Where They Never Met

I'm all settled into my new place, and it's awesome. It's where I was living in Cafetales, only multiplied by a thousand. I haven't taken a bus since I moved here, and that tickles the hell out of me. I'm about a 15 minute walk from my work, which is great, because it forces me into the off-of-my-ass activity I might normally avoid. With the exception of a laundry mat, I have everything I need. I'm sure there's one somewhere, but I have no idea where it is.

I do have a couple of grievances. One being that the water pressure in my shower leaves something to be desired. I'm only offered a pitiful drizzle of water that comes out in a straight line. Needless to say my shower time has doubled. And there's some crazy leak behind my toilet that makes me have to use my towel to soak up the water on my floor every day, then hang it up outside to dry and repeat daily. I've gotta talk to the lady about it, but one, she's old as hell and that means I'm going to need to speak in formal tongue which I haven't quite gotten the hang of. And two, I can't really understand her when she speaks. I'm not scared though -- I'll deal with this water issue yet. Besides, it's nothing compared to the positives. I'd wade through an ocean to get to my toilet on a daily basis to eliminate having to take the bus.

It's Thanksgiving today, and that just breaks my heart into a million pieces. It's always been a routine thing at my house. It never involves extended family, so mostly it's just a dinner with the usual people with a lot of extra food. But still. I totally look forward to that particular food, and it's a holiday in any case. A heavily celebrated one in the U.S. Here, it doesn't exist. Here in Mexico there were no pilgrims to strike a truce with the Native Americans and thus spark the most glorious day of feast... ever. They never met here. There's not an inkling of the holiday anywhere in sight. It's to be expected of course, I'm in a foreign country. All the same it's a strange sensation to be in the complete absence of a holiday that's thriving 400 miles from me across the border.

I hope everyone has/had a great Thanksgiving. I miss everyone back home. I'll see you guys in 28 days!

Adios, Cafetales

I got a new place this morning. It's reasonably affordable, with the additional benefits of being much closer to downtown, a 10 minute walk from my job ( Yes. That means that the Bus from Hell has finally been eliminated from my life ), and surrounded by everything I could possibly want. It's an unattached living quarter separated from the house of this little old lady who's my landlord. She's terribly cute, and very sweet.

I'm ready to get out of here and finally put that God-forsaken family behind me, but at the same time it's a little sad to leave where I'm at. I'm very fond of my neighborhood and the house in which I'm living. It's a total pain-in-the-ass living so far away from everything and having to take the bus, and I swear if I eat another hamburger I'm going to spontaneously implode, but this place was the first hub of comfort I found in this country. It's not a big deal or anything, and I know I'll move a few more times before all is said and done, but it still sucks, just a little.

I'm gonna miss my roommate, too. He's been out of town for almost a week, and he doesn't know I'm leaving. I won't be able to say goodbye or anything, and that's no fun because he's really a cool guy who helped me a lot. I'll probably leave a little note of thanks with my phone number or something. But still. I'd like to thank him in person for all the kindness he's shown me.

Anyway. I'm officially going to San Felipe. Gracias a Dios. It's tranquil, safe, vegetated, and street-garbage free. And bus-free, let's not forget. Well, I have to take a bus back to this other job that's close to Cafetales in the morning, but at least it's an easy bus, not the BFH. I'm definitely looking forward to experiencing the improvements in my situation. We'll see how they go.

34 days until vacation in Minnesota!!!

Those Who Walk Alone

Not too long ago I started a new job that begins very early in the morning, before the sun comes up. I was walking to the bus stop when I heard something following closely behind me. I've yet to experience any crime first hand here in Mexico, but needless to say I was shitting bricks. When I finally mustered up the courage to look back over my shoulder, it turned out to be a dog.

Strays are EVERYWHERE here. You can hardly walk a full minute before seeing another one; most mangy, severely malnourished, and terrified of coming anywhere near your space bubble. In any case, I was a little nervous having a stray following me, since Heaven only knows what some animals will do when spiraled too far down into feralization. Not to mention the potential diseases. You can imagine my surprise, then, when the dog immediately started wagging its tail and jumping up and down excitedly. I was touched. Normally I feel so bad for the dogs here, but none will come anywhere near me even if I want to offer something to eat. So I leaned down and put my hand out, and it launched at me and licked my hands to shreds while whimpering. I thought it was going to explode with happiness. It followed me to the bus and waited with me until I had to leave, and I looked from my window as it sat and watched me leave. Whatever the case, it was very cute. Very After School Special.

I returned to the same stop a few hours later, and on the walk back to my house, I found that dog dead on the side of the street. It had been hit by a car. It wasn't the first time I'd seen a dead stray here, but it was the first time it struck me so hard. I admit I got a little teary-eyed.

What I can't understand is how it's possible to take an animal into your home and destroy every ounce of its natural instinct and then one day decide to leave it to fend for itself. Imagine any of us, growing up in our homes with our microwaves and our cell phones and our televisions. Then imagine the people we love taking us into the jungle and leaving us there. Maybe we'd learn how to cope eventually if we didn't die right away, but try to picture yourself learning how to scrap for food, seek shelter, live in fear of predators.

The thought is so depressing. It's making a creature love you and then leaving it out in the cold. That dog clearly knew what human affection was like. It loved people, and obviously someone loved it at one point. And now it's dead because of someone's clear ignorance and disregard for its well-being. If you can't take care of a pet, don't adopt one. It's that easy. If you're not going to be committed to nourishing a living creature, then keep your hands off of it and at the very least don't contribute to its suffering. That's how I feel anyway. I think this is the first thing about Mexico I've found that I really can't handle.

The Shit and the Fan

I had a little hiatus there in dropping a new post, because as luck would have it, the fan is on and the shit is hitting it.

About two weeks ago, my landlord sent his son over to collect the rent. Two months worth. Fine, no problem. It nearly wiped me out, but whatever. Plus I had no problem giving it to the son because it's the fellow who lived with my family over the last year.

What do you know, the miserable little animal ( it took everything I had to withhold vulgarity there ) told his father I never gave him my portion of the rent. Now I'm totally getting harassed and I'm ready to set him on fire. I mean, I didn't make him count it in front of me and I didn't get a receipt. Which makes me the grand idiot of the world, but I thought I knew the kid pretty well. This is absolutely nothing that I saw coming. Even better is that everyone I've told about this here in Mexico has said "Whelp, welcome to Mexico." Hm.

So now I'm house hunting, and that makes me one sad gringo. It involves so much. Most importantly having to integrate a new bus system into my life. As if the one I'm dealing with now isn't wretched enough. Followed by facing setting up utilities in my house entirely on my own with the Spanish language. I'm at the point where a soft and simple conversation is tucked neatly into my belt, but discussing contracts and legal terms is way over my head. Oh, and followed by just dealing with packing and moving in itself.

I will say that the light at the bottom of the box is that I'll no longer have to deal with this ass-devouring family. I kept my distaste for their pestilent souls to myself through my early posts in order to smother my cynicism, but now that it's out there, I have no problem saying that their behaviors and attitudes warrant the immediate descent of a meteor upon their home.

The Dead Bride of Chihuahua

I recently had a couple of friends take me downtown for a little informational tour. We drove by things I'd seen before, but this time I saw them with a complimentary history lesson as a bonus. One thing that caught my interest in particular was Chihuahua City's legendary corpse bride, La Pascualita.

