Fly the Week Like a Flag

Another Friday has saddled up to my half hung eyelids. Actually, last night I curled up around 9:30pm; I was awoken by a taunting text message at 11:30pm, initially thinking it was my 6am alarm, I smiled at the text attack on my weekday warrior status, and I turned a cheek, adjusted Lucio (positioned between my feet), and went back to slumbering the night away.

The weeks seem to be flying, and I am alright with that. I am okay with the workday disappearing like a fart in the wind--its when it lingers that it begins to stink. This week was filled with essay grading (halfway done), new book introductions, good journals and discussions, and a healthy dose of Elliott and Dog time. I also attended Spanish class twice this week, living up to my two day a week goal. Hector and I meet at a little cafe 4 blocks from our house. The cafe is set in the front of a house, and it is run by a pair of pint sized Mexicana twins--I don't know their names, but they are super kind and have a quirky sense of humor--the way most short, slightly round, munchkin-esque women do. I bring my dogs with me, because they are solid warriors of the cafe scene. The two cherub ladies love them. They walk them down the block, bring them water, make itty bitty cute noises in their face, and in general, grovel over them. Aside from the coffee and good vibes, the Spanish lessons are awesome. Hector is a great teacher. I need to apply what I am learning more regularly, but I am definitely acquiring the solid fundamentals.

So politically speaking, this country is in turmoil. On Sunday I accompanied my buddy Mauricio to a used car lot in a far off area of the city. As we walked through the Centro, I noticed that all the newspapers displayed at the newsstands are adorned with graphic front page images of dead bodies, blood, and assault rifles. Now one could say it is just for publicity, and this is definitely true. However, somewhere this shit is real; this is definitely real in the state of Sinaloa, the current epicenter of the drug war (Note: I will not be driving the coast line this summer as I iintended, for this goes through the heart of the Sinaloa State. Perhaps the gulf shall be my route.) In any event, aside from the bloody pics on the newspapers, I have come to learn that the current president, Felipe Calderon, was elected under much scandal, and in many people's eyes, unfairly so. The opposition candidate, and the one who was popularly elected, was far more radical and in tune with the masses of folks living below the poverty line. In any eevnt, last week Presidente Calderon, during Mexico's World Cup qualifier game, sent armed police into Luz y Fuerza, the main provider of electricity in central Mexico. According to Calderon, the company, which is federally owned, was mismanaging and stealing money. So Calderon and his minions, guns en tow, stormed the building, and it was announced that all employees have been fired. I do not know if this sort of news makes it to the States, but it is a big deal down here. Luz y Fuerza is a huge employeer and this action has put many people out of work.

Over the next few days several picket lines and demonstrations have littered the streets of Mexico City. Last Friday there was a march from La Angel (the Angel statue that stands as a beacon for all social gatherings in DF), to Los Pinos, the President's Palace. However, yesterday was the real deal. Sarah and I took the subway home, because the streets were packed with cars. Fired employees and sympathizers from all over Central Mexico, converged on DF to demonstrate their anger, frustration, and collective action. As we walked home from the subway, La Reforma, the main street holding the iconic La Angel, was a see of red claden Mexicans. Hombres with wide brimmed cowboy hats, were obviously workers from outside the city. Bannars, drums, whistles, and battle cries, all saturated the senses. I know there are a lot of people in this city, but to witness this convergence was absolutely insane. I was blown away by their ability to organize so quickly. Groups from all over the country made their present felt.

Sarah and I dipped out of the fray, and we made our way down San Cosme, via bike. We arrived in the Zocalo, and it was already bubbling over with people. In front of the President's palace a huge stage had been erected. Vendors pedaled their goods amongst the protestors and hanger-ons. The vibe was spirited, but not tense or viloent--the people were peacifully demonstrating. One of the largest flags I have seen waved brilliantly in the late afternoon son. Gold trickled over the tops of the colonial montors that flank the four corners of the Zocalo.

After a half hour of observing we skedaddled home. I stopped a street side burger joint--where for two dollars, I had a Hawaiian style burger. I make this promise: if you come to visit, I will treat you to a burger at this 24 hour streetside haven.

After that, I went home, loaded up illegal episodes of The Office--consequently "The Injury" season 2, as recommended by Gloria, is probably the best episode ever--followed by episode 17, of the same season, entitled "Dwight's Speech".

I closed my eyes at 9:30pm, and it felt marvelous.

Austin Remembered and The Future

Long ago, I posted a little ditty about some good times spent in Austin, TX. This good time was a two day affair, but I only posted a one day synopsis. At this point, I shall give you the belated "quick and dirty":

We arose fairly early in a dank and swampy room; two dogs and three humans, all mouth breathers, in small square footage, makes for a steamy wake up. We arose, aired out, and hit the breakfast scene. Over some waffles and salmon eggs benedict, we decided to scrap a long distance hike in favor of an in town delight--disc golf. It just so happens that Austin has 5 courses within its city limits. So we strapped up the dogs, grabbed a few discs, and we made our way west, I believe.

