Why Mardi Gras Was a Real Drag

Well at that point my only idea for a blog was an expose on concrete furniture – “the inside story”, so this sounded somewhat more interesting. When I met Fernando that morning there was a pair of large dangley earrings on the breakfast table. He handed me another pair and said “Which ones to you want?” The noise of the penny dropping was audible.

This is the local version of Mardi Gras and they want me to dress in woman’s clothing! Having been to the celebration in New Orleans twice I have seen the guys who walk around in drag and they were really weird.

Now I was raised in a town of 300 people in rural Ontario and to say we were taught to be homophobic is an understatement like “The OJ Simpson trial captured some media attention”. My buddies may have had intimate relations with livestock but they were female livestock. If I had anything half way interesting to say about the concrete furniture I would have begged off. As it was I said “OK”.

As the rest of the troop assembled I realized I was the only one in drag that didn’t spend way too much time exploring their feminine side. I opted for the blue evening gown with standard balloon breast and buttocks. Personally I thought I made a very attractive woman. Better than my date for the senior prom in high school (which was Michael Eager, from the Nueva Posada) but that’s another blog all together. However, when everyone saw me they all laughed which in an odd way, was kind of insulting. After two hours of excessive preening the band showed up and we were on our way.

“What do I do now?” I asked. “Just dance and jump around. Here is some confetti to sprinkle on the women and flour to throw in the children’s faces” was the reply. “Dance? I don’t samba. I’m Canadian for goodness sake! I had rhythm bypass surgery when I was a child.” “Just follow me” said Fernando who was dressed as a male by the by.

For the next hour and forty five minutes I kept thinking “Man I hope this mask doesn’t fall off.” It didn’t and somewhere in the first couple of minutes I started to have a great time. In fact, the term “dancin’ fool” could be applicable. The only problem was when Fernando and I tried to do that knee to groin dance that’s so popular here. It got good laughs but next time I’ll lead.

The scene after the parade was a “you had to be there situation”. You try cavorting around in the midday sun with a mask on. . A bunch of sweaty guys sitting around in dresses drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, spiting and swearing was a Kodak moment from a Gary Larson cartoon.

That afternoon, Fernando, his family and I went to the bull riding exhibition. The unspoken benefit was that it would bring our testosterone level back to normal.

Next year I think I’ll go with a tea frock. Evening wear is so tacky before 6:00 pm don’t you think?

Insects in the Ajijic, Lake Chapala, Mexico Area

So bugs are the topic of the day. I think it is safe to say that in most homes the job of exterminator falls to the man of the house. (In our case that would be by son. Although I don’t wish to offend any feminists who enjoy grinding beetle parts in the carpet.)

In Canada we have some bugs and every so often I would be required to pick one up in a Kleenex and flush it. Here most of the insects are large enough to straddle the bowl and avoid the watery grave, so most of the dirty work must be done with a machete.

The insect world has many beautiful creatures such as the mariposa (Spanish world for butterflies the size of bats that fly in your face when it is dark n the hallway causing much terror) but many more are ugly, like the earwig. These scorpion wannabe’s have the uncanny ability to appear out of thin air on your chest when you are in the tub. Truly, one of nature’s miracles.

I recently read a disturbing study form William and Mary University on a new generation of cockroach that is rapidly building up a genetic resistance immunity system to traditional extermination to where whacking them hard with your sneaker has little or no effect on them. And what the hell are those mutated things, half bumble bee half Sicorski helicopter? Local belief is that they are harmless but I am here to report they have cause me to spill more than a few drinks as I leapt out of the way.

Local residents have also told me not to kill the large spiders because they eat other bugs. Last night in my bathroom there was one that looked exactly like the ones the bad guys are always putting in James Bond’s pillow case. The sentence for breaking and entering and crawling over my toothbrush is death by paperback (even if it does mean we have to repaint the entire wall.)

One poor alacran crossed my wife’s path only to be pounded so flat it looked like a life size photograph of a lobster. I guess the scorpions are still the most feared thing in this area (except for black widows and people who want to see you things at a stop light). By the time I get there it is usually just a smear with a chalk outline around it. My wife does this to assist the police in their investigations but I don’t get the feeling they take our “The bugs are conspiring to drive us out of our home” allegations seriously.

