To my devoted readers (both of you):

I apologize for not updating my blog in such a long time. By way of an explanation for my lack of textual output, I’d like to paraphrase Charles Dickens, who I believe was the first to identify the melancholy truth that even unbridled internet-based narcissism must once in a while take a break, or at least eat a tamale.

So whilst I’ve been on this tamale-filled break, I have busied myself with two main activities: making an ass of myself, and traveling. (The latter is a new hobby.) This being the case, the following blog entry will be divided into two appropriately titled sections.

MAKING AN ASS OF MYSELF

As many of you know, my Spanish is pretty good. Some here have even gone so far as to call it “very good,” and once, while imbibing whiskey in the days following the debacle with the police, it was regarded as “reminiscent of a less poetic, more militant Pablo Neruda. But on crack.”

As anyone who has ever tried to learn a second language will tell you, even those who can release a smooth flow of sentences on-par with a cracked-out literary giant make mistakes; it just so happens that my mistakes this week could be regarded as galactically embarrassing—and therefore (mostly) worth repeating. Luckily, I made one of these mistakes in the presence of children between the ages of 11 and 13—or in other words, a demographic that easily forgets and is always reluctant to mention the blunders of well-meaning teachers.

Here’s how it went down:

LOCATION: A classroom.

THE PLOT: I’m teaching English—specifically, family-related vocabulary, as well as quantitative words (some, all, none, etc.). In preparation for this lesson, I had students draw their own family trees for homework the previous night.

THE SETUP: Our book mentions China, and the fact that most families there only have one child. I recall reading about how many Asian societies have been keeping written records of family histories for so long that it is difficult to find someone to date or marry to whom you are not related. I mention this to the class (in Spanish), and note how extensive their own family trees are.

WHAT I MEANT TO ASK THE STUDENTS: Is it difficult in this community to find someone to date or marry that you’re not related to?

WHAT I ACTUALLY SAID: Is it difficult in this community to find someone to date or marry that you haven’t had relations with?

WHAT HAPPENED: It was a few minutes before I could get my students to stop laughing.

This was a pretty bad mistake, but not as bad as the time I talked about needing a jacket, and was then informed that the common word for jacket (chaqueta) is actually Mexican slang for “hand-job.”

TRAVELING

According to Dante’s Inferno, there are nine circles of hell. And while Dante was certainly a wise dude (I say “dude” because “wise man” and “wise guy” seem to have alternative meanings), the details he provided about each circle have failed to stand the test of time. All this nonsense about heretics and flaming tombs fails to accurately depict what hell is like nowadays—and I am sure of this, because I have seen hell. It definitely no longer involves pushing heavy weights, being trapped under water, or other activities one can do at any YMCA. No—these days hell exists in long trips to Wal-Mart, John Denver music, “modern dance” recitals, and the airport in Mexico City.

I mention all this, of course, by way of saying that I recently took a trip to the airport in Mexico City. You can guess how it went; let me fill you in on why:

My best friend in Mexico is a girl named Amanda. Amanda lives with a girl named Lynn, whose boyfriend was flying into Mexico City last Saturday. Mexico City is a five-hour, multi-bus ride from Guanajuato, and Lynn felt nervous making the trip to meet her boyfriend alone. So Amanda and I volunteered to go for safety and support.

We arrived at the airport early in the afternoon, about a half-hour before the boyfriend’s flight was scheduled to arrive. We checked the flight listings, and, seeing that the flight was listed as being on-time, decided to spend the remaining time eating delicious snacks.

While we were eating our delicious snacks, Lynn got a text message from her boyfriend alleging that his plane had had to make an emergency landing in Texas, as a very inconsiderate woman had decided to have a stroke mid-flight. However, when we checked the flight listings again, the flight was still labeled as being on-time.

In order to clear up this discrepancy, it was decided that someone should go talk to the woman working at the United Airlines desk. And as my Spanish was the best of the three of us, I was named Official Airport Liaison.

Upon receiving this promotion (from my previous position of Official Eye Candy), I immediately began forming a plan to get the information from the person at the desk: I would have to gain her trust, and I endeavored to do so by honorable means: promises of acting work, and maybe a trip to a nice restaurant—someplace fancy and romantic, like an Olive Garden or Arby’s.

But just as I was slathering myself in some newly purchased Old Spice, Amanda claimed that if I just asked for the information, the woman at the desk would willingly divulge it, as it was her job.

I laughed at the reckless absurdity of her suggestion.

Me: Oh really? And if that’s the case, what, pray tell, am I supposed to do with all this charm I’m carrying around?