The sky was a damp gray, but absolutely perfect. The course was necked up against a flowing stream, and hole three gave us the opportunity to play right across it. Marissa made it over, I made it over, and Danny went straight in the drink.

Note: As I right this, the Jack Russell I am dog sitting, Lucio, who is curled up by my feet, is ripping the most teriffic farts; it literally smells as if someone is depositing small particles of sulfur into my nostrils.

But I digress. Marissa, who was wearing her amphibious hiking shoes, hopped in the stream and snagged the disc. We played on, and as we played the rain's presence continued to grow. As we came up to the wide prairie of hole 9, we decided to pack it in--nine holes was enough for today, and we were all feeling a nap brewing-- so we skedaddled back to the car, and made haste for Gorlick's house. No wait, we did not head home, how could I forget...No, we headed to Mam's BBQ and then to some pawn shops. This will serve as a perfect segue to my current news.

OK, so we headed to Mam's, a rustic little dive situated next to a enormous freeway overpass. Mam's had beautiful vintage 70's yellow and red diner booths, and various hot sauces littered the table tops. The walls held everything from wagon wheels to lanterns, and the fake wood paneling almost looked real--it was perfect. We ducked in to find not a soul was in attendance. Initial concerns about this fact, were quickly erased when we saw the spread. I ordered the customary, Three Meat & Two sides combo: Jalpeno and Cheese sausage, brisket, and pork ribs, with a side of green beans and macaroni and cheese. Over the top, the attendant ladled their house sauce. Needless to say we crammed it down and slapped it around.

After the grub down, we headed to some pawn shops to look for some guitars. I was in the market for an electric. We went to a few shops. I found a few American Made Fenders (strats and teles), but they were in the neighborhood of 6 to 700 dollars...it was a little too rich for my blood, and I am not enough of a guitar expert to tell if what I was buying was quality or abused. Everything down from there, was crap. I was hopping to find a nice 300 dollar buy, but it did not present itself. In retrospect, I believe I would have bought the American Made Telecaster with tweed case for $600 or so bucks--but that was then and this is now.

Yesterday, I headed to the Centro with my buddy Mauricio, the gregarious Chilean. We hit the "Music" neighborhood. It was impossible to find used guitars. Everything was new, a lot of it was no name crap, and a lot of it was wicked expensive. I was looking for a Mexican Made Fender. I finally found a few, but the prices were steep. We happened upon a guitar center equivelant, and I found a wall of fenders. Their American made guitars were all well over 1000 dollars. Then I saw it, a 2008 Sunburst Mexican Made Fender Strat Standard. I plugged it in, and gave it a test run--the sound was warm and sweet, the action low, and it seemed to make my fingers move quicker than they ever had before. In haste, I bought it. In retrospect I paid about 100 dollars too much ($500 with a gig bag...should been about $400), but in the long run I think it shall be fine--it is a memory and a token of my time here, and a symbolic commitment to the dream at hand. I had a little bit of buyer's remorse upon returning home, so I began furiously googling info about the guitar--something I should have done prior. It turns out that since 2006 the Mexican Made Fenders are the closest you can get to an American Made Fender. The body and the neck are all machined and manufactured in the U.S.A., utilizing the same wood and materials used in the more expensive American models. They are then shipped to Mexico for finishing. According to a few blogs, the MIM (Made in Mexico) Strat gets an A+, with regards to the bang for your buck--this made me feel a little better about the purchase.

I am treating this purchase as a commitment to getting better at guitar. I refuse to let the excuse, "Oh I am not good enough", stop me from doing what I want to do. My personal mission is to start jamming in a band within the next year. So practice, practice, practice, here I come.

I finished yesterday in the dog park, and spent my evening getting to know my new guitar. Today, I am going to get on some grading and head out to Bosque Chapultepec to sit, read, and grade. I much rather be outside than in my house.

To the good times.

Austin City Dig It: Day One

I slipped back into my country, and re-birthed myself onto a Texas prairie. I ate, drank, and wandered across the motto, "Everything is Bigger in Texas." I have resurfaced as a foreigner, quieted my slang, and smooched my dogs.

Thursday of last week started rather well: I woke up early; I realized my flight left later than I thought; and I realized something else, which was fortuitous, but at this point, it escapes me. All I know is, Thursday started well, and the whole weekend followed suite. I got the papers I needed, I taught that class that I had to, and I skedaddled home right when I should have.

I hailed a cab, and we hit the Circuito Interior for the Aeropuerto. In the cab, I was struggling to identify a nervous feeling in my stomach. Initially I confused my excitement for that dreaded suspense of forgetting something. I checked my papers twice and I settled in for the ride.

