tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92113854024524489652012-02-16T02:53:04.318-05:00Martha M. Cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15139953022175105950noreply@blogger.comBlogger111100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211385402452448965.post-70946974528887181102010-05-27T13:38:00.005-04:002010-12-05T13:55:07.597-05:00

May 27, 2010 Coach Sue SylvesterWilliam McKinley High SchoolLima, Ohio Dear Ms. Sylvester, First let me say that I agree with you that Will Schuester looks like he spends an inordinate amount of time in front of the mirror, armed with hair grooming products. And his dimpled chin really does look like a baby’s bottom, depending on the angle and lighting. And, as one fabulously amazing woman to

Martha M. Cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15139953022175105950noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211385402452448965.post-76413897131630607292010-05-24T18:19:00.009-04:002010-12-05T13:53:34.571-05:00

As denizens of a city where the Naked Cowboy poses for pictures with tourists in sub-freezing temperatures directly across the street from where a zealous street evangelist preaches apocalyptic doom and street vendors hawk pirated DVDs and (what they would like potential buyers to believe are real) Rolex watches, New Yorkers aren’t easily fazed. But every now and then, something does manage to

Martha M. Cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15139953022175105950noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211385402452448965.post-46625798452839883282010-04-27T19:05:00.010-04:002010-12-05T13:53:02.748-05:00

I guess I won’t be visiting Arizona again anytime soon. It’s sad, because Arizona is such a lovely place that you almost forget some of its messier history, like all that unpleasantness around the observance of the Martin Luther King holiday back in the 1980s and 1990s. Or that once upon a time, say about a year and a half ago, its senior Senator-turned-presidential candidate (who had also voiced

Martha M. Cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15139953022175105950noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211385402452448965.post-9739574713981300952009-12-30T08:52:00.008-05:002010-12-05T13:52:16.971-05:00

Every December 30 for as long as I could remember, my father recounted the story of his arrival in the United States. The first member of the family to emigrate to los Estados Unidos, he had boarded a plane at Aeropuerto Rancho Boyeros in La Habana on a resplendent Caribbean morning on the next-to-last day of 1956. (In a few years, the air thick with the intoxicating spirit of revolutionary

Martha M. Cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15139953022175105950noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211385402452448965.post-90735319434280121142009-12-15T01:26:00.022-05:002010-12-05T13:51:44.494-05:00

A long time ago (which is to say until about February of this year), I firmly believed that social media were, at best, tools of the devil; a cyber-playground for what a former colleague used to call the "chronologically challenged" whose frontal lobes, through no fault of their own, simply weren't sufficiently developed to make good judgments about the long-term consequences of living an

Martha M. Cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15139953022175105950noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211385402452448965.post-67974449721790341882009-12-02T23:40:00.030-05:002010-12-05T14:05:43.448-05:00

Inspired by the (mis)adventures of Michaele and Tareq Salahi, Philip's latest blog post recounts the story of the time we, too, crashed the White House – well, sort of. What he didn’t mention was that 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue isn’t the only presidential residence where we’ve made our presence known. In 1999, three years after our wanderings through forbidden corridors of the White House, we

Martha M. Cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15139953022175105950noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211385402452448965.post-75592494934165464392009-12-01T23:47:00.017-05:002010-12-05T13:50:30.331-05:00

Andy: So none of the girls here eat anything? Nigel: Not since 2 became new 4 and 0 became the new 2. Andy: Well, I'm a 6... Nigel: Which is the new 14. – Conversation between Anne Hathaway (as Andy) and Stanley Tucci (Nigel) in the movie, The Devil Wears Prada We moved into our home the year Victoria, our youngest, was born. Now that she’s almost 20 – and fearful that a video crew from the new

Martha M. Cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15139953022175105950noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211385402452448965.post-41711657974434921532009-11-15T14:47:00.013-05:002010-12-05T13:48:32.977-05:00

Some of you are already following The Little Scroll, written by my spouse (and caricaturist extraordinaire) Philip Jenks. Recently, he linked his readers to Antojitos y Alabanzas, something that would have been described as an example of shameless cross-selling in the Marketing 101 class I took a couple of years ago. In any case, if you aren’t a Scroll follower, you should be. The blog traces its

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For almost two years, Padre Santiago and I have been meeting – more or less regularly – in a convent that was once home to women called to be brides of Christ. We sit in the office of one of the few remaining sisters, a veteran of more than 50 years who, on this particular evening, has left behind a large doll dressed in the traditional habit of the order – starched white wimple; black veil and

Martha M. Cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15139953022175105950noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211385402452448965.post-12607907724280745552009-09-25T20:02:00.009-04:002010-12-05T13:44:33.637-05:00

It was at a wedding that I first became aware of Dermie. And a wedding would be the last place we would ever see each other. The first nuptials were a quiet affair in 1960, with only six people present – the bride and groom; the matron of honor and best man; Dermie; and me, the almost six-year old child of the couple stating vows before God and all present. My parents’ wedding day nine years

Martha M. Cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15139953022175105950noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211385402452448965.post-3352090439771484332009-09-18T09:30:00.033-04:002010-12-05T13:43:23.233-05:00

Just about now, my cousin Nelson is probably looking out the window at a lush landscape as his plane begins the descent into José Martí International Airport in the elegant Rancho Boyeros section of La Habana, once home to nightclubs with names like Bambú and Mulgoba and Topeka recommended in 1950s travel guides for their “typical Cuban nightclub” atmosphere and “good music and shows.” The

Martha M. Cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15139953022175105950noreply@blogger.com1