Category Archives: de rebus familiaribus

Stop using the word “ghetto” unless you really know what it means!

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Something that blew my mind: when my post about my support for Jasmine Crockett blew up (300+ comments and counting), people assailing me from both hard right and hard left used the word “ghetto” in their attacks.

Do they even know what the term means?

Many will be surprised to learn that the word ghetto is Italian in origin. And to be more exact, Venetian in origin.

The first ghetto in history was founded in Venice in the early 16th century, in the neighborhood where the city’s foundries were located. The word “gheto” in Venetian dialect denotes “foundry” (its Latin origins bring it back to iectare, “to throw,” gettare in Italian).

That was the first ghetto in history, created by the Venetians to concentrate the Jews.

The term spread through Europe as other cities mirrored the Venetians’ racist policy.

By the mid-19th century, ghetto came to denote a place where a racial or ethnic group was segregated from the greater community.

The Oxford English Dictionary gives this definition from 1855 forward: “Any area occupied predominantly by a particular social or ethnic group, esp. a densely populated urban area which is subject to social and economic pressures, tending to restrict its demographic profile; an enclave. Also in extended (and sometimes ironic) use.”

An example from Melville: “The belittered Ghetto, forward of the main-mast, wholly occupied by the blacks.”

By the late 19th century, a new meaning emerged: “Originally and chiefly in the United States: a socially and economically disadvantaged inner-city area predominantly populated by African American people” (Oxford English Dictionary).

We don’t use or teach our children to use the word in our house. It’s a historic term in our view, a word that has been used to disparage Black people in our country since before I was born.

If you didn’t vote for Jasmine Crockett because she’s Black and you think that other white people wouldn’t vote for her, well, I’ve got news for you. Your doubly racist. (I’m echoing the words of one of my favorite Houston-based political bloggers, Erika Harrison, @blackgirlswhobrunch; thank you Erika for your awesome writing on the campaign!)

And oh yeah, stop using the word ghetto unless you are going to use it correctly and respectfully!

Photo credit: “Venezia – Cartello di ingresso al Ghetto” by Luca Paolini, CC BY-ND 2.0.

American trolls: 200+ comments, many racist and nasty, from people I don’t know.

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Since when is temperate civil discourse about politics considered intolerable in this country?

Oh yeah, I forgot, it became officially intolerable when in 2016 when Trump disparaged Ted Cruz’s wife and Rubio’s hands.

In case you had any doubts, in May 2024, Taylor Green insulted Jasmine Crockett about her eyelashes and we barely batted one. Crockett responded by commenting on Taylor Green’s “bleach-blonde, bad-built, butch body.”

When I posted my preference for Crockett in yesterday’s Texas primary race, I was expecting to get maybe 30-40 interactions.

Instead I got three times that much and more than 200 comments, many of the overtly racist and nasty, from people I don’t know.

The trolls on Facebook have been out to get me for a while (since I started posting about FIEL). But the oversized response to my simple expression of political joy and hope shows that people like me are targets.

I’ve lived in Texas now for nearly 20 years. Over those decades, I’ve observed the trollification of our state government and the Texasification of the federal government.

One of the best overviews of the Texan political panorama I’ve read is “Paxton Is a Texas-Size Troll. Is That What G.O.P. Voters Want?” by conservative political commentator Kevin Williamson, published today by the Times.

“Texas is more closely divided than you might think,” writes Williamson. “That is in part because Texas is no longer entirely the land of ‘wide open spaces’ but an increasingly urban state, home to six of the 25 largest cities in the country and two of the five largest metropolitan areas. Republicans do not typically fare well in urban areas — they haven’t won a mayoral election in Houston in more than 40 years.”

Williamson calls out Paxton for his corruption and trolling (see the title): “Paxton might be described, without exaggeration, as the most scandal-plagued politician in the country.”

He also calls out Jasmine Crockett for her own brand of trolling: “Ms. Crockett rode that pony a long way.”

I’m disappointed by Crockett’s loss but am giving my 1,000 percent support to Talarico. Let’s hope it’s Paxton v. Talarico, that’s a fight I’d like to see.

Vote Jasmine Crockett! Texas isn’t just a bunch of John Waynes (despite what the white people think)!

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One of my favorite California-Texas put-downs was voiced by sister-in-law, my little brother’s wife.

“How can you live in Texas with all those awful people?” she chided me not long after I moved here to be with Tracie.