Terminal 2 greeted me with open arms. My entrance, in all honesty, went as easy as this: ticket, metal detector, immigration, stamp, smile, candy and gum, sit, smile, board, seat, sleep, chicken sandwich, ginger ale, TV, land, customs, coffee, American Slang, and Danny (with dogs). It was around 8 pm or so, and we had a three hour drive in front of us. I bought Danny and myself a mocha. It was a great idea, until I stepped outside into the 80 degree humidity. I slammed my beverage, and sweated it up. Danny arrived and the journey began.

Some friends never get old, or awkward, or misaligned with the person you have become; some friends strike a chord, to a rhythm, to a song you will always sing, and you can't help but to harmonize. We settled into the car, I greeted his dogs, and we hit the road. Houston is about 2-3 hours from Austin, and we were on a mission. As the Texas landscape slipped into darkness, we caught up on each others lives--two months ago I had stopped in Bryan and seen a bit of the life Shaggy was leading there. Currently his fiance, Thanksgiving Tina, is in New York, working on an externship, while finishing her DVM. Danny is bleeding pigs 4-5 days a week for Texas A&M. We chatted, made jokes, shared music, and hurled through space.

The south holds many fastfood chains, the pinacle being Whataburger--essentially, a down and dirty In-N-Out. It is heads and tails above all other burger joints around, and especially over the prolific poop pedaling franchise known as Sonic--crap! We passed two Whataburgers, and decided Jack in the Box would have to do. We both endulged in the mini-sirloin burgers--yippie kai-yay! As we stood in the middle of a nowhere Texas heat, Danny enjoyed the stinging bite of a passing beetle. Shags lets out a trademark gravely squeal, accompanied by a series expletives. As we got back in the car he announced, "Oh fuck man! That thing is really lightin' me up. It's throbbing!" At this point I enjoyed my first bit of hysterical laughter--this would be the tone for the weekend--gut busting hilarity. We pressed on into the night.

We arrived in Austin somewhere around 10 or 11. Marissa greeted us, and we unloaded the wagon of love. The dogs found their new home in Marissa's room, we met Jess her roomie, and we settled into a night at home. Two things: One, Texans like a beer called Lone Star. Two, every beer must be put in a koozy or cozy--one of those foam things that keeps your beer cold. We played Dominoes, drank beer, and I realized that being mildly mentally impaired, negates my ability to learn something new, like a game, and to utilize mathematics effectively. Apparently, the same is true for Danny, because we were slaughtered by the ladies. So it went and we trickled on to 4 in the morning. I had no idea we were up that late. I made my home on the couch, Danny took a futon, and we crashed.

At some point in the night, Cheryl, came trapsing back home with a few male suiters. Danny is a light sleeper. I am not a light sleeper. Danny was awake for all the conversations that came with the mystery people's late night enterence. They were drunk and horny, and negotiating what action to take--according to Danny, they took a long time to discuss this. Somewhere in their conversations, they made this comment about me: "Man that guy snores really fucking loud." I did not wake up to respond. In fact, the following morning, I was completely unaware of their late night return. In any event, we arose at 8 am, because Danny's dogs needed to pee. I reluctantly joined Marissa and Danny on their early morning awakening. We stumbled down the street to Mi Madre's, and hunkered down for a little coffee and breakfast. The coffee flowed rich and dark, and the breakfast tacos were thick and juicy (that's what she said). We ate, talked, and mapped out our day. Our waitress had just bought a scalped ticket, and would be high tailing it to the concert after her shift. We settled up on the check, and we took a stroll back home.

After some short mid morning lounging, we geared up for a long day in the son. I brought along my Maggie Kline designer jean shorts, which feature a plush green khaki patch and several journey worn rips, heart shaped sunglasses donated by Gloria's forgetfulness, a Teotihuacan wide-brimmed bucket hat, Sean Rudolph designer New Balances, and a shirt from an organization named Los Ninos. We layered on the SPF, packed up the essentials, and went outside to prepare our steeds: borrowed weather beaten bikes. Both bikes needed some tire love, and we collectively made quick work of the dilapidated machines. Within the hour of 12, we hopped on bikes and headed to the fair grounds.

Our ride through downtown Austin was beautiful. UT (University of Texas) is brilliantly woven into the architectual and social fabric of downtown. We stopped at Marissa's lab and printed our tickets for the show. We then made another pit stop and bought some water and gum. Although hilly at points, the ride was absolutely beautiful--we were sun soaked music warriors, drifting into the beauty of melodic battle.

We passed the sea of black folks buying and selling tickets. We passed the sea of burnt out hippies, hocking jewelry, pipes, and substances. We passed the cops, and those walking. We also passed pedi-cabs---nostalgia for Marissa and I ran deep (perhaps a future in part-time pedi, exists for us both). We locked our bikes up on racks that held well over several hundred other bikes---most likely a thousand or so. We entered, we smiled, we arrived.

Zilker park, is insanely huge. It sits on the water front, and as far as you can see, there are rolling hills of Zilker grass--a beautiful genetically resiliant strain of grass, that is both spongey and hardy. It was beautiful to look at the long fairways leading concert goers like meandering buffalo on the prairies of the past. Sonrisas, sonrisas, sonrisas.

