Society & Entertainment - Angel Reyes Blog

Super Blogging Not For Sissies

Angel Reyes — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 16:10:55 -0600

There’s amateur blogging, there’s pro blogging and then there’s “super blogging.” Here at AngelReyesBlog.com, when a news article comes out about a dangerous product, 18-wheeler accident or even an award I've won, I blog about it. But for the Super Bloggers, blogging takes on a whole new meaning. Honestly, I don’t know how they do it! These people are obviously very committed to their task, and you’ve got to admire them for that. It takes a lot of courage, time, effort and intellect to be a true Super Blogger. You’ve gotta be tough and more often than not, you’ve gotta be rough.

When it comes to Super Blogging, I’d say no one does it better than Brian Cuban, and his blog The Cuban Revolution. Brian isn’t just Mark Cuban’s brother; he’s a celebrity in his own right. Brian’s taken a lot of heat from many of his posts, but as any good shock jock will tell you, without controversy, you’ve got no audience. Let’s use this one as an example:

http://www.briancuban.com/the-idiots-guide-to-islamophobi/

]]>As you can see, there are no holds barred when it comes to telling Debbie Schlussel, a highly controversial super blogger in her own right, what’s what. For example, let’s take this quote: “You are a pillar of the community Debbie. A community of racist, bigoted hate mongering Islamophobes.” I’m sure you’ll agree that Brian’s passion for fighting racism and religious bigotry comes through loud and clear.

But super blogging doesn’t stop with a controversial post. You’ve got to get comments from your readers, and you must comment back, sparing no feelings. So how do you get readers? You must take that post and Facebook it, "Tweet" (Twitter) it, Digg it, send out a press release about it, advertise it if you have to but just get it out there any way you can. And when you’re in a hot discussion on Twitter, don’t sugar-coat it! Notice the back and forth tweets between Brian and Debbie mentioned in the above post. Wow! I would love to watch a televised debate between these two. I’ll bet even Dancing With The Stars would come in a dismal second in the ratings.

Now let’s look at Debbie’s blog, http://www.debbieschlussel.com. This one’s filled with some pretty powerful anti-Islamic stuff. Click here for an example. Debbie is definitely not going to win any popularity contests with the Muslim community. In fact, one could go so far as to say she’s taking some major backlash with what Brian calls her “Islamophobia.” Furthermore, Brian is taking some serious risks in offending the plethora of hate-mongering organizations out there who if given the opportunity, would commit mass genocide against all Muslims, African Americans, Jews, Hispanics, Asians…well, you get the idea.

While Brian and Debbie both have strongly conflicting views, they have one thing in common - they speak their minds. And neither gives a rat’s butt about what anyone else thinks That’s the modus operandi of a true Super Blogger. And that’s what makes today’s cyber-world go ‘round.

©2009 Angel Reyes
www.ReyesLaw.com

Television: Same Old Song, Different Verse.

Angel Reyes — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 15:08:54 -0600

“I bought a bourgeois house in the Hollywood hills
With a truckload of hundred thousand dollar bills.
Man came by to hook up my cable TV.
We settled in for the night my baby and me.
We switched 'round and 'round 'til half-past dawn.
There was fifty-seven channels and nothin' on.”
- 57 Channels ~ Bruce Springsteen, 1992

Although released back in the day, “57 Channels” is now apparently the theme song for many American households that are switching from cable to broadcast-only television. According to the Pew Center Internet and American Life Project, people are canceling their cable subscriptions in favor of traditional broadcast television. In fact, there has been a 22% rise in broadcast-only homes from November 2007 to November 2008.

But wait, there’s more!

]]>Remember how awesome the DVR (Digital Video Recorder) seemed just a few years back? It seems many Americans no longer feel that way, with DVR growth falling from 42% two years ago to just 21% this past year.

So does this mean we’re no longer a nation of couch potatoes? Far from it. The most recent reports from Nielsen Media Research reveal that the average American watches 153 hours of television every month at home, which is a 1.2% increase from last year. In this economy, people are simply looking for ways to save money, and cutting off their cable with DVR is one great way to do it. According to David Poltrack, chief research officer of CBS Corp. and president of CBS Vision, online video will be the growth area for time-shifted viewing. New TV sets with Internet access and Microsoft Vista operating system-enabled computers with DVR capability will help this trend.

And our lust for constant stimulation just keeps growing. Most of us now juggle our television viewing with Internet usage, regardless of age. In fact, an average of 30.8% of adults 35-54 and 33.8% of adults 55-64 watch television and use the Internet simultaneously. David David Poltrack, chief research officer of CBS Corp. and president of CBS Vision said, “They may not be online as much as the younger generation but when they are, they are just as likely to be watching TV at the same time.”

Now let’s talk about children’s television viewing habits and their dramatic effect on health, emotions, behavior and overall well-being. Better yet, let’s save that story for another time. American Idol comes on in five minutes so I’ve gotta run. Maybe between commercials, I’ll do a little Internet research on this topic for a future blog post. Stay tuned...

©2009 Angel Reyes
www.ReyesLaw.com

Recent Event Photos

Angel Reyes — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 16:18:03 -0600

Angel Reyes at Greater Dallas Asian American Chamber of Commerce (GDAACC) Annual Awards Banquet, 11-08

Dallas City Councilwoman Pauline Medrano and Angel Reyes at Greater Dallas Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, Quality & Excellence Entrepreneur Awards Gala, 11-08

Angel Reyes delivering keynote speech at the Greater Dallas Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, Quality & Excellence Entrepreneur Awards Gala, 11-08

President of the Greater Dallas Hispanic Chamber of Commerce Cici Rojas and Angel Reyes

Brian Cuban Blogs "Why Athletes Go Broke"

Angel Reyes — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 10:24:07 -0600

Aside from being the brother of Mark Cuban, the Dallas Mavericks' owner, Brian Cuban is a good friend of mine and maintains an interesting blog at www.briancuban.com. Brian blogs about sports, politics, history and about anything else that interests him. Earlier this month, Brian caught a lot of attention and was featured in the New York Times and interviewed on Fox News for his blog entitled "Why Athletes Go Broke."]]>
Congrats to Brian for posting this interesting read & for getting national exposure to shed some light on this modern day phenomenon!

©2008 Angel Reyes
www.ReyesLaw.com

TIA... This is (My) Africa

Angel Reyes — Thu, 15 Nov 2007 07:50:07 -0600

UPDATE: Well, the pictures are finally in. They're scattered through out this entry, so please check them out. For a larger view, just click the picture.

The words Leo DeCaprio spoke in Blood Diamond ring in my head. My friends all tell me to be safe. Where am I going? Ethiopia. Tanzania. Why? Two of my buddies and I decided to take a trip to Africa in order to check off more of the “1,000 things to do before you die” list. We knew a trip to Africa wasn't going to be a two week stay at the newest Canyon Ranch Spa, we were however, hopeful that we'd get to see a lot of sights. We struck gold.

