When I went shopping in the US & A I was repeatedly struck by the fact that all the fruit and vegetables came from Mexico. Once I even began to wonder what do the Mexicans get to eat.
Visiting the supermarket here the other day I realised that the answer to that question is, all the stuff that can't be sold to the US. The produce is all of the lowest quality - there is none of that shiny, untarnished fruit and veggies available north of the border. In fact most of it is so bad, its not really that tempting to buy.
Thus we learn, in this globalised world, the people who actually plant the seeds, grow up the fruit and vegetables never get to eat what they make. (Instead they are stuck eating tripa and deep fried tacos)
A travel blog for the thinking clown who has drunk a little too much of the local tap water
Salvacion - Mexican perfection
Pascuales filth, and no one out......yetAs I copped another set on the head after being caught in another barrel, all I could think was why did I ever leave the waves.
So, apologies Huey, how could I have ever doubted you.
The street and the smell - Viva Mexico
Mexico, mi querido Mexico.
Somehow making it through to the next day, through a haze of beer and tequila, I am struck by the power of the sun - it reminds me how the light in Guadalajara was always so bright. However after two months away from the sun, its warmth on my skin is incredibly invigorating. I stand in the street with my arms spread, trying to soak up as much of it as possible, secretly hoping that it will provide a cathartic defrosting of my frozen insides.
The other thing I notice in the street is la suiciedad - the filth. The streets are covered in crap, there is a thick, black dust covering everything - it never rains here - and the most potent of all - the smell. Somehow in the two months in the US & A I forgot what it was like to smell public smells - I guess the absolute cold and the lack of gathering spaces kills any public smells. Wandering through the streets here it is impossible to avoid -every block has it's odour. From small back alleyways which reek of sun dried urine, to stretches dominated by the smell wafting from the taco stand frying some part of some animal, all competing against the background of general third world city odour - a mix of sewerage, cooking and decomposing food, car exhaust and the sweat of four million people eking out a living in a generally unforgiving city.
For the first time in a while I feel alive, and connected to the throbbing mass that is humanity.
On a wing and a prayer (II)
I finally got around to leaving the US & A, after a brief visit with Sarah in Fort Worth, Texas. As I step on to the plane I think to myself, maybe silver was a good colour for American Airlines to paint their planes back in the 50's, but with all those rivets, and with the fact that nobody has been using that Nufinish magic silver polishing stuff they used to advertise on TV, the planes look like they are from the 1950's. Stepping on to the plane I am not exactly overwhelmed with confidence - a common occurrence it seems for us folk who travel on budget airlines.
About an hour in to the flight I get up to go to the toilet I what do I see the air hostess reading as I walk past - yep you guessed it the Holy Bible. On a closer inspection it turns out to be the book of Samuel - only the old testament in these parts. (The book of Samuel is aboout Saul trying to get in God's good books but failing because he was disobedient - if you wanted to know)
Sitting back in my seat I think to myself, so what does an air hostess reading the bible during a flight tell you ?
a) the plane is about to crash and we are all damned
a) the plane is about to crash and we are all damned
b) we are all damend and thus the plane will crash
c) whether the plane crashes or not we are all damned (so vote for Bush)
d) all of the above
Anybody got any suggestions ?
Yeahhhaaw.....(with a Texan accent)
Giddy up !!!
To the world Texas is famous for it's oil, the monkey they sent to the White House and its cowboys. (Funnily enough each pretty much has the same IQ) And in Texas, Fort Worth is cowboy capital. There are still stockyards in the town, filled with trailers (what we know as caravans) lived in by real modern day cowboys.
Whilst I didn't quite make it to the stock yards or see a rodeo (my fault Sarah, but it will draw me back) I did manage to get this photo out the front of the Cowboy Musuem. All I need now is a cowboy hat, a hubristic sense of imperialism and a curious inability to finish my sentences and I could become an honorary Texan. Yeahhhaaw
Whilst I didn't quite make it to the stock yards or see a rodeo (my fault Sarah, but it will draw me back) I did manage to get this photo out the front of the Cowboy Musuem. All I need now is a cowboy hat, a hubristic sense of imperialism and a curious inability to finish my sentences and I could become an honorary Texan. Yeahhhaaw
10 years younger with absolutely no effort.... Guaranteed
The first thing that struck me about TV in the US is the number of ads for cosmetics - it seems there is a cream, shake, exercise regime, new wonder home gym or television makeover program to get you looking younger than you ever were. I however discovered a far easier, cheaper and more ego-boosting method than all of those.... Simply go to a bar in the US & A
The first time I went out to a bar in Colorado, a dusty dive at that, I got carded - that is the barman asked me for ID. The leagl drinking age in most US states is 21, and the more that I think about it the more I come to realise that the US is probably the only place in the world where I would be asked for ID to drink. Now that I am the ripe old age of 31, and I clearly look my age, it is a rare occurence to be asked to show ID.