Danny and I will be beautiful pervy old men. When we are around one another, the male sport of oogling, day dreaming, whistling, skeeming, and generally just degenerating into cavemen, occurs. We had a blast, and Marissa tolerated us pleasantly.

Show One: Blitzen Trapper. I would describe them as an atmospheric folk group. They jammed with a lot of distortion and layered effects. The lead singer looked like a short Jewish boy, but he had practiced his Rock N'Roll panther growl, and he made the crowd come along with him. The drummer had a beard to match the gurth of his gut, and the rest of the members were forgettable--but, the music was good. We swayed and jibbed out. It was a nice beginning.

Show Two: We skiddadled from Blitzen Trapper, over to The Avett Brothers. On the way we snagged a Lone Star, and stopped for a picture. Side note: The prices at this event were respectful to the captive audience. A 24oz of beer was $8. All food was locally provided, and reasonable: fried pickles $4, bratwurst with the works, $5...it put a good taste in your mouth, to not be screwed while eating (that's what she said). The Avetts are real brothers. Their band was simple down home rock it out folk. The gyrated and animated their songs, and their old stuff rocked. Their new album, was as Marissa and Danny put it, "Too Campy!". Rick Rubin produced their last album, and I think he is tainting them with a caricature of who they are. In any event, they were damn good.

Break: Food. As mentioned Bratwurst, fried dills, and beverages were consumed. We took a break, and then went to the bathrooms. We found a secret stash of potties, and made quick relief.

Show Three: Daniel Johnston is a small town legend, who lives it in a big way. He splashed onto the scene in the 80's with a quirky tape entitled, "Hi, How Are You?". He landed on MTV's spring break coverage of Austin, TX back in the early 90's, and he sort of road the wave. Bands like Nirvana and Wilco have all covered his songs. His work is this genuinely honest and hopelessly tragic menagerie of squealing vocals and rough guitar licks. Daniel Johnston has struggled with mental illness for years. Once a scrawny curley haird crooner, he now stands as a portly middle aged grey haired man, who trembles from the meds they pump through him. The crowd was huge, and he proclaimed it, "There sure are a lot people out there," Daniel stammered into the microphone. The crowd cheered in support. He launched into his set, and began rifling through tragic lyrics of never ending sadness, and constant loneliness--his truth superceded his musical shortcomings. We stayed, wtinessed, and moved on after a few songs.

Show Four: Phoenix is fronted by a dweeby looking fruit tart with a campy voice---but I like them. Phoneix is one of Gorlick's favorite bands, but as we struggled to move up, Danny and I began to fade. After a few yards of fighting the crowd, we told Gors that we were heading for shade. Danny and I found a large tented sandbox, affectionately known as, Austin Kiddie Limits. Moms and babies plundered the sand behind a fenced off region. Danny and I leaned up against the fence and sighed in relief. As we do, we talked about the passing beauties, the debauchery of yester year, and highlighted enthusiasm for this and that, with ruthless and vulgar vocabulary. I then slightly shifted and noticed the three year old who was sitting not 12 inches from us, on the otherside of the fence. As she happily dug a new world into the sand with each joyous shovel scoop, I reflected on the fact, that indeed this small gate was keeping these kids safe...if for nothing else, it was keeping foul mouthed bastards such as ourself, away from that little girl. I smiled at the effectiveness of a seemingly useless fence.

Show Five: It took Marissa a while to find us; her iphone was failing to do what it should. Eventually we met up and watched a little bit of Raphael Sadiq, former front man for Tony Toni Tone. He had a very stylized show, with all members dressed in matching black and white suits. He busted oldies, covered the Stooges, and brought the afternoon funk. We was damn good.

Show Six: Thievery Corporation is not just two DJ's. Thievery Corporation is a live band with a host of lead singers--it was mind blowing. Ambient insturmental came to life with soaring female melodies, ripping drones from the sitar, and rumbling waves from the bass and drums. Magical. Marissa, Danny, and I sat and enjoyed the scene--small clouds fell from the sky.

Show Seven: Lucky number seven. We meandered towards the XBOX 360 stage, and snuck up to the amassing hordes. People were buzzing, and we all opted to hold our pee in favor of pushing to the front. We got there a half hour early and we waited with spasmodic glee. A super group has been formed and they go by the name of Them Crooked Vultures (or as we like call them, Dem Dirty Vultures or simply Dem Dirty). The Vultures are: Josh Homme on lead vocals/guitar (formerly of Queens of the Stone Age); John Paul Jones on bass (formerly of Led Zepplin), and Dave Grohl on Drums (formerly of Nirvana and Foo Fighters). Homme's accompanying guitar player from Queens of the Stone Age, Alain Johannes, who mirrors Homme's guitar sound, and offers a nice depth to the group, plays with the band for live shows. This band was 100% rock n' roll, and they came out swinging. Homme's first words were, "I feel tipsy", and then they launched into a fucking flury of hard riffs and ripping solos. They pounded and masses gyrated, and it was a ball of energy. I was inspired by not just the musicianship, but the moment they embraced and created. With live music of that caliber and ferocity, the artist themselves truly commit to tapping into the universe and giving it a taste of their perspective. It was dark, haunting, bluesy, and rough. It was an amalgamation of Zepplin, Queens, and Nirvana. Individual sounds and ideas came to the top, like the frothy overflow of a shaken microbrew. The three of us were soldiers in the fight, and we pushed our way to nearly 10 rows back. In a see of several thousands (possibly tens of) we were in the front. I am changed by that moment. I am going to buy an electric guitar. I am going to play and sing at the same time. I am going to practice. I am going to study. I am going to taste what it is to be on the other side of the stage.