]]>So I've been asked, “How was Africa?” In a word, unusual. We headed out a couple of weeks ago destined for Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. I was sure that Ethiopia would be arid, dry, dusty, and hot, so I took the same clothes I took to the south of France the week before. Surely, Addis, the capital of Ethiopia would be much like other world capitals, right? Sort of. Anyway, my buds and I really didn't talk much about what we'd be doing when we got to Addis, aside from visiting the Mother Theresa Hospital and Dr. Rick Hodes. One of the guys donated money to that cause, so we had to see how the money was being spent.

We left Washington Dulles on Ethiopian Airlines. How the heck did we end up on an African Airline? It was the only direct flight from the US to Addis Ababa, so we took it. Ugh. We were in first class, almost all alone, as none of the other passengers, most of whom were Ethiopians, were up at the front of the plane. The plane was at least 30 years old and the seats, although "first class," were torn and beaten. They weren't even leather; they were fabric. So in addition to their lack of aesthetic beauty, they smelled to high heaven. Well, I hoped, maybe the service will make up for the fear factor of flying 14 hours across the Atlantic on Ethiopian Airlines. Nope. Perhaps the food would be interesting. Nope. Warmed up meals in aluminum trays, like the TV dinners I ate as a kid. Luckily, we got to eat them twice!

Addis is like a wet mutt. I know, I know, if you can't say something nice and positive, don't say anything at all, but I have to call this one like I saw it. Addis sits at 8,000 feet above sea level along the rift valley in the horn of Africa. Only two other world capitals are higher - La Paz and Quito. Funny enough, both are third world as well. But, you’ve got to hand it to the Ethiopians; they were pretty clever choosing the location for their capital, high up in the sky so there are no mosquitos, lots of precipitation, and temperate, generally cool weather year-round. Unfortunately, that same weather leaves the city wet, muddy, and smoggy for more than half the year. So it was when we arrived.

Addis was cold. 62 degrees. What? Isn't Africa supposed to be hot? Didn't I see Ethiopians on TV in the '80s walking through what looked like a desert? Wasn't there a faminine here not too long ago? Immigration and Customs, Ethiopian style, was interesting. Lines formed and reformed and shifted, while people jostled for position. I stood my ground as best I could, but dozens of locals found their way to the line in front of me. Queuing is not an Ethiopian skill (nor an Asian skill, for that matter).

At the airport, we jumped into a taxi and barked "To the Sheraton Addis, please." Away we went. Along the way, I noticed Addis was like most third world cities – with mostly run down, poorly maintained ramshackle buildings. Lots of people walking on the streets and sidewalks made the place seem purposeful and industrious, but that could have just been my imagination. Our taxi pulled up to the only bright light in Addis, the Sheraton. I mean that literally. The hotel had a searchlight on its roof with a spotlight shining brightly into the African sky. Could it be an allegory for a beacon of hope? Perhaps it is. In order to enter the property, you must stop at a guardhouse where security guys search your car. The search includes using a mirror on a stick so that the car's undercarriage can be seen by the guards without the need to bend over or crawl under the car.

To enter the lobby of the Sheraton Addis, you go through the equivalent of the airport security screening at DFW Airport. All luggage and carry-on items are put through an X-ray machine, and all people go through a metal detector. Hmm, we're off to an auspicious start.

Peddlers and beggars. Those two words quickly came to mind while I formed my initial impression of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Because Ethiopia is literally and figuratively broke, there aren't a lot of cars and traffic in Addis, especially for a city of over 4 million souls. Instead, there is a lot of foot traffic on the roads. Everywhere you look, there are hundreds, nay thousands, of people walking. The people walk with their trade goods, livestock, and walking sticks. Most are barefoot and swaddled in dirty rags. Thank goodness I brought my fancy clothes!

The next day we head back to the airport to catch a flight to Lalibela. There are thousand-year-old churches in Lalibela that were constructed by chiseling through volcanic rock from the top down. A sort of inverse pyramid building construction from the 11th century. Here I go again. Lalibela was even more tired, wet, and bedraggled than Addis. The town is working diligently to move from the 11th to the 21st century. The residents and their animals live mainly in stick, rock, mud, and thatch houses, but they have an internet cafe in one of those mud floor huts! Lalibelans are putting their faith and trust in the tourism industry. They peddle Chinese made trinkets, or, in the alternative, they beg for 1 birr, about $.11 US. Competition is fierce; all the peddlers peddle the same stuff. Side by side by side, they line up along the muddy rock-strewn path that serves as the town's main road. Personality matters when the goods are all the same, so the best peddlers are the most persistent and speak English, Spanish, Italian, etc. well enough to make a sale. Oh yeah, if you take a person's photo, they expect 1 birr (Ethiopian currency) in return. I can't say that I blame them. After all, over on our side of the pond, people make a living charging to have their pictures taken. Every fashion model in the world knows to charge for each and every photo, so the Ethiopians do the same.

At dinner that night, we talk about heading into the Omo valley in the southwest corner of Ethiopia. We'd heard there are a bunch of indigenous African tribes in those parts, including the Mursi tribe, which distinguishes itself by having all of their women stretch their lower lips far enough to accommodate clay plates the size of skeet targets. I suspect the Mursi continue to modify their women's lips in an effort to capture 2 birr per photo, but I keep my thoughts to myself. We've got other more important things to consider... like whether we have enough mefloquine to go around. Mefloquine is a malaria prophylactic that I started taking the day before we flew to Ethiopia. Unfortunately, one of the guys doesn't have any, and if we are heading into Mursi country, the Lonely Planet says we’ve got to have malaria pills. Between the two of us who do have mefloquine, we have just enough to go around, so we make plans to head south. We've all packed for city and beach life, jeans, polo shirts, swimsuits, etc. We'll fit right in in Mursi territory, don't you think?

We also talk about whether or not tourists will "spoil" Lalibela. That topic engenders deep thought and discussion. I mention that I think the Lalibelan locals can make moral decisions like that for themselves. For my money, it is not for us to decide whether or not tourists will spoil Lalibela. Is "preserving" Lalibela in its "pristine" cultural form more important than the individual welfare of the people concerned? We westerners are always imposing our hypocrisy on others; we'll keep the parts of your culture we like and discard the rest. Along the way, we'll help you find Jesus Christ, etc. Shouldn't we accept things for what they are, not what we want to see?

The next morning we fly to Bahir Dar on Lake Tana. We're in search of the source of the Blue Nile. Our guide book tells us we'll find it at Lake Tana. Bahir Dar is on UNESCO's “Best Cities in Africa” list. Over 150,000 folks live in the town. I have no idea why. If Addis is a wet mutt, Bahir Dar is the wet mutt's red-headed step child. If the folks in Addis walk around in miserable rags, the kids in Bahir Dar, dispatch with the rags altogether and simply go naked. Where does everyone go to the bathroom anyway? The bushes, I'm told.

Before we find the source of the Blue Nile, we're scheduled to take a boat out to some Islands in Lake Tana to see some 13th century monasteries. We get to the dock and prepare to board our launch. I'm struck by the fact that there are no other boats on the lake. No fishing boats. No people, period. Bilharzia, jeez, another African illness to worry about. That disease is found in fresh water, including Lake Tana, all across Africa. If you swim in water with bilharzia, you end up with worms in your belly. No wonder no one is on this lake. We jump into the launch figuring what the heck, let's go see what there is to see. Twenty minutes into the ride, we notice there are no life preservers on the boat and the wind and weather are picking up. Great, instead of just getting worms in our belly, we may drown on this deserted lake. Let's hope the pilot can handle the conditions. We tell the pilot to scratch the far island he's steaming for and direct him to the near islands so that we catch a monastery or two, but skip the "full tour" in an effort to minimize the time we spend on the wind-blown, choppy lake.

