The longer you live here, the closer you edge toward crossing The Line. Gangs of San Miguel took on the concept, citing me in the first line, which means that now I’m impelled to write about the lines which I absolutely will not cross. Not under any circumstances. Well, only if threatened with revocation of my Mexican passport.
Let's see: I have worn high heels with jeans, left the plastic covering on a lampshade, accepted invitations to parties and events I had absolutely no intention of attending, failed to acknowledge receipt of or thank the donor for a gift, executed the Mexican lie, and have had my hair dyed in colors not found in nature.
A few of us might hesitate before hanging a black velvet painting of Elvis, the Last Supper, or something Jesus right in the living room, but there are even more cultural barriers. I would rather have fuzzy dice hanging from my rear-view mirror than cross any of these lines:
- 1. Wear polyester, which is the fabric of choice a good deal of Mexican clothing. I would never wear clothes which are too tight, reveal cleavage or bare arms. For men, the equivalent would be those shiny polyester shirts of a fabric similar to the Qiana of the 70's, usually adorned with the Virgen of Guadalupe or fighting cocks. Wait, I would never let polyester anything in my house.
2. Display tschotchkes — souvenirs and favors from baptisms, weddings, and the like, often in the form of Holly Hobby or childish dolls. Or homemade crafts.
3. MAJOR LINE ALERT!!! Decorate the bathroom with decorative toilet accessories to cover the toilet seat, load bandoliers of toilet paper, or upholster the toilet tank.
4. Dress detergent and cooking oil bottles and other kitchen appliances in clever garments. Mine are naked.
5. Wear an apron.
6. Apply high-gloss varnish on anything, particularly when matte or satin is an option. Mexicans love high-gloss and disdain matte finishes. It's only in recent years that I learned that matte and satin varnishes and paints are a lot more expensive than the high-glass, which explains a lot.
7. Wear religious medals and crucifixes as jewelry or hang a rosary over the bed.
8. Even consider knockoff Burberry, Coach and other designers. This is a capital offense.
9. Pluck my eyebrows and replace them with a finely drawn line.
- 10. Voluntarily listen to banda.
These lines are not just a matter of naco; I've seen all of the above in the homes of educated, high-income, cultured people. Even people I like.
And then there's the Don't Cross the Line food:
- 1. Jello fantasies.
2. Hot dog.
3. Pink fiesta cake
4. Macaroni mixed with ham and pineapple.
5. Lunch meat (possibly chopped up hot dog) mixed with mayonnaise and cooked vegetables, usually served over a tostado.
6. Major gross-out alert! Chicharrones cooked in sauce. Why not just serve up a dishrag in sauce?
- 7. Rice pudding.
I would rather eat gopher guts in gravy than any of these Mexican culinary delights.
Don’t get me wrong: there’s a little naco in all of us. Just more in some than others.
So, Sonia Sotomayor got herself nominated to become one of the Supremes. I’m all right with that. But really, isn’t it a bit much to go off calling her the first Hispanic justice? What was Benjamin Cardozo – chopped liver? Oh, I forgot. He was Jewish. Maybe that trumps everything else. Does that mean that Sammy Davis, Jr. would be referred to as a Jewish justice were he in the same position? Or just the first one-eyed one?
I’m tired already of hearing about how Sotomayor was so damn special at Princeton and Yale. Or what her stance is on the Fourth Amendment. I’d rather learn about her answers to the Proust Questionnaire, the last five books she’s read, what kind of car she drives, and where she buys her clothes. Those answers provide more telling clues to how she’s going to vote than her record on antitrust and civil rights issues.
And while I’m at it, would someone please tell Sonia that she could use some decent eye makeup? A little mascara, eye shadow and eyeliner could do wonders for her.
7,402 of 7,467 people found the following review helpful:
Dual Function Design
November 10, 2008
This item has wolves on it which makes it intrinsically sweet and worth 5 stars by itself, but once I tried it on, that’s when the magic happened. After checking to ensure that the shirt would properly cover my girth, I walked from my trailer to Wal-mart with the shirt on and was immediately approached by women. The women knew from the wolves on my shirt that I, like a wolf, am a mysterious loner who knows how to ‘howl at the moon’ from time to time (if you catch my drift!). The women that approached me wanted to know if I would be their boyfriend and/or give them money for something they called mehth. I told them no, because they didn’t have enough teeth, and frankly a man with a wolf-shirt shouldn’t settle for the first thing that comes to him.
I arrived at Wal-mart, mounted my courtesy-scooter (walking is such a drag!) sitting side saddle so that my wolves would show. While I was browsing tube socks, I could hear aroused asthmatic breathing behind me. I turned around to see a slightly sweaty dream in sweatpants and flip-flops standing there. She told me she liked the wolves on my shirt, I told her I wanted to howl at her moon. She offered me a swig from her mountain dew, and I drove my scooter, with her shuffling along side out the door and into the rest of our lives. Thank you wolf shirt.
Pros: Fits my girthy frame, has wolves on it, attracts women
Cons: Only 3 wolves (could probably use a few more on the ‘guns’), cannot see wolves when sitting with arms crossed, wolves would have been better if they glowed in the dark.
Can the Virgin of Guadalupe and fighting cocks compete with wolves? Read on.
One lawyer sits down with his big firm’s managing partner, and he tells him to fuck off.
Put your nose to the grindstone. Bill like you’ve never billed before, network, create new business, drive up your rates, beat your associates into submission same way we beat on you.
HTMLawyer Micah Buchdahl made this video for a mid-size law firm.But you don’t have to be a lawyer to appreciate it.
You can leave, but you’ll never find a law firm that will give you free cappuccinos in the cafeteria.
The Pacific Ocean crashes on rocky crags beyond the infinity pool and below the balcony where I sit writing this, its horizon melting into a blur of pink-and-blue dawn sky. Somewhere off in between, maybe a third of the way closer to shore, two men navigate a panga, casting off nets. I am in Nicaragua, at a point closer to Costa Rica than to El Salvador, a promontory separating me from the beach where a one-time lawyer and rogue William Walker landed a century and a half ago in an ambitious but ill-fated attempt to conquer this strip of Central America. Read on.
I’m always shocked at how fast Estadounidenses gulp down their food. At McDonald’s, I can understand the necessity of getting the experience over as quickly as possible, but at a high end restaurant where the tab’s likely to run to just a shade under $100 USD per person? Even when they’ve got the entire evening ahead of them, they’ll get themselves in and out of a restaurant in less than two hours. Now the Mexicans’ likelihood for speed-eating as shown above confounds me. We Mexicans are notorious for making a table ours for the entire evening.
Go here for more analysis. Or if you’ve got even more time on your hands, check out the leisure ratings here.