We exited that show drained and overjoyed; ears ringing and hearts pounding; spirits lifeted and souls ignited. On our way out we caught the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Karen O, creating a spectacle in a larger than life costume and a beautiful mix of theater and music. It was so good that from a couple of 100 yards off, we decided to stop and watch. She is quite the showman (woman?). We stopped for a moment and then pressed on.

Snagged the bikes and hit the road for a dark night ride. The ride back was hilly and we had to stop for Danny to pee. He peed under a bat filled bridge. Marissa did a phenomenal job of taking us around. She really lead a great tour.

When we made it home, we realized the state of our exhaustion. We grabbed the dogs, stumbled to an amazing pizza place, and stumbled home. We rapidly knixed our plans to go out to the various after parties in town. Instead, the five of us (Marissa, Danny, Myself, and the two dogs), bunked up in Gors' room and passed out promptly--it was a beautiful thing.

This is Day One of Two...I will get there soon.

Why Am I Waiting Here?

I find myself pausing for no reason, during illegally uploaded episodes of The Office. I stop the show, as if something urgent, somewhere else in the Internet, needs my attention. However, when I arrive at my paused moment...nothing. I don't know why I stopped it. As a default, I check my email, but I checked my email 20 minutes earlier, and I know nothing new has arrived--I follow through with a check and then I exit. Then, I sit there and ponder, "Do I go back to the episode? What else should I look at? I know there is something I need to check, what is it?"

I think I stare at computer screens too often. Anyway, it is getting late, and I need to finish the last episode of Season 4--Dunder Mifflin just got a new HR hire.

I don't care what Annie says, The Office is far more interconnected and thoughtful than Lost--Lost is Sci-fi for soap opera junkies...HOLY SHIT! I kid you not, someone just drove by my house THUMPING Du Haust by Rahmstein! That just made my night.

The Rain is Why We Talk So Slow--Trickle Trickle

All last week my little freshmints were out camping in the wilderness of Mexico. They claimed it was about group bonding, and to tell you the truth, I don't care what they call it--all I know is, I had a week of one less class. I was diligent the entire week, and continued to come in at 7am each day, despite the fact that for two days last week, I had no teaching responsibilities until 1pm. My school claims to dock you pay, if you do not show up on time: "You are paid as a full time employee, and you are expected to be here as a full time employee--7:30 - 2:45." Well, like I said, I was good about it. Friday though, enough was enough, and after my last class, which let's out at 12:30, I high tailed it home--it felt amazing. I took the dogs to the dog park, and we enjoyed a solid afternoon of butt sniffing and frolicking--that is, the dogs did...I just observed.

Friday night was Pizza with fellow teachers and a little live music and brew at a hip Condessa bar. Saturday, I stayed in, and it felt good. Sunday, I got my work done, and then enjoyed the trafficless streets, as I jetted over to the dog park. I found parking nice and easy. Sunday is a freaking parade of dogs. All the yuppies with their new pure breeds, are out and about. They all scream at their dogs, but none of them listen. Point in case, some Guido with cut off sleeves and a pseudo work out outfit, was redundantly screaming at his Lab to leave Lucio alone. Lucio, was chasing a laser beam, which I was sending in various directions. Lucio would only break concentration, when said Lab would try and hump/paw him. As the redundant drone of the Lab's owner continued, Chops came up and gave a few big barks and positioned himself between the Lab and Lucio--in my mind, I said, "Hell yeah, dog! Run shit!" The lab, not heeding the message of his owner or Chops' bark, kept on. Chops then gently grabbed the Lab by his scruff and pulled him away from Lucio. Finally the owner, now worried about his dog, came and got him. He sheepishly said some shit about how his dog loves little dogs; I condescendingly smiled at him, because he knew that I knew, that he felt like an ass. Later, as I began to exit the park, as the pied piper of my pack, the same fucking Lab came charging back. My dogs followed me, and so did the Lab, and the workout junkie had to run like a little ass shaved poodle after his disrespectful dog. I put my pups on leash and hooked a corner towards a cafe---Pablo Zeta and Anita were waiting with espresso en tow.