The Papyrus Hotel beckons after a long afternoon I spent fighting stomach cramps on Lake Tana. The place is all worn out, with broken windows, torn carpet, mold, mildew, a pond instead of a pool (although that doesn't stop the locals from using it…you get the idea.) Anyway, we just need a little sleep so we can make it to the headwaters of the Blue Nile tomorrow. The next morning comes around and our guide picks us up in yet another beaten-down minivan. We head across town dodging naked kids, cows, goats, and farm produce en route to the source of the Blue Nile. We arrive at the entrance to the path that leads you to the source of the Blue Nile and are met with the cacophony of lots of young people milling around our car, begging for 1 birr. I continue to take the position that since I can't give every Ethiopian a birr, I'll give none of them a birr. My travel mates do the opposite. I'm not sure what measures they took to decide who deserved a birr and who didn't, but they gave often and in some small way, probably helped some of the folks they gave to.

We start hiking down the rocky, muddy, steep footpath that will cross an 8th century Roman bridge leading up to the falls which form the headwaters we're in search of. Along the way, we dodge cow shit, goat shit, and yes, people shit. Little children, smiling persistently, ask, "Meestah, jew buy from mee, wot about mee?" while they attempt to entice you with Chinese trinkets for US $1. Everyone in Bahir Dar is an entrepreneur - everyone. Those that aren't peddlers are beggars. But then again, I'm growing rather fond of my initial impression that everyone is Ethiopia is either a peddler or a beggar. Maybe I'm just being cynical.

I decide to keep fasting in an effort to rid myself of the stomach cramps that befell me the second day of the trip. Good idea, especially in Bahir Dar, where the food repels even the most intrepid traveler among us. Smelly goat meat stew just doesn't go down well, no matter how many local beers you drink. I wander through town and find a peddler selling Snickers bars, so I grab two for good measure.

On to Arba Minch in southern Ethiopia. We will drive from Arba Minch to Jinka, and if we're lucky, the road will be passable and we'll go in search of the Mursi. We're not lucky, the road is washed out in multiple locations and so we'll get to almost the literal end of the road in Ethiopia, the town of Konso. Again, more 1 birr snapshots and peddlers and beggars. The Konso village is a living museum. We pay our entrance fee, just like you do at the

Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York

, and are again beseeched by people peddling and begging. We take more 1 birr snapshots for good measure.

At 7 a.m. the next morning, we get ready to take a road trip from Arba Minch to Addis. Ahead lies a 12 hour drive. We drive and drive and drive. We eat dust the entire way. I read Noam Chomsky's Failed States from cover to cover in spite of the bouncy ride. Ethiopia's only north/south highway is a two lane blacktop that is pockmarked and washed out in places. There are 82 million people in this country. At current birth rates, there will be 100 million in 10 years. People and animals are walking every stretch of the way from Arba Minch to Addis.

This far south, the children dance a little jig when they see our car cruising by. They're hoping their footwork and deft rhythm will yield them a 1 birr tip. Other kids are selling local fruit and when we slow our car down to traverse the washed out road, they rush up to the windows shaking and begging us to buy their fruit for 1 birr or even a fraction of a birr. We all begin to notice that there are lots and lots of little kids in Ethiopia. Too many? That's hard to say, although our guides tell us that most village/farm families have between 8 and 10 kids living in the 8 foot by 10 foot shacks that line the road. We drive for 400 miles from southern Ethiopia back to Addis. The entire way we pass folks walking barefoot with trade goods on their heads and livestock at their sides. There are an unusual number of children walking along the road.

We're scheduled to visit the Mother Theresa Hospital and Dr. Rick Hodes tomorrow. We'll stay at the Sheraton tonight, thankfully. The next morning we breakfast with Dr. Rick who tells us his story. During his residency at Johns Hopkins he decided to do some good in Ethiopia. His stint in Addis convinced him to stay for more than 20 years. He met Morton Myerson, a rich philanthropic Dallasite, and now helps Ethiopians with severe spinal deformities get surgical intervention done in Ghana. Go figure. Anyway, Mort Myerson evidently gave a lot of money, and, according to Dr. Rick, has a standing invitation to tour the hospital to which he so generously donated money.

Mother Theresa Hospital is no worse than any county hospital in America. Indeed, I've been to Parkland Memorial Hospital right here in Dallas and I can tell you, aside from the size of the building, there is not much difference between the two. Let's face it, public health is a mess, no matter where in the world you find yourself. We tour the hospital with Dr. Rick, who introduces us to lots of folks who suffer from some malady or another. We shake their hands and continue to wander through the complex. After about an hour, Dr. Hodes drives us back to our shiny beacon on the hill hotel and promptly announces he needs to wash his hands because he shook so many people's hands at the hospital. Great, I remember biting a couple of nails off on the drive from the hospital to the hotel. Why the heck do so many Ethiopians still suffer from tuberculosis anyway?

Friday night lights in Addis. An American jazz band is playing on the terrace at the Sheraton. Addis' finest is on display. The scene is reminiscent of a typical night at a W Hotel in the US, only in Ethiopia. Alas, we can't hang out, we're having dinner at Dr. Rick's house. We arrive at Dr. Rick's house not sure what to expect. We enter the seemingly tidy gated compound and find 20 or so young people in the living room. Cool, there's a party at Dr. Rick's house tonight. Dr. Rick passes out hats for everyone, urges us all to join hands and begins to sing Kumbaya, or something close to that. Shabbat shalom he continues.

Lots of young Ethiopian boys are in the room, and I can't help but wonder why there are no young Ethiopian girls, but I keep that comment to myself for the time being. Dr. Rick's house is a pigsty, but maybe that's the way he likes it (although I can't imagine it would cost much to have a housekeeper or a dozen in Ethiopia). Who knows? I meet two co-eds from the University of Oregon who are voluntouristing for 12 college credit hours at an adoption agency in Addis. They are not just voluntouristing, they are getting college credit for their efforts! I also meet a crying lawyer. He and his wife adopted 25 kids from various third world countries over the past 20 years. They even adopted a kid out of an Indian prison. I asked him how that turned out; he didn't seem to grasp my sarcasm, but he did start to cry. I hope I didn't bum him out.

There is a documentary filmmaker at the house. He's a Columbia MBA who works for an NGO devoted to helping the Ethiopian coffee unions. Seriously, you can't make this stuff up. He's in Ethiopia to film the Ethiopian millennium. Evidently, Ethiopia is so special, they are still using the coptic calendar and as a result, are almost 8 years behind the western calendar and therefore, will be celebrating “like it’s 1999” this year. Whoo yeah.