Urban legend has it that La Pascualita ( the little Pascuala ( the name of the oringal store owner ) ) was going to get married about 75 years ago. The evening before her wedding day she was bitten by a black widow and died before ever having tied the knot. Overcome with grief, her mother decided to forever preserve her daughter's corpse and adorn it with the loveliest of her wedding dresses at her bridal shop. On full display still today stands La Pascualita, forever begging the question of her authenticity.

Me? I don't buy it, really. Granted the corpse/mannequin looks incredibly realistic, with pores, cracked skin, varicose veins and the works, I'm not sure how much stock I can put into the idea that a corpse has remained in such unbelievably perfect condition for over 75 years. Fortunately for the legend, the locals buy it completely. Every year on the Day of the Dead ( which I believe is November 2nd ), the local school children set out candles and flowers in front of her display window. There's also some deal-i-o about a couple bursting into argument in front of the store. When the girlfriend turned to leave him, the man shot her. As she bled on the sidewalk she asked La Pascualita to save her and, ironically, she lived. This leads some to believe La Pascualita has supernatural powers. ( In case you're wondering, I didn't get this information from just a select few, I did some research on the matter after the fact )

In any case, I really don't care if it's a preserved corpse or a kick-ass wax dummy. The point is that the whole legend says something fascinating about the culture. I'm sure somehow it's tied to Mexico's extreme spiritual roots ( from which the flag's seal being based on a vision by an Aztec leader is also stemmed, I'm sure ), and I terribly impressed. It actually reminds me a bit of the Mothman shenanigans over in (West Virginia?). How awesome to have something like that around.

Something beautiful

I went out with a couple of ladies from my school about a week ago, one of whom was Mexican. We got to talking about some of the differences between the U.S. and Mexico. Eventually, prompted by a large Mexican flag hanging from the ceiling behind her, I asked what the seal in the center signified. This is what I got.

Disclaimer: This is what I was told. I'm writing what I know, without any additional research past what the young lady from here in Mexico told me. If for any reason any of my knowledge is incorrect, I'm really sorry. Please feel absolutely free to correct me.



It apparently began with the Aztecs. The leader of a tribe of Aztecs had a vision -- the place where an eagle feasts on a snake on a cactus would mark the Promised Land. He rounded up his crew and they embarked on a pilgrimage in search of this land that would grant them happiness.

They eventually happened upon an enormous lake, near the middle of which was an eagle perched on a cactus feasting on a snake. They stopped there based on the leader's vision and created their land out of the lake. They farmed from the edge of the lake, slowly filling in what was water with soil until eventually the lake was replaced with farmed land. This would eventually become Mexico City.

The girl I was talking to was convinced that the vision and its discovery is a legend, but it's apparently true that Mexico City is built on top of a lake. From what I understand, shortly after Mexico's Independence Day in 1821, its current official flag was chosen based on this legend. The green on the flag stands for the independence movement and peace and hope. The white stands for purity. And the red stands for the Spaniards who joined in the quest for independence as well as for the blood of the national heroes.

Personally, I'm rather fascinated by the whole deal. It screams culture and national pride. Yet at the same time, I've yet to encounter any insane, right-wing patriots. Only people who carry their own blood with a humble pride. There's a beautiful story painted in three blocks of color and a seal. I understand it's likely to be the same with every flag, but I'm here now and immersed in it all and I'm hooked on the gentle fire of it all.

Flag - "la bandera"

THIS, is a "banderita", a "little flag". Called so because of the green ( lime juice ), white ( tequila ) and red ( Sangria ), taken in that order. And it's also delicious.

Breathing

On Friday evening I went with a friend to a ranch. His grandparents own a house there in which they no longer live save for Sundays, so we bought some beers and went there to spend the night.

Anyone who knows me knows I get a little cranky when I leave civilization. My heart is rather locked to heavily populated areas. In going there, knowing I'd be spending the night, I was a bit skeptical. But I can say without a doubt that if, on my death bed, I knew what it would have been like yet never had gone, I would be pretty disappointed in myself.

I've never experienced air so perfect. It was like the mountains were breathing and I could taste their breath, sweet and crisp. Not a single cloud was anywhere in sight, and the temperature went from comfortably warm during the day to long-sleeve cool at night. Rancheros herded their cattle on horses, and women in native clothing peddled their wares out of enormous burlap sacks slung over their shoulders. Most of all it was silent. Nothing but the occasional cricket.

The evening was what got me. I have never in my life seen so many stars. Never. I thought I had, during the occasional cabin trip in northern Minnesota, but it was nothing compared to what I saw on Friday night. The Milky Way was bright and streaked across the whole sky, and from what I could tell, there was nearly no black, only stars. I saw at least a half a dozen shooting stars. I swear I never wanted to look away. My camera wouldn't be able to catch the starlight, so I just stared for as long as I could, almost petrified of the idea of ever forgetting what I saw and how I felt.

For a few moments I caught myself understanding how important it is to be alive. It's worth it just for moments like that, I think.

Farewells come too soon.

I left my classes today realizing that I have one week left with my students. For as much as I was bitching about my first hour class in the beginning, I've grown unbearably fond of every one of them. I'm going to miss the shit out of them when they're gone. They are all unbelievably intelligent people, and 100% unique from one another. I watch them absorb what I teach them and use it in conversation and I am so proud of them. Sometimes I'll teach a lesson and then have them do exercises on their own. When they read them aloud, everyone will be flawless, and I feel like squeezing all of their faces off.

It's likely I'll end up teaching them again over their further courses, but I'm sure a few I won't see again and that's just plain depressing. I find it hard to believe that I'm going to have to deal with this feeling every 7 weeks. I'm sure I'll become numb to it eventually, but right now it's horrific.

As if things weren't rotten enough, my roommate informed me yesterday that he might be moving to Ciudad Juarez in November for work. This creates a few different scenarios:

I stay where I'm at where it's furnished and I'm comfortable with the routine, but I'll have to seek more work to make up for my roommate's financial contributions.

I move in with this girl who was severely in love with me, because she has a place and I would be paying less there. Problem is I rejected her as she made an advance, and I know she's going to hold that over my head if I take it up. Plus, it'll just be strange.

I move into an unfurnished place near downtown where the rent is dirt cheap but there's no furniture and Heaven only knows what kind of neighborhood it will be.

It's not a for sure thing, I guess, but he seemed pretty tickled by the idea of moving closer to the United States in order to facilitate his English learning. I can only hope he changes his mind so I don't have to deal with the whole fiasco. I rather like my dingy little neighborhood, and I can hardly wrap my brain around trying to figure out a new bus route. For now I'm going to stick my head in the sand away from reality and pray it just goes away and he decides Chihuahua is where his heart is. We'll see.

Update

Three shots of tequila later and I still feel like total crap. Only now I'm buzzed and expecting a headache in the morning. Here's a warm shout-out to the cretins who suggested this miracle solution.

I sneeze on buses that have juggling sunglasses.

I officially have a cold, and I feel like death warmed over. And that breaks my little heart because I cannot stand being sick. I'm one of those people who, when they're experiencing any sort of physical discomfort, just whines a lot. Plus, it's been a while since I've been sick, so as I felt it coming on, I welcomed it with a smoldering dread. However, I've decided that I refuse to be ill. It just won't do. I can't call in to work, and I will not deal with being miserable. It turns out that the local remedy is two shots of tequila with a wedge of lime. One person informed me of this miracle cure, and I interviewed several others as to its authenticity. It turns out it's real. And thus, in about 15 minutes I shall be going to a bar with a friend to take care of business.