Pablo and Ana were nestled up under an awning, sipping tiny cups of caffeine. I sauntered up, distributed the dogs, and we sat down. What was just going to be a quick drop by, turned out to be a couple hour chill out. As we sat and talked, the rain increased to epic down pours (Where is Gloria now?). So we sipped coffee and talked about this that and the other. Pablo took Lucio, and headed back to his apartment to grab his camera. Chops whined as his little buddy went in another direction. When Pablo returned, the rain really started dumping. Pablo shot a time lapse of the old salty Mexican men playing dominoes next to us. Then he turned the camera towards the street. I then decided, during a break in the heavy rain, that it was time for Flow and I to dance--one snapshot at a time. So as we moved, step by step, Pablo snapped away. He then went home and produced the following video. I am really impressed by all the videos he has created. He basically shoots all of these time lapse camera shots, which are just a series of photos, and then he strings them together in a video, and edits in graphics, music, and rhythm. In any event. Enjoy the mishaps of Flow and me, and enjoy a brief video about the frenetic energy of DF. Itis also a testament to the insane amount of PDA that is everywhere here. Notice in the second video, that Chops makes a few cameos--this was the first day I met the Spaniards.

P.S. Currently working on a pixelated picture...updates soon. Chuck Close, anyone? Also, Pablo hates Jack Johnson, but the other night Ana made us Jam Flake for her, and now I am teased for being a Jack JOhnson lover--but that is okay with me.

Siestas, Sonrisas, and No Sun

A dense gray fog hangs over the high volcanic valley of Mexico City. Street cleaners and street corner cooks, shuffle about in the dimly lit morning haze. The sun is struggling out of bed, and somewhere, down some street, a million alarm clocks fire all at once.

The taxi ride is the same: Jane from North Carolina, in her nasal Southern draw, asks elongated questions, which eat up the 20 minutes to work. Sarah responds to all inquiries, with another story about ASF and its true seedy underbelly. The taxi driver drives, and I sit and dream--will napping ever become a sport?

I arrive to school before 7am. Today the guards have decided to let me pass without my plastic pass; some days they make me write down my name and receive a visitor's pass. Much like most things in Mexico, there seems to be no regularity in their thought process.

My classroom smells of spilt cleaning supplies. I stumble to my desk as the "smart lights" automatically turn on. I throw my bag on the floor, pull my laptop from the bottom drawer of my desk, and I begin to waste the early morning with the internet.

The school has placed thousands of dollars worth of programs onto my computer--namely, the entire Adobe Creative Suite 4. I consider it my job to transfer said material to another computer, my computer. I attempted to use my new tech savvy storgage/synching device, Dropbox. However, the service agreement does not allow the transfer of program files. So it goes, I shall succeed, one flashdrive at a time.

Highlight from yesterday's workday: At the end of the day, I have a free period. Towards the end of the period, before the final school bell, I decided to take a siesta (nap just sounds more selfish), on the back table in my room. I have a method: I lock my door, I turn the lights off, I close the blinds, and I fill a rectangular plastic bag with air, tie it off, use it as a pillow, and I lay down; the back corner of my room is an inpenatrable nexus for observation. What was supposed to be a 10 minute power nap...siesta, turned out to be a 30 minute snore-fest. I would have kept on going, if it weren't for the trusty cleaning lady, entering and hoping to tend to her tasks. I awoke in a flury of confusion and then remembered the meeting I had at 2:45...it was 3:10. I stormed over, slipped in, made my presence known with a few choice comments, and aplogized at the close of the meeting for being tardy. The good thing was, I wasn't the only one late, and hence the blunder was mildly deblunderfied.

Last night, I had intentions of meeting up with Pablo Z, to play a little music, but events occurred. My neighbor, Sarah and her daughter Bella, were being interviewed by the local news. The news was conducting a human interest story about the pubic school system in DF, and a foriegner's perspective. In any event, their deaf dog, Buster, was going nuts with the cameras and stuff, and Sarah sent him up to my house. Lucio and him had similar playing styles--swift, nuerotic, and relentless. Lucio attempted to hump the poor dog for over an hour. Sarah's other kid Olie, was also a little out of hand, and he got sent up with the dogs--he fell in line with Lucio and Buster's playing style. Watching them negated music playing, and I called in my resignation. Olie left after 40mins, and I left Lucio and Buster to their devices, and I took Flow and Chops on a short walk. Once again, as previously stated, my dogs are proving themseleves time and time again--I am very happy that my dogs have an off button, and can enjoy the company of others, while simply laying down.

After the dogs and kids, I made dinner. A dry rub of chiles on some pork, was the order for the night. I made some Mexican Gringo Rice, and I cooked a sweet little feast for myself. I watched some of The Office Season 3. I have watched season 5 and 1, and I am working on downloading seasons 2 and 4. The Office is addictive, and I truly love every character on the show. Dwight Shrute is a hero!

