52 Days in Mexico

Something Happened

2005-07-31T10:54:00.000-05:00

If the purpose of a vacation is to relax and not do anything, it makes no sense to set goals. It would be like making a plan to be spontaneous. But not doing anything was only one of the things I wanted to accomplish, and I did it one day in June staying in bed until three in the afternoon.

I dropped two belt holes, due probably to trips up and down Alameda to downtown or hikes to the top of Cerro de la Sirena. I read seven books and kept a weblog for each day in Mexico. I lost at chess, saw short films and danced to Barro Negro in the funky back room of Bar Fly. I participated in the creation of friendships and re-booted some others. The grocer hugged me on the way here to the internet, because we leave for Phoenix in an hour.

And what is that? In my heart I have no idea of what Phoenix is anymore. Something happened in fifty-two days in Mexico. Phoenix has become a shadow.

Bicultural Is Better Than Bicoastal

2005-07-30T19:28:00.000-05:00

Clarissa said, "Duh!" when I told her she speaks Spanish like a Mexican. In a bicultural family we never stop to think about what language we're producing, but Spanish seems to fit us when we're in Guanajuato.

"I'm not gringo," I told Salvador. "I'm from Alameda." This is the street where Skyler and his playmates kick a soccer ball down the trash ramp. The downhill goalie has to be a good one. My kids eat choco-roles without translating them into twinkies. Christian screams in delight at the sight of horsies as well as caballos.

There are no beaches or amusement parks in Guanajuato, but there is a chance to put down roots. Fifty-one days have been a long and fruitful planting.

Rocks Supplant The Seventh Art

2005-07-29T16:30:00.000-05:00

There are times when everything seems wonderful: warm sun on wet skin, laying on a cool rock, listening to trickling water, green leaves glowing golden around the edges. Time has proven its irrelevance once again. We hiked past the kingdom of tadpoles to get here. Continent-sized clouds float across the crevice of blue sky visible from within the ravine.

We Will Be On Film, I Think

2005-07-28T20:29:00.000-05:00

Film crews are busy today in Guanajuato. Five teams are participating in the "Rally Yerbabuena". They have 24 hours to make and edit a movie. The sponsors of the festival provide them with cameras, lighting equipment, sound equipment, an editing station and actors. The results will be shown tomorrow night in the State Auditorium at 6:00.

We watched the yellow team film a scene in San Roque Plaza for their short film, Muerte Anunciada. It took them a half hour to film a dude in slicked-back hair screaming, "Tienes que hacerte muerto o no te pagan la lana, cabrón!" (You have to be dead or they won't pay you the cash, as*hole!") I can hardly wait to see how that scene fits into their project.

International Film Festival Expresión En Corto

2005-07-27T17:54:00.000-05:00

Rosy and I saw two clusters of shorts today in the festival. Experimental films and animation. The experimental films included Kasino 2001, a bizarre German hillbilly fantasy that ends with a woman clutching a dead baby, and Flooding the Victoria Plains, the animated film about a tour bus that gets hijacked by a heavy breathing aquaphile who delights in seeing everyone submerged beneath the waters of a newly constructed reservoir.

The animations included a Spanish film about a boy who travels to mars in his grandfather's tow truck. His booger-eating classmates don't believe the story. There was also a claymation piece about a snow hare with carrot lust so strong he chases a snowman into the city to try to steal his nose. They join forces to escape a ferocious dog and seal their friendship by snapping the nose in half and eating it.

Last Days

2005-07-26T21:03:00.000-05:00

The last days in Guanajuato are the most difficult, because we are out of money. We have a new cyclone fence that will keep the babies from spilling into the street while they run around burning calories from the cheerios we bought with a credit card.

We have begun the cycle of good-byes. To some people we only give a tentative good-bye because we might accidentally see them again before Sunday. George is meeting me Friday afternoon. I want to squeeze in more hikes for the final four days, and the short film festival begins tomorrow. (Both of these are free activities.) We haven't made our annual visit to the Diego Rivera Museum.

I have begun to miss our house in Phoenix. I'm not looking forward to the deadly heat wave, but I miss the living space. Some people wonder how the six of us find room to sleep in our Guanajuato house. The answer is, "wherever there isn't a body already". There is a double bed, a bunk bed with a double futon below and a portable crib. (I never choose to sleep in the crib myself, but it's quite comfortable for Sterling.)

Patzcuaro

2005-07-25T22:27:00.000-05:00

Patzcuaro Michoacan:

Sixteenth century colonial city
Buildings are all adobe with wood beams
Buildings are white with red mudguards
Streets are cobblestones
Miraculous religious icon in the cathedral
Wooden toys and traditional candy
Wooden furniture for sale
Los Viejitos dance in the main plaza
Boats take you to an Indian village on an island
High elevation
El Estribo hill overlooks Patzcuaro Lake
Two and a half hours from Salamanca, Guanajuato

Alternative Capitalization Strategies

2005-07-24T22:28:00.000-05:00

Rules for capitalization are rigid and can never be modified, unless an author does it on purpose. There is a specific reason I choose to capitalize articles and prepositions in blog titles. Can you guess the reason?

Explosion

2005-07-23T22:27:00.000-05:00

At 11:20 PM last night, I was standing outside of my house. I saw a flash on the hillside above and heard a loud explosion. I don't know if it was a propane tank explosion, an errant stick of dynamite or Al-Qaida operating in Mexico. It ruined my plans for the evening. I locked myself inside the house. At least one other person heard it, Doña Markokio who lives on the switchback above us.