The Bus from Hell has become the Bus from Not-Quite-All-the-Way-Into-Hell-Maybe-Like-Purgatory-Or-Something. The beginning of October was the harbinger of a new route for the month. Apparently they switch every other month. This month, I get right on the bus, and it takes me right to my job. So for the month of October, I don't need to switch buses 10 minutes into the commute, and I don't need to be screwed over by the shit-head bus drivers who either like to ignore my ringing of the bell and drop me off a mile from where I need to get off, or just don't ever come to the stop until I'm forced to take a taxi. October is the month of glory. The month of singing angels and rays of light. The month of peaceful commuting. Until November.

You know what I love about Mexico? The cool shit like the street entertainers. Sometimes people will hop on the bus with their guitars and tamborines and play a little tune in hopes of a few pesos. Other times entertainers will stand in front of the line of cars at a stop light and do something sweet, like contortionism or juggling. The other day, some guy came out with flaming batons and and a little acrobatic dance while spinning those firey devils all over the place. It might seem annoying to the natives, since they're basically doing it for cash. But at least they're not the assholes in Minneapolis who come up to you with a sob story like "My father lives in New Hampshire and he's got 2 days to live and I need $100 dollars to ( get me some bizooze ) get there on a bus." These people have guts to get out there in front of an audience in traffic and pull of some seriously talented shit. If you're ever here and you see one, drop 'em like 5 pesos -- they really deserve it.

Finally, I got peddled on the street for sunglasses today. Now, I live and breathe for sunglasses -- the more ridiculous the better -- so I was hooked immediately. What was awesome is that he wanted to sell them to me for 30 bucks, because they're Gucci knock-offs. Please. Like I'm going to spend 30 dollars on cheap imitations when I could buy my own cheap imitation at the stand at the mall. I told him I didn't have any cash on me. Well, he wouldn't give up, and eventually I pulled 30 pesos ( 3 dollars ) out of my back pocket and told him it was all I have. And now I have sexy sunglasses. I'm assuming he just wasn't having luck getting rid of them so he took what he could get, because he walked away looking pretty sad about his failure to make bank, but, whatever. I'm wearing these mothers at night.

This is what's up.

In a mere 4 days I'll have been in Mexico for 2 months. Crazy, or what? I can't decide whether it's gone by in a flash, or if it feels like forever. On one hand, everything is entirely familiar now. It feels like home. I've established a routine and the newness has subsided into a settled comfort. And arriving here seems like an eternity ago. On the other hand, where the hell did the time go?

Last week was midterms for my classes. It sounds a little more haughty than it really is, since the courses are only 6 weeks long. In any case, they all whizzed through them with flying colors. I can't say how proud I am of my little students, learning present perfect and present perfect continuous and all that. In several cases, the sentences they put together were flawless. I don't think I could have been happier. It almost breaks my heart that the courses are so short; I've grown very fond of all of them. Even the first class.

The Spanish is moving right along. Slow but steady, and that's just fine with me. I have a couple of friends here who speak no English at all, so it forces me to utilize all of the Spanish I've got. And they're very decent about it. Patient, understanding, politely correcting my mistakes. It makes it easier, and I'm pretty darned grateful.

I wish I had something to really write about, like an event, but I've been kind of exhausted this last week and haven't written when I should, so most things seem like a blur now. A few bars, a couple of movies ( Stardust and Knocked Up ( for my second time -- I saw it in the U.S., too ), classes. That pretty much covers it. They were all interesting events, but I let them sink too far into the past and now the details have dulled.

Queso, please

I had my first experience in a Mexican mercado today. I decided it was time to lay off the taco stand and put some food in my house.

There's this little mercardo ( market ) right behind my house, literally on the next block. It's really tiny, and filled with all of the absolute necessities. Eggs, milk, butter, cheese, chorizo, tortillas, your standard vegetables for Mexican cooking ( avocado, onion, cucumber, potato, etc. ), bread, beans, cereal, laundry soap, cigarettes, refreshments, that sort of thing.

What makes it interesting is that it's completely packed with people, and several of the food items are stocked behind the counter. It's like Wall Street, people gathered around shouting orders out and a bunch of clerks behind the counter scrambling around to get it. I needed cheese and was absolutely terrified to try and ask for it, lest I make a mistake and single myself out as the stumbling American amidst the huge crowd of natives. Fortunately someone else needed cheese. She raised her hand and screamed "QUESO!". When the clerk looked at me, I did the same, and he got me my cheese.

I won. Yes.

Viva Mexico

Well on Friday I discovered that the 16th was going to be Mexico's Independence Day, and the evening of Saturday the 15th was going to be the Grito Fiesta downtown Chihuahua. So I decided that it was time to peel my ass off of the leather chair and get downtown to witness the festivities. I hopped a taxi and went to the inner city.

It was pretty neat, I'm not gonna lie. The streets were lined with peddlers and their wares, very bazaar-like. Food was everywhere. Apparently corn is a huge deal here, because I saw about 20 corn stands. It's corn on the cob, grilled, on a stick, with various Mexican seasonings applied. I didn't try one myself because I'm not the biggest fan of corn on the cob, with its stick-between-your-teeth properties, but it looked good. I went with the tacos. 25 pesos for 5 tacos; I couldn't pass it up. I was at first enticed by the gigantic ball of meat sitting on a rotating pole. A butcher stood below it with two enormous cleavers and a bloody apron slicing shreds from the ball which fell down onto the stove to be cooked.

The amount of people was just plain stifling. Thousands upon thousands of people everywhere. At one point I ducked into a bar to wait it out until the fireworks ceremony. Unfortunately they began an hour early and I missed them while trying to flag down the bartender to pay my 2-beer frickin' tab. There was a television in there with a live broadcast and I could hear the detonations, so I suppose I was as close as you could get without seeing it in person.

I got a few pictures, but none are really all that impressive. Truthfully, I stand out in a crowd and I felt like a dip-shit snapping pictures like a tourist. But.. here's what's what.

Time to take a breather...

The first week is over, and it's bittersweet.

On one hand, I have next to no life outside of work right now. After work, I take the dreaded bus back to my house and I generally tend to latch myself onto my computer and seek solace with anyone I can find who owns an instant messenger and speaks English. I'm facing an awful barrier when it comes to developing a social life: my Spanish isn't adequate enough to hold a conversation with someone in hopes of creating friendship. At the same time, it's tough to put myself in situations where I might be forced to at least try, because that would require me to enter a place where social situations thrive, such as a bar, alone. I would have to sit in a bar, alone. Feel free to let me know if that wouldn't look or seem awkward to you. So, without the necessary language skills, I'm forced to be a hermit.

On the other hand, this week was terrifying. I have three classes right now, okay? My first one hates me. It's hard enough being a grammar teacher. No one likes grammar. It's boring, and there's pretty much no way to make it fun. Students at this school attend for two hours -- two one hour classes. My first class is followed by a class on idioms, and my last class follows that class. What would you rather learn? Interesting idiomatic expressions like "Let's make like a banana and split"? Or how to incorporate "already" and "yet" into sentences using the present perfect tense? Right. So I've already got one strike against me, and unfortunately they've failed to let go the humiliating stumbles of my first day with the text book mix-up. Sometimes I'll be explaining something, and then I'll stop and say "Okay, wait.. let me explain this a different way to make it easier." Then they give each other the looks and the snickers, the "God, what an idiot" motions. No, I'm not just paranoid -- it's glaringly obvious.