I pulled myself away from The Office, and I made my jump into painting. The night before I had augmented some pictures in Photoshop, and I had attempted to freehand an outline on one of the canvases I bought. I pushed myself to free hand. Then, holding the canvas above my head, placing a printed picture on the back, I corrected my deviations in proportion. From an outside perspective, I must have looked a little off, walking around under a light, canvas raised above me, one eye closed, lip pinched between my teeth, while I spun under a 40watt fixture. In any event, last night I hunkered down to cover it in paint. I had eliminated black from the image, and the result was a very colorful face abstracted in space. I was determined to really find the correct colors for each layer of the paint. I painted for three hours straight, and at the end, I stepped back, and I could not have been more pleased.

The painting is a picture I took of my friend Julia outside El Califa; we went there the other night when Gloria was in town--she loves al pastor. I also have pictures of Pablo and Ana, and I have a game plan for a large scale production.

That is that. I should get to the grading I have yet to do. Seeing how I have today's class planned, and it doesn't start until 1pm, I think I have plenty of time...but, I do always find away to consume that void in a less than work related way. Perhaps a brief morning siesta is in order?

Visitors, New Paw Prints, and Tacos

1) I don't shower often, but when I do, it feels really good. I am fighting the global water problem, one less shower at a time. Somewhere around 2005, when I took a trip to South America, I stopped the daily grind of watering and lathering--of all the things that happened down there, that was the one thing that stuck. Sometimes in my Colonia, they shut off the water, because there is not enough to go around. Sometimes, the pump breaks, and the water won't come up stairs. Sometimes there are news articles, which discuss the water shortage we will inevitably face on a global scale. All of these things are prime excuses for a lack of showering--so I use them as such--excuses.

2) I had my first visitor. Gloria, whom accompanied me on my first trip to DF in April, made her second voyage. She was here for five days, and lord it felt good to have an old friend, a piece of home, another person under my roof. She arrived on a mild evening and she left on the same type of day. Aside for a brief sprinkle here and there, she brought the good weather. It was my hope that she would experience the deluge of an afternoon storm, but alast it never came. What did come was good times. We spent several evenings with Pablo, Ana, and Julia. For El Grito, the big Independence Day celebration, we went to an awful bar in Colonia Juarez. There were fireworks in the Zocalo and amazing light show, but we ended at a gringo gentrified pub. The Spaniards were in tow, and we high tailed it to La Condesa for a beverage and some ambiance. We chatted, we drank, we exchanged stories of wild years past, and we were merry. Then we headed to the fail safe late night grub spot: Tizoncito. Tacos al pastor at 2 am shall always be amazing. As we grubbed a homeless man serenaded us. Then as I turned to look over Julia and Gloria's shoulders, a large elephant of a man, stood up and socked the other dude at his table. The guy's eye began furiously bleeding. Everyone was in shock. The short of it was, the bloody dude left with his woman and the big dog stayed and finished his tacos...weird. We then parted ways, on an odd note.

3) Sharing your artwork with friends is cool. Sharing your artwork at a high end restaurant with several couples you don't know, is a little scary. Julia designed the interior decorum of a Malayasian restaurant in Roma Norte. Gloria, Ana, Pablo, and I met her there for some drinks. Some other couples were there. Julia said I had to bring three paintings, in order to be allowed inside. Her artwork is in the main dining area--these brilliant little drawings of unusually delightful dimensions. A large gangly monkey being ridden by a tiny George Washington; a delicate Indian Palm, circled by a tiger and concealing a mischevious little monkey. All of the drawings have this ornate antique quality to them. Before my first beer was done, Julia summoned my paintings. Gloria had asked me, prior to leaving the house, "Are you nervous?" At the time, I boldly answered, "No. Not at all. I am confident in my work." Well in the restaurant, with several strangers, that shit all went out the window. I reluctantly distributed my canvases: Curtis Blow, Jen Cohen, Katie Quach, and Senorita Marcus, circulated the table. Gloria eve's dropped on the Spanish murmurings, and the report was that they dug the works...I smiled on the inside.

3) Tacos with al pastor, pineapple, salsa, cilantro, and cheese are really good; they are really good, when purchased at El Califa in La Condesa.

4)Discovering new parts of town is fun. We took a drive through Palanco and Bosque de Chapultapec. I had loose directions from a fellow teacher. I don't think I found the park he was talking about, but I did find the 2a section of Chapultapec Park, and we found a parking spot for 15 pesos. Glo, the pups, and I walked around a brilliant green lake; the fish and ducks were as thick as the algae. Naturally Flow dove in after the coy fish. I ducked behind a bush and waited for her to return. We walked the lake, and then dipped across the street and found a fairly uninhabited section of rolling grass knolls that were sparsely covered with semi-mature trees. We sat down next to a bunch of Jews engaging in a Holy Ritual--it was pretty awesome. Gloria quizzed me on my Spanish vocab, I played some harmonica, and the dogs frolicked like they do. The weather was about 75 degrees out and clear blue skies--it was by far the best day of the trip.