Of course in my usual style, carrying ID is a little problematic - whilst I do have a driver's licence it is expired so I prefer not to carry that in case the police stop me and notice - so all I had to show that night was my International Driver's Licence. If you have ever seen an IDL you understand why the barman immediately had some doubts. (again I keep thinking to myself, but I am 31, I look 31, I have a beard - do you really think I would go to all this trouble of producing an IDL to be able to get a drink in this divvy bar?) The barman couldn't find the date of birth on the IDL, so I indicated where it was written. "But that is just written in pen" he said.... (Again the thoughts about the effort required for the fraud) Unconvinced the barman goes off to see the manager.
Meanwhile my drinking companion is laughing at me, whilst I am engaged by some drunks at the bar who try the old - what is your star sign ? trick. (Little do they know that when I was 16 or 17 I learnt all the star signs to match my real age) Finally the managed comes out, introduces himself, shakes my hand, turns to the barman and says, "That's fine".
So everytime I went to a bar after that I always looked forward to that moment when the person serving me or working at the door would look at me and ask for identification. In Colorado it never happened again, but on my last night out in the US & A in Texas I went to a martini bar and I was not dissapointed.
After ensconsing ourselves on a comfy leather couch, perusing the seemingly endless list of martini possibilities and finally deciding what we wanted, the waitress looked us all over and asked for identification. Having already had a few drinks (and secure in the knowledge that I had my passport if need be) I asked the waitress if she really thought I was under 21. Her reply was, "Oh no...but we have to ask everybody who looks under thirty". This was red rag to a bull stuff - so you think I am under 30 ? I asked. "Yes", she replied, "exactly how old are you ?"
It may have been the alcohol, the dim lighting or the side effects of the giardia consuming the fish tacos in my stomach, but all of a sudden I felt younger than I had for a long time....(and the martinis were delicious)
The first time I went out to a bar in Colorado, a dusty dive at that, I got carded - that is the barman asked me for ID. The leagl drinking age in most US states is 21, and the more that I think about it the more I come to realise that the US is probably the only place in the world where I would be asked for ID to drink. Now that I am the ripe old age of 31, and I clearly look my age, it is a rare occurence to be asked to show ID.
Of course in my usual style, carrying ID is a little problematic - whilst I do have a driver's licence it is expired so I prefer not to carry that in case the police stop me and notice - so all I had to show that night was my International Driver's Licence. If you have ever seen an IDL you understand why the barman immediately had some doubts. (again I keep thinking to myself, but I am 31, I look 31, I have a beard - do you really think I would go to all this trouble of producing an IDL to be able to get a drink in this divvy bar?) The barman couldn't find the date of birth on the IDL, so I indicated where it was written. "But that is just written in pen" he said.... (Again the thoughts about the effort required for the fraud) Unconvinced the barman goes off to see the manager.
Meanwhile my drinking companion is laughing at me, whilst I am engaged by some drunks at the bar who try the old - what is your star sign ? trick. (Little do they know that when I was 16 or 17 I learnt all the star signs to match my real age) Finally the managed comes out, introduces himself, shakes my hand, turns to the barman and says, "That's fine".
So everytime I went to a bar after that I always looked forward to that moment when the person serving me or working at the door would look at me and ask for identification. In Colorado it never happened again, but on my last night out in the US & A in Texas I went to a martini bar and I was not dissapointed.
After ensconsing ourselves on a comfy leather couch, perusing the seemingly endless list of martini possibilities and finally deciding what we wanted, the waitress looked us all over and asked for identification. Having already had a few drinks (and secure in the knowledge that I had my passport if need be) I asked the waitress if she really thought I was under 21. Her reply was, "Oh no...but we have to ask everybody who looks under thirty". This was red rag to a bull stuff - so you think I am under 30 ? I asked. "Yes", she replied, "exactly how old are you ?"
It may have been the alcohol, the dim lighting or the side effects of the giardia consuming the fish tacos in my stomach, but all of a sudden I felt younger than I had for a long time....(and the martinis were delicious)
Just like a country song... but worse
Driving across western Colorado, on roads carved through narrow gorges, on to dry, flat planes, with the horizon obscured by snow tipped mountains I grew a little tired of my music selection and decided to do a little radio exploration. Unfortunately my steed, a green Toyota that went by the name Al, appeared to have had a small antenna accident. Thus I was left with the choice of one radio station - and of course it had to be a country music station.