One break that Canadians do receive is that the local mosquitoes don’t seem to enjoy feeding on us. A popular theory on this phenomenon is that because our diet consists of only back bacon and maple syrup our blood does not agree with the little blighters. I hate to be indelicate but it can cause them to be up all night with an upset intestinal system. The mosquitoes refer to this ailment as Lester B. Pearsons’s revenge.

Well kids that our show. If you are planning on sending me a blah blah blah food chain blah blah blah letter forget it. I know there is room for all God’s creatures on this earth. I just wish someone would tell that to the bugs. So if you would just roll up a paper and use it to crush that thing crawling across the table in front of you I would be very gratified as a writer.

A Night out in Ajijic, Lake Chapala, Mexico

OK. Let’s see. It has all the earmarks of all terrible evenings.

The occasion – to raise money for a party where they raise money to give things to a priest. (I didn’t do an active survey but I believe there was a very low Irish Protestant turn out. In fact I may have been the only one.)

The location? A hotel in A Hee Heek (pronounced Ajijic) called the Grande Royale (Spanish phrase meaning dirty bed linens) in the Benito Mussolini Ballroom. If you have ever been to the Rainbow Room in Rockefeller Plaza in New York you have absolutely no concept of what this place look like.

The time: 8:00 p.m. They neglected to mention that was 8:00 p.m. eastern Taiwanese time. My children faded after the first song (Boy from Ipanima, drum solo et al) and went home to bed. So young, so wise. I have much to learn from them.

The refreshments: Do you know those pieces of styrofoam shaped into small wagon wheels? and rum.

The entertainment? Lionel and his all Puta Review. Lionel is a gifted performer who does impressions of gay Spanish (not Mexican) singers. I think that is what he does. I don’t speak Spanish so he could have been doing a very bad “Evening with Harry Truman” but I’m going with the former. Short of being shot in the knee with a large calibre pistol I can’t think of a worse evening unless, of course, I had decided to join the back up dancers wearing a table cloth for a skirt and styrofoam wagon wheels to cover my nipples. Now that would have been way to humiliating to even contemplate.

Oh oh. Why does my brain feel like a small portion of mashed potatoes? Where is my car? Why did I sleep on the lawn? Who’s clothes am I wearing? Who hosted thi?. The Nueva Posada. Fernando our waiter (I’ll get you for this.) It’s all coming back to me. The staff at the Nueva Posada hosted the event and it was Fernando, the waiter, who not only sold me the ticket but the weasel kept bringing me drinks just because I ordered them.

Come to think of it I had more fun than a barrel of gay singers. “Hey Fernando, Can I come next year?” No, of course not, what if I promise no more rum. Gin – I hear you can’t get drunk on gin and it’s packed with vitamins.

Ah Mexico. The land where your dreams can come true.

A Public Apology – 1994

OK you are walking down the street and for some bizarre reason you need to know if the person walking toward you is Canadian or American. (I can’t imagine why this would ever happen but lets say you need to discreetly buy a handgun or some back bacon, then you’re going to want to know the difference.) Simply go out of your way to physically bump into them. If the response is (as God intended) 1. Back off jerk face 2. Watch where you are going or 3. Give me back my wallet. It’s a Yank. If your person says “Oh, I’m sorry”. You got yourself a Canuck.

People from Canada are sorry for everything. Mr. Rupert Amboy of Wounded Jaw, Sask., was in his home watching TV when an out of control Mack Truck smashed through the bay window and pinned Mr. Amboy up against the settee. His last words were “Sorry, my fault”.

This, of course, is pure horse droppings (This is not Wounded Jaw and no one is Sask. owns a settee.) and I’m, sorry I lied to you, but it could happen. A true historical fact is that in 1986 Prime Minister Brian Mulroney sent President Ronald Reagan a 150 page document apologizing for all the cold fronts that come down from Canada, and that we would pay for any damaged tomato plants that resulted from same.

Ok we know this but what’s the point. I am moved to publicly apologize or my most recent social gaff.

I wrote an article about a party that the staff at the Nueva Posada held in Ajijic. Like an idiot I went down to the Nueva Posada waiving this thing around, proud as could be, saying, “Hey guys read this ain’t it great?” The response I was looking for was “Hey cool, your (half dozen or so loyal) readers will love this. Or “Wow I smell Pulitzer prize here Babe.” So I was more than a little surprised when everyone who walked by was compelled to spit on me.