I can't believe I'm stuck with these little shits for the next 5 weeks. I mean, give me a break for the love of God. I'm trying.

Class number two is great. Until today there was only one girl, and she's the sweetest person alive. It was easy to feel comfortable because the first day we just spent conversing and such, and now it's like teaching a friend. She was absent today, but two more guys registered who are phenomenal and simply the easiest people to get along with. Plus they're American football fans, which made it simple to break the ice. Personally, I look at my second class as just teaching a few cool people -- nothing more or less. In addition, their English, since it's a level 4 ( the highest ) class, is unbelievable, so I don't have to deal with the dumbfounded looks. Looks that are understandable, of course, but looks that put me on the spot nonetheless.

My last class is my favorite. It's up to 12 people now, and they rock my socks off. No complaints from them, ever. If they don't understand something, they say so and give me the chance to rephrase or take a different approach. One woman in particular is my favorite student. It's not because she's someone I would want to hang out with or anything, she just makes me laugh ( inside ). She's 44 I believe, but doesn't look anywhere near it. She must spend HOURS trying to look like a super model, but while her efforts are commendable, she doesn't come close. The greatest thing is that she clings to every word that comes out of my mouth like it is the word of God, pencil and notebook at the ready. When she speaks, she tries to pull of the whole Marilyn Monroe whisper/moan conglomeration, emphasizing certain words with a seductive undertone -- "Teacher, how do you pronounce.. 'incorrect'?" Most of the time I lecture briefly on the new structures in grammar, have them do the exercises on their own, and then let them each speak their own answers out loud. When it's her turn, she's so serious and certain about it that I'm almost scared to correct her mistakes lest I cause her world to crumble to pieces. Really, I thank the heavens for this lady. She totally makes my day.

The other students in that class are just as great, in their own different ways. After the grotesque stress of my first class, I really end up looking forward to the last one.

So, it's over. I have three days to breathe, and for that I'm extremely thankful. While class number one is the constipation in my ass, working at this school is really not so horrendous. I enjoy going there very much. Right now I'm just glad it's over because I know how shit goes, and now I have the weekend to develop a new plan of attack. Even if it costs me my sanity, I'm going to figure out a way to make grammar interesting. To do more than lecture, practice, say aloud, repeat. I refuse to let class one turn me completely cynical -- those little fuckers are going to recognize even if it's the last thing I do. I'm sad to be going forth into a weekend of potential extreme boredom, but thank heavens for the chance to breathe and reboot.

My First Day of School

Today was my first day doing laundry at my new place. I've been putting it off because I didn't know exactly where the laundry mat was, and when I first got here my roommate had offered to bring me along with him when he did it so we could use his car. Well, unfortunately, my roommate is never here, and when he is, he's boarded-up in his room laughing at the television. So taking into consideration that I would begin teaching today, I intended on pulling it off yesterday. When the trumpets sounded and my roommate finally emerged from his den, I was, much to my chagrin, informed that the laundry mat was already closed and that I would need to go myself during the day today before work.

The laundry mat is about 6 long blocks from here. Not so bad, I can handle that. I can see the building it's behind from my house. Problem was, I used nearly every article of clean clothing I have in procrastinating this endeavor. So I stuffed them all into a black Hefty bag, slung my Duffle bag over my shoulder so I could bring my soap and a book to read, and left on my merry way. Wouldn't you know, halfway there and the bag rips to shreds and my clothes spill out everywhere. Thanks, universe.

I gathered them together in my arms, which was a serious feat considering that I was dealing with about three loads of laundry, and ran/waddled the rest of the way to the laundry mat. I was met by an incredibly nice, little old lady who helped me with everything and was thankfully patient with my Spanish handicap. Little did I know that her benevolence was just a form of foreplay to the severe f-ing I was going to get with her $8.00 invoice. For laundry. 3 washers and 2 driers. I was blown away, especially considering how cheap most everything else is here.

I got to work early enough to have a chat and eat with my taco guy ( I call him mine because he won my heart with the most incredible shrimp tacos ever to grace existence ) and then went in to prepare for my first class.

Funny thing is, I wasn't nervous at all. I was going to be teaching the present perfect tense, negative questions and answers, and tag questions. All of which for me are like riding a bike. So my first class begins. Four people. Good, I can handle that. I introduce myself and give them the low-down on me, have them do the same, and then we crack open the book.

"What's your name again? Okay, sorry. So, will you please read from the top -- letter A?"

They all look at me like I'm an idiot, because it turns out that they have a different book than I do. Shit. I ran to the office and looked through the books, and from what I can tell, it's simply the first part of my book that they're missing. Their book starts at my book's page 10. Good. So I start at page ten. We flip the page, and it changes again. Son of a --! I run back to the office again, and at this point the students are all looking at each other and smirking. We had about 20 minutes left for learning, and I was so unprepared for that lesson that I just stumbled through the whole thing.

Afterwards I smoked the most amazing cigarette I've ever smoked, thinking meanwhile about how they're going to go home tonight and their families will ask them, "How was your day at school?" To which they'll reply, "Well, we had the dumbest teacher ever, but.."

My second class, I had no students. Registration is all week, and none started today. Hallelujah. I took that hour to chain smoke and go over the material for my last class. My last class, which was the exact same subject as the first one, went much smoother. I had 8 students, which somehow was better because it felt like there was much less pressure. It turned out that I originally had the right book, and that the students had gotten the wrong ones, so I felt a lot better about that. We got the books matched up and I was able to teach what I had originally prepared for ( instead of having to read ahead on each page so I knew what I would be explaining like I did in the first one ), and I managed to be much more graceful about it. Now just to patch up the bad first impression I caused in the first class, tomorrow.

In the end, I don't have much to complain about. The first class was horrific while I was dealing with it, but after it was over and I had a moment to think clearly, I understood that I shouldn't have expected my first day to be flawless anyway. It's a little strange to be called "Teacher," or "Sir," especially since, particularly in my last class, all of my students but one are older than I am. I tried to have them call me James or Jaime ( Spanish-speakers have a tough time with J.R. ), but they wouldn't have it. I suppose I'll get used to it. I'm simply going to aim to do better tomorrow.

Bus shenanigans

I have experienced so many problems with the bus system here, I'm about to just light myself on fire. Every time I think I have it worked out, it manages to screw me over in some new and creative way.

Yesterday, the driver refused to drop me off at my stop and let me off a mile away. I finally got back to where I needed to go, and the next bus I needed just failed to appear. Well, it appeared once, driving along side another bus, and he wouldn't stop even as I jumped up and down waving my arms in desperation. Then I saw a million taxis, none of which would stop for me. Eventually I realized that I was standing 5 feet from a taxi service stand and managed to snag one there. I was 10 minutes late to my last day of training.

There was that particular instance, but something obnoxious happens with the bus every day.

I had my first downtown experience two evenings ago. I wouldn't say that it was on purpose.. I was trying to go home from work and the bus I was on just decided to veer off in the direction opposite of where I needed to go. It took me into downtown, so I just figured I'd get off there and have a look around. I discovered an incredible bar in one area, one where the seating is high up on the roof, outside, where the air is fresh, the drinks are cheap, and the techno is abundant. I felt a bit like a loser sitting alone with my beer, bobbing my head to the music, but... I've been dying for something to entertain myself with and I suppose I found it.

