Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse...

Some people view Christmas with a strictly religious point of view, while others (most people) view it as a commercialized season of money spending and overcrowded shopping malls. Call me naive, but I'm still astounded to see Plaza Las Americas so overwhelmingly full that it causes traffic congestion on the freeway at 9pm. In my first year of college I worked at the mall, but I do not recall it ever being like this in the Christmas season. This situation seems like a phenomenon, considering that the so-called recession has done little to slow down the insane number of people launching themselves into the unpredictable wilderness that is a commercial center in the last days of the year.

I still recall what Christmas felt like to me when I was a child. Counting the months left till December, I anxiously awaited the arrival of the season. My siblings and I would count the days leading up to December 25th and we even made little lists for Santa Claus in which we detailed what we wanted as gifts. With a total of five children in my house, I'm surprised we never caught our parents setting gifts up. We were a pack of conspirators, even going so far as to wake up our poor mother one Christmas morning around 4am, demanding to know why Santa Claus had not yet arrived. The magic of Christmas morning - there is no honest way to describe what it felt like, but of course you must have your own recollections of how it was for you. I vividly recall one year when my father asked me what I wanted for Christmas, thereby forfeiting the possibility of Santa Claus' existence. The magic began to recede right then and there.

Nowadays, I still regard the holiday season as a special time, while I inevitably feel nostalgia for those years when my older sisters would shake me out of bed just as the sun was rising and we'd run to the living room with uncontrollable joy and anticipation. I still find myself chasing the magic that was once there. Now and then I manage to catch a small glimpse of how I felt while I stare at my Christmas tree, as if someone pulled back the curtain for only an instant. I suppose I'll continue to chase the magic for the rest of my life, occasionally coming across something similar to the way a child feels on Christmas morning - a feeling that is unequaled in every way imaginable.

Traffic Jams: Our Reluctant Battle

Every day, in the early hours of morning, nearly half a million people in Puerto Rico get into their cars and begin their daily expedition to their respective workplaces. According to the 2000 Census, 89% of our labor force gets to work on a privately owned vehicle, and many of these individuals travel by themselves. The result is an epic traffic congestion that leads to hour-long commutes and is referred to lovingly as 'el fockin tapón'. This phenomenon has been ingrained into our psyche and, some could argue, has become part of our culture.

Let's face it, these traffic jams have become our favorite pastime. We look at each other from car to car, marveling at those that seem to be speaking to themselves. Shamelessly, we laugh at those unfortunate fools who did not realize how passionately they were singing along to the car stereo until it was too late, while raising our eyebrows at feeble minded mothers who feel that rush hour traffic provides the best setting in which to discipline their child with an open hand.

This all makes me picture an after-work talk between two colleagues going something like this:
-Hey man, what are you gonna do for the next 45 to 60 minutes?
-Uhmm, well... Sit in my car while in traffic, struggling with my own mind, so as to not lose my sanity.
-(Acts surprised, then laughs) Oh, I know man. I meant after.

At this time of the year, I have a tendency to romanticize the notion of traffic congestion, thinking about all the lovely people out on the street buying gifts for their loved ones. I think about how we're all headed somewhere, making plans, conspiring for a better tomorrow... I think of this and I smile. I smile, because I know in my heart that it's all bullshit but I must inevitably find a way to deal with this bumper-to-bumper madness because I have to, and not because I want to. We didn't choose this condition of living, it chose us. The system has not provided an alternative to driving to work, so we're left with no choice. I think of this every day for about 5 minutes after I get into my car, and then I go back to watching the fool in the car next to me, singing his heart away, completely unbeknownst to the fact that I can even see him. Ah, this is bliss.