Upon reviewing the article from their perspective I decided to pen this one . Here are some of the people to whom I am sorry. My dear friends Maria Elena Eager and her sister Viki who saw the words “terrible evening, nightmare and drum solo” and assumed I had a lousy time. 2. Fernando, Viki,’s husband and exfriend just because I referred to him as a wench. 3. the entertainers (something about casual sex with live stock) 4. the hotel owner, has may have a point 5. The local Priest (thank goodness he is very large on forgiveness.) 6. the entire Spanish speaking population from here to Terra del Fuego.

The real culprit here is Miguel Eager who encouraged me to write about how gringos view things. ‘Oh the Mexicans have a great sense of humor about this stuff.”

Let me go on record as saying that is was one of the great parties of all time. Right up there with Lindberg’s crossing the Atlantic on VE Day.

If you missed it this year don’t make the same mistake next year or you will be very sorry indeed.

The Riots of 1994

I believe the journalistic term is “racial tensions are increasing”. You can feel it in the air. The strained relations are palpable. Lakeside is a veritable powder keg. The uneasy looks, the behind the hand comments. There is no avoiding the subject, that could only lead to avoidance.
Predictable enough I suppose, throwing two diverse cultures together. One jealous and resentful, one wealthy and arrogant. Both destined to come to logger heads.

Well this is one man who can’t sit by silently and watch this town destroy itself with bigotry.

Canadians and Americans just have to learn to get along better with each other.

One particularly disturbing incident took place at the Lake Chapala Society flu shot day. (I was unable to attend myself but I understand several hundred people lined up to get injected with the flu.) One gentleman arrived early (I guess he really wanted the flu badly) and was near the head of the line. As often happens when North Americans are involved there was a delay in opening the doors and the man got tired so he went to rest in the shade. When the doors opened he naturally went back to his place in line. A dispute ensued and the comment overheard was “Oh let him butt in – he just thinks he is better than anyone else because he’s Canadian”. When another Canadian tried to defend his fellow countryman he was mowed down in a hail of gunfire which reportedly was very painful. (This is as close to a true story as you will ever read in this blog.)

In the first place Canadians don’t think they are better than everyone else. You can prove that by simply looking at how far down the food chain we had to go find someone to make fun of. The Newfy.

In the second place aren’t we forgetting, what’s his name, the Canadian guy who saved those hostages in Iran? It was a truly great act of friendship and above average Movie of the Week.

Look all I’m saying is lets try and remember the words that Paul McCartney song Ebony and Ivory. (Or Ivory and Ivory in this case.) Well, I can’t remember the words either but the message was “Let’s all try and act more like a piano.” (Paul smoked marijuana you know.)

American Thanksgiving is coming up so let’s us give thanks that we live in such a beautiful part of the world and that we don’t actually have to harvest everything ourselves.

You know the difference between a Canadian and a canoe. A canoe tips!

You know the definition of a Canadian? He’s an unarmed American with health insurance.
God Save the Queen.

Calling All History Buffs

It seems that the early Spanish settlers were, in fact, chased here from Zacatecas by he Indians (who resented the Spaniards because they stole their homelands and kept trying to sell them $400.00 deductible auto insurance.)

Early conflicts went something like this.

Settler: The king off Spain says I won this land now and , by the way, the policy does not cover glass breakage.

Indian: (Throws rock)

Settler: Ow! Stop that.

Indian: (Hits the settler with blunt object)

Settler: Ow!

Indian: Hee hee hee

So the settlers finally left there and arrived here in 1542.

Nothing happened or the next 278 years (Although some of the original settlers died.)

In 1810 Father Hidalgo came to town and did two things; 1) Abolished slavery
2) Passed a by-law which states that all large road signs must give the direction to cities 100’s of miles away and the names of the actual streets be kept a secret by printing them on rusty metal sheets no larger than a postage stamp.

In the early 1860’2 Benito Juarez made the city Mexico’s national capitol. This only lasted a few months, however, because, as we historians like to say, it was a goofy idea.

Early in this century fierce fighting broke out between the forces of Alvaro Obregon and Pancho Villa. (Apparently, some very hurtful things were said and feelings got hurt. Villa apparently received a strongly worded letter from Obregon’s lawyer soon after the incident.)