People outside our state love to put us down.

Back when she said that to me, I wanted to (but didn’t) tell her: what about all the Brown and Black people who live in my state? Are they awful, too? Or is it only the white people who look like you?

Guess what! There is more to Texas than John Wayne and the movies!

Anyone who’s ever spent time here knows the answer to that, unless they’ve only hung out in the Woodlands and at the Yacht Club.

According to the pundits, Texas has the largest number of eligible Black voters in the U.S.

And a lot of folks here are getting excited about Jasmine Crockett’s campaign for senate.

I like both James Talarico and Jasmine Crockett. But I am convinced that she is the stronger candidate for the moment.

I believe that she can mount a more compelling campaign against Cornyn or Paxton.

Can you imagine a race between Paxton, one of the most corrupt politicians in Texas history (and that’s saying a lot!), and Crockett? Even if she didn’t prevail, her ability to reveal GOP hypocrisy would further our cause.

G-d bless both Dems. But my vote is with Jasmine!

If you haven’t already, please vote, my fellow Texans! Either way, we need to show up on voting day if we want to change our country’s racist and imperial policies.

We’ll send all the awful people to San Diego to be with my brother and his wife. They deserve each other.

How you can help the immigrant community under siege: stand up, speak out, volunteer, donate.

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Many thought Trump couldn’t be elected in the first place.

Many trusted that he couldn’t even stand as a candidate after the January 6 siege of the Capitol.

But all those things came to pass.

Many thought his administration couldn’t organize extra-judicial ICE goon squads that would profile brown people. Many people believed that even if he did, ICE would be subject to accountability — not to mention common sense and decency.

It’s happening, people, even though we wished it wouldn’t.

It’s time to act. It’s time to act NOW.

A lot of folks have read about my pro bono work as a media consultant with FIEL, the largest immigrant advocacy group in Texas, based here in Houston. And many have reached out asking how they can help.

Despite lies about FIEL recounted by Houston Mayor Whitmire and Texas attorney general Paxton, FIEL helps the vulnerable in the immigrant community every day through education, hands-on advocacy, and emergency interventions for those facing wrongful deportation.

FIEL needs volunteers and donations.

FIEL is an education resource, especially for DACA recipients.

It also mounts stations outside of supermarkets and similar community hubs where they distribute literature on immigrants’ rights (“what to do if ICE knocks at your door,” etc.).

FIEL organizes ICE awareness groups (few in our neighborhood realize that ICE did a massive raid at an apartment complex a mile from our home).

FIEL organizes rallies and protests that force politicians to face their hypocrisy.

FIEL sends out court observers to monitor immigration cases (this is one of the hardest tasks but also one of the most important).

I could go on and on about what FIEL does not just for the immigrant community but for our ENTIRE COMMUNITY.

Please start the process of becoming a volunteer by filling out a FIEL volunteer intake form. And please, please, please, if your finances permit it, please give to FIEL.

Thank you for your solidarity with the vulnerable in our community.

Image via the us_icegov Flickr (public domain).

ICE agents “dressed like clowns, with the rough fabric with rancid stench.”

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The American government’s terror campaign against brown people and the murder of white American protesters in Minneapolis are as terrifying as they are wholly wrong and morally indefensible.

No matter your political stripe, there’s no longer any way to deny that cruelty, the expression of raw power as violence, and dehumanization have been revealed as key elements of the MAGA platform and ethos.

And watching the horrific, tragic events unfold in Minneapolis, there’s no doubt that the seeds of a (soon to be hot) civil war are taking root.

I’m reminded of Pasolini’s letter to student protesters after the 1968 Battle of Valle Giulia (wiki it) where Italy’s paramilitary police (the Carabinieri) and protesters clashed violently.

And then, look at them, Pasolini wrote, referring to the Carabinieri with their black and red uniforms:

And then, look at them: dressed like clowns,
with the rough fabric with rancid stench
Worst of all, naturally, the psychological state
to which they are reduced
for about forty liras a month:
without a smile,
with no more friendship with the world,
separated, excluded (in an exclusion that has no equal)
humiliated by the loss of human qualities
in exchange for those of a policeman
(being hated makes you hate).
They are twenty, dear young men and women, your age.

(Translation from primolevicenter.org.)

Reading the letter (a poem published at the time as opinion piece), it occurred to me how ICE agents are also victims of our government’s awful policy — not unlike the way U.S. soldiers were victims of U.S. policy in Vietnam (or Afghanistan or Iraq).