As for the rest of downtown, it's filled with people, stores, bazaars, peddlers with their wares and music on the streets. I've found out that for what I'm paying for rent where I am, I can have my own 2-bedroom apartment closer to downtown. My own. The problem is it's unfurnished, but it's definitely something I'm going to keep in mind for the future. As it is, I'm about a 40 - 50 minute bus ride from where I am to downtown. About 15-20 by car. We'll see.

Does anyone know how to get a bottle cap off without a bottle opener? For some reason, twist-tops don't exist here, much to my dismayed realization. I'm thirsty for my Fresca.

Getting my settle on

I've been hit with this feeling. I think it might be resignation. Most likely it's a calm realization. I'm not sure. All I know is that all of a sudden, I've realized that I'm here, and this is it. This is my life. This is my job. This is my neighborhood. This is my bedroom and this is where I put my things. This is my convenience store, the one I walk to when I need something. This is my grocery store, the one I go to when I need groceries. This is my local mall. This is it. This is my home. Sometimes I'll occasionally still get a pang in my gut, one that makes me ask myself what I'm doing here and what I was thinking. But slowly I'm being consumed by comfort and acceptance, and that might just be a little scarier. I was just thinking about it yesterday -- soon things are going to start being familiar, if you can understand what I mean.

I'll admit the whole concept makes me a little bit sad. I miss my friends and I miss my mother and brothers. Honestly, for a while, I was sure I was just going to say "fuck it" and go back home. I thought it would just be a matter of time before I saw everyone again and things returned to normal. But as things start to wind down and this is becoming what's normal, I'm understanding that it's going to be a while before I see anyone. In any case, I love you guys so fucking much that it makes my heart ache. That's never going to change just because I'm somewhere else. I think about all of you every single day, and I'm always going to.

Moving on from the sappiness, I totally screwed myself over trying to get to my first day of training yesterday. So, I need to take Ruta Una or Ruta Dos. Okay? Both will take me where I need to go. Sometimes they switch their routes up and go some crazy long way, from what I've been told, so occasionally if I see that begin to happen I need to get off the bus and grab the next one. Okay? Sounds simple. Well, for Ruta Uno and Ruta Dos, there's also Colon and Vallarta. I need to be on Vallarta. Well, wouldn't you know I jumped on Colon yesterday without thinking about it. I spent 2 and a half hours on that damned bus and was an hour late to my training class. Fortunately they were totally cool about it, but 2 and a half hours on the most rickety, run-down bus you've ever seen was enough to piss me right off. It was additionally annoying that as soon as I got there, I got to listen to the wrap-up speech for a mere 20 minutes and then head right back home. I get to try again today, so we'll see how that goes.

I'm home

Alright. So, there's internet here. It's an unnecessary luxury, so I was prepared to face not having it. Fortunately, my roommate loves it as much as I do, and he's planning on financing the entire bill for it in exchange for some English lessons. Which almost makes me want to break my heterosexual boundaries and spank him for being so glorious. Almost, but not quite.

He's a pretty cool guy. He's 32, severely Catholic and a bit nerdy, but that's totally cool because I enjoy nerdy people. Not much else to say about him. He's just plain nice.

So here are the goods. This is my house ( and I say "house" because it's a not connected in any way to any other buildings, but really it's the size of an apartment. ).



Here is the inside.




I'd show the kitchen, but it's not anything to sing about unless you're interested in seeing a lone refrigerator. Yeah, no stove. I'm not even going to get into that right now.

My bedroom.




And our security system on the wall that surrounds the house.



It's pretty much the equivalent of barbed wire, only it's not. It's shards of glass sticking up from the cement. And it's also awesome.

So I got that job at Lingua Franca. Which is fantastic. I train Monday through Thursday next week and then I get my teach on the following Monday. They're also going to get me my FM3 working visa after 3 months and will get me citizenship if I so desire it later on. My roommate, whose initials are also J.R. and that makes him even cooler, took me down there this morning like the nice guy he is and also explained the bus system to me. In Spanish. Fortunately my comprehension skills are moving along quite nicely and I got it, for the most part. The part I liked the best was when he dropped me off with a final piece of advice - "Watch out for the thieves." Great, thanks.

The worst was getting home. I watched the two bus numbers I wanted go right by me about a million times. When I finally found out where they were stopping, I waited there and watched 'em zoom right by me another million times. That was until some other guy came up and grabbed a bus, and I realized that apparently you have to flag it down, taxi-style. I ended up getting home safe in the end, all of my belongings unscathed.

So this neighborhood rocks my world. It's not fancy, and my spectacular view is now a thing of the past, but there's so many places I can walk to. Two gas stations, a grocery store, a video store, a bus stop, a tortillaria, a smoothie shop, this burger stand thing ( think State Fair food stands ) which I went to last night and has the most incredibly succulent burgers on the planet, a laundry mat, and a bar. Considering the fact that absolutely nothing was accessible to me from my last location, I hardly know what to do with myself.

I think that's it. I really wish I could have elaborated more on the individual aspects of these last twenty-four hours, but this has already gotten pretty long and I want to go and do some exploring.

Moving on

I had an interview a little while ago with Lingua Franca, a language-teaching school on University Avenue ( Hah. ) in Chihuahua. It went awfully well. I have to go back tomorrow to sit in on a class an bring in my resume, but the guy who interviewed me really wants me to work there so he's already scheduled me to come in for training for four days next week. There is potential for a lot of money, but it requires being assigned clients. Lingua Franca has contracts with several businesses that do work with English-speaking clients in Chihuahua. Those businesses will go through Lingua Franca to teach their employees English. I would essentially work one-on-one with businessmen and women to teach them upper-level English ( I can't teach fundamentals because in that case it's necessary to speak Spanish well enough to explain grammar, and that's out of the question ), being paid by the hour ( $10, which is unbelievable here. ). Problem is, I have to have enough clients and build a reputation before I really start reeling in the dough. In any case, I don't plan on turning it down if it works out. All the same, I have another interview at 5:00 tonight at another school, so I might have that to back me up.

After that 5:00 interview, I'm moving out. It's on to the new place, the casita. Which, apparently translates to "little house." "Ita/ito" is a suffix that indicates cuteness or "little-ness." I was supposed to move there tomorrow, but the family I'm staying with is going on a little road trip tomorrow morning and won't be able to relocate me then. I'd have to say the most obnoxious part about moving is that I haven't met my roommate yet. So tonight, I'm just going to be swinging open the door with my suitcases in hand and waving hello. It's going to be awkward.

Wait. That's not the most obnoxious part. The most obnoxious part is that I don't know if he has the internet there. If not, I'm going to have to bus to places with a WiFi connection in order to sign online and communicate with the outside world. I hope he has it connected already, but if not, I plan on getting it even if it means I have to eat celery sticks for the next few months to afford it. God.. what did people do 20 years ago? I feel the same fear going into an internet-less environment as I do when I lose my cell phone.

Anyway, if it takes me a little while to post again, that's why. The good news is that by the time I do, I should probably have something a little less mundane to talk about.

Adios, compadres.