Amanda: Jesus, Kevin. I have no idea. But at least you smell better than usual now. What happened to your usual scent—Musk of Ox, I believe it is?

Me: Har har, mein Freund. Do you want me to go ask, or shall we stand here longer so you can shower me in tepid witticisms you likely gleaned from a Garfield comic strip?

Amanda: Touche. I bow to your wit. You are indeed charming and handsome, and certainly more clever than I. Will you please use your super Spanish skills to procure the desired information?*

*This last line is not exactly what Amanda said. To the untrained ear, her actual remarks would have sounded a lot more like “Go f--k yourself.” But I know her well, and have translated this seemingly negative sentiment into what she really meant.

And so I did procure the information: the woman at the desk said that a passenger had become “ill,” and that the plane had landed briefly in Texas, but should be arriving in Mexico City within the next 90 minutes.

Seven hours later, the plane arrived.

And believe it or not, this story has not yet begun to get ridiculous.

It’s late now, though, and I need to get some sleep. I’ll have to stop this story here and pick it up again later. Until then, file this under TO BE CONTINUED…

Sincerely,
Kevin

JASON: THE LEGEND BEGINS TO BE TOLD

What do you call a man whose deeds are so legendary that he was named an honorary colonel by the state of Kentucky without ever setting foot in the state itself? A man whose devotion to the prosperity of America’s dairy farmers is so great that he will eat ice cream three meals a day? A man who tried to sell affordably priced packets of dehydrated water to thirsty people everywhere?

You call him Jason K. Pietrzak: Intrepid Photographer, Captain of Business, Future Political Candidate, Ace Junior Detective—and the best friend of this author since the sixth grade.

Like a true Champion of the People, Jason spends many of his waking hours in the service of a greater good: creating an important photographic record of America’s wildlife; researching government conspiracies; and twirling the ends of his mustache and muttering the word “excellent” while a fast-moving train approaches.

But even someone with his formidable talents and unprecedented fame needs time away from the blinding light of glory. To momentarily escape his weighty existence, Jason engages in the sort of folksy activities that all true Americans enjoy: playing baseball; penning manifestos; reading about G. Gordon Liddy strangling people with piano wire; napkin folding; and so on.

Jason’s constant companion is his camera. His semi-constant companion is a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips. And whenever possible, he opens this bag with the help of his delightfully logical, wilderness-savvy girlfriend, known in these pages as Annebell (pictured below).

Most of you are likely unacquainted with even the most riveting episodes in the Annals of Jason—episodes like Number 17, where Jason’s father proffered the endlessly helpful advice, “Never get an ugly girl pregnant, because then you’re stuck with her.” Or Number 253, in which Jason attempted to liberate his childhood home—The Lion’s Den—from clutter, only to be struck down by the feverish protests of his parents, who couldn’t bear to part with any of the basement-worn boxes containing hundreds of what they referred to as “broken but fixable shoe-horns.”

These episodes will perhaps be revealed in later blog entries, but for now I would like to introduce you to America’s Greatest Saga with episode Number 402:

STARCH RELIEF*

*Dialogue--even the last line--appears exactly as it was spoken in real life. This may be hard to believe, but it is the truth.

Time: The Present

Our hero has recently returned to Concord, New Hampshire, in order to complete a photography assignment. After visiting with his parents in The Lion’s Den, he is making preparations to return to Wyoming, where he and his beloved Annebell have taken up residence while she attends graduate school.

We rejoin our hero as he walks into the living room of The Lion’s Den and finds his mother ironing his laundry.

Jason: [in disbelief] Are you ironing my JEANS?

Mother: Yeah. [spraying starch]

Jason: What are you doing? Is that starch?

Mother: Yeah, these are very hard to iron.

Jason: I don't want my jeans ironed, especially not with starch. Are you crazy?

Mother: You look like a bum. All your pants are wrinkled.

Jason: They are JEANS. I am going to WYOMING. I don't want you ironing those.

[Heated argument over Jason’s alleged bumminess ensues.]

Mother: Why did we pay for you to go to college when you go around dressing like a bum with wrinkled pants?

[Mother storms out.]

[Father comes into the room to urge them to be reasonable.]

Jason: Dad, they are JEANS. I am going to WYOMING.

Father: Does everybody in Wyoming look like a bum?

Jason: Dad, I don't want my jeans starched.

Father: Nobody wants to talk to a person who wears wrinkled jeans.

*************************************************************

Stay tuned for the next episode, in which Jason saves our friend Young Gregory from a disorienting experience in a swamp. The episode's title: WHERE AM I, AND WHY AM I WET?

