So, I told my parents about this, but I never got around to writing about it on the blog, because I got sick, haha.
Last Sunday I met my friend John from Cleveland and the local bar that's about in between his hotel and my apartment. We met randomly there during the Spain v. Italy match and just talked for several hours. He's about 40, straight, and pretty much hilarious. A very typical Midwesterner, he's got a very open mind. He admitted having a poor opinion of the Mexican people...before he came here and kept up with their 11 hour days, 6 days a week. Needless to say, a newfound appreciation for the average worker here...and in the U.S.
Well, he was going back to his hotel after the match to meet a "señorita" he had met the night before, haha. Awesome.
So I was left at this bar (in Zona Rosa, which doubles as both the main tourist hang out and the gay area of town) with a free shot and a couple of beers. Seated at the table literally next to me were four very obvious Americans.
Perhaps it's a good time to explain how I was dressed. Spain jersey. Old Navy Shorts. Birkenstocks.
And I had been talking with a blue-blooded American for the last 3 hours.
I turned towards them and asked simply: "Hey, you mind if I join ya'll" (trying to throw in my best Midwestern tune)
And was greeted with an eminently polite: "Go to hell, faggot" which was followed by laughter and high-fives.
So, I sat there. And looked at them, incredulously.
"What, you don't get it, FAGGOT? Fuck off!"
So, I simply say, "Uh, what? My friend went to meet his girlfriend, so I was just hoping to talk to other Americans.."
Which was of course trumped by: "Look, cocksucker, if we wanted to talk to you, we'd let you know, so go back to sitting there and waiting for another cock" and another round of high-fives.
I'm not making this shit up. Someone said this to me. As an introduction.
Let's be clear, I've never even seen anything approaching this in Mexico. This of the über-Machismo, ultra-Maculine society. No, it takes a bunch of redneck Americans to remind me...that well, we pretty much suck, and I'm glad that they don't have conceal and carry laws here.
And let's also be clear that I really was not putting off that vibe, in the least.
So, let's just finish with, if you ever wonder why the world hates us, remember that all of these guys had "Semper Fidelis" tattoed on their legs.
Yea, these are the fuckers that represent us overseas by killing off anyone who they even begin to consider, ahem, "inferior"
No wonder. If you can't even start a conversation with them as an American over a beer, how can you convince them not to kill you when they're holding a gun at you...and you don't speak English.
04 July 2008
So the Betting Is Over
Sorry for no posts in a while.
First, I got a horrible bug from something or another last Sunday.
Our choices:
1. Don Julio Tequila, more than 6 beers, and at least 2 random shots sent from the bar to our rowdy table @ El Bar Español
2. Un hamburgesa y 3 more beers and yet another round sent to a NEW group at a NEW table @ Champion
3. 2 beers (hey, I had to work in the morning) with yet ANOTHER group @ Random Cantina Whose Name I Will Never Remember
4. 1 rum and coke @ Seedy Gay Bar That I Somehow Ended Up At With "Oswaldo" y "Francisco"
Anyone who doesn't bet #4 should be shot.
Our second round of betting, when would Bradley first avoid being kidnapped/mugged.
Anyone who bet today, wins!
Except, it was scary as fuck. Think of two men about the size, consistency, and demeanor of Carlos Zambrano following you for about 8 blocks as you zigzag away from your apartment to avoid letting them know where you live.
Yea, that happened. I finally, like 8 or nine blocks of random turns got in a taxi at a light that was just about to change and got in, handed him 50 pesos and said:
"Conduce. No me importa a donde. CONDUCE"
Which in my limited Spanish would translate to:
"Holy shit, drive, I don't fucking care where we go, DRIVE"
About 9 or 10 blocks later (I asked him to take a couple random turns too) I got out and meandered my way back home.
Let's just say...it was scary as shit. Who knows if those guys were just playing around or if by some twisted joke of fate actually had to follow that route, or if more likely they just saw a decent target, in any case, when the BIG MOOSE x2 is following you around a city known for kidnapping Americans, it's not really worth finding out.