Before we know it, it is past 9 p.m. and we're all in a hurry to skedaddle back to the Sheraton and take a break from Ethiopia. Tomorrow, we're going to Mount Kilimanjaro. We fly over Kili and from the airplane glimpse its snow-capped peak. The airport is full of tourists, mostly western travelers. They've all got the safari look going. Khaki pants or shorts, hiking shoes, t-shirt, and back pack stuffed with stuff. Everyone has a rolled up mat on their person. I suspect it is part of the kit, but I can't be sure. I start giggling. Did I forget to read the dress code part of the Lonely Planet guidebook? After all, I brought the right clothes, didn't I? Let's see, jeans, flip flops, Canali sport coat, and a pith hat. Well, I'm looking for one anyway; that's all I need to conquer Africa's tallest peak.

We read in the guide book that the touts are not to be taken lightly in Tanzania. Touts are the young men who size up the mzungu (white people - us), the second they walk out of the airport, and then attach themselves to your hip until you give them money or let them squire you around in their cars for some US dollars. We make the mistake of trying to bargain with the touts who are offering cab services. They all know each other and all speak Swahili, so they collude on pricing to show us who's boss in Tanzania. It ain't the mzungu, that's for sure. After about an hour of pouting, we finally cave in and pay a tout to take us to Kili. We tell him to drive to Arusha. Oops, wrong way, Kili is near Moshi, so we ask our cab driver, who is no fool, how much to take us back to Moshi. “$100,” he answers. Jeez, we should know better than to find ourselves stranded in Tanzania. We get to Moshi just in time for sunset and thankfully, we see the snow-capped peak of Kili just before sundown. The next morning is cloudy. Kili is evidently an elusive beast, so we snap a photo at the base and head off down the highway to Dar Es Salaam. Tanzania is much richer than Ethiopia; we can see it and feel it. The road is not washed out and is in good shape. Our driver averages 60 mph en route to Dar.

Dar is kind of nice, almost like some western cities - a step above a Mexican border town, a step below a US border town. Lots of traffic, people, tall buildings, a port town, that appears to be working. Interestingly, everyone in Tanzania is dressed in clothes, clean clothes even. Also, everyone wears shoes. We're off to a good start.

In the morning we head to the Dar airport to meet our pilot. We're scheduled to fly to the Selous Game Reserve for a two-day stay at the Rufiji River Camp. We're met at the airport by a wiry little Jersey Islander, who is straight out of central casting. He's even wearing the pith hat I was looking for. We cram our bags into a 4 seat Cesna and away we go. The guidebook says that only 5,000 tourists a year visit the Selous Game Reserve. The park is also on the “1,000 things to do before you die” list. We do a full day safari... I even wear my flip flops, and when we finish, I can't help but wonder if the reason only 5,000 people visit each year is that the number of animals is so low. We saw animals, but no more than you'd see at Fossil Rim in Texas. Indeed, we saw no cats, zebras, jaguars, or rhinos. Dang it.

Final stop, Stone Town, Zanzibar and the Mtoni Marine Resort. The guidebook tells us about the wonderfully rich history of Zanzibar. It was the slave trading capital of the world. Hmm, is that something you're supposed to be proud of? Anyway, a Muslim sultanate "ruled" the island centuries ago and turned it into a very busy slave trading port. The Muslim influence remains and the women of Zanzibar are mostly veiled. Good thing. Yikes, I have to stop being so negative. Back to our story. Stone Town is full of touts and peddlers. Interestingly, Tanzania doesn't have any beggars, just touts and peddlers. Stone Town is working diligently to clean up its historical center. It will take many years in order to turn Stone Town around, but there is hope - the Tembo House Hotel has been remodeled, as has the Africa House Hotel. We decide to go diving that morning; we have to fly the next night, so we have to dive before noon. The water is turbid, so the diving is only so-so. We get to check off "diving in the Indian Ocean" on our 1,000 things to do before you die list. The next morning we take the ferry from Zanzibar to Dar and head to the international airport terminal. Fortunately, we booked Business Class on a Swiss Air flight home.

To go, or not to go? Go, Ethiopia needs more birr.

©2007 Angel Reyes
www.ReyesLaw.com

Too Many Followers, Not Enough Leaders.

Angel Reyes — Tue, 30 Oct 2007 17:08:00 -0600

On Monday, October 30th, I had the distinct honor and privilege of speaking at the Greater Dallas Hispanic Chamber of Commerce Golf Tournament. There are some who would consider the content of this speech as liberal, while others would view it as conservative, depending on which side of the fence you’re on. I say it’s neither. Rather, it is a common sense solution to two growing problems – discrimination and hostility against both Hispanic immigrants and U.S. citizens, and ineffective assimilation into the American culture. First and foremost, I am an American. Secondly, I am Hispanic. For the winds of change to blow, we must take positive action by gaining the respect we deserve, and by proving that the U.S. Hispanic population is a vital and productive ingredient in a flavorful stew of cultures that comprise a multi-ethnic society. I’m proud to be an American, and I’m proud to be Hispanic. My speech is as follows:
]]>Greater Dallas Hispanic Chamber of Commerce Golf Tournament Speech

First, I want to thank our corporate sponsors and partners for helping us put on this event. Without you, we couldn’t have done it. I also want to thank the staff of the Greater Dallas Hispanic Chamber of Commerce for all the work they put in to make this a successful event. Let’s face it; they did all the work, so let’s give them credit. I trust that everyone had a terrific round of golf and a great time today.

I want to spend just a few minutes today talking about what we hope to achieve in our community as Hispanic Americans. Last week I was in New York City. I found myself walking along 5th Avenue between 51st and 59th streets. I figured that during that 8 block walk, I passed dozens of buildings full of people working, I passed thousands of people walking along the street around me, and I heard at least half a dozen languages being spoken, and nobody seemed to mind.

Based on some quick math, I estimated that I was within 1,000 yards of about 380,000 people working and living together…in rather incredible unison. Passing the intersections and buildings I recall hearing over half a dozen different tongues and seeing over a dozen different skin tones. Swedes to Ethiopians. Bulgarians, Chinese, and Mexicans. All of that registered in just that short 5 minute walk.

So, when I started thinking about what comments I might give tonight, I thought we should consider…Who are we? The Greater Dallas Hispanic Chamber of Commerce. Are we immigrants? Puerto Ricans? Hondurans? Latinos? Hispanics? Do we have any Mexicans in the crowd tonight? Maybe it’s time to stop defining ourselves along ethnic lines; after all, in an ever increasing globalized world will our ethnicity even matter? It has for too long divided our community, the Hispanic community. It has for too long made us outsiders looking in on the American dream instead of active participants, leaders, and teachers. Defining our ethnicity along those lines has led to what some have called growth with no development. The theory says that economic growth, can be equated with a persons physical growth, it happens to just about everybody until sometime in your early 20’s, and then it stops. Economic development on the other hand, can be equated with how you develop after you stop growing and it doesn’t stop sometime in your early 20’s, it continues for life.

Some leaders in the past have said that what’s wrong with the Hispanic community is that it suffers from growth but no development. Those leaders have pointed out to us that we have demographic numbers, but our kids aren’t graduating from high school, college, law school, medical school, engineering school, you get the idea. They’ve pointed out that we have jobs, but don’t own or lead the companies that create those jobs. Some in our community are fortunate enough to work for large corporations, the likes of which are represented here tonight, but we don’t run them and we don’t sit on the Board’s of those corporations. That is why we grow and do not develop.