Clever

First Luis was fighting with his dad, then his sister, so when dinner time came ( which is generally at about 2:30 here ) I decided not to join and remain hidden in my room. It was pretty awkward. I'm still a mortal though, so eventually got hungry and ran on an errand with Luis's sister and got her to take me through a drive through. I've had enough McDonalds and Wendy's in the good ol' U.S., so I had her take me somewhere authentically Mexican. So we went to Ricky's Tacos.

I paid five dollars and got two of the most delicious carnitas tacos ever, these bomb-ass refried beans, fries, a salad, and chips. I also got a drink. In this cup.



I love that guy in the picture. If I'm feeling down about sucking at Spanish I just need to look at how excited he is about his plate of meat and I feel so much better.

The other image of the cup says "Mmmmm.. Toltillas hechas a mano!" Mmm. Toltillas made by hand. What's a "toltilla"? You ask? Isn't it "toRtilla"? As it turns out, they're teasing the way United State-ers pronounce "tortilla". I found myself pretty entertained, I'm not gonna lie. Maybe I should have been offended, but, hey. It's funny.

They wait in the shadows...

Well I'm pretty sure that the position at the local university isn't going to work out. The person with whom I spoke today didn't seem very interested, but he directed me to another woman in the university who might have something for me. I have to give her a call in the morning. This is actually the second day in a row I've gotten bad news about it, so earlier when I was shot down I was feeling rather discouraged.

Fortunately, just yesterday or the day before I was given a sign from the heavens above.

I was eating these chips, right? There's this flavor here called Serrano, which is ridiculously delicious -- it's some variation on a jalepeno-type pepper. The same brand of chips has a habanero flavor as well, and since I live and breathe for spicy food, I snagged a bag. "Hot" doesn't even cover it. Normally I like the burn. It adds an element of danger, of adventure, of risk to ordinary cuisine. But these chips were just plain painful. They're the kind of torture you pawn off on someone you don't like. I kept on eating them anyway.

Suddenly, the clouds parted and I heard an angel hark from far away, and my fingers happened upon a most curious intruder in my bag of chips. I removed the interloper and lo and behold, I found a little Transformers toy. It was like Cracker Jacks, only not lame.

There's a surprise waiting in every spicy situation.

Feel free to spread that expression around. I'm gonna get people to start using it. "How's tricks? Not good, huh? Well don't worry, there's a surprise waiting in every spicy situation." Boom.

So, remember those mosquitoes I was pissing and moaning about? Well, I was starting to wonder where they went during the day. I mean, I know they really come out for the feast around dusk, but even in Minnesota you could find them any time. Here, the daytime is ruled by the common flies, and the evening is ruled by mosquitoes. One does not exist while the other does. It's like that old Greek tale about the sun and the moon. So I pondered the question of where they took refuge during the reign of the flies, and just the other day I happened upon my answer.



Yes, those are all mosquitoes. And that's only one corner. There's a big canopy of adobe above the back porch, and pretty much every shaded section of its ceiling was covered in mosquitoes. So they sleep away from the sun, upside down, during the day. Then at night they come out to feast on the blood of humans. Bram Stoker, eat your heart out.

15? Damnit.

I have an interview on Monday with the coordinator of the local University to teach English courses. It's pretty exciting. Coming here, I was expecting to be teaching private courses or tutoring, so this is a step up from my preconceptions of what my career will be like. It isn't set in stone or anything, but the prospect is just enough to make me tingle.

Apparently the job entails taking over a few courses of a few different levels. There are 20-some levels going on all the time, so I'll jump into whatever is available. It's 3,000 pesos a month per course, which is roughly equivalent to $300 ( the exchange rate is 11 pesos to a dollar, I believe ). It's not much, but a few courses will add up, and, even so, it's significantly more than the generally available salary in Mexico. Many jobs will pay you by the day, and the minimum wage is about $5 a day. So that being said, I have no reason to complain. In any case, I've always wanted to teach English, so... booya.

The newest maid is getting fired today. She lasted less than a week. From what I understand, she doesn't like taking orders and she gets pissy when the mother of the house is "in her way" while she's trying to clean. The catch-22 is that she works her ass off -- the woman has endless energy. And by that I mean she doesn't just wipe down the counter, she goes Mach 5 on it.

I suppose I get the reasoning behind letting her go, though; they're paying her more than they've ever paid a maid, and the you-work-for-me-so-do-as-you're-told mentality makes sense. It's just amusing that they go through maids so quickly. When I was here during Semana Santa, I saw three of them come and go.

Oh, and remember the other maid? It turns out she was 15. Welcome to my world.

Call me call me any, any time.

I should probably be sleeping rather than doing this, but, shoulda-coulda-woulda, you know?

Lucero ( the maid who got fired ) is officially gone and has been replaced by the Latina look-alike of L. Frank Baum's Wicked Witch of the West. I'm serious. If her skin was painted green, I might be tempted to start clicking my heels. Rude to say? Maybe, but maybe I'm just a little bitter that I've been stripped of my forbidden fantasies. Sue me for being cynical. In a display of true power of will, I will admit that this one is a bit more friendly. Lucero was friendly, but getting a word out of her was like squeezing a rock for water. This one, whose name I can't recall, is the top-of-the-morning-to-you type who likes go Mary Poppins-style with the broom. It's pretty entertaining. Is it sad that I'm more engrossed with the maids here than anything else?

Moving on, I bought a cell phone today. There are two cell phone companies here in Chihuahua ( maybe in Mexico in general, but I don't know ) -- Telcel and something else. Telcel's the most popular one from what I gathered, so I swooped that one up. And it also turns out that pay-as-you-go phones are vastly more popular here than they were back home; a good thing because as far as my Spanish goes, there's no way I could possibly handle a monthly contract with formalities and subclauses and all that.

The most curious curiosity about cell phones here is that there's a special way to dial them. Cell to cell, house to house, house to cell and cell to house. Each has its own formula. It's odd. I'm going to have to write down all the combinations, because I can't manage to remember them all, even though I've been asked and been answered about a half a dozen times already. I know that one or two involves dialing a total of 13 digits, which is just plain ridiculous. As if ten weren't enough.

On a more important note, the one being behind purchasing a cell phone, I have a new career opportunity. The cell phone is just for the purpose of having a direct number through which I can be contacted ( I haven't fooled myself into thinking that I'm going to be using it to maintain a social life any time soon ). Luis's godfather is tutored in English every Monday, and he talked to his tutor about careers in Chihuahua that involve speaking English. As it turns out, Chihuahua's university is looking for native English speakers to assist teaching there. I'm not going to get my hopes up or anything, but.. okay, yes I am. I really hope it pans out. This whole Spanish-learning thing is stressing me out so much; it would be glorious to be able to have my work be the one thing that didn't involve that particular stress. Anyway, I'm calling the tutor guy back tomorrow for more information, so I'll see what happens from there.

Lovelorn and itchy

As luck would have it, I mentioned to Luis the sauciness going on between his maid and I, and it turns out that today is her last day working for them. Unbeknown to her, of course, which is pretty sad. It turns out that the mother here isn't satisfied with the work she's doing. I can't imagine it's anything that bad because the poor girl is constantly cleaning. It seems like she's waiting around the corner for you to finish using a dish, because as soon as you set it down she leaps from hiding to clean it like it's the plague. I try and be polite and clean up after myself since I'm not a member of the family and she shouldn't have to wait on me, but if I leave the room for a second, everything is sparkling upon return and she's nowhere to be found. From what I was told, there was a dead fly on the floor and the mother noticed it was there for two days. Also, marks are beginning to appear on the surface of her marble and stainless-steel stove top from cleaning, and that's just not acceptable. In any case, she's cleaned her final dish and as of tomorrow a new girl shall resume her footsteps. The flames of passion were smothered before they could rage.