Or for that matter, looking to the police for help.
Happy 4th
I'm going to go drink a beer. Cause that was one crazy fucking day.
First, I got a horrible bug from something or another last Sunday.
Our choices:
1. Don Julio Tequila, more than 6 beers, and at least 2 random shots sent from the bar to our rowdy table @ El Bar Español
2. Un hamburgesa y 3 more beers and yet another round sent to a NEW group at a NEW table @ Champion
3. 2 beers (hey, I had to work in the morning) with yet ANOTHER group @ Random Cantina Whose Name I Will Never Remember
4. 1 rum and coke @ Seedy Gay Bar That I Somehow Ended Up At With "Oswaldo" y "Francisco"
Anyone who doesn't bet #4 should be shot.
Our second round of betting, when would Bradley first avoid being kidnapped/mugged.
Anyone who bet today, wins!
Except, it was scary as fuck. Think of two men about the size, consistency, and demeanor of Carlos Zambrano following you for about 8 blocks as you zigzag away from your apartment to avoid letting them know where you live.
Yea, that happened. I finally, like 8 or nine blocks of random turns got in a taxi at a light that was just about to change and got in, handed him 50 pesos and said:
"Conduce. No me importa a donde. CONDUCE"
Which in my limited Spanish would translate to:
"Holy shit, drive, I don't fucking care where we go, DRIVE"
About 9 or 10 blocks later (I asked him to take a couple random turns too) I got out and meandered my way back home.
Let's just say...it was scary as shit. Who knows if those guys were just playing around or if by some twisted joke of fate actually had to follow that route, or if more likely they just saw a decent target, in any case, when the BIG MOOSE x2 is following you around a city known for kidnapping Americans, it's not really worth finding out.
Or for that matter, looking to the police for help.
Happy 4th
I'm going to go drink a beer. Cause that was one crazy fucking day.
23 June 2008
Machismo
Quick post about machismo, mainly because I'm too exhausted.
Only major incident I've had involved eating dinner. That place where I got the 1/4 chicken, well I went back for lunch one day, and sat down at the counter, where all the day-laborers usually sit (no tables available). I got my food and started off first without really using any hot sauce or peppers. It didn't take me long to realize that at least two of the groups of guys were laughing at me.
So the next tortilla-worth of food, I ate a ridiculous amount of hot sauce along with equal amounts jalapeños and chicken. Let's just say my whole head felt like I was getting punched. The worst part was that before I did this, I forgot I didn't have any water or other liquid.
So I sat there, basically dying, eating an insane amount of hot sauce and jalapeños.
Suddenly the guy next to me introduced himself. The same guy who I had heard involved in a lot of gringo related jokes.
I feel like an idiot for trying to prove my machismo like that, but damn if it is ever a good way to get respect at a diner.
Also, I don't think I remember what non-hot food tastes like. Seriously
Only major incident I've had involved eating dinner. That place where I got the 1/4 chicken, well I went back for lunch one day, and sat down at the counter, where all the day-laborers usually sit (no tables available). I got my food and started off first without really using any hot sauce or peppers. It didn't take me long to realize that at least two of the groups of guys were laughing at me.
So the next tortilla-worth of food, I ate a ridiculous amount of hot sauce along with equal amounts jalapeños and chicken. Let's just say my whole head felt like I was getting punched. The worst part was that before I did this, I forgot I didn't have any water or other liquid.
So I sat there, basically dying, eating an insane amount of hot sauce and jalapeños.
Suddenly the guy next to me introduced himself. The same guy who I had heard involved in a lot of gringo related jokes.
I feel like an idiot for trying to prove my machismo like that, but damn if it is ever a good way to get respect at a diner.
Also, I don't think I remember what non-hot food tastes like. Seriously
21 June 2008
Street Names, or Who Wants to Live on HEGEL
(Note, this is going to be an insanely long post, but probably my favorite so far)
Yea, that's right. This is a common theme in Mexico. Like our forefathers in los Estados Unidos, there was a bit of a European...uh, love going on. Except here, the rich were straight up European surrounded by millions of natives. So in order to preserve their idea of Europe, two major things happened that I've noticed so far.