But then you look at the agents’ abject violence against U.S. citizens and rightful residents: it’s hard not to see MAGA’s hateful, emotionally-driven cruelty in the heart of their actions.

I pray for them just as I pray for the victims of MAGA’s sadism. I pray for us all.

Image via the us_icegov Flickr (public domain).

There’s no thunder in heaven.

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I’m awfully sorry to report that we lost our beloved dog RooRoo (Rusty) at the end of last year.

The doctors believe that he had a brain tumor and possibly suffered a stroke.

RooRoo was one of two dogs I have loved more than any other in my lifetime.

He was a rescue, severely traumatized when we got him.

But he grew into the fun-loving and affectionate if sometimes standoffish dog that we all adored — me especially.

Before I sorted through our photos of him (for this post), I was worried that seeing images of him would make me too sad to write about him.

But instead the opposite happened: they reminded me of how much fun he had in life and how fun he was to be with.

That’s one of my favorites: him cooling down after a long walk at Willow Water Hole. He loved going on long walks and exploring new scents.

During the early months of Covid, when I was struggling to pay the bills, he would sit up with me through the long cold nights, my faithful companion in some of the toughest times.

For all his peccadillos, he was the best dog I could have had. I genuinely loved and still love and miss him with every fiber in my body.

RooRoo, you were and will always be the ‘best dog ever,’ just like I used to tell you in the truck on the way back from the reservoir, remember? Your brother Paco and I talk about you every day and he misses you chewing on his ear, the price of admission to the bed. RooRoo, when you were dying, I told mamma that I didn’t know how I could live without you. I’m still here, RooRoo, but our lives will never be the same. You used to hate the Houston storms, sweet boy. There’s only one thing that gives me comfort: there’s no thunder in heaven. I’ll find you there as soon as I can, I promise, and we will be together again. I promise, sweet RooRoo. I love you.

This is why Tracie and I take our kids to protests.

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Above: that’s Emmanuel, center, the teenager who was wrongly detained by ICE and held for 48 days without reason. He had to have his appendix removed while in prison. Photo courtesy FIEL.

On Friday the Parzen family attended the FIEL “ICE out of Houston” rally and protest.

Our girls — ages 12 and 14 — would have much rather been at home playing Roblox and texting with their friends, as they would on any other Friday night.

Instead, they listened to the speakers at the rally: children detained without cause and separated from their parents; a doctor who explained that hundreds of people died in ICE custody last year because of lack of medical attention; a mother whose autistic 14-year-old had to have his appendix removed while improperly detained by ICE.

The whole thing took about 45 minutes.

But they got a sense of how members of our own community are being gravely affected by our government’s profiling of brown people.

They heard a young adult tell the story of masked men in unmarked cars arresting his father and then putting him in a chokehold after he asked them to show ID.

They were reminded that while we drive to school and come home to warm dinner, kids their own ages don’t even know if their parents will be able to pick them up from school.

That’s why we take them to protests: so that they will remember that we are “in it and of it” and that the change is only going to come when we all stand up for those vulnerable among us.

Please consider giving to or volunteering for FIEL, an immigrant-led group that provides resources and advocates for the immigrant community (disclosure: I work for them as a pro bono media consultant).

To my brother Aaron, who couldn’t be with us to say goodbye to Judy.

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Brother Aaron, nearly 70 years have passed since you were born. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you.

Just last May, while we were in Chicago for a family reunion, I saw our distant cousin Daniel J. in Hyde Park where we all lived when we were born.

Daniel is a pediatrician. He was a co-founder of the “Lab” school for kids at U. of Chicago where you studied before we moved to California. He spoke earnestly and eagerly of his fond memories.

Your best friend from the Lab school, Professor W., has always stayed in touch with me. We’ve even shared a bottle of Nebbiolo or two as we talked about your life.

He’s a famous law professor at Harvard. Every time he and I connect, I am reminded of how Judy used to say that you would have been the first Jewish U.S. Attorney General.

When I got to La Jolla High School, so many of my teachers told me that they expected a lot out of Aaron Parzen’s younger brother. I tried my best, brother, to follow in your footsteps.

My memories of you are hazy: I was five when you died, you were 15. Judy used to tell me how much you adored me and took me everywhere you went.