One flame that seems to remain ignited is the flame of hunger of Mexico's mosquitoes. Really, I am just plain flabbergasted by the sheer volume of mosquitoes here. I admit, I'm not an expert of mosquito habitat and behavior, but I thought that they flourished most in places where moisture is abundant. There's no f-ing water here, so I don't know what the hell is going on.

The worst part, by far, is that they're small. Very small. In Minnesota, they're large and if they bite you you can feel it. Not here. The sons o' bitches are masters in the art of ninjitsu, biting the shit out of you and moving right along before you ever knew they were there. Which makes the bites itch more, too, because since you don't know they're there, they take their sweet time to feast on your flesh to their little hearts' content. My feet in particular, since I tend to wear flip-flops here due to the scorching heat, look like the hosts of miniature mountain ranges.

Man, I had the most amazing hot dog last night. "Oh, how interesting, he ate a hot dog." Well let me finish, for God's sake. There was some neighborhood party last night and they rented a hot dog stand. Hot dog stands are everywhere, but I'm an American and hot dogs just don't impress me, so I never thought to get one. Well, I was hungry because I was told there'd be food there and thus didn't eat, so a hot dog it was.

Get this -- a hot dog, wrapped in bacon. Okay? They first lather a sesame seed hot dog bun with refried beans†. Then in goes the dog 'n bacon. Onions, little diced tomatoes, salsa verde, fives kinds of sauce ( one was mayonnaise, one was processed cheese sauce ( think Taco Bell cheese -- equally raunchy but even more delicious ) and the other three I couldn't even venture to guess, but they were good ), bacon bits, and crushed-up potato chips. Oh, and an extra chin. I'm pretty sure a health nut would have a coronary by just looking at one, but I totally ate two. Of course, since I was going to do more than sit around the house last night, I forgot to bring my camera. As usual. I bring it with me to go to the grocery store, you know, just in case, but when I really need it to take a picture of the Mount Olympus of hot dogs††, I forget it. Next time.

†You haven't eaten refried beans until you've eaten them here, so don't even try to tell me they're nasty.

††I asked, and it wasn't just this particular hot dog stand that makes hot dogs this way. It's all of 'em. That's right.

What's up?

It turns out that the Spanish language holds the key to about a million different ways of saying "What's up?" Well, maybe not a million, but so many that every time I think I've learned them all, someone will approach me with a brand new greeting that I later discover to mean "What's up?" again. So far, here are the ones I've learned:

¿Como estás?: Quite literally, "How are you?"
¿Qué pasa?: What happens?
¿Qué tal?: What's happening?
¿Qué rollo?: What rolls?
¿Qué onda?: What waves?
¿Qué pedo?: What farts?
¿Quiubo?: What happened?
¿Qué huele? What smells?

That's only so far what people have been able to explain. There are more. Many more. I see someone walking up to me and I prepare myself for one of my pre-learned forms of salutation, and, lo and behold they come up with something new. Usually I just stammer for a moment and say "Uh, si." Then they laugh. It's pretty magical.

I was thinking, and I suppose there are a lot of ways to say it in English, too. Let's see..

What's up?
What's happenin'?
How's it hangin'?
How's tricks?†
Holla!
How are you?
How's it goin'?
What's crackin'?

Okay, that's all I've got.

Fortunately most people I've met understand. I'm unanimously known as "Gringo" here, which is pretty much the equivalent of "cracker." I try to avoid using racial slurs at all costs, but I suppose I'll accept this. After all, Mexicans have it worse in the U.S. than we have it here in terms of discrimination, so it's only fair. In addition, there's no cruelty behind it, and it makes me think of watching movies where the white man busts a cocaine harvest in Columbia and everyone runs away screaming "Gringo, gringo!" Or of the menu at El Molcajete in Buffalo, MN, where there is a section of non-Mexican food consisting of burgers, fries, and chicken nuggets, the title of the section being "Para gringos ( for white people )."

In slightly different news, I think I might have a little thing for the maid. It's very Debbie Does Mexico. She happens to be the most subservient woman I've ever encountered and rarely looks you in the eye. I wouldn't say she's conventionally beautiful, but sometimes she'll walk by me and look up and give me this great big smile.

I dropped a placemat behind the drawer in the cabinet one day and asked her what I should do. She came over to help and while she did, her hand touched my arm. She froze for a second, looked away, and ran out of the room. I've also discovered that she likes to come into the room I sleep in while I'm in the shower and fold my dirty clothes. It's just a little bit disturbing, but so is the whole situation in all of its forbidden naughtiness, so I'll take it.

I need to take a shower.

†That one's actually mine. I've been trying to get it into circulation. So feel free to lend a helping hand and greet someone by asking, "How's tricks?" next time you get a chance. And if they look at you like an idiot, just say, "Dude, c'mon. Everyone says that. You've never heard that before?" Thank you for your support.

Mullets, Mustaches and Faux-Hawks

I'm going to start out by saying that it's been pretty mundane here, but I'm sure I'll write a shit-load anyway. Just a disclaimer.

For those who don't know, I moved here, to Mexico, on the 5th of August for no real particular reason. I guess I was just going nowhere in Minnesota and the routine was starting to get old. Same shit different day, you know? Basically handed to me on a silver platter was an opportunity to move to Mexico, so I took it. The opportunity came with everything -- a place to live in limbo, a place to move into afterwards, and a list of available jobs from which I could choose. I couldn't exactly say no without feeling like an idiot. I'm learning Spanish ( slowly ), writing a book, and beginning to lose weight, which, for me, are all goals I'd like to achieve anyway, but here I'm encompassed by something entirely new. Everything is fresh and different and I'm a couple of thousands of miles away from everything that pissed me off. So... a lot of people have asked me why I did it, and I suppose that's why.

Right now I'm living with the Blanco family. A mother, a father, a son in his last year of high school, a daughter in her first year of college, and another three-year-old son. It's pretty well balanced. The family dynamic here is so vastly different from that in the U.S. that it's almost disorienting. I'm not using this particular family as a control group, either; every family I've encountered so far has been so wrapped up in the unity of their family that everything else seems to hardly matter. There does exist such families in the U.S., but for the most part, Americans place achieving the American dream a bit higher on their list of priorities. I'm being treated very kindly, and I've been offered a helping hand in getting whatever necessities I need while I'm here. I admit that's a bit easier for this family than for most, probably, since it's one of the wealthiest families in the city. The father here is the owner of Chihuahua's ( Chihuahua is a state, the capital of which is Chihuahua City. It's the largest state in Mexico. ) largest pizza chain, called Pizza Del Rey ( Pizza of the King ). It has an ambiance similar to that of a Pizza Hut-Buffalo Wild Wings hybrid, and the menu labels its items with names of royalty ( The Duke's Choice, for example ) with traditional Mexican toppings ( olives, jalapenos, chorizo, bacon, etc. ). The uncle is the Mayor of Chihuahua City. I've yet to meet him, but his face is all over the city on propoganda for the upcoming election. Needless to say, they're wealthy and respected, but they show no signs of arrogance. Well, I suppose the oldest son does, a bit. He's a handsome guy, his family is what it is, and girls are constantly chasing his shirt tail, so it's to be expected I guess. He's still nice though.