Obligation To My Sweater

2005-07-22T18:14:00.000-05:00

(Click to enlarge).

This morning before I could go outside to drink Chiapas coffee and read The White by Deborah Larsen, I had to put on a sweater. The temperature dropped to sixty last night. Birds sang as the lemon rays of the sun poked through the treetops into the dark corners of the property. Tendrils of steam lifted up from the rain-sodden ground.

I only heard one thunder clap last night, but it shook the house. The flash of lightning that preceded it revealed the ground outside covered with a plane of water and waterfalls cascading from the trees.

Yesterday, I walked through downtown Guanajuato with a four and a half meter pole. It was long enough to knock down five innocent Christians, if I had pulled a Gilligan and turned around with it in my hand.

Unrealized Yearning For Out of Body Experience

2005-07-21T18:13:00.000-05:00

Maybe you have had an unrealized yearning for an out of body experience like me. It happens to me when I'm in the middle of a series of repetitive tasks like measuring three cups of water from the garrafón or pasting lines of html code into a web document. I know what's going to happen. There is no sense of mystery, no critical decision markers. The awareness that succeeding moments of my life are already determined is a prison for me. I want to jump out of my body, skip ahead or at least distract myself with a different task while my fingers perform their drudgery with blind obedience.

Nixon Resigns

2005-07-20T13:07:00.000-05:00

The mailboat brought the Chicago Tribune to Elgin Club everyday when we would take family vacations to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. On Friday August 9, 1974 when the papers came off the boat the headline font was much larger than usual. Two words filled the width of the page: Nixon Resigns. I was nine years old. It was hard for me to believe that the only president I'd known, whose picture was displayed at school, whose image appeared nightly on TV had been forced to leave office.

But then, I was told what happened. Nixon had lied. Then everything made sense. Lying is evil. No one, not even a president should get away with a lie. Not even a president should be above the law. Even as a child I remember being awed by the awareness that there was accountability for even one of the most powerful man in the world. I learned that there were principles that were more important than power and wealth. The principles of honesty and fairness are what is most important. I abhorred the deceptions and crimes that Nixon had committed, but I respected him for resigning. What else could he do? There were no honorable alternatives.

The Associated Press reported on July 19, 2005 that 1,771 members of the U.S. military had died in the Iraq war. ( A look at U.S. Military Deaths in Iraq ) Ninety-two percent of those deaths have occurred after Bush declared an end to major combat operations on May 1, 2003 in front of a banner that read "Mission Accomplished". There are 13,559 U.S. servicemembers that have been wounded since the beginning of the Iraq War.

The human cost of the war is high and will continue to grow. And what about the rationale? Why did the president claim that Iraq was seeking refined uranium from Niger? Where are the weapons of Mass Destruction? The Downing Street Memo reminds the public of the truth.

Preferential Seating

2005-07-19T17:07:00.000-05:00

The meaning of this bus sign is clear to anyone regardless of what language they speak or their cultural background.

Preferential Seating is reserved for people from four specific categories:

People with a prickly pear cactus growing out of their knee.
People who are traveling with a watermelon in their lap.
People who are bending over to lick a candy cane.
People wearing ski boots while straddling a giant golf tee.

Walk To San Juan De Los Lagos

2005-07-18T17:06:00.000-05:00

Rosy invited me to join her on the last leg of a pilgrimage she promised to make to San Juan de los Lagos to see the miraculous image of the virgin. Some people walk the distance from Salamanca in three days. Others take up to five days to complete the journey. It took Rosy eighteen years. The final leg was long enough, thirty-eight kilometers along open highway past trees, water tanks, old buildings and road kill. We baked ourselves in the sun and pounded our legs on the pavement, but it was worth it. I joined Rosy for a prayer of thanksgiving inside the cathedral.

Partying With "Barney"

2005-07-17T17:02:00.000-05:00

Barro Negro played last night in Bar Fly without the bongos, but it was funky groovy nonetheless. There were so many of us dancing in front of the band that I kept getting pushed into the saxophone player.

I ended up drinking beer with drummer Laloc, his architect brother Barney and Titi, world traveler and jewelry artisan who is proud of his Guatemalan pants. Bar Fly closes early, so we were forced into the street with our beers.

Our train moved to El Bar del Santos, but we lost Titi who peeled off at the freak bar, Los Lobos. Inside, I hooked up with Josue and other friends.

The next stop was Bar Ocho, where Sam was working as a waiter on the second floor. Barney, Laloc and I stood drinking our beer on the street in front of the bar long after closing time.

We eventually decided to go to El Divan. I found out later that the after-hours party there had lasted until six o’clock, but I left at 4:30. I had had enough beer and trance dancing by then. I swam through the crowd and said good-night to Rafa who was working the door.

Walking home, I passed Pedro, the Barro Negro guitarist who was perched on a stone monument making out with a groupie. He grinned at me when he came up for air.

View Source Code

2005-07-16T20:12:00.000-05:00

Vacation Within A Vacation

2005-07-15T11:05:00.000-05:00

There was a rich moment of bed stretching this morning when I recognized during the transition to wakefulness that I was alone in Guanajuato for the weekend. Rosy and the kids are safe and content in Salamanca. I will: hike, read Dune, listen to live music tonight with George and Nick, outline the "Janos" novel, work on TC project, write the "Cone of Silence" and sleep an extra 30 minutes.