First, the rich act like they're living in 19th century Europe. They have a lot of the same formalities, a lot of the same rules governing conduct between classes, etc. Two examples happened just yesterday about this.
We had this meeting in the gallery yesterday. Before it started, all of the spare chairs in the gallery were rounded up and put up in an empty display room, that apparently doubles as a meeting room. I have no idea who brought them up there, but they were there. The meeting ended and everyone started back to their offices, all of which are on different floors, most downstairs where the chairs came from.
Not one person took their chair with them. Instead they let Edith, the tiny 4'10" 65 year old woman carry all of these chairs up and down the stairs. Edith is the all-purpose cleaning and cooking woman at the gallery. I couldn't believe it, so I went and took as many as I could, as she was clearly struggling.
The next was at lunch. Edith cooked an insanely delicious meal for a "gallery lunch." She served the entire meal, which was okay considering that that was pretty much her job title. But the other maintenance staff, who not only basically run the entire place, but are in charge of caring for and protecting all this ridiculous artwork, including wrapping them in bubble wrap which is incredibly difficult and time consuming, was forced to eat outside the room we were in, despite a lot of open seats at the table. Remember, there's only 10 people that work there at all, so any divisions are purely invented. It was just weird (although we all got tequila...)
The other main thing they did that I've noticed so far is street naming. Not kidding. It's unbelievable, and almost entirely in the wealthy portions of town.
For instance, I live on Biarritz (a beach city in France, known for being incredibly glitzy) and my cross streets are Londres and Hamburgo. The streets to either side are Praga and Sevilla. Let's just say my entire neighborhood is city names from the Old World or the megalopolises of Asia (Tokio)
I meant to mark where it is I live, but it's easy enough to find. Between Sevilla and Praga in the bottom left corner. It's only one block long, haha.
But look at all the names. It's like someone pulled out a map of Europe and wrote down everything he saw on Mexico City.
And of course the rivers, I find these particularly amusing.
But nothing does justice like living on one of the great lakes. Haha, who wants to live by Lake Erie, when you can live on it in la Ciudad.
But of course, here is where it gets messed up. Apparently, whatever socialite was responsible for all this naming of streets ran out of things on the map of Europe on which to transplant to the map in Mexico.
So he apparently opened up a "Who's Who of Europe" and came up with this disaster. Mind you the next two slides are only about 2 of 5 I could have made, but these two are particularly hilarious.
I mean seriously. Darwin? Hegel? Just plain silly. Living on Gutenberg is actually impressive, it's a very beautiful street. But really. Gutenberg?
Other things to point out:
1. Even in Mexico, Leibniz and Newton don't see eye-to-eye.
2. Who gave Rousseau such a small street?
3. Sorry Dave, even in Mexico poor Tesla gets no credit. (and notice Curie and Emerson to point out that he probably should have, not to mention Edison)
But easily the best part is the "Writer's District." My relative actually lives very near here. But still, just silly. All writers and thinkers.
Catch you on Ibsen Street. I can't even say that with a straight face. Bernard Shaw would be proud.
Yea, that's right. This is a common theme in Mexico. Like our forefathers in los Estados Unidos, there was a bit of a European...uh, love going on. Except here, the rich were straight up European surrounded by millions of natives. So in order to preserve their idea of Europe, two major things happened that I've noticed so far.
First, the rich act like they're living in 19th century Europe. They have a lot of the same formalities, a lot of the same rules governing conduct between classes, etc. Two examples happened just yesterday about this.
We had this meeting in the gallery yesterday. Before it started, all of the spare chairs in the gallery were rounded up and put up in an empty display room, that apparently doubles as a meeting room. I have no idea who brought them up there, but they were there. The meeting ended and everyone started back to their offices, all of which are on different floors, most downstairs where the chairs came from.
