Jul 22, 2003, 9:32 AM
Post #6 of 6
Upon my return...
Everything is sooooooooooo perfect. Concrete structures are flawlessly painted, with complete cyclone fencing and manicured lawns, cops in their new cars can find out more about you in two minutes.......
Road exits are perfectly marked. everything looks fresh out of some kind of weird magazine...
And it's all sterile and cold as hell.
It's sooooooooooooooooo quiet, with nobody verbally hawking cylinders of gas, sweet potatoes, or suuuuuuper oferrrrrrtas at the local supertienda.
There's no chance of a fiesta, or seeing trabajadores marching in huelga, no indigenas, padding by on thir way to market, no whooping, chirping car alarms, not a chance in the world of scoring a streetside tamale on your way home, and the closest thing to arts and crafts would be phenolic plastic moldings in some nickle and dime "Dollar Store" somewhere.
Woe to you if your front tire should roll upon the white line of a crosswalk! "That'll be one hundred sixty five dollars sir, cash, check or plastic", but not right then or there of course, you have to go way and the hell out of your way to pay this insult. Try to palm off five bucks to the cop and wham, you're in cuffs baby on your way to see the wizard.
Build a palapa over top your motorhome? Hijole Man! Do you know how many zoning codes that this would violate? You need a zoning variance, then this inspector will come out and then that inspector will come out and argue that it's all done wrong and what the hell, you can't park your motorhome inside the city limits anyway. Your 1938 travel (storage) trailer that hasn't seen the carratera since Roosevelt was in office needs a thirty dollar a year license tag or the ownership certificate is void, and that thing has to go to the fifty dollar a month RV storage yard as well. WE DON'T WANT BLIGHT!
Someone's hammering on your door. It's an attorney sent by your next door neighbor that you haven't laid eyes on in ten years (the one that drives a French sedan). It seems that "your" plumb tree that hangs over the fence had dropped a fruit that the neighbor's guest slipped on and broken their ankle. She happens to be an ice ballarena for the Moscow Follies, and the attorney only wants ten million smackers to make his client "one with the earth again".
The village priest has been dallying with the choir boys, and the sports channel has a special on an entire basketball team that has snuffed one of their own. On another channel Lee Ermey, shouts to make you "Stand up and fly right".
Idi Amin in is Saudi Arabia, while their neighbors are in Uganda looking for uranium to blow the Statue of Liberty all the way back to Paris France.
The government office of budget and management swears up and down that out eight percent a year inflation is actually closer to (dreaded) deflation. Try to follow the ups and down of the Dow Jones Industrials and you'll get nauseated or the bends.
The World's largest military force, with all of it's computers, and depleted uranium are playing hide-and-go-seek with mad men fully up to the task, and our reporters are "imbedded" something like what a bug does to a paint job at sixty miles an hour.
But have our neighbors "change" living inside all of this normalcy? A few months ago I heard a gringa child ask her mother "What color is it here?" My answer though I didn't voice it at the time is: "Happy! A mixture of cool blue contentment, excited red, and sunny yellow"
The Soap Box Is Relenquished