Development involves being part of the entire community. Yes, you can speak another language, dress differently, and in some neighborhoods, depending on the Homeowner’s Association Rules, you can even paint your house a different color, but you must have the entire community in your field of vision, not just your own. You must urge everyone, whether or not they are part of “your” community to learn, get an education, understand kooky concepts like long term capital sourcing strategies, and be leaders and owners of small, medium, and large corporations.

What do we want? We want to be leaders in the Dallas community. Not just leaders in the Dallas Hispanic community, but leaders, owners, and corporate board members of the greater Dallas community. By leading for the betterment of all the community, and not merely our own community, we will gain acceptance versus intolerance. I, for one, do not identify myself first as Hispanic, but as an American, who happens to be Hispanic. I was born in Hawaii for goodness sakes! We, and by that I mean the Hispanic community, should all want to be Americans who just happen to be Hispanic, if we want both growth and development. We need to be a community that others gain from…and not merely a community who wants to get more from others.

So, where are we going? We are going to lead the DISD and make it a great successful public school system for everyone, not just for Hispanics. We are going to build successful companies that cater not just to Hispanics, but to the entire Dallas community. We are going to help guide the Dallas area’s largest corporations through Board stewardship. We’re going to help lead the Dallas area’s largest corporations by reaching the executive suite. We’re going to do that not by practicing ethnic politics but by competing and educating ourselves to be leaders in the Dallas community, not just the Dallas Hispanic community.

I want you to leave knowing who I am… My name is Angel Reyes. That’s right, the born in Hawaii, Hispanic, Texan, American lawyer. I am a Hispanic lawyer but I do not cater to only Hispanic clients. My firm’s clients are Asian-Americans, African-Americans, Hispanic, French, Lebanese, you get the idea. My firm represents people who speak Spanish, English, broken English, accented English; again, you get the idea. I want the entire community to flourish, not just the Hispanic community. I am proud to be an American and I am also proud of my Hispanic heritage, but I don’t allow others to define me by it.

As you leave here today, I hope you will consider who you are. Are you a contributor and educator of the entire community or do you remain in just “your” community? Do you set examples of inclusionism or do you simply promote special attention based upon ethnicity? Our success as a community will ultimately be defined by the quality of our contributions and not just by the simple fact that we are Hispanics.

Thank you again for your continued support. We hope to see you back again next year.

©2007 Angel Reyes
www.ReyesLaw.com

Lone Star Stories: Texans on Justice Contest

Angel Reyes — Tue, 09 Oct 2007 12:26:21 -0600

Unless you’ve been living under a rock… in Botswana… in the year 1990; you’ve no doubt heard of the internet phenomenon of YouTube. The relatively simple idea – a site where users can quickly and easily share video – was launched in 2005 and today boasts more than 100 million videos viewed daily, along with more than 65,000 videos uploaded every single day. In fact, I myself began posting my commercials on YouTube about 10 months ago. To date, I’ve had over 5,200 views. Pretty good, considering not everyone on YouTube happens to be searching for commercials warning of VIOXX or Trasylol.]]>State Bar of Texas has just announced a unique contest that utilizes the power of YouTube to promote and share all entries as well as results. Over the next two months (from 10/15-12/15), the State Bar of Texas is holding its “Lone Star Stories: Texans on Justice” contest. The contest calls for entrants to submit a 3 minute (or less) video that “captures your vision of the importance and value of the justice system in our daily lives.”

The winner of the contest will win an expense-paid trip to the awards presentation in Grapevine, along with a $2,500 Cash Prize (or $2,500 Scholarship, if the winner is under 18). Interested parties can view rules on the State Bar’s website and videos will be posted to the YouTube group www.youtube.com/group/texansonjustice.

If you’re interested, or can think of someone who might be, I encourage you to give it a shot! I’m sure the exercise in assessing how important the justice system is in your daily life would be revealing and uplifting.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6WHrubjQ7PA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4jvmHbaNMFs

http://www.texasbar.com/

http://www.grapevinetexasusa.com/

©2007 Angel Reyes
www.ReyesLaw.com

Train Ride to Paris

Angel Reyes — Thu, 23 Aug 2007 14:17:15 -0600

UPDATE: I have scattered a few pics from our trip, which were missing when I first published this entry. Hopefully it helps paint a better picture of our experience. Enjoy.

Angel Reyes IV, child-like and self aware, asks questions and makes statements that make my head spin. Rapid fire, he says to me, "It's good to leave the States. Only in Europe do you see backpackers at the train station. Are you sure there will be trains, Dad? Have you done it before?" Then, as quickly as the statements and questions came, he is lost in his PSP. I glance at the screen. It reads, Angel Reyes, 5'11" and 210 pounds. I ask IV, "Huh?" Multi-tasking, he replies back to me "Will it be a train like that? Will it? That one's got beds in it. Jose Reyes can run 90' in 5 seconds. Did you know that?"]]>Ichiro Suzuki, shoosh around the bases. He's fast."

The crystal blue waters of the Cote d' Azur shimmer in the distance. I guess that's why the French gave it that name; the water really is blue-blue. There begins our first real father and son travel adventure. IV is carrying my yellow back pack. It's an old tattered Jansport, the kind college kids use to tote their books to and from class. Indeed, that's how long I've had that backpack, almost 20 years. Jeez, has it been that long since I graduated from college? That backpack has been around the world with me - Thailand, Philippines, Spain, France, Italy, Czech Republic, Panama, Costa Rica, Mexico, Venezuela, Brazil, Belize, Honduras, Canada, Morocco, South Africa, Puerto Rico, Bahamas, China, and those are just the places I can recall at this moment. Today, after a quick mending of the bottom by Grandma Janet, I can see that old yellow has now passed onto the new wanderer in the family, my son, IV.

What's in old yellow? A long-sleeved shirt, a pair of flannel sleep pants, a hamburger. (Grandma Janet made it earlier and wrapped it in tin foil for later, in case he gets hungry.) T-Mobile Blackberry with camera, charged and ready for pictures tomorrow. Shorts, the kind you wear to the gym to work out, t-shirts, one gray, one red. Jeans, Gap brand. Crocs, orange, only €29, or about $40US. 2 iPod video players, Pringles can, lemonade in an Evian bottle. (He and Grandma Janet made that to go drink earlier in the day, in case he got thirsty.) NBA Live 07 for PSP. When I was a kid, I can't be sure, but something tells me there wasn't so much stuff to buy. Maybe I'm misremembering things, but I am convinced I was not a walking brand name billboard back in the 1970's. IV's life is full of brand names.

IV asks, "Why do the French smoke so much? They seem skinny and fit, but they're all going to die from lung cancer, right Dad?"

Black backpack. REI. It serves as my new backpack now that I travel with a laptop. Sony Vaio. Internal wireless card, so long as you sign up for AT&T wireless service. I use Verizon, so I have to use an external wireless card. Not much good in France. The world is getting small, but not small enough for Verizon's wireless internet signal to cross the Atlantic.

