Its been awhile. I am compelled to write this post, not on behalf of my travels, but rather a venting of odd emotion. The catalyst for this post is the second student death here at ASF within the first semester. I have just returned to my class, from yet another emergency assembly, in which a student's death is announced in a solemn speech. I am not sure how the hell I feel. The precursor to this death, was last night was "The Oscars"--an annual student thrown party in which students nominate each other for categories such as "Biggest Skank" and "Dumbest Drunk". The party is known at the school, and despite efforts from the administration to thwart the party, it goes off without much disruption. Students showed up to school today intoxicated--one red faced freshman stumbled into my class complaining of a stomach ache--she looked like the bottom end of a New York City dumpster. I sent her the office, and she was sent home.Now I don't know if this death was in connection to the party--the poor kid fell off a balcony at home at 4 in the morning--however, my suspicion would be some element of relation. The death earlier this year involved a student, intoxication, a bicycle, and a freak accident with a car.
Once again, I am not sure how I feel about this. In both assemblies I have felt this strong aversion to the emotion that I witness--in neither case did I know the student. I can sympathize, but in the moment of mass hysterical crying, I have this incontrolable urge to withdraw and leave. Teachers hugging, their salty faces huddled together for strength--I don't like it. Somehow it absolutely puts me into an isolationist mentality. In some ways I distrust the feelings, I am repulsed by the situation, and it feels odd to feel that way--but I feel it.
I haven't upated this here blog in a minute or two, and this is not how I would like to reconnect, but the spirit has moved me. It is a strange Friday in early December.
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Since last I wrote, much has gone on. I had some car trouble after my epic run through the woods with Julia et al. I think everything is fine, and I am gearing up for an epic road trip through Oaxaca, Chiapas and the Yukatan. For Christmas, I'm hoping to recreate an old Coronoa commercial from my youth: An anonymous gringo strolls a cabana speckled sand bar at dusk. He sets down his cerveza, plugs in some Christmas tree lights on a neighboring palm, returns to his lounger and sips a brew, while the eveing stars harmonize with his vibe.
I am looking for a new apartment. I am hoping to move to La Condesa or Roma. This is a hipster area. I do not want to be a hipster, but I do want to live within walking distance of the dog parque and friends. So my hunt is furiously under way.
My mom came to visit. My mom is awesome. We went to Aztec ruins, Planeta 51, museums, forests, the main central square and cathedral. We ate tacos al pastor for Thanksgiving, and we watched several movies on my computer. My mom made me nostalgic for fall time in Studio City--I love home. I know, eventually, that is where I will hang my hat--that makes me smile.
I went to my friend's birthday party two nights ago. I was extremely tired, but it was extremely fun. I was going to stay for one beer--I stayed for four. I spoke more Spanish with each brew. Good people are good people, no matter where you go. The Spaniards are damn good people--I feel really lucky to have met such a wonderful bunch of creative folks. Work, the day after said party, was tough--I almost fell asleep while showing a movie to my Science Fiction class. Somehow, this reaffirmed my desire to stop teaching.
My allergies are kicking. The winds have kicked up the polen and the poo particles, and my eyes burn and my nose itches, and I sneeze in my sleep.
Yesterday, I had dinner at an organic restaurant. Prior to that I drank coffee with Hector during my Spanish lesson, and I told him the following story:
After dropping my mom off at the airport, I was pulled over by a highway cop for talking on my phone. They told me it was an infraction. They wrote down my license plate and told me they were taking my driver's license. I played up my lack of Spanish fluency (not hard to do). I asked to pay for the infraction. The fat pig slobbered with delight, when I offered this option. He told me that I needed to pay $100US. I told him I had $200 pesos--he laughed with his assumed authority. I told him that I needed to call my friend at the Embassy. I told him to wait. I called Julia. She told me to take down his name and badge number, and to tell him that my friend was coming in 20 minutes with her boss (if need be, she would make this scenario happen--she was at a BBQ and in fine form for some street theater). I told the cop that my friend from the embassy was coming with her boss, and that I would wait for them here, because I did not understand what the problem was or what he was saying. The long and short of it is: The cop gave me my ID back, I paid nothing, and I left. It made me happy to not blindly submit to false authority. It made me happy to use my intellect to out wit a bully.
The above would not have been possible with out the delightful insight provided to me by my neighbor's father, Chuco. He told me to play the embassy card during my next policia altercation--he was right.
At the organic diner last night, I drank Cab Sav and laughed it up. My dogs sat through the whole dinner. At the end of the dinner, a gringa came up to me, and said she had enjoyed watching my dogs. She was older and her husband was younger. She was American and he was Irish. They have a kid. They are starting a new company in San Migul de Allende. She was one of the founders of Burt's Bees Wax. I assume she has a lot of money. I think I am going to try and stay with them on my route North this summer. She had a nice smile. Her name was Sunny. When Sunny hugged you, she said, "Blessings".
Yesterday, my student Karime gave me a tie for Thanksgiving. The tie has a small reoccurring pattern--its a cockfight or a pelea de gallos. It is orange--I love orange.
Blessings.
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