(Country music song of the same name will be released by Young Gregory in the coming weeks. Check Amazon.com for more details.)

O'Brien, during happier times. (Photo courtesy ALM)


AMERICAN ASSAULTED

Guanajuato, Gto.--Armed police officers mugged an American man Wednesday night, taking his money and pushing him forcefully into a brick wall.

Kevin O’Brien, a 25 year-old teacher from the United States, was walking down Paseo de la Presa at about 12:30 a.m. when a passing police vehicle screeched to a halt and six officers jumped out.

“I was coming back from walking a friend home and all of a sudden they have me surrounded right there on the sidewalk,” said O’Brien. “I asked if there was a problem, and they told me to put my hands up and turn around.”

O’Brien says he did not understand which way they wanted him to turn, and when he failed to follow their orders properly they pushed him into the brick wall next to the sidewalk.

“They stood me up against the wall and searched me. They went through my pockets while they asked me all kinds of questions about what I was doing and where I lived.”

After returning O’Brien’s possessions to him following the search, they sent him on his way.

“At that time I didn’t think anything that bad had happened. But when I got out of sight I went through my wallet to see if everything was there, and sure enough, they’d stolen like $25 (250 pesos) from me. They left me $5 (50 pesos)—maybe so I would have enough to take a cab home. You know, so I could avoid getting mugged or something.”

The identities of the officers involved is unknown, as is the specific law enforcement group to which they belong. “They had on dark blue uniforms,” said O’Brien, “but that’s what almost every police officer in Mexico seems to wear, local or state or whatever.”

When asked if he would report the incident, O’Brien was unsure. “I’d like to, but I definitely couldn’t provide much information that would lead to an arrest, nor a positive ID in a lineup or anything… Plus, I’m unclear about legal procedures in this country. And what am I going to do, walk into the police station and accuse police officers of accosting me? Ask them for advice? They’re the ones that mugged me, for chrissake.”

AFTEREFFECTS: IN HIS OWN WORDS

“I’ve been tense all day,” said O’Brien. “It’s a little embarrassing, like I somehow got PTSD over 25 bucks. But my emotions are way out of whack. I snapped at one of my students today—really yelled at her over nothing, over not speaking loudly enough. And then a couple times today I’ve just almost started crying randomly. I saw a dog limping down the street this afternoon and almost lost it right there.

“And when I think about the incident specifically, I can’t help but feel complete outrage. I mean, what was I doing wrong? What was my crime? They had no probable cause—but I guess you don’t need that here. I guess it’s enough to be walking while Caucasian. Or walking while American. Or—at the very least—walking like you have money in your pocket.”

O’Brien went on to say that the fact that the incident may have been racially motivated has additionally left him feeling disconcerted. “Racism is something you always hear about, but until you’re the victim of something that at least possibly ties into it, you have no idea what it’s like. In a way, I’ve never felt so uncomfortable in my own skin as I do right now,” he said.

The son of a police officer, O’Brien says he is most bothered by the fact that the crime was committed by law enforcement officials. “I grew up in a police family, and around police. I’ve always been taught, always believed, that you could count on them for help, no matter what, no matter who you are or where you are. And now—to find out that the people who are supposed to protect everyone are doing harm, to find out that the ones who are supposed to serve the community are only serving themselves…it’s just shocking. I feel like I’m suddenly without a parachute."

OUTLOOK: IN MORE OF HIS OWN WORDS

Despite the incident, O’Brien says he won’t let it ruin his stay in the country, nor will he let it dramatically alter his positive feelings about Mexico and its people. “Up until yesterday, I’d been loving my stay here. Everyone is so friendly, and although Mexico has a relatively negative reputation back home, the reality is that it’s a fantastic place.

“[After last night] it’s tempting to want to paint all police officers here, all the people here, with the same brush: as being corrupt, as being racist, as hating Americans. But that just isn’t the way things are, and I think it’s important to keep a level head about things. You can get mugged in any country. Things can be corrupt in any country. Hell, when did ours get to be free of civic sin? Overreacting isn’t the answer.

“And I’m not going to stop walking around or anything at night. I’m not going to pay for cabs constantly, live in fear constantly. This was one incident, and this isn’t a common occurrence here. It’s unfortunate, yes, and frustrating and unacceptable. But when you surrender your daily activities like that, little things, you’re letting them win. You’re letting tyranny and oppression win. I might have been a victim once, but I refuse to act like a victim forever.”

--by delicious. staff