Deciding to immerse myself in the local kultcha I endured a couple of hours of back to back country music - interrupted every once in a while by an announced who gave the latest news on what some country singers were up to, updates on the weather - dry and hot, tending drier and hotter, and some tips about how to completely decimate fragile soil in you all terrain vehicle. (Unfortunately I didn't hang around to hear the shootin' and huntin' tips)
I was on a big interstate highway, and as the landscape was fairly sparse, I was able to give plenty of attention to the lyrics of the songs I heard and started to notice a few patterns or genres which each song seems to fall in.
The first is the, he is a good, old southern man with a heart of gold, living in a small town, like his papa did, with his good woman wife and his kids, tending the land by hand, and sitting on the porch of his hand built cabin. Essentially this genre has no conflict, other than to show how much better things were in the past - especially since there are no pesky natives, blacks, feminists, anti-gun freaks etc etc.
This category has been modernised, with its leading song entitled "Thank god I'm still a guy", a forceful statement by country men against the whole metrosexual movement. Apparently being a guy involves: truck drivin', bull ridin', gun carrying, being proud of the flag (and one might also suggest tight jean wearing, hanging with other guys and spending a lot of tie pooishing those boots and getting the hair to sit just right). Here and there a woman might try and change her guy - but that's like asking a man who drives a Ford to try a Chevrolet.
Obviously this makes country guys extremely attractive, so there is a genre that talks about how well bred woman (yes I heard those very words) are attracted to country boys - much to the disgust of their parents, who spent a lot of coin sending their daughters to expensive schools to learn manners, comportment etc etc
Now I admit I have really been skirting around the edges of country music genres, at the heart of country music lies one key theme - love. Now of course this category has a whole range of subgenres - from the famous Stand By Your Man category to the corny, We Met in High School and Are Still Together category to the Despite the Fact that I am a Big Fat Red Neck I Still Managed to Convince Her That I am Worth It.
My favourite however was what is known as the Anti-Love Song, which can be basically summed up as You Were the Biggest Mistake I Ever Made and You Suck. The interesting thing is that this is a genre open to both men and women - which leads me to the favourite line I heard during my country music marathon - and I quote
At the end of the day, there is a lot of men (probably with facial hair) singing about their feelings towards women and cows, whilst trying to remain manly. I guess they think they are pulling it off.
And to finish on a laugh check out this blog post entitled "Make McCain condemn country music"
in response to some commentators blaming Obama for rap music, the author calls for John McCain to distance himself from country music..... touche
Deciding to immerse myself in the local kultcha I endured a couple of hours of back to back country music - interrupted every once in a while by an announced who gave the latest news on what some country singers were up to, updates on the weather - dry and hot, tending drier and hotter, and some tips about how to completely decimate fragile soil in you all terrain vehicle. (Unfortunately I didn't hang around to hear the shootin' and huntin' tips)
I was on a big interstate highway, and as the landscape was fairly sparse, I was able to give plenty of attention to the lyrics of the songs I heard and started to notice a few patterns or genres which each song seems to fall in.
The first is the, he is a good, old southern man with a heart of gold, living in a small town, like his papa did, with his good woman wife and his kids, tending the land by hand, and sitting on the porch of his hand built cabin. Essentially this genre has no conflict, other than to show how much better things were in the past - especially since there are no pesky natives, blacks, feminists, anti-gun freaks etc etc.
This category has been modernised, with its leading song entitled "Thank god I'm still a guy", a forceful statement by country men against the whole metrosexual movement. Apparently being a guy involves: truck drivin', bull ridin', gun carrying, being proud of the flag (and one might also suggest tight jean wearing, hanging with other guys and spending a lot of tie pooishing those boots and getting the hair to sit just right). Here and there a woman might try and change her guy - but that's like asking a man who drives a Ford to try a Chevrolet.
Obviously this makes country guys extremely attractive, so there is a genre that talks about how well bred woman (yes I heard those very words) are attracted to country boys - much to the disgust of their parents, who spent a lot of coin sending their daughters to expensive schools to learn manners, comportment etc etc
Now I admit I have really been skirting around the edges of country music genres, at the heart of country music lies one key theme - love. Now of course this category has a whole range of subgenres - from the famous Stand By Your Man category to the corny, We Met in High School and Are Still Together category to the Despite the Fact that I am a Big Fat Red Neck I Still Managed to Convince Her That I am Worth It.