Not one person took their chair with them. Instead they let Edith, the tiny 4'10" 65 year old woman carry all of these chairs up and down the stairs. Edith is the all-purpose cleaning and cooking woman at the gallery. I couldn't believe it, so I went and took as many as I could, as she was clearly struggling.
The next was at lunch. Edith cooked an insanely delicious meal for a "gallery lunch." She served the entire meal, which was okay considering that that was pretty much her job title. But the other maintenance staff, who not only basically run the entire place, but are in charge of caring for and protecting all this ridiculous artwork, including wrapping them in bubble wrap which is incredibly difficult and time consuming, was forced to eat outside the room we were in, despite a lot of open seats at the table. Remember, there's only 10 people that work there at all, so any divisions are purely invented. It was just weird (although we all got tequila...)
The other main thing they did that I've noticed so far is street naming. Not kidding. It's unbelievable, and almost entirely in the wealthy portions of town.
For instance, I live on Biarritz (a beach city in France, known for being incredibly glitzy) and my cross streets are Londres and Hamburgo. The streets to either side are Praga and Sevilla. Let's just say my entire neighborhood is city names from the Old World or the megalopolises of Asia (Tokio)
I meant to mark where it is I live, but it's easy enough to find. Between Sevilla and Praga in the bottom left corner. It's only one block long, haha.
But look at all the names. It's like someone pulled out a map of Europe and wrote down everything he saw on Mexico City.
And of course the rivers, I find these particularly amusing.
But nothing does justice like living on one of the great lakes. Haha, who wants to live by Lake Erie, when you can live on it in la Ciudad.
But of course, here is where it gets messed up. Apparently, whatever socialite was responsible for all this naming of streets ran out of things on the map of Europe on which to transplant to the map in Mexico.
So he apparently opened up a "Who's Who of Europe" and came up with this disaster. Mind you the next two slides are only about 2 of 5 I could have made, but these two are particularly hilarious.
I mean seriously. Darwin? Hegel? Just plain silly. Living on Gutenberg is actually impressive, it's a very beautiful street. But really. Gutenberg?
Other things to point out:
1. Even in Mexico, Leibniz and Newton don't see eye-to-eye.
2. Who gave Rousseau such a small street?
3. Sorry Dave, even in Mexico poor Tesla gets no credit. (and notice Curie and Emerson to point out that he probably should have, not to mention Edison)
But easily the best part is the "Writer's District." My relative actually lives very near here. But still, just silly. All writers and thinkers.
Catch you on Ibsen Street. I can't even say that with a straight face. Bernard Shaw would be proud.
20 June 2008
When Good Emo Kids Get Attacked
So, I was walking by a park, maybe a couple hours ago. And there were, I kid you not, about 200 emo high school kids, long hair, Anarchist T-shirts, etc. The usual smoking corner crowd in the U.S.
Except there were 200 of them. And they could not possibly look more out of place than they do in Mexico City. I mean, no one looks even remotely like that who's over the age of 20. There are a lot of hipsters, clean-cut kids, preps, and of course your Latin American attempt at Eurotrash.
But not punks, not emo. Dashboard Confessional is not welcome in the D.F.
So, they were literally moving around this fountain like an amoeba. There was clearly an "elite" group that the rest were following and paying attention to, but there were so many, it was hard to see where they were. They moved so fast and so many that I ended up standing about 150 feet away watching with some policeman that happened to be there too (again, there are so many police).
We got to talking, and after accidentally letting slip that I couldn't understand him (he spoke INSANELY fast), he actually warmed up to me since he apparently has family in Chicago, instead of shaking me down for the several hundred pesos I had in my pocket.
He said they come to this park a lot. And then started laughing.
"Ve alli!" He said, and pointed over at one of the streets bordering the park. All of a sudden, about 15 police cars came blazing down some connecting side streets, and 25 police officers, batons drawn, charged the group of now scrambling emo kids.