Have I turned into a walking brand name as well? What's in my backpack? A long-sleeved black t-shirt. I bought it in Maui. It travels well and the weather is expected to be cooler in Paris when we arrive tomorrow morning. Vans slip-ons, plaid. Maybe my life is full of brand names too. A spare t-shirt, ankle socks. Tattered copy of "Tender is the Night". F. Scott Fitzgerald, 1934. Amazing how his words and description of the south of France still ring true almost 75 years after he wrote them. "The Great Gatsby". Not so tattered because it is a first edition hard cover. I'll read it again on the train tonight. Al Gore's "Assault on Reason". Since my political party choices are effectively limited to being either a Democrat or a Republican, I long ago decided I'm a Democrat.

I stare off down the empty train tracks and ask IV, "Since when did the government become our enemy? Why do our political leaders think that big business has all the answers? Is that a Republican thing or do the Democrats think the same way? If not, do the Democrats have the stones to not fall for the same thinking? Does our leadership really think the Fortune 500 is looking out for everyday Joes?" Slightly puzzled, IV replies, "Why is it Joe? Why not Bob? Everyday Bobs. Can we say it that way, Dad? I need to go to the bathroom." I hand him our first class sleeper cabin tickets and remind him not to put them down or otherwise lose them.

Twenty minutes until the train rolls up. IV is a bundle of nervous energy and expectation. Does he really have that much of me in him? I see more and more of me in him with each passing day. An east Indian lights up a Marlboro and slams his Heineken. More brand names, business really is that ubiquitous. The man turns to IV, who is whisking the air and complaining of the stink from the man's cigarette, and then walks off with a scowl on his face. Has the Fortune 100 forgotten that only a few of them would still be in business but for the giant government led bailouts and contracts they've benefited from? How has big business been able to convince everyday Bobs that giant corporations are looking out for them? Does anyone care that slowly but surely, this country's leadership, both Democrat and Republican, has taken much of the lawmaking process out of the hands of the people and given it over to highly focused centralized corporations that make decisions in secret? Doesn't that describe a system akin to what Lenin wanted in Russia?

I ask silently, "How could super smart people really think that the capital markets could solve every problem? Doesn't standard economic history recognize that the government generally plays a central role in economic life? Isn't that how western economies developed what we call the middle class? Am I crazy to think that we're running headlong into a future global society where low-wages, low-growth, and high corporate profits come at the expense of that middle class? If so, won't that further polarize an already increasingly polarized society? Is that what John Edwards is talking about when he gives his "Two Americas" stump speech? I wonder if corporatism really has infected most Americans."

"Can I read what you're writing Dad? Can I?" I respond, "In a minute." A North African family (speaking mainly French but peppering it for some reason with English) camps in front of us. The father is smoking. 30-ish, but he looks older. He's got two young children with him, both under 5. Cute. Both kids have kinky black hair, African American almost. They're on the train platform, close to the edge, laying on lots of luggage. Maybe they're moving to somewhere even more exotic. Another train comes into the station. People are everywhere. Lots of people are now crowding near the tracks. A Dutch boy wanders by. IV gives him a sideways glance, the way boys want to do when they see rivals, or other boys about their age whom they don't know.

"Dad, let's go. The train is here, it's here." Voiture 20, couchette 55 and 56. We get on the train. Confusion. Three Japanese tourists have our same couchette numbers. The train attendant looks our tickets over and tells us to exit the train and run down to voiture 20. "No, Dad, there isn't time." We go sprinting until we hear the train whistle its departure. We jump onto voiture 18 and walk the rest of the way through the middle of the train. We find our couchette. No one has the bunks below. This will be our private car for the next 11 hours. IV leans across the top bunk and says, "Not as nice as I expected for 1st class, is it Dad?" I reply "No, son, not that swanky, but a hell of a lot better than coach, trust me." IV announces, "I am going to get settled." Out come the iPods, Pringles, the lemonade in an Evian bottle, and NBA Live. Old yellow is almost empty. Black is right beside yellow. Still full. I am pounding on my Blackberry hoping that somewhere along this trip from Nice to Paris I will find new hope and inspiration.

I am a lucky man, my family and I are living in the South of France for a couple of weeks. 82 Rue de France, Nice, France. It will be there when IV takes his kids. Funny how things endure in Europe. In Dallas, old buildings get torn down. Why, someone might even build a faux south of France in Dallas. Certainly some old buildings can be found to tear down. Henry S. Miller or someone like that surely would build it for us. If only the zoning and the tax increment financing could be arranged, the old buildings standing in the way of faux France would come down. Wait, is that what the West Village is supposed to be? Oh yeah. But again wait, didn't Paris Vendome, so named after one of Paris' ritziest 'hoods, restaurant close and reopen as a Mi Cocina? You have to hand it to Mico Rodriguez, he knows his Tex-Mex and he sure knows when to quit a French concept restaurant.

IV comes over to my side of our couchette and leans over my shoulder to see what I am writing. He is crunching a Pringle. "Texas BBQ Sauce flavor," he says with his best country accent. Climbing down the sleeper cabin bunk ladder he asks "Why don't we check out the train? Why do we have to stay here?"

We put his stuff back in old yellow so we can explore the train. I trust that IV will grow to be an amazing young man. A master of the universe. Private equity? Real estate? Hedge fund manager? Investment banker? Poet? Scientist? Does my list of possible careers for IV mean I'm a closet corporatist? I love him. I find energy and strength in helping guide him. IV asks, "Dad, what's taking you so long?"

©2007 Angel Reyes
www.ReyesLaw.com

Who Says a College Degree is Necessary These Days?

Angel Reyes — Mon, 29 Jan 2007 11:42:52 -0600

I just read "What’s Wrong With Vocational School?" by Charles Murray with the American Enterprise Institute. I must admit, I am typically on the other side of the ideological divide from the AEI, but I think Murray is onto something in his analysis of who goes to college versus who should go to college. Let’s recap Murray’s argument. At the risk of “dumbing it down,” I’ll nutshell it in my words. Why do so many people believe they must go to college and end up majoring in fluff degrees while getting mediocre grades? Indeed, if a four-year college education is supposed to teach advanced analytic skills and information at a level that exceeds the intellectual capacity of most people, why are so many of our young people pursuing college degrees?]]>vocational schools. I think that’s what they do in Europe. Perhaps that flies in the face of the American idea of opportunity for all who seek it, but the facts remain, most young adults attending college, probably don’t need to be there.

Has our culture put a false premium on a college degree? Probably. Let’s face it, outside of engineering and computer science, a degree in sociology, psychology, economics, history, or literature certifies nothing. Why then are so many young people pursuing such degrees in college? Could Murray be right when he suggests that the reason is that those students require a course of study that requires only a mildly above average IQ of 100 and/or mild motivation on their part?