No babies or ten year olds jumping on my chest. No imperative errands to buy evaporated milk. No sour diapers to process. Twist. Stretch. Extend toes. Breath deep. Roll eyeballs back inside my head for an extended session. Dream.

Solitaire Commentary

2005-07-14T23:28:00.000-05:00

... I am still playing the original deal.

The top card of pile six is removed by placing it on the appropriate proceeding card on pile seven. (sequential opportunity and color match)

The top card of pile six is removed again for a sequential opportunity on pile seven. Two card chain.

The original deal is stalled. First card from the hand is exposed. Sequential opportunity, but no color match.

Second hand card is playable on pile six.

Third hand card. No sequential opportunity.

Next hand card is playable on pile two. The next card in the hand is a duplicate. (same color and number)

Top card of pile seven is played on pile two.

Next hand card. No sequential opportunity. It duplicates the top card on pile two.

Next hand card. No play.

Next hand card. No play. It duplicates the top card on pile four.

Next hand card. No play. It duplicates the bottom card on pile five.

Last card of the first hand. A red ace. It is used to start the first ascending pile.

The next hand card is playable on pile four. (Sequential opportunity and color match) The first hand keeps going.

Next exposed hand card is played on pile four.

The next card is a low card. In fact it's a terminal card. There is no place to play it anyway.

Top card of pile six is played on pile four.

The top card of pile four is played on the new exposed card of pile six. A black descending anchor card is revealed, but there are unplayed cards underneath.

The top card of pile seven is played on pile four. The new exposed card on pile seven is a red ace. A new ascending pile is created.

A red descending anchor card is exposed on pile seven.

The exposed hand card is played on second ascending pile.

The exposed hand card is unplayable. It has been a long productive first hand, but now it's over. Time to turn over the hand and reveal the first card of the second hand ...

Ex-Hacienda San Gabriel De Barrera

2005-07-13T21:02:00.000-05:00

Fantastico Museo en Guanajuato!

Donde puedes ver: muebles... capillas... albercas... norias... jardines... cactus... naranjos... flores... bancos... fuentes... camas... mesas... pinturas... y...

Es muy relajante. Creeme.

Sterling Tonalli (a.k.a. Guita)

2005-07-12T18:26:00.000-05:00

Smiling flower picker
Stick horse riding stone hunter
Sinbad smasher
Clothesline rodeo clown
Future tree wrangler
Sand shuffler
Devourer of bread
Single-shoed spider man adversary
Baby tooth smiler with diaper

Pigs In The Blanket A La Mexicana

2005-07-11T17:41:00.000-05:00

Ingredients

1/3 cup vegetable oil
6 wieners
6 flour tortillas
6 toothpicks
1/4 cup mustard
1/4 cup catsup

Heat vegetable oil in a fry pan. Wrap each wiener in a flour tortilla. Secure each tortilla with a toothpick. Insert the tortilla-wrapped wieners in hot oil. Deep fry for about five minutes turning with a fork so the tortillas are cooked evenly on all sides. Serve on a plate with mustard and catsup for dipping.

Checklist For Georgie Bresnahan's 1st Birthday Party

2005-07-10T17:13:00.000-05:00

Double park on Arandas Boulevard in Irapuato
Drink jamaica
Play mini soccer
Go down slide
Ride merry-go-round
Eat green mole and rice
Get locked in archery cage
Break piñata
Buy inflatable spider-man for 30 pesos
Wait in line for women's bathroom
Sing Las Mañanitas
Eat cake and jell-o
Make hiking plans with Nick and George
Talk to poet Jorge Olmos about writing
Say good-bye to birthday boy Georgie Bresnahan

Why I've been So Thirsty Lately

2005-07-09T16:36:00.000-05:00

When I read Razor’s Edge, I had a craving to drink gin.

When I read Under the Volcano, I felt a need to drink mescal.

When I read Lust for Life, I wanted to try absinthe.

When I read Cypress Grove, I was driven to buy a bottle of whiskey and drink it.

Now I’m reading Dune, by Frank Herbert, set on the desert planet of Arrakis where water is so scarce the dew is harvested, body fluids are re-cycled and water merchants are the wealthiest people in society. I’ve been drinking lots of water.

Pizza And Old Doors

2005-07-08T16:24:00.000-05:00

Do people have a limited supply of affection? If so, should they waste it loving pizza, old doors and other inanimate objects that can't love them back? What if a bachelor loved pizza so much that when his destined bride showed up, he didn't have sense enough to push the parmesan aside and marry her? If destiny were real, bloodlines would be lost, the vaccine for warts never discovered.

If objects could love you, they would jump off the store shelves into your pocket, socks would stick with their mates and bicycle tires would patch themselves. Objects are no more capable of reason than cobblestones, avocado pits or Karl Rove. It's just stuff! It doesn't hover around us like Neptune's ring. It's just piles of dross that fade or bury us if we let it.

Movies And Film

2005-07-07T20:02:00.000-05:00

One of Skyler's classmates didn't think there were movie theaters in Mexico. Actually, movies are quite popular. DVD's cost twenty pesos in front of the Mercado Hidalgo. They come on two unlabeled cd-r's. We haven't gone to see a movie in the theaters this year except for The Straight Story by David Lynch that was showing in the Teatro Principal as part of an Art House Film festival. It was the painfully slow story of an old man who drives a lawnmower and eats roadkill for six weeks on a trip to visit his brother.

The annual short film festival, Expresion en Corto, will take place in Guanajuato from July 23 through July 30. I'll be posting updates. Some of the short films last year were quite entertaining like the Central Park Screamers. Rosy and I saw three short films in El Divan two weeks ago including am MTV-inspired dancing gorilla piece. And of course you can see Batman in Guanajuato. The movie theater is located behind the University. You have to walk up eighty steps to get there.

I'm Finished With Nausea

2005-07-06T19:18:00.000-05:00

I’m finished with Nausea by Jean Paul Sartre. The novel about a man who is nauseated by his own existence definitely falls into the “downer” category. There is a slight upswing in the mood of the book at the very end. Antoine Roquentin resolves in his mind the raging debate that has supplied the underlying conflict throughout: Do things exist?

On page 181 he narrates, “…nothingness was only an idea in my head, an existing idea floating in this immensity: this nothingness had not come before existence, it was an existence like any other and appeared after many others.”

This revelation makes him crazy mad. He runs from the public park, arms flailing, cussing at all the stuff around him, the existence of which he can no longer deny. This demonstrates that you can solve your own problems through thoughtful meditation and mental discipline, but if your problem is a stupid one, you will end up looking like an idiot.

What Kind Of Reader Are You?

2005-07-05T20:17:00.000-05:00

Today is Day 26 out of fifty-two. What kind of Weblog reader are you?

Procrastinator- "I received the link to Fifty-Two Days in Mexico, but I'm just too busy to look at it everyday. Yes, I am aware that I am depriving myself the chance to experience Garrett's considerable literary and artistic talent. The only one being hurt by my procrastination is myself."

Cynic- "Garrett's Weblog is probably boring. I received an email with the link, but I deleted it. I have no intention of visiting his site. My life would be so much more pleasant if I knew that dross like Fifty-Two Days in Mexico didn't exist to clutter up the Internet."

Disenchanted- "Yes, I was reading Fifty-Two Days in Mexico on a daily basis, but I got tired of it because Garrett never wrote anything about me. I could care less about Garrett's vacation. What I really enjoy, is reading about myself."

Fan- "I find myself arriving at work an hour early each day, so I can check out the latest post on Fifty-Two Days in Mexico . I usually check back every ten minutes to see if Garrett has made any revisions. I persuaded the IT department to push Fifty-Two Days in Mexico as the mandatory home page for everyone who works in my corporation/school district/government agency. Because of Fifty-Two Days in Mexico, I am living the apex of my life. I dread July 31 when Garrett will make his final post. At least, I will always have the memories."

Hike To The Summit Of Cerro De La Sirena

2005-07-04T21:24:00.000-05:00

The wind was so strong it nearly carried away my backpack. The summit of Cerro de la Sirena is one of my favorite places in Guanajuato. On one side you see the city. From the other side you see the Santa Rosa Mountains, la Presa de la Mata and thunderclouds over Irapuato. There is a rock I like to sit on when I look toward the mountains. I have decided to declare it a beach and spend a day there laying on a towel.

Third of July Celebration

2005-07-03T23:02:00.000-05:00

We celebrated the 3rd of July today with hot dogs, cake, tostadas and French Fries. We lit sparklers after it was dark. Guests include: Don Vicente & Nina, Armando & Family, Jorge & Family, Suegra, Laura & Family, Comadre Lupita, Suegro & Grandparents, Anita & Kids, Josue, Leonel & Mariangel, George & Family. Thanks for coming. Hope my family is safe this weekend and enjoying Independence Day. Hi Mom! Hi Dad! Hi Sis! Hi Pete!

Being Nocturnal

2005-07-02T18:00:00.000-05:00

I sleep all day waiting for George while the rain falls outside. Yes, rain. Soon, the hillsides above our house will be green with summer grass, and the purple garambullos will ripen on the tips of the cactus arms.

Bar Ocho We arrive before Sam begins his shift. Early. But we are there to eat vegetarian hamburgers on the patio and wait for darkness. Shortly, our evening will begin.

Cafe Santos A jazz band that jingles and rips. The guitarist jams us up to the cieling and back down. Chiapas coffee!

Bar Fly Barro Negro is the jam spankiest Mexican band I've heard in a while. It's danceable funky rock delivered by musicians in Aztec tunics. The skirt over jeans crowd is hip pip popping. Everyone is moving to the music.

Bar Santos Son de Montón. Can't help falling in love with the yip yapping of dueling jaranistas tinkling the strings on tiny guitars. Urban Mexico meets the Yucatan. There is dancing and whistling for more.

Bar Ocho Things end where they begin. Sam behind the bar extends his hospitality. Rain dumps on the cobblestones outside. I am dry and drinking an Indio.

Home before the sun comes up. A good Friday night.

Sobre Lenguaje

2005-07-01T10:44:00.000-05:00

Siempre hay los que preguntan como lo hago para hacer la transición al español. No lo voy a decir. Me aburre. Aunque comprendo como eso fascina a los que están sentados en los bancos duros del Instituto Falcón. Ellos concentran y esfuerzan para sacar el significado de lo que escuchan a su alrededor. Cada palabra que alcanzan a recoger de la cadena desordenada de sonidos es un paso más hacía la comprensión. Lo mismo haré cuando voy a Francia para perfeccionar mi francés. Pero, yo domino el español y no es un lenguaje extraño. Se siente normal. Y los momentos, supongo que todos tenemos esos momentos, en que las palabras que salen de mi boca están habladas por otra persona, son momentos en lo que estoy usando el inglés. No rechazo el inglés. Lo adoro. No soportaría leer Hemingway en traducción. Pinto mis cuadros léxicos con la brocha inglesa. Pero dentro de mí, hay una expresión en español válida y valorada.

No es mi culpa si no sabes leer castellano. La página Dictionary.com tiene un buen traductor.

Which is better: Guanajuato or San Miguel de Allende?

2005-06-30T18:18:00.000-05:00

	Guanajuato	San Miguel de Allende
Granted, for me to compare Guanajuato and San Miguel de Allende is a little like me comparing being a man and being a woman. I just don't have much experience inside San Miguel de Allende. Here is a comparison chart anyway.
Music in the Plaza	Estudiantina	Mariachi
Museums	At least six, although I tend to walk fast through the Quijote museum.	One, I think.
Night Life	You can stumble from one bar to another before you even lose your balance.	Pretty lively,I think, but I'm just guessing.
Restaurants	I don't really know since I only eat in one restaurant, the Truco 7.	You will be relieved of the burden of paying less than American prices.
Shopping	Lots of shops selling obscene t-shirts.	Artesanias galore.
Baby Strollers	Forget about it; too many stairs, too many uneven cobblestones and too many pedestrians	Limited viability. You will have to do some lifting and carrying.
Gringos	Now that everyone is reading 52 Days, we'll be expecting to see a lot more.	Well, San Miguel de Allende is part of the United States, isn't it?

What if a blog fell?

2005-06-29T23:06:00.000-05:00

If a blog was posted in the woods but there was no one to read it, would it still be a blog? And if a blog wasn't posted because the author was enjoying a delicious shower bath beneath a magic weeping mushroom, would it be a literary disater? Some people work on Wednesdays, but me, I place my babies in the mouths of giant frogs. Vacation is sweet.

Hike to the Caves

2005-06-28T19:10:00.000-05:00

Clarissa has been keeping a journal of our vacation that she writes in with a giant blue pencil from the Guanajuato market. She wrote an entry about our hike to the caves on Saturday. Clarissa, Skyler and I enjoyed them deeply.

We climbed the road to the Bufa for a half hour checking out the view of Guanajuato. We went straight to the deepest cave which is called either Garrett's Cave, Skyler's Cave or Two-way cave, depending on which one of us you talk to. The entrance is a tight squeeze and quickly separates into two passages. The left tunnel slopes down into a subterranean pool of water. The right tunnel continues deep into the mountain, but we turned around after forty yards. Skyler turned off the flashlight for a second so we could get freaked out by the darkness.

This reminded me of the time I visited a commercial cave in Chiapas in which the lighting system wasn't working. I rented a weak flashlight from an Indian woman who was selling jewelry at the entrance. It gave off less light than a lit cigarette and I had to thump it against my thigh avery ten steps to jiggle the batteries when it went out on me. Altogether, I went in about half a mile. I was never worried about getting stranded inside. I just assumed that some tourist with another weak flashlight would eventually come along and step on me.

A Cliché Story

2005-06-27T19:12:00.000-05:00

In a city that never sleeps, two star-crossed lovers sit in a coffee house which is nearly as dark as night, pouring their hearts out.

Man: I love you more than life itself.

Woman: I am nothing without you.

Man: Our two hearts beat as one.

Woman: We make beautiful music together.

Man: I'm glad we are of one mind.

(Outside, it begins to rain cats and dogs.)

Woman: There's a chill in the air but I feel as cozy as a kitten with you.

Man: Yes, you are the light of my life, but I have to say that I'm as hungry as a wolf right now. I could eat a horse.

Woman: The restaurant across the plaza makes a mean omelette. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

Man: You don't have to tell me twice. I'd eat there in a heartbeat.

Woman: I won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

Man: But it's raining and we'll get soaked to the bone.

Woman: Getting there is half the fun.

Man: Let's run like the wind when we get outside, and we can get there in the wink of an eye.

Woman: I couldn't have said it better.

In the restaurant they feasted like kings and then went to their hotel room to sleep like logs. The man and woman were as happy as clams and lived together happily ever after.

Speak your mind about this story. Click on the comments link and leave your two cents worth.

The Story of the "El Torito Dance"

2005-06-26T23:04:00.000-05:00

An especially fierce bull was selected one year for the festivities on a hacienda near Silao, Guanajuato. He escaped from the pen where he was being kept until it was time for the bullfight to begin.

The Horseman tried to use his skill with animals to capture the bull and force him back into his pen, but the bull resisted and charged at the Horseman with his horns.

Next, the Foreman tried to subdue the bull, but the animal did not respect his authority and charged at him with his horns.

The Mariquita was the most beautiful woman on the hacienda and the landlord's daughter. She attempted to seduce the bull with her enchantments, but the bull did not fall under her spell and he charged at her with his horns.

The Drunkard in her tattered dress, was the next person to confront the bull. In her drunken state she believed she was invincible and that the bull would subject itself to her commands, but the bull did not follow her instructions and he charged at her with his horns.

Every party has a prankster who sticks his nose into other people's business. At that moment, the Moco appeared to try and reduce the anger of the bull by distracting him with his pranks, but the bull remained as enraged as ever and charged toward the Moco with his horns.

The residents of the town became alarmed when they saw that no one could control the bull. They called for the pious Viejito to come to the hacienda and calm the bull with his devotions. The bull began to slow down his movements and move closer to the old man. It looked like the bull would be tamed with prayer.

But the Devil was envious that the old man could calm the wild bull. He interrupted the scene, rushing at the bull, cracking his whip at the animal to force him to obey. But the Bull was not afraid of the Devil, and he charged at him with his horns.

Finally Death itself appeared to subdue the rampaging animal. He expected that the Bull would follow his commands. Everyone on earth must respond to his call, but the Bull did not fear even Death itself. He charged toward Death with his horns.

At that point, the people of the hacienda recognized that the bull would never be tamed. They finally allowed him to run free in the open pasture, while everyone stayed awake drinking, feasting and exploding fireworks until dawn.

We Are All Molecules

2005-06-25T18:41:00.000-05:00

We are all molecules colliding with each other. Sometimes the impact is pleasant, and we try to intertwine our electrons as we fly through space. At other times, the impact is harmful. We are left spinning and damaged through the void. We exert hopeful energy to steer our course by our decisions. This is Free Will.

If individuals exercise Free Will to choose Good and abstain from Evil, we will become molecules that flow in an integrated path to form a single entity. The conciousness of this entity is already a part of us. It is the universal layer of shared conciousness that unites all souls on earth. It is what George Lucas calls, "The Force".

Thoughts Are like Flowers

2005-06-24T17:48:00.000-05:00

Under The Volcano by Malcolm Lowry is the best English language book set in Mexico I've ever read. An expatriate in Cuernavaca drinks himself to death when a long awaited visit from his estranged wife coincides with a surprise visit from his rival half-brother.

Christian, age 2, has gotten into the habit of requesting chicken milk. He's a few billion years early. Chickens have not yet evolved into mammals.

The tradition in Guanajuato during the Festival of San Juan is to go with the family to the Presa de la Olla and eat Chiles Rellenos. There are booths all along the route that sell anything from beer to underwear to dried sardines in a cup.

El Divan is a local bar that plays loud music located on the floor above another bar that plays loud music.

Inventor Skyler Smith continues to create useful items from what he finds on the ground. He made action figures out of clothespins. He also invented his own strategy game using standard chess pieces.

Rosy ordered a hand woven bracelet for me for fifteen pesos. It is black and green and says audifaz.com instead of my name. There was a brief time when I began to introduce myself that way, but it never caught on.

I'm on chapter 30 of Where Loyalty Lies, a novel by Rich Patch, a colleague from the Pen and Paper writer's group. I missed the meeting last night at the Lux coffe house because I'm here in Mexico. Hope it was productive.

There are no traffic lights in the entire city of Guanajuato. Much of the automobile traffic moves in tunnels underground.

Plants and trees grow from seeds when placed in soil and with exposure to water and sunlight. Eventually a tree trunk appears. Where did the material for the tree trunk come from? Are there prefigurations of tree trunks floating in the vapor of the air we breath?

Extra Time

2005-06-23T18:52:00.000-05:00

There are no movies being filmed in Guanajuato this summer. Too bad. I could use the extra cash working as an extra like I did in 2002 when Robert Rodriguez came into town to make Once Upon A Time in Mexico. We spent long hours in the courtyard of an elementary school waiting for Robert’s assistants to come for us to run through flaming debris shouting “Long Live the President” to Spaniard Antonio Banderas. In another scene, I helped carry a glass coffin with a wax figure of Cheech Marin. Later, I helped capture a jeep from an armed Mexican soldier with an uncomfortable “Day of the Dead” mask covering my face. We could barely walk off camera with the masks on. I can’t believe civilians would consider wearing them throughout an entire insurgency.

Some extras were issued six foot fibreglass skulls that they hefted above their heads during the parade scene. These props made excellent shade for napping while we waited along the street for another opportunity to run past the camera. It became sort of game to see if we could frighten people as they walked by one of the giant skull masks by saying boo and shaking it when as they walked past. We entertained ourselves for hours making mimes jump on their way to work and provoking old ladies to smash the object with their purses.

How to see Guanajuato in One Day

2005-06-22T10:46:00.000-05:00

Basically, you cannot see everything in Guanajuato in one day unless you have the stamina of a marathon runner or you own your own jet pack. Forget about driving. Most of the roads are too narrow for cars and there's no place to park anyway. We tried it Monday while Chris and Tamara were in town with their daughter Eliana. We took the tram up to the Pipila, looked at the front door of the Diego Rivera Museum and walked through the Mercado before having a total meltdown.

We didn't see the Alhóndiga, site of the most famous battle of Mexican Independence. We didn't see the Callejon del Beso, a street so narrow two lovers from history managed to make out with each other by leaning forward from their balconies. We didn't see the Museo de Las Momias where the unique combination of dry climate and mineral-laden soil has resulted in the mummification of some people who were buried in the local cemetary. This unusual phenomenon is celebrated by propping up the cadavers behind glass cases and charging admission to see them.

Single Digit Year Notation

2005-06-21T15:46:00.000-05:00

The Arizona Diamondbacks won the World Series on 11/4/1, the Downing Street Memo was transcribed on 7/23/2 and today is 6/21/5. The decade may be too far gone for single digit year notation to catch on, but I have written dates this way consistently since 2000.

When marking the date on memos, home-made cd's and hand written notes, why waste your time writing a superfluous zero before the year digit? Doesn't 6/21/5 mean the same as 6/21/05? Do you waste your energy writing a zero before single digit months? Do you have to write 06/21 to remind yourself that June is the sixth month and that the six represents a single digit number? Likewise, we can assume that a year expressed as a single digit is from the units column.

We are in a unique decade in history. We will never again see zeros in the ten's place of years in our lifetime. Let's embrace the remaining years of this span and express these years as single digits. There is no risk of confusion, we will eliminate the physical exertion of having to write unnecessary zeros, and we will be celebrating the special qualities of the first decade of this century.

Interview With an Inventor

2005-06-20T19:08:00.000-05:00

52 Days: Skyler Smith, you are ten years old and an inventor. In the last twenty-four hours you have invented a stick belt, a rope swing, a toy for entertaining your brother, a kite, woven jewelry and charcoal ink. To what do you attribute this incredible burst of creativity?

Skyler Smith: Being bored.

52 Days: Of which invention are you most proud?

Skyler Smith: The woven necklace and bracelets I put together with just my fingers.

52 Days: Where do you find materials for your inventions?

Skyler Smith: On the ground lying around.

52 Days: Which of your inventions surprised you the most?

Skyler Smith: The pencil and ink. I took a piece of the tree that's burnt and I smashed it into dust. Then, I mixed it with water to make the ink. I sharpened a stick to make the pencil.

52 Days: Which of your inventions do you think are the most practical to share.

Skyler Smith: Bracelet and necklace. I already gave a necklace to Ulises' baby (Norah), Lupita, Daddy and Mommy.

52 Days: What do you call the invention where you tied a string to a baseball cap and you yanked it away from your brother whenever he tried to grab it?

Skyler Smith: The living hat.

52 Days: What advice would you give to other kids your age who are interested in becoming inventors?

Skyler Smith: Think of stuff to invent.

Am I a Poet?

2005-06-19T22:14:00.000-05:00

Am I a poet
because I thought of the metaphor
of two leaves from different trees converging in one pile?

Am I a poet when I compare the roots of trees to patriarchs?

Do I make poetry by breathing the fresh air of forests?
Touching moss on trees?
Praying in an adobe church?
Plucking a pear from its branch?

Do I sustain poetry
generating an aura of love with my wife
in a black lit bar
where a harpsichord building artisan
speaks love for music, love for woman, love for yearning

Am I a poet because I declare Thankfulness a poem
even before there are words

Grateful Soy Burgers

2005-06-18T15:35:00.000-05:00

George Bresnahan is using a white hat these days. He no longer lives in Guanajuato, but he came into town to buy me a soy burger. I have myself to blame that we missed our hike last week. I had sent him two wrong phone numbers.

George was the first person to read drafts of Grateful Deceivers, or rather, listen to me read them from the spiral notebooks I filled while saturating myself with caffeine at Café Dada. I remember sitting with George at a table beside the Juarez Opera House, sunlight passing through our bottles of Corona. He shook his head at one point saying,¨"I don't know, Garrett. You and I have different styles of writing." You see, I was reading Poe at that point, and it was making the protagonist speak with elegant Victorian constructions instead of the jargon of a drunken beach drifter.

Smith Family

2005-06-17T11:16:00.000-05:00

There are six of us and the Italian cab driver at Sky Harbor said we were too many to fit in one taxi. Yet all of us plus two more fit in the car from the Guadalajara airport to Guanajuato. We have been having a gas so far in Guanajuato, Salamanca and Juventina Rosas.
(click on the thumbnails to see a full size picture.)

Sterling: age 1
He has learned to dunk sweet bread in his milk.

Christian: age 2
Crazy about mechanical horses and public trampolines.

Clarissa: age 8
She has a new apron and is currently reading Skeleton Man.

Skyler: age 10
He has another new haircut and likes to play "stinko man".

Rosy:
She is a wonderful mother and wife. She is getting ready to paint some new pictures.

Garrett: age 40
There is a good reason for sticking his head behind the toilet. He doesn't do it for kicks.

Most Dangerous Thing

2005-06-16T17:32:00.000-05:00

The most dangerous thing in Mexico is the coffee pot in my house, because it's an old one with no automatic shut off. The most frightening experience in Mexico is inserting my head between the toilet and the bathroom wall. I have to lie on the floor and twist my head just right to get myself in there. There is no use looking for Godzilla stomping buildings. Mexico is mundane. Each day is like any day in Phoenix except when the water heater is busted and the water has been shut off. The hoodlums have stopped bashing windows. We can park in the street now. There is nothing to do but lie in bed listening to teenagers next door firing at virtual terrorists.

Artistic Feel

2005-06-15T12:49:00.000-05:00

One of the best galleries in Guanajuato is La Sala de Hemenegelindo Bustos on Lascuráins. The current exhibit is Oaxacan art. I remember one sensational opening there for an exhibit of video art. The intermission piece was a giant inflatable chair spectators could sit on to watch episodes of Barney. The chair was an immense construction of plastic, tape and inflated air that didn't pop when a chilango took a dive on it from the balcony. There were some cool video pieces about a woman shaving and cars in traffic. Marcela's husband produced a video of a German Shepherd devouring a rabbit.

¨How did you know the dog would eat the bunny?" I asked him at the after hours party in Bar Ocho.

"I didn't," he said, "but I thought something might happen because the dog hadn't eaten for three days."

Sam was tending bar Monday night at the Ocho. Kent Evans is in New York, so I may not get to meet him. Chander calls the bar from Newport Beach when he gets drunk enough. I talked to Rafa from Corazón de Babel. They have a gig coming soon, and Josue has been drinking at home since he stopped working.

Guanajuato House

2005-06-14T16:26:00.000-05:00

The leaves of the liria plants moving in the wind outide our window are like waves on the ocean. Through the windows we hear the leaves rustling, we hear birds' songs and the scampering of squirrel feet. The sunlight paints patterns on the ground filtering itself through tree limbs. In the distance, two pitiful clouds drift away from the dried up city.

The outside walls are bare brick. The inside walls are paint and plaster. Two workers built the house in six weeks in 2000. I never learned their last names. They built an interior arch and two niches for books. Some day we will add a second and third floor. For now, we enjoy it as a studio.

A Tough Walk for Ants And Inline Skaters

2005-06-13T19:31:00.000-05:00

Nothing is permanent, even the pavement. Nothing is easy, even walking over churned up cobblestones on the way to Café Dada. The Baratillo fountain is wrapped in blue plastic. We are waiting for the rains here. There is nothing but brown grass and hot sleepless nights. The rains are stuck in traffic or have overslept their alarm. I hope they drop buckets when they get here and knock down tree limbs. We are ready for thunder and tadpoles. The construction will become a field of muck.

What You Can And Can't Do In San Fernando Plaza

2005-06-12T21:25:00.000-05:00

San Fernando Plaza is the new place to go and have fun in Guanajuato because there are bulldozers in Baratillo Plaza and traffic has been re-routed to pass through Jardin Union.

In San Fernando Plaza you can sit quietly and watch your babies run in circles until they are too dizzy to play with the balloons you bought them from the balloon man. You can browse the book peddler’s stalls and find plastic wrapped editions of Nietzsche, Pikachu post cards and Che Guevara stick pins. In San Fernando you can hear jazz and drink tea in front of the Bossa Nova. You can eat fancy cream soups in front of Van Gogh’s Ear or you can drink Dos Equis in front of the bar which has a name I can never remember because it is more than six words long.

You can walk through San Fernando Plaza on your way to the Jardin Reforma to tryst with your lover or you can walk the other direction and watch the members of the estudiantina sing in medieval costumes. In San Fernando Plaza you can sit on a park bench and watch other people do everything I just mentioned.

But in San Fernando Plaza you can no longer buy menudo from blind Doña Lupita who missed cleaning too many black hairs from the beef tripe. You can no longer buy Guatemalan textiles from the store that burned, but you can now buy quesadillas. Last night, more people preferred the hamburgers next door. The quesadillas may eventually catch on. If they don’t, I wonder if they’ll bring back the hippies and the incense.

We Are All Afflicted by Jingle Bells

2005-06-11T17:21:00.000-05:00

We are all afflicted by jingle bells
We are poised leaning over the border with our feet fastened to Yankee soil
We have completed preparations for launch
Into the sparkling abyss
To frolic with astros
And covort with cometas
We will land with padded feet on the craters of Quijote´s bootsprints
This delicious waiting is a romp into waiting for what happened already

Trying to Make Ourselves Comfortable

2005-06-10T13:52:00.000-05:00

This picture reminds me of when Rosy and I slept in a traffic circle in Basel, Switzerland along with four guys from New Jersey who followed us from the train station on the German side of the border because they assumed we knew where we were going. There was absolutely no one else in the street at two o'clock in the morning except the cab driver who idled beside us for two miles trying to talk us into boarding.

I used to think Aeromexico was a high class airline because they distribute hard candy as you get on the plane, but after last summer's u-turn in mid air and last night's over-booking fiasco, I've changed my opinion of the company.

It's time to start driving my family to Mexico like Victor Arnow did twenty years ago. He told the story Tuesday night at the Counter Culture Café of going in a VW bus to see the tree climbing crabs of Mazatlan.

We're vacationing in Tempe today. We'll try once more tonight to fly across the border.

Something's Going to Happen

2005-06-09T02:30:00.000-05:00

Getting ready spend the next fifty-two days in Mexico where something big will happen. I'll publish a book, lose 10 pounds, meet Kent Evans, star in a movie, verify Free Will, potty train Christian, conjoin with my wife, impeach the president, stop global warming, take hikes with George, hug all my kids, spend one day in bed, inspire art around me, create history curriculum, eat guacamayas, prevent war in Iran, stop snoring, play chess and read Nausea by Jean-Paul Sarte. Mostly I want to write and come up with a better title for "Vaseline and Disjointed Time." I want to write "Cone of Silence" and get going on the border book I've got outlined.

Really, I'll change diapers and wait in line with housewives to buy tortillas.

And I've got this nifty weblog-- Fifty Days in Mexico. Keep checking back. I'll keep you informed.