Maybe mullets are out of style in the U.S., but here they flourish and blossom with grace. And it's not only middle-aged country folk who don't give a shit, either. The trend-setting age sports them with as much dignity as with one who would drive a Rolls-Royce. I'm dying to get a picture of one, but I'm finding it difficult to muster up the courage to ask someone to turn around so I can take a photo of their mullet.

It's not only mullets, either; mustaches are bountiful in what seems to be their natural habitat. Just-barely pubescent boys to wrinkly ancients take the lip bush to a whole new level. I witnessed a couple in which the girl was fondly running her fingers through the boy's mustache, and I realized the amazing powers it holds here in Mexico. If only I could grow one.

And faux-hawks. They're not just for the homosexual or pseudo-European community† anymore. They're everywhere. Even coupled with a mullet and a mustache. It doesn't matter what kind of hair you have -- short, long, curly, straight, thin, thick -- a faux-hawk is simply no faux here in Mexico. In any case, it's good to know that I can sport these forbidden styles here and get away with it. And all you U.S.'ers back home can kiss it because I know I'm sexy.

In completely different news, I witnessed my first fight the other night. To begin with, the running for student council seems to be a lot more elaborate here than it is in the U.S. ( at least compared to my high school ). The schools divide themselves into two parties, each nominating an official to run for class president ( sound familiar? ). They are each given a day during which they are expected to throw the most incredible party they possibly can, the point of which apparently being to see who has the greater skills in organization. I saw the rehearsal for one, and it was pretty damned incredible. About a hundred students had spent the last couple of weeks in choreography classes to learn some dance. It began with two girls climbing to the ceiling to do whatever it's called that they do in the suspended hoops. Then the dance began, and it wasn't just some silly line dancing, it was good.

Anyway.. on the final day, the school gets together to party outside of school. The goal is to stay awake all night to watch the sunrise as a form of tradition that has apparently been kept for over 20 years. I went with Luis to partake in the high school festivities††, and the first thing we discovered was that the party was being broken up because the neighbor threatened to call the cops. So they all relocated ( "they all" being about 250 people ). The new location was good for about 15 minutes before red-and-blue started to flash and they all scattered like a crack house drug bust. The next location lasted for about 30 minutes, about ten of which I enjoyed because upon arrival, a mob was gathering around a fight. Well, for me it was just a mob because I had no idea what was going on when Luis hit the breaks, threw on the emergency break and bolted from the car to join in on the action. I wasn't aware that it was a fight until someone walked past the window with an eye gushing blood through his fingers. It was somewhat disturbing how excited everyone was over the fact that there was a fight. Numerous people approached me later that evening to tell me that it sucked for me that I didn't get there in time to see it. What I wanted to do was lecture them on the impropriety of glorifying violence ( especially among their friends ), but I need to build rapport and being an stiff isn't going to help. After all that went down and we spent some time where we were, we found some other place that remained calm an friendly for the rest of the evening/morning. I meant to watch the parade, but when we returned home for showers, I just passed out. I'm getting too old for all-nighters.

That's the latest here in Mexico. Sad, isn't it? An observation in fashion and a fist-fight. I haven't gotten out much, I admit. I spend a lot of time in the house studying Spanish in preparation for the time I'll be spending on my own. 'Til next time.

† Sorry for the generalization, but it's true, isn't it?
†† Don't judge me. I'm bored.

Hola, de Mexico

So, I'm here. In Mexico. Getting my Mexican on. I admittedly haven't done a whole lot since I arrived on Sunday. Mostly, Luis has been dragging me along to parties thrown by his friends in order to get their last hurrah in before school resumes. I go because it's something to do rather than sit around in the house, but when I'm there I don't do much more than stand in the corner with a beer and wrap myself in silence. I was almost positive I'd learned enough Spanish prior to coming here that I would be able to function at at least a basic level of communication. Unfortunately, I've discovered two things -- native speakers will never speak like a text book and will always speak about a thousand miles an hour. And, if you attempt to say something in Spanish, they will assume that you're reasonably adept in their language and will respond with fluency, resulting in having your face contort into one of those stupid looks.

I did go to one party which one fun, though, most of the thanks for that going to good ol' Tecate beer, grand in its power to lubricate my frozen social senses. A lot of Luis's friends speak English rather well, since they were apparently exchange students over the last couple of years. One guy in particular challenged me to a tequila guzzling competition. It was some cheap, bottom of the barrel tequila that tasted like water with a hint of flavor. It costs $1.80 for a bottle, so that should tell you something. It could have been that I was already well on my way to being sufficiently inebriated, but it was easy to drink. We were trying to see who could take the longest pull. I drank him under the table and easily emerged victorious. I think in the end, though, I was the ultimate loser -- I experienced the grand champion of headaches the following morning.

As long as I'm on the topic of booze, I would like to announce that it can be purchased anywhere, any day, and 3.2 beer is an urban legend. You can buy it on Sundays, and you can hardly go three blocks without seeing another vendor which sells it. Also, my attempts to quit smoking have been thwarted by the insanely inexpensive tobacco sales here in Mexico. For $1.80, you can get a 25-pack of cigarettes. That's right, I said 25-pack. So, here in Mexico, I can satisfy both of my disgusting vices on any day and on a budget. What more could I ask for?

Well, food is another vice, but that goes without saying -- everything I've eaten here has sent my taste buds on a fantastic adventure. Except for chicharron. I haven't eaten it during this particular time in Mexico; I had it when I was here over Spring Break. Chicharron is an interesting cultural phenomenon which results from boiling the skin of a pig until it is reduced to a translucent, gelatinous mass. It's possible I could have tolerated it had I not known what it was, but even that's unlikely considering that it looks like a meat Jell-o. But with the exception of that vomitous delicacy, everything I've eaten here has been incredible.

Much to my dismay, it turns out that tarantulas have no problem running amok here. Luis knew that spiders, for me, are the equivalent of the apocalypse, so before I came here he had no problem telling me that they were everywhere. I thought he was just trying to scare me. Quite on the contrary, however, for upon arrival, I was greeted by the horrific visage of the most terrifying eight-legged monstrosity I'd ever seen. Fortunately, it was captive in a plastic box, and later escaped. From the garage, of course. I don't think I'd be writing this if it had escaped in the house. Then, yesterday, we found another one, dead, on the ledge outside of one of the bedroom windows. The father in the house swept it off the ledge into a box that Luis was holding down below.



Yes, it's disgusting, I know. Unfortunately I didn't think to take a picture of the miserable centipede that came galloping its hundred legs out from the grill cover as Luis and I tried to put it on. It came out of nowhere and nearly sent me into traumatic shock. I know I'm not the biggest fan of insects or arachnids in general, but even for the not-so-faint of heart, this was the seed of the devil in the form of a 9-inch long orange beast. Luis took a can of AXE body spray and a lighter and torched the little shit after first drenching it in pesticide. I felt a little guilty at that point, I admit, as it wriggled and squirmed until it finally shuddered and died ungracefully. May you rest in peace, you disgusting, filthy creature.

Well, that's about it for now. Not a whole lot has happened, event-wise. I just realized I wrote a whole hell of a lot for not a whole lot happening, so I'll close off here with a picture of the city from the balcony of the house I'm at. I love you, Minnesota people.