcompensating for the good feelings my meds gave me … my niece gently showed her ever-present good side … a friend said my Xmas Updates always pissed him off … my daughter called me out for making her feel bad … my son quoted Cee-Lo.

2008: I tried to make up for the previous year, talking about our new big-screen TV. Then I screwed it up by posting a video of Randy Newman singing “God’s Song (That’s Why I Love Mankind)”. God left a comment.

2009: Arguably the shortest Update ever, this had a picture of Spot and a video of Pink. I didn’t have the snark in me, I guess.

2010: This sums up not only the year 2010, but what followed. I posted a video of the last out of the World Series, a moment of ecstasy for Giants fans. I just checked it, and saw this: “This video is no longer available due to a copyright claim by MLB Advanced Media.”

Here’s a Carrie moment to finish off our xmas cheer: