Pontiac est Mort

Some of the most important icons in American culture are cars. They have fueled a main bloodstream in the history of this land, generation after generation, industrial leadership of the world, these four wheeled vehicles are far more than just automobiles, they are part of the heart and soul and identity of this land. Today we say farewell to the GTO, Trans-Am Firebird, The Judge, Grand Prix and even the Fiero. Some played parts in movies and TV shows, but they remain engraved in our memories, mostly for backseats an import will never match.

Achtung Baby

You believe Bush and "The World is a better place without Saddam" ?
Perhaps, but in the end it was just an excuse. We had Saddam for many years and it never really mattered (unless you're not particularly fond of Turkish BBQ's).
Truth is, we messed up. We supported (willing or unwillingly) a war because we were lied to. Which, honestly I don't care, I'm always up for the invasion of some far away land, and I do believe Saddam had a good amount of chemo-biological weapons too, we just don't know where they are (my wicked twisted mind tells me the obvious place is in your neighbour's basement - Yes, the math teacher that seems so mainstream, driving a late 90's dark green Asian import sedan, wearing Nordstrom Rack plaid shirts, Dockers khakis and Rockport docksiders). Anyway, Iraq wasn't even remotely close to developing enriched uranium and did not have an interest in the Taliban or Al Qaeda, durrr.
Then you have Iran and Mamut Imaginehad, trying to have a nuclear warhead, he'll get there, but it will still take a while. His rhetoric is far more dangerous, but then again, they aren't really Arab as much as they are Persian and their educated youth wants peace and progress.
Kim Jung Ill is living proof that "Extenze" doesn't work make anything larger, his rockets always fail and he is just a nut without a real ideology, therefore he is just a buffoon.
When we invaded Iraq we didn't have an exit strategy, Bin Laden did - Pakistan.
Pakistan is considerably more radical and extremist than other nations, shares a border with Afghanistan and has nuclear weapons (I mean the real McCoy, including test proven missiles that can reach India and Israel and nuclear warheads that can be converted into suitcase bombs in minutes). Well, ever since they killed Bhenazir Butto, then made Pervez step down and placed Bhenzair's widow as a puppet PM everything has gone downhill.
The question is: will Pakistan follow the Taliban and Al Qaeda movement? will the Taliban take over Pakistan? cause if they do then we will have to take dire decisions.
It's not the same when a rogue nation tries to acquire nuclear capabilities. That is a process that usually takes a long time... first we pay for their scholarships and give them visas to come to the US, teach them thermonuclear physics and how to ride a bike without letting your hair show, then they have to go back and use that knowledge to build reactors to enrich uranium, then they have to test their rockets, go through a couple of economic sanctions and then.... you know the story.
In this case it's a different situation, Pakistan already has nuclear weapons and missiles, and the Taliban goonies are about to take over. Russia? the cold war? this is nothing like the Motherland, Russians love art, literature, wealth, vodka and life (much like the rest of the World). The Taliban and extremists not so much. So buckle up, we're on for an interesting ride.

Pachamama

Ride your bike to work, eat your nuts, hug a tree, go for a hike, buy a granola bar, go skinny dipping, kiss your dog, snort catnip with your cat, go to the farmers market, smoke a bowl, plant a tree, switch to paperless mail, open your spam filter, rent Free Willy (the download), try tantra (Ommmmm it's ok, just stay still, like a dog) until you reach a valley, sign up for Tai Chi, buy a new teapot, listen to Yanni, watch Ciscoe, let Bob Ross tell you where those new gerberas live, buy a latte in recycled paper cup, no wait, bring your own tumbler, forget the umbrellas, let the rain drench you, reach out and kiss someone, look up to the sky and remember that if there are any Aliens in their UFO's looking at us it is only because we have the Coolest Fucking Planet in the Universe, a gift that makes the existence of God undeniable, a miracle within a thousand miracles, self sustainable and evolving life and beauty and truths and forces and just for once stop and think we are little tiny earthlings which have no right to act the way we have because we value an insignificant number printed on the remains of a dead tree.
Happy Birthday, Mother "Pachamama" Earth.

Poppers

My friend Manuel "Tum Tum" and I were vacationing in Acapulco. I can't even remember what day it was or where we had been the night before, since we had been in our own drinking marathon: beer and daiquiris galore. We ran into some other guys (also from Mexico City) at the parking lot of what was the hippest disco back then "Extravaganza" (now Palladium). We shared our weed, they shared a rainbow of poppers, and then went inside. Lasers, strobe lights, Meyer Sound speakers making everything jump, dry ice, pretty people and a river of Moet.
I don't think we could feel the floor we were walking on.... I couldn't.
We were in our twenties, invincible, indestructible, suntanned, we had a devil red Corrado, my dad's yacht (plus unrestricted access to the yacht club), and my dad's house in Aca. Young, we knew everything. Shit, we were Superman, we had no worry in life. Girls and pina coladas came and went, dancing the night away, until we eventually ended up at a little after-party in someones suite. Those guys, Tum Tum and some girls from PV.
I was getting a beer out of the fridge when one of our new friends pulled out yet another popper (little chemical tube) that very pleasant smell, the sudden rush of blood to the head, Major Tom blast off BAZINGA! Pastel color unicornic lightheadedness: it was like taking a whiff from Kylie Minogue's undies drenched in cotton candy chloroform. Sweet scent followed by a sudden loss of gravity and that's when he planted one on me. WTF?
I was high, stoned, drunk, confused and utterly shocked, since it was unexpected and something I had never done before. Well, I actually didn't do anything, but still.
I didn't punch him, which is the reaction I would have expected to have. Instead, I gracefully told him that was not my thing and went back to the jacuzzi with the rest of the guys and the girls.
It makes me happy (smug) that I have been able to have tried so many things (some unexpectedly) in this short trip called life. What did he look like? think Richard Grieco.
...unlike Katy Perry I can say I kissed a dude, and I didn't like it.

Mota

Medical Pot has increased 50 to 300 percent since Obama became President... apparently since he won't let federal marijuana laws to override state laws (unlike Bush). I think I saw a picture of Obama smoking a reefer somewhere... and I do recall Bush getting a DUI and dressing as a cheerleader. I think Clinton also confessed to smoking a joint and ended up getting a bj from a curvy intern.
Pot was banned primarily due to racism (since this would allow the detention of Mexicans and African-Americans) arguing they got "nuts" when smoking pot.
I've owned, managed, and co-owned bars and live music venues, and I've seen what happens when people drink and when they smoke weed, trust me, the alcoholic crowd is obnoxious, loud, and belligerent, while the rasta crowd is peaceful and just having a good time (with a Cheshire cat-idiotic smile). Oh, and I would much rather catch a ride with a stoned driver than with a drunk. I was once a serious drunk, and a master pothead afterwards, but that was a long time ago). But we all know the effects and the truth is that there's money funding the illegality of pot. Not from kingpins, but from lobbying pharmaceutical companies and brainwashed evangelists. It's the satanization of natural remedies so that they can profit from selling you Prozac (which is so acceptable in our society) and yet fucks you up even worse.
What if we legalized pot? not as a hobby but as a drug. What if we learned, embraced, developed and used all the natural remedies civilizations have used for centuries? sometimes taking a med in a pill is as bad as food in a box. We had never seen obesity, cancer, MS and Parkinson's as high as we do now, maybe we should reconsider that mayb.... nevermind, I'll just say I'm glad Obama is more open minded than the tyrant asshole before him and that these next years to come will hopefully bring some much fucking needed collyrium. Yes, that's me practicing origami.

Lucky Strikes (again)

Another rainy afternoon at the cafe
the wind is blowing, barely
and I miss smoking a cigarette
I can go outside
take a deep breath
smell the trees, the flowers
the dawn of spring
clogging my nose with allergies
and my puffy watery eyes
I sure make a lousy tree hugger
I'd rather stay inside
see her walk around the house
in boyshorts and a shirt
while I light another one up
carefully thinking, planning
lips, teeth and telemetry
inadvertently pounce on her
the next time she walks by.
I still get to do all those things
but dammit
sometimes I really want a fucking cigarette

(I quit a year and a half ago and I still can't see why)

Diva La Revolucion II (First Blood)