My favourite however was what is known as the Anti-Love Song, which can be basically summed up as You Were the Biggest Mistake I Ever Made and You Suck. The interesting thing is that this is a genre open to both men and women - which leads me to the favourite line I heard during my country music marathon - and I quote
You can just feel a Jerry Springer episode coming on !!So go ahead and tell your friends that I’m obsessive, and crazy,
That’s fine I’ll tell mine you’re gay! And by the way-
I hate that stupid old pick up truck you never let me drive,
You’re a redneck heart break who’s really bad at lyin’
Just watch me strike a match on all my wasted time,
As far as I’m concerned, you’re, Just another picture ta burn.
There’s no time for tears, I’m just sitting here, planin my revenge
There’s nothin stoppin me, from goin out with all a your best friend
At the end of the day, there is a lot of men (probably with facial hair) singing about their feelings towards women and cows, whilst trying to remain manly. I guess they think they are pulling it off.
And to finish on a laugh check out this blog post entitled "Make McCain condemn country music"
in response to some commentators blaming Obama for rap music, the author calls for John McCain to distance himself from country music..... touche
American Men and Facial Hair
Perhaps it is the Chuck Norris effect or a hang over from the Village People, but there seems to be something about American men and facial hair.
At first I thought it was just the heavy machine operators - plough drivers, bulldozers, truckies and the loggers. But then I noticed that you don't just have to operate a big machine or be a Nascar driver to let it all hang out on your chin. Facial follicles it appears is the new black for American men.
Whilst I can concede, having tried it out for a while myself, that the beard is quite a good insulator against the cold, I am talking about a whole different category of facial fashion than the wild man from Borneo unkempt for winter look.
The most disturbing of all is the cropped tash (moustache for those not in the know) look which seems to be all the rage. (Which I have subsequently spotted being worn by American surfers on the beaches of Mexico)
It all makes me think of the fact that they must be something to hide, or whatever it was that Frued said about men with facial hair.
This might all just stem from the fact that my attempts to join the club simply result in immediate laughter from anyone who sees me, I still think there must be something in the water.
Sometimes when on the road one's sense of self embarrasment is greatly reduced (what more can be said)
At first I thought it was just the heavy machine operators - plough drivers, bulldozers, truckies and the loggers. But then I noticed that you don't just have to operate a big machine or be a Nascar driver to let it all hang out on your chin. Facial follicles it appears is the new black for American men.
Whilst I can concede, having tried it out for a while myself, that the beard is quite a good insulator against the cold, I am talking about a whole different category of facial fashion than the wild man from Borneo unkempt for winter look.
The most disturbing of all is the cropped tash (moustache for those not in the know) look which seems to be all the rage. (Which I have subsequently spotted being worn by American surfers on the beaches of Mexico)
It all makes me think of the fact that they must be something to hide, or whatever it was that Frued said about men with facial hair.
This might all just stem from the fact that my attempts to join the club simply result in immediate laughter from anyone who sees me, I still think there must be something in the water.
Sometimes when on the road one's sense of self embarrasment is greatly reduced (what more can be said)Hulk Hogan - Personification of America
Well I guess its true, old heroes never die, they just show the effects of drug use and have to sell out to anyone who will fork over the cash to keep that limelight deficiency disorder in check… Yep that is Hulk Hogan, the wrestler who dominated the WWF in the late 80’s and early 90’s, pounding the baddies to the canvas over and over.In a way the Hulk is a bit like the US – in the 80’s it was oh so easy – clearly the Russians (represented by Nikolai Volkov) and the Arabs (represented by the Iron Sheik) were the bad guys (maybe that’s why US troops in Iraq still get confused about how the Iraqis are on our side). Despite the fact that they cheated – sometimes with the collusion of the ref, in the end the Hulk would have them down for the count.In a way, Hulk is a great metaphor for today’s world. These days who knows who is the enemy despite massive promotional efforts by Vince McMahon/WWF and the Government alike no one is really sure who it is we are supposed to be fighting - some guy dressed in a sheet in a cave in Pakistan with his network of Internet fanatics – the enemy is everywhere and how can you body slam that. And just like the Hulk the good ol’ USA looks like it has seen better times as well – after all rampant laissez faire capitalism and the buyer takes all elections have had the same effect on the body politic as years of steroid use has on the wrestler’s body – some things you just can’t hide.We live in uncertain times, and an old wrestler has still got to make a buck…maybe to buy a little hair replacement cream !!
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