Modern Guadalajara is noted for two things. The cult of machismo (or super masculinity) developed here and the area is deservedly famous for its flowers. This, of course, explains why, throughout North America, the words Florist and Macho are so closely related.

Two things the area is not noted for are heavy industry or journalistic integrity.

For more information on how the auto insurance industry actually works please contact me collinsrealestate@live.com

And a muy buenos dias to you to _ Ajijic

On lakeside it is not uncommon for people (strangers mind you) to walk by and with not so much as a by your leave say “Hi, Hello” or even “Buenos Dias”. Frankly it scares me because I’m Canadian. It is usually 14 degrees F. and a howling wind is sticking wet leaves to your trousers so we just don’t walk around singing Zippity Doo Da.

In Ajiic, Lake Chapala these encounters happen all the time so here’s how I overcame my fear. I walked down the street and spotted my first victim, an elderly woman, some where in her late 120’s. Mean looking but I figured I could out run her if things got ugly. Gulp… “Buenos Dias” I said in a voice that cracked half way through “Dias”. She shot back the most lovely smile and said “Buenos Tardes”. Tardes, tardes. Damn I knew it was tardes. I suck at this.

Next I saw a real tough looking younger man, you know the type, he looks at you funny just because you’re wearing plaid Bermuda shorts and a shirt that says I heart my Rolex. So I put on the best macho airs I could muster and growled a simple “Tardes”. Again I was surprised by the cheery “Buenos Tardes, Como Estas?” I thought, macho! Why was I going for macho? Compared to him I am about as macho as Liberaces’s poodle.

Shaken but not deterred I decided I needed more practice so when no was looking I said “Buenos Tardes” to a stray dog who bit me on the shin. On my way to the emergency room I reflected on what I had learned here. Never invest in Beirut time share condominiums. ( I was suffering from sunstroke and had lost a lot of blood.) After a long and painful convalescence I went through a period of talking only to people (who like myself dress as if they should be serving drinks on the Love Boat). Saying “Good Day. How’s it hanging? Have you seen a small brown dog around here? I just need him for a minute. The spear? Oh I always carry that.”

The compromise I’ve come to is to drive everywhere and wave. Doesn’t matter who it is – the gas man, the mayor, friends, road kill, they all get the same jovial wave. For blood relatives I sometimes even roll down the window. So here’s hoping no one thinks I am running for political office or have some weird palsy in my left arm but for now it beats the heck out of actual eye contact with friendly people.

I also like being in the car in case I happen to spot a small brown dog with a piece of knee sock stuck in his teeth. Have a nice day.

A report of Ajijic, Lake Chapala, Mexico Nightlife

Life is good Life in the day light hours is good. Life at night is k 9 hell.

This is more a confession that a whine because in “Ajijic” (Spanish word for loud insomniac dogs) the chain reaction of barking that occurs originates in my yard.

If you are a budding sneak thief don’t let the barking deterred you from breaking into my house because when people come to the house the dogs lie down and whimper like Lassie on Timmy’s grave sight.

On the other hand, cats, birds, opossum and large butterflies on the other side of the 12 foot wall had better beware. Every morning I have the grizzly task of raking up the remains of small otherwise healthy animals who have presumably died of heart failure

The problem is that my dogs only bark for a period of 20-30 minutes and then grab a nap. They are exhausted having only gotten 16 hours of sleep during the day. It is, however, long enough to rile up the neighbors dogs to the west, who have much better stamina (how proud their owners must be) and can go for hours The chain has begun but it takes several more hours to get around the lake until it finally gets back here at which point the donkeys and roosters join in who in turn wake up the fireworks man who does his thing which scares the crap out of our dogs who go nuts and insist on being fed at 5:10 am. This explains why everyone here goes to bed at dusk.

An excellent solution might be to replace this years Chili Cook Off with the first annual Filipino Cuisine Festival. I have a Doberman and a Dalmatian who (and I hope they are reading this), if they don’t get their act together could make some “right fine eatin’” as we say in Southern Ontario.

The good news is I now know how to get my motion detector light to work. I run full tilt at it arms waving and barking madly, when I am 3 inches away, presto, works every time. Except one evening after to much tequilla I ran at the wrong wall and got a face full of bouganvilla and mortar. It was, of course, the best night sleep I’ve had here.