I've gotten so much e-mail asking for the 411 on Mindy's life story that I figured it'd just be easier to quote from her official record-company bio. Enjoy!

A lot of so-called "mainstream press" dog me 'cuz they think I'm like this wannabe. But I don't let that get me down. I mean, it's not like I have hysterical weeping fits that last for hours at a time and I end up throwing a Starbucks travel mug or something and breaking my mom's Venetian lamp or something, so badly it can never be repaired and I have to buy her a new one at the antique mall in Boca. So I hope if people hear that they won't believe it. Me, I'm just about keeping it real. That's why it always makes me laugh, NOT burst into hysterical weeping fits, when somebody says I'm not a real Latina, for example. Which is so ridiculous. My mom's from Santurce, Puerto Rico, born and raised. (Viva la raza, girl!) And my dad's Italian, from South Philly. (Aaaay, 9th Street in the house!) He was in the Army, so we traveled a lot, and I guess it's no secret we lived around black people. That's why I always give a shout out to my peeps in the 'hood. My grandmawmaw on mom's side was full-blooded Cherokee, so I give props and much love to my brothers and sisters on the reservation. And of course her husband, my grampy Xian, was a Cantonese day laborer–Nee how ma! Over on daddy's side, his mother, my grossmutter Heidi, was from a little town near Munich, so I always send out a big "Ich liebe Sie" to my fellow Germans. And his father, as I guess everybody knows by now, was a fisherman from the Azores–hey, o que está acontecendo! I guess what I want to say to people is, I know who I am. So when somebody accuses me of trying to be all things to all people, I tell them what great-grandmother Angelina Lundqvist always used to say: "Prendere un aumento, and Komm seg ut av mitt ansikt." Peace out!