The cop I was with laughed and laughed as a couple hundred high school kids ran at full speed from the charging police. I was glad I'd made a police friend before this happened, and that I hadn't happened to be walking through at that instant.
Let's just say, I think this happens a lot, and I was really glad I was wearing dress pants and shirt.
Really glad.
Machismo...
Except there were 200 of them. And they could not possibly look more out of place than they do in Mexico City. I mean, no one looks even remotely like that who's over the age of 20. There are a lot of hipsters, clean-cut kids, preps, and of course your Latin American attempt at Eurotrash.
But not punks, not emo. Dashboard Confessional is not welcome in the D.F.
So, they were literally moving around this fountain like an amoeba. There was clearly an "elite" group that the rest were following and paying attention to, but there were so many, it was hard to see where they were. They moved so fast and so many that I ended up standing about 150 feet away watching with some policeman that happened to be there too (again, there are so many police).
We got to talking, and after accidentally letting slip that I couldn't understand him (he spoke INSANELY fast), he actually warmed up to me since he apparently has family in Chicago, instead of shaking me down for the several hundred pesos I had in my pocket.
He said they come to this park a lot. And then started laughing.
"Ve alli!" He said, and pointed over at one of the streets bordering the park. All of a sudden, about 15 police cars came blazing down some connecting side streets, and 25 police officers, batons drawn, charged the group of now scrambling emo kids.
The cop I was with laughed and laughed as a couple hundred high school kids ran at full speed from the charging police. I was glad I'd made a police friend before this happened, and that I hadn't happened to be walking through at that instant.
Let's just say, I think this happens a lot, and I was really glad I was wearing dress pants and shirt.
Really glad.
Machismo...
19 June 2008
Cuba v. Mexico
There's about a 50/50 split in the cubans and mexicans that work at the gallery. The cubans all sound like me, as in the end of every word is entirely dropped off. The mexicans all speak insanely fast and slur every other word.
Even native speakers struggle with other native speakers over this. So, then you add me, who can barely speak, and who speaks with a very very heavy cuban accent (thanks ma) and send me out into the wide world, and even though all the cubans understand me, the mexicans here understand me not at all.
Which is frustrating, because I look just hispanic enough that they give me a chance as a spanish-speaker, but if I have a "moment" it's all over. Haha, not hispanic enough.
Yea, that's all for tonight. Tomorrow, I explain what happened last night, where I wandered around my neighborhood looking for an open restaurant, and after getting so pissed off I was shaking, I stopped in at a local bar and got decently drunk with some guy named Tonio.
w00t
Even native speakers struggle with other native speakers over this. So, then you add me, who can barely speak, and who speaks with a very very heavy cuban accent (thanks ma) and send me out into the wide world, and even though all the cubans understand me, the mexicans here understand me not at all.
Which is frustrating, because I look just hispanic enough that they give me a chance as a spanish-speaker, but if I have a "moment" it's all over. Haha, not hispanic enough.
Yea, that's all for tonight. Tomorrow, I explain what happened last night, where I wandered around my neighborhood looking for an open restaurant, and after getting so pissed off I was shaking, I stopped in at a local bar and got decently drunk with some guy named Tonio.
w00t
Mierda, Mierda Mierda Mierda
So, I can't describe this experience enough.
I walked into the living room on the way to the kitchen and turned the light on, and there's a dead body on the floor.
I just about pissed myself.
Okay, yea, it wasn't a dead body. Just a sculpture that's basically a mannequin wrapped in bubble wrap on the floor.
But it looks insanely real, and like a guy in a body bag.
If you've never forgotten about the dead body in bubblewrap wrapped in your living room and you walk into the room, you just don't understand.
I walked into the living room on the way to the kitchen and turned the light on, and there's a dead body on the floor.
I just about pissed myself.
Okay, yea, it wasn't a dead body. Just a sculpture that's basically a mannequin wrapped in bubble wrap on the floor.
But it looks insanely real, and like a guy in a body bag.
If you've never forgotten about the dead body in bubblewrap wrapped in your living room and you walk into the room, you just don't understand.
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