I have strong, crystal-clear memories of the day you died. And the day we buried you, in the same plot where Judy is now buried. I can see the scene in my mind like it was yesterday.

You couldn’t be there with me on New Year’s as I sat alone in the early hours of a rainy La Jolla morning and dug through our mom’s photography and papers.

But you were in my heart, as you always are.

I barely knew you but I miss you more now than ever.

Four tragedies shaped the arc of our family’s troubled life. The second of those was your death, the tragic outcome of a misguided teenage road trip. The photo above was taken not long before you died.

Know that no matter what happens, I will always speak your name. And my children will, too. And they will tell their children about you. We will always speak your name. I love you.

When a soccer game is more important than family, even as we say goodbye to Judy.

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Above: the last sunrise I’ll most likely ever see in my mom’s La Jolla apartment. That’s the full moon.

Last week, Tracie, the girls, and I traveled to La Jolla for family vacation. I spent the better part of the week sorting through my mom’s apartment and shipping precious photography and other documents back to Texas where I plan to build an archive for her.

We had planned to gather as a family in La Jolla, earlier in the month, the first weekend in December, although without our daughters — just me and Tra, my brothers and their wives. The mission was to dig through the apartment, leaf through hand-written memories people had shared at the memorial, spend a day, maybe a meal together, reminiscing.

Some days before our trip, brother Micah called to say that he unexpectedly wouldn’t be there that weekend. He was traveling outside San Diego for a soccer game. He would sort through the things on his own and inform us as to what he was taking.

That wasn’t what we planned, I protested.

It was a complicated weekend for us but we had figured it out. A Herculean effort, with a bar mitzvah, an audition, and a friend’s recital for the girls to attend. I turned down a juicy gig with my band. Tra put clients on hold. Her parents cancelled their participation in a credit union board event (Randy’s mayor of West Orange).

Micah, how could you do this?, I pleaded. This is really messing us up.

I have to do what I have to do for my mental health, he said.

A soccer game?

We rescheduled for our winter break. Not only did he not meet me. He didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me that he was punking me again — a pattern through our lives. No call, no show.

Thing is, his soccer team lost and there was no match that first weekend of December. It was all just a game he was playing.

How can he dishonor the memory of our mother like this?

Some years ago he changed the name of his museum from the Museum of Man to the Museum of Us. I applauded at the time.

Seems his next project is Museum of Me.

.דאָס איז אַ שאַנדע און אַ חרפּה

“Melody” my album of songs for 2025 including “Under the Christmas Tree,” this year’s Christmas song. Merry Christmas!

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Merry Christmas, everyone! Happy holidays!

You know what I would like for Christmas this year? For you to listen to my 2025 album of songs, “Melody”!

Click here to stream on Bandcamp.

Here’s the track list:

Melody

I wanted to write Tracie a yacht rock, slow burn song, and so I did! Music and making love feel like the same thing when I’m with her. “Italian mandolins or Paul McCartney songs/just can’t compete.” I love her so much.

Stuck in a Hotel Room in Dallas

I wrote this, yes, you guessed it, when I was stuck in a hotel room in Dallas on the road for work this summer. We knew my mom would be dying soon. But we didn’t know how soon. My vocals on country songs suck but this one meant so much to me. Still does.

Under the Christmas Tree

“No need to invent/a new ornament.” My 2025 Christmas song! I write one every year. Our tree has ornaments dating back to the girls’ pre-school years. We love it so much and it’s one of our favorite family traditions.

Ballad of Rusty and Paco

This one is for our dogs, Rusty aka RooRoo and Paco. There’s not a day when their joy doesn’t lift me up (I’m a “dog person”). I wanted to capture how much fun it is to share our lives with them so I wrote them a “Rocky Raccoon” song.

Land of Aggressive Driving

This song was born out of self-challenge: I promised the girls I would write them a song about the “land of aggressive driving,” in other words, Houston, a city we love but also a megalopolis where the driving can be insane. As the singer (me) says, just use “the Nancy Reagan defense,” just say “no” to aggressive driving!

Aiutami a farti ritrovare

My old bromance Giovanni Arcari gets a song-writing credit on this one. I heard him utter that line one night in a pinseria (similar to a pizzeria) in his hometown. He was trying to convince a woman to give him her phone number. She didn’t. He said to her (in Italian), I’ll look for you, but help me be able to find you. Sounds better in Italian! I wrote it for him for his 50th birthday.

Merry Christmas! Thanks for listening!