5)Korean food is damn good. The portions served here are much larger than in the states. Korean food is spicy. Korean food can really open up some new parts of your lower GI track. Korean food taught me the term "Pica y Repica": Spicy on the way in and spicy on the way out.

6)Julia is in Barcelona for a month. Julia is the first true friend I made outside of school. Julia has a Jack Russell named Lucio (or Lucious). Lucio is now apart of my pack for the next month. Little dogs are cool. Lucio, still has his testes. Lucio, when at a dog park, spends most of his time attempting to spread his seed with dogs far too large for him. Lucio spent the better part of 45 minutes trying to impregnate a great dane--he never made it past her elbow. For the better part of 45 minutes, I pretended that I did not know Lucio. I went to coffee afterwards with the pups. Ana held Lucio, and Flow and Chops laid down next to me. I know I have said this before, but being here in Mexico has made me realize how awesome my dogs are. Sure they chew stuff, don't always listen, but the fact that they can lay calmly while at coffee, or sit and stay when told, is really making me happy. When I walk all three dogs, if I put Lucio on the inside of Flow, who walks on the inside of Chops, he will not pull. If I walk him on the opposite side of me, by himself, all he does is pull. It is interesting to see how the pack mentality affects the migrating aspect of walking together.

7) I am tired. I shall end here.

San Rafael con Amigos

Well, I will update about the weeks events soon. Unfortunately, my camera ran out of batteries, and well I shall not post a verbal masterpiece, without the accompanying visuals; it would be like an auditory acid trip, and well that is really only half the fun.

So until then, I bring you a Sunday Masterpiece by friend Pablito. Today we met in Jardin Del Arte to look at some of the local art, and then we headed to my roof for some brew, chips, salsa, and conversation. Pablo, Ana, Gloria, and I soaked in the rays. It was nice, because these were my first guests in my house. I had picked up the poop that morning--woohoo! In any event, Pablo set up his time lapse camera, and captured the following. The camera is faced away from the street, looking over the neighboring houses, and towards downtown.

Please Enjoy:

A Park, A Fire, and Another Sabath

This is going to be a short blog, but I have some pics that I wanted to put up. Yesterday, I came back from a long day out with the dogs. We went to Parque Mexico early in the AM; I realized how close it is and how quick it can be, when there is no traffic. The dogs played, and then we hunkered down at a cafe for some homework, i.e. I had to grade a bunch of homework. I met up with Pablo and Ana, and their other Spaniard friends Vanessa and...I forget, but he is an economist. We had some coffee and discussed life.

I headed home, and the streets were jammed; celebration for the day of independence have already begun. Mexicans pushing carts of Mexican flags, have been flooding the streets for weeks. As I was sitting at home, Flow began scurrying back and forth in the house. I couldn't figure it out, we had been out all day, and there was no need to be uptight. She paced, and then I heard some screaming. Then I looked out the window, and the theater across the street, Teatro Aldama, was up in smoke. Smoke was billowing from the roof and out the front. Fortunately the matinee had gotten out an hour or so earlier. It was amazing to watch everyone run about to help out. The cops and the fire fighters did not shun the laity from helping. Individuals from the street helped pull the hoses, and everyone worked together. I moved to the roof to snap the following pics.

After an hour, I called my mom, and I realized that breathing burnt plastic and various other chemicals, was starting to make me sick. So I packed up my work, grabbed the dogs, and we met up with Sarah, her dog Buster, and Ollie and Bella. Sarah wasn't being let back into her place, she had walked around the block and discovered that they were about to tow my car, not because I was in trouble, but because of its proximity to the fire. I hurried up, gave my dogs to Ollie and Bella, moved my car, and then we headed down to Cuauhtemoc to a Lebanese coffee shop. Bella is the designated Chops walker, and Ollie is the designated Flow walker. We met Hector there, had some coffee, and after an hour, we headed back home. They contained the fire; however, I think it will be a while before Friday night theater is back. I am sure all the pachucos who hustle the sidewalk are wondering what to do.

Painting in the Rainless Night

This weekend has been about being in the pad and enjoying. I stayed in last night and I stayed in tonight. After receiving an email from my Aunt about a painting that had her stumped, I decided to attack the blank canvas that has been sitting in the dining room for a few weeks now. I did this other painting of Chops and myself, and it left me with a disheartened feeling...it just never took off like I had hoped.

Tonight I set up my little painting nook. It felt good to hunker down. I put the dog beds in there, and the soldiers filed in. It felt damn good. I got my little water cups, I put on my smock, which happens to be Brant Jameson's grandfather's old work shirt; it is an old faded blue polyester fandango, and it is better than a rag to wipe my mixing palette knife with.

In any event, I had this great picture of my friend Katy from the other night in Roma. She, was very excited about a pack of sugar covered gummies, and well it is the type of thing that lends itself to a weird picture. I am almost done. I am taking a break to blog this, let things dry, and then come back in with a marker and little more paint. While painting, I caught site of my shadow, and I painted the silhouette from my periphery...I think I like caricatures of myself--don't we all?