(Revised and extended edition due to priceless feedback)
Mexico City, circa 1995
I can see the airport and most of the city from my office, I am the manager of a million dollar spa, located at the top floor of a major hotel across from the airport. I supervise customer service, a cleaning crew, a small group of massage therapists, the aerobic instructors and personal trainers as well as purchases and operations. I have unrestricted access to corian clad high pressure showers, Egyptian cotton towels and robes and I am the only employee with membership rights to the spa. The place is owned by an American consortium of slave masters that pay the employees almost nothing, I make just slightly more, which still is pretty much nothing. I have the power to hire, fire and the place is pretty much at my mercy, but my income is rubbish and my shift is 16 hours a day six days a week.
I'm working there while I find something else, and the "Manager" title will eventually add up. But in the meantime I'm wasting my life away.
Since I'm making very little money (I have never made so little) my residence is a small bedroom, roughly 10" x 10" in a very old mansion which has been converted into a "guest house". Rent is due weekly, there's no security deposit and the bathrooms are shared. In previous posts I've recalled living a homeless life at a bus station on which I describe their fetid restrooms in detail. Well, they have nothing on those of these guest house. They are like crapping barefoot in the middle of an 18Th Century Bulgarian morgue during summertime. Flies are just an indication that there's life, which on such conditions is a good thing.
Fortunately I seldom used them, since I had more than enough time at the spa to bathe, as for the rest, well, let's just say it was Dantesque.
The rest of the "guests" were mostly women, which all seemed to look like a high speed collision between an SUV packed with Female Lucha Libre Mexican Wrestlers, two sub compacts with the Mexican version of Jerry Springer and the Jenny Craig bus. Nasty Fat (no, not sexy buxom devils, ex-trophy wife plump milfs or cute and chubby angel face cherubs) I mean NASTY FAT Prostitutes that provided more layaway than the local Credit Union and were significantly overpaid (if they ever actually got paid).
But not everything was bad: on one occasion I was witness to a windstorm sweeping the airport, from a top the hotel. The wind gusts were so strong that the skylights over the pool began to peel out and fly, like 6 feet eggshells floating in the air and then falling 18 stories only to crumble on the street below. So now I had a crappy job, a shit hole for crib and the pool area (at work) completely fucked.
After the storm I began assessing the damages, fortunately nobody got hurt. Anyway, the position of the SPA (tenant) was that the Hotel (landlord) had to fix it, but the Hotel wanted the roofing company to fix the skylights, lawyers became involved and 2 weeks later we still didn't have a roof over the pool, and it rained.
Have you ever seen what happens to a pool and astro turf when exposed directly to Mexico City's polluted rain? the once Mediterranean and navy blue bottom and aura of the pool was fully covered by a green miasma that would sometimes bubble as strange insects raised to the surface, some could be seen crawling on the water tension of this Olympic cesspool. The AstroTurf became quicksand, it was one giant and unrolled seaweed sushi roll that would devour the shoes of anyone who dared walk to the cardio area. If you know me well then you can imagine how happy I was with the whole fuckedupness of this shit, add to it the constant negative feedback and crass complaints from the SPA members and the bureaucratic crap that stalled any effort to ameliorate the situation, and it sucked.
Those days I could usually be seen sporting an anger green expression before my first cup of coffee and having new skylights in place couldn't come soon enough, and after 2 weeks, it finally did.
Relief, now that we had a roof once more I could actually do something about things.
The maintenance dude, a fat and balding Mexican from the countryside in his early fifties who dressed like a Middle Eastern SQL Developer living in Crossroads (you know who you are, those shirts that have been through 5 discount markdowns at Nordstrom Rack really are a big no no) thought it would take three to four days to treat the green puddle we had for a pool with chemicals to balance it's pH. Gross, right? That's when I was enlightened by one of the best ideas I have ever had and also had someone to listen to it: empty the pool and replace it with fresh, clean water. Maintenance guy said it would take half a day to empty and one day to fill, Eureka! He was to open the OUT valves and leave it emptying when he left that night and I was supposed to fill it up when I arrived, next morning, which I did, ultimately.
I woke up early the next day, picked up an Atole and Torta de Tamal at the subway station (that's something like thin cream of wheat and a tamal inside of a bun, yeah baby I rock the carbs) and made my way to work.
The Hotel's general manager, a gentleman who always had something nice to say and a very positive and upbeat attitude all the time, was standing at the front door as if waiting for me (employees were supposed to use the back door, rule he knew I olympically ignored). He had an expression of worry and fear he couldn't hide.
"Buenos