Finding a good lawyer, accountant, or doctor is relatively easy. The salaries of average lawyers, accountants, and doctors typically don’t exceed six figures. Look around; everywhere you look you’ll see examples of people who make far more than the average wage a college degreed individual makes. Hairdressers, valet parkers, limo drivers, car salesman, master plumbers, master electricians… you get the idea. Maybe it’s time to tell our kids that a college degree will not guarantee them financial success. Heck, with outsourcing proceeding at the speed of light, I would encourage our young people to find a vocation that won’t be outsourced and reach for the pinnacle. There is money in the vocations and many of our young people would be better off finding their passion than wasting four years or more getting a college degree, or trying to get a college degree.

I’m betting the false premium a college degree brings (especially if it is from a middling school, and the recipient achieved middling or worse grades) will slowly but surely go away.

©2007 Angel Reyes
www.ReyesLaw.com

Over 40 and Still a Lot to Learn.

Angel Reyes — Mon, 29 Jan 2007 10:02:18 -0600

At just over 40, I decided to go back to school and get an MBA. I tortured myself over whether or not it would ever matter. After all, I am the managing partner of my own law firm! Further, I have a wife (who runs her own medical spa and laser clinic in Dallas), two small children, and my mom and step-dad living under my roof. What the hell was I thinking?]]>tort reform (House Bill 4 and others) had changed my firm's practice. I was thinking about how I loved the business of law, and had always dreamed of getting my MBA. I was thinking about whether or not any school in Texas could meet or exceed the esteem of my University of Michigan Law Degree. Indeed, until I started the Texas Tech program, I was convinced that an MBA from any place less than one of the top-ranked five schools might be a waste of time. Heck, couldn't I just head back to dear old Ann Arbor for a couple of years? And my biggest fear: Would I even get accepted by my dear old alma mater? After all, the young people competing for spots at top B schools are an impressive lot.

But no, I could not just drop everything and go to a B school far from Dallas for 2 full years. You see, my son attends St. Mark's School of Texas and my daughter is in the pre-kinder at Temple Emmanuel. So, what options did I have? It was looking more and more that I would be forced to do an Executive MBA program at The University of Texas, The University of Texas at Dallas, or Southern Methodist University (SMU).

And then out of the blue, I received an offer from Dr. Jim Hoffman, Associate Dean of the Texas Tech Rawls School of Business to start an MBA program specifically designed for attorneys. Pause. What's the point, I thought? How could such a program make any difference in my life? Hmm, I'd better fly to Lubbock before offering myself up as a guinea pig in this first-ever program.

So, I flew to Lubbock, Texas. I'll admit, I'd never been to Lubbock and I had no idea what to expect. I have a good friend who spent most of his childhood in Lubbock and Levelland so I knew that it would be flat. Well, if you haven't been, Lubbock is flat. There are also cotton fields that come right up to the airport runways.

What an auspicious start we had. Dr. Hoffman had under a handful of students that first weekend of class and he smiled and taught as if he were in front of five-hundred students. Give the man credit for not crying. Further, give the man credit for getting the class to quintuple in a matter of weeks.

I am now convinced that the curriculum Dr. Jim Hoffman, Dr. Jim Wetherbe, and Dr. Bradley Ewing devised for this MBA program should be part of the curriculum at every law school. I swear I've learned more about how to effectively communicate in five months than I did in three years in law school and almost fifteen years of law practice. Even better, I'm also convinced that I've learned how to better communicate in my personal life, an added bonus.

Where do I begin? Dr. Jim Wetherbe. If you haven't read Dr. Wetherbe's book "So, What's Your Point," I recommend you get on Amazon.com and buy it today. If you read and re-read this book, you will discover how some people just naturally communicate better than others.

The secret? It isn't a secret; there are simple models of communication that hold true for all cultures and dialogue, and the most important thing you can do as a young person is to learn those models and drill and practice until you are as natural a communicator as Ronald Reagan, one of the greatest political communicators of our time.

Since this is a one weekend a month in Lubbock program, we get lots of reading and writing assignments. The books we've read are numerous and all deserve mention, but I'll mention only three for this post. Getting to "Yes", Steven Covey's "7 Habits of Highly Effective People", and "Crucial Conversations." Again, if you haven’t read them, you owe it to yourself not to just read them, but to put the lessons and tools in the books to use in your personal and professional life.

If you're a working professional interested in learning how to be an effective executive and you have an interest in obtaining an MBA degree, consider the once a month program at Texas Tech; I've been pleasantly surprised.

©2007 Angel Reyes
www.ReyesLaw.com

What's in a Name? What I Learned at the Latino Leadership Summit.

Angel Reyes — Mon, 04 Dec 2006 13:54:51 -0600

When I was a kid, I used to complain to my dad, who happens to be an "immigrant" from the Island of Puerto Rico, that my name was too hard to live with. (Fortunately, since 1898, all Puerto Ricans have been U.S. citizens. Could it be that Dad wasn't an immigrant after all?) You see, when I was 11 years old, I moved from Carolina, Puerto Rico to Kansas City, Kansas. I didn't know it at the time, but the public school I attended was terribly concerned about my English language proficiency. My mom tells me she had to fight like hell to make sure my sister and I were put in the regular classrooms and not the remedial classrooms.]]>Preston Hollow Elementary School was held to be doing the same thing to Hispanic kids this year. Jeez, nearly 30 years have passed since my sister and I enrolled in a U.S. public school and Hispanic kids are still viewed as less able to perform than Anglo kids. Indeed, Federal Judge Sam Lindsay ruled that Preston Hollow Elementary School was segregating its students by ethnicity in violation of the Equal Protection Clause. By the way, the Dallas Independent School District is heavily Hispanic; well over 60% of the kids are Hispanic. Oddly enough, Preston Hollow Elementary School is only 16% Anglo, with the rest of the kids being predominantly Hispanic. Nevertheless Judge Lindsay found the school in violation of our Equal Protection Clause.

Now back to my story. My first day of school was pretty auspicious. Mr. Kelly (I no longer remember his first name) called roll and when he got to the R's in the alphabet, I slumped down in my chair and swallowed hard. I knew what was coming… a terrible pronunciation of my name that would immediately identify me as different and "foreign." Mr. Kelly didn't disappoint; he called out something that sounded like "Annhella Rayass" and the tittering began. Before I could even answer "Here,” Mr. Kelly then asked if I "habla Ingles." Wow, double whammy on the first day of school. I'll never forget my response, which by the way got me sent to the principal's office. I said, "[Hell] yes, I speak perfect English," only I used a stronger word than “Hell.”

Those were the 1970's and by 1980, I was really tired of having my name butchered by every new acquaintance I came across. So I started complaining to my mom and dad that I really needed to change my name. After all, I thought, I looked a lot like most of the Anglo kids I went to school with. You know what my Dad used to tell me? He said, "Son, if you want to change your name, do it, but never forget, someday in the not-too-distant future, this country is going to look a lot more Hispanic and then you'll be glad you never changed your name." My dad, who never went to college, is not a demographer, but he was onto something. Without the help of Steve Murdock, the state demographer in Texas, he somehow knew that the rest of the country was slowly turning more and more Hispanic. Heck, Dad even suggested that one day it might be "cool" to be Hispanic. Well, “times, they have a changed.”