Shut Up: A Moviegoer's Manifesto

It's happened to all of us. You pay $6 or $7 of your hard earned money, you buy your popcorn under the pretense that it doesn't make you fat, and you sit down for 2 hours of mindless fun in your local movie theater. And then it happens. Someone starts talking. Before, it used to be bleach-blonde girls asking their boyfriends to explain the movie's plot, but lately it's gotten worse. People have begun to answer their phones in the middle of the movies. Whispering? C'mon man, that is so 20th century. I've tried to find links between the kinds of people that think it's okay to talk in a movie theater, but I can't quite pin them down. I suppose all demographics are properly represented in this brainless inconsideration.

So how do we deal with these individuals? I propose the following preventive methods - some might seem peculiar, so bear with me. Place volume sensors in the backs of every seat in the theater; if it picks up a certain amount of decibels, the responsible party's seat will begin to warm up gradually, like a menopause hot flash. If this individual continues to talk, a subtle white light will be placed on his face until he, to put it gently, shuts the fuck up. Further refusal to be quiet will result in a fine or a possible ban from the theater, permanent or otherwise. When buying tickets in the future, these criminals will have to identify themselves as such, just like sex offenders are required to do. Furthermore, they will have a designated area in which to sit in the theater, away from clean-record citizens.

I know what you're thinking: implementing these measures will result in higher ticket prices. While a small increment in prices could happen, once we start imposing fines there will be plenty of available funds. Think about it - how much money does the government make in fines alone? We could start by applying these methods in movie theatres in Bayamón and see how it goes. A sudden influx in moviegoers who are no longer worried about unwanted noise will certainly help the ailing economy. Consider these words the first step in what could potentially become a revolution in our local entertainment industry. You've been warned.

Puerto Rican Paranoia

Editor's note: The following column was supposed to have been posted last Saturday. When phone calls proved futile, we decided to visit Noel at his place of residence. We found the writer passed out over his laptop computer. Later, we learned he had ingested sedatives after confusing them for vitamins. We were forced to transcribe his handwritten first draft in order to comply with deadlines. Noel's columns will continue to appear in LaAcera.com on a regular basis; we have complete faith in him and his journalistic exploits.

You know that feeling you get when it's past midnight and you're walking in the wrong part of town? You're heading to your car in a quiet, but steady pace, and the alcohol in your bloodstream is not nearly enough to make you lower your guard just a bit? You just want to pull out your cell phone and make a booty call, but you worry it'll draw unwanted attention. You know what I'm talking about, only it's become such an inherent part of your life, you've come to disregard its very presence. We call it paranoia: excessive suspicion or distrust.

I know what you're thinking: "This guy must be doing drugs, that's why he's paranoid". No, although I will admit I have nothing against recreational drug use. Besides, paranoia is total awareness, and it's this very same awareness that gives us a sense of otherness when we find ourselves in some European countries and we can't really fathom how these people walk around so late at night without looking over their shoulder every three seconds.

I first became aware of it in Madrid. I was walking alone down a street to my brother's apartment sometime after 4am. Some guy was walking behind me a little too close for comfort. He had the whole sidewalk on the other side to himself, but he chose to walk on my tail. I grew uncomfortable to the point that, in my inebriated state, I promptly asked "What are you doing?" He gave me a stunned look, shrugged and continued walking while I stood there; it was only my second night in Spain. I now consider that fuck-up in the same league as trying to impress a girl with your knowledge of Pink Floyd, thinking it's a guy and not a band.

Excuse me... I digress. The point I was trying to make is the following: only when you step out of our precious island, which is nearing 1000 murders in 2009, do you properly realize how much our crime rate has become part of your social unconscious. Now, all bullshit aside, I recognize how someone could read these words and accuse me of being an elitist. For all intended purposes, such an accusation could be a fair assessment - but whenever the weekend comes and I constantly fear for the safety of those close to me, I could give a shit about begin called elitist.

Are we really the product of our environment? Not necessarily. In fact, I challenge the truth behind such a statement. To quote Robert Kennedy: "I think we can do better". Things can be changed, things can be better. The problem is that most people lack the vision to even conceive of such an idea. Dare to see things under a different light. Dare to break the mold and shatter conformism. Dare to acquire and uphold a new perception - one that speaks to you as an individual, and to us as a society.