Yesterday, I had the great honor of being invited to the Second Annual Latino Leadership Summit, hosted by Jorge Ferraez and his brother Raul Ferraez, the publishers of Latino Leaders Magazine. The event was held in Houston at the Westchase Marriott and I left that event inspired. Why was I so inspired? I got to hear the stories of several high achieving Hispanics, funny names and all.

Let me relate to you three stories from yesterday. The first story is about Ted Cruz, Solicitor General for the State of Texas. Ted's dad fled Cuba when he was 17 years old, found his way to Austin, and managed to attend the University of Texas. Ted's dad took a job washing dishes and generally doing anything he could to feed his growing family. Ted's house must have been an amazing place because Ted went to Princeton University, and while attending Princeton, became the highest ranking college debater in the United States. So what did Ted do for an encore? He went to Harvard Law School, and made the Harvard Law Review. Ted was such a standout law student that when he graduated, he clerked first for a Federal Judge and then for Chief Justice William Rehnquist of the Supreme Court of the United States. Since that time Ted has remained active in public service, with a couple of pit stops in private practice, and was recently appointed Solicitor General for the State of Texas by Texas Attorney General, Greg Abbott. Don't be surprised when you start reading more and more about Ted Cruz in the coming years. He'll make a difference in Texas.

The second story is Sofia Adrogue's. Sofia, sometime about the same year as I, moved from Argentina to Boston, Massachussetts. She and her family then made it to Houston and Sofia, being the pistol that she is, went to Rice University on full scholarship and then to the University of Houston Law Center, where she made the Houston Law Review. Sofia is now a member of Looper, Reed & McGraw, where she practices complex commercial litigation. Sofia is also the mother of three kids under the age of ten. Amazing! I wonder if her kids catch much grief about their names. I hope not, but you never know. Sofia is a well-known Latina leader in Houston. Just watch; someday she'll be known across the country.

The final story is Nina Vaca's. Nina is the CEO and President of Pinnacle Resources, a Dallas based IT outsourcing company. Since 2001, the company has grown from 4 employees to over 800, with revenues topping $60,000,000. WOW. Nina's story starts out in Los Angeles where her parents, neither of whom spoke much English, ran a family-owned travel agency. When Nina was 17 years old, her father was murdered. Nina's mother moved her and her four brothers and sisters to Houston. Nina plucked her way through Texas State University in 3.5 years and then ran off to the Big Apple, New York City to make her way in the world. Out of her spare bedroom she founded Pinnacle Resources and the rest as they say, is history. I wonder how often Nina's name was mispronounced. Maybe never, maybe every day. Nina Vaca will one day be ringing the bell, standing on the balcony of the New York Stock Exchange when her company goes public.

Here is my advice: Whether you are Hispanic or not, but especially if you are Hispanic, get an education. The common theme in all the stories of the speakers at the Latino Leadership Summit was education. Getting an education, at least according to the leaders who spoke yesterday, is the great American equalizer. If you've got a funny name and can live with your funny name, do it. I still introduce myself with the English pronunciation of Angel, and only when I'm in Spanish speaking countries or circles do I say it with the Spanish pronunciation, but that story is for another day. To my dad, I say thanks for putting that little bit of doubt in me when all I really wanted to do was change my name to avoid being the different foreign kid. Let's hope we all live to see the day when there are so many highly-educated Latino leaders that our kids and our kids' kids will never want to change their names.

©2006 Angel Reyes

Will "Borat" Lawsuits Help the Reputation of the Plaintiff's Bar?

Angel Reyes — Mon, 20 Nov 2006 11:42:12 -0600

If like me, you haven’t seen the new Borat movie, "Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan," you’ve probably been wondering 1) how to spell the country’s name; and 2) what’s the buzz all about? Have you seen the size of Kazakhstan on a world map? Who knew?

What you also probably didn't know is that Borat has already spawned a couple of lawsuits – personal injury lawsuits, no less.]]>Da Ali G Show" is one of my favorite HBO shows of all time. Sacha Baron Cohen is superb in his role of Borat (and in case you were wondering, Borat has a website and a MySpace page!) I, for one, can't wait to find the time to see the Borat movie. Perhaps I can even talk my 9 year old son's mother into allowing me to take him. Nah, too impolitic.

So, who's doing the suing? And just what exactly are they suing for? Two young college men, apparently featured in the Borat movie, sued the producers of the film in Los Angeles Superior Court. I've been sued in the LA Superior Court, so let me say this to the Borat producers: There are far worse venues they could have been sued in. Indeed, my suspicion is that this lawsuit was filed in LA Superior Court because Hollywood is nearby, and the lawsuit is more about publicity than it is about fair redress for the "injured" parties. I say this because LA Superior Court seems like a strange place for two Southern fried rednecks, who made racist comments on camera, to be looking for a sympathetic jury!

Back to our Borat lawsuit. Apparently, Sacha Baron Cohen traipsed through our dear old South and ran across some fun-loving fraternity boys at a local Southern college. In exchange for some beer money, the boys signed releases so that the film footage of their drunken behavior could be used by the Borat movie producers. Hmm, you say, "Sounds just like what happens all over reality TV,” but here's the catch. These boys spewed racist comments, some of which made it past the editor’s cutting board and into the Borat movie. So, like most people who've been misunderstood, the boys sued.

Why is their suit important? Because they brought their claims under a legal theory that their names, voices, and images were "misappropriated.” The tort of misappropriation is one of four torts related to the invasion of privacy. Basically, you can sue for misappropriation if someone uses your image for commercial purposes.

Well, you may be wondering, “How does Joe Francis get away with his Girls Gone Wild (link possibly NSFW, proceed with caution!) videos… that is, when he films girls that are of the age to consent to a contract?” How do Survivor and MTV Real World get over this legal hurdle? Those shows manage to clear the bar through a well-known exception to the misappropriation tort - if you are a nobody, as in a non-celebrity/non-public figure, you've got no claim for misappropriation.

“What about the First Amendment?” you ask. If a person acts in a manner likely to lead to attention shouldn't the First Amendment protect the "reporters,” in this case the Borat producers? Not so fast, say a sprinkling of state courts. Sometimes the courts side with the likes of Joe Francis and the Girls Gone Wild producers (reporters?) and sometimes they allow misappropriation claims and rule that the First Amendment doesn't protect the producers (reporters?). As I figure it, even if you are a nobody, so long as you have a sympathetic judge and jury, and your claim is one which can be seen as sympathetic, you've got a shot at sticking a misappropriation lawsuit.

Back to our college boys. They aren't disputing the statements and actions that were filmed. On the contrary; they just want to be paid for their performance.

Should our laws provide they be paid? I think not, and I am a plaintiff's lawyer. Our college boys may be embarrassed, and they may even be catching high hell around campus, but their legal claims are just the kind that give plaintiff's lawyers a bad name. Wait a second; plaintiff's lawyers already have a bad name, so maybe these claims will only make their names worse.

My advice to the boys? Say you're sorry for misbehavin', remind everyone that you are God-fearing Christians, check into rehab, and then cut a book deal with an agent. On the other hand, they could just go on living their college years in the same inconsequential manner in which they lived them before Sacha Baron Cohen rolled through town, and before they know it, no one will remember their antics. Oops, I forgot…they were caught on film.

Angel

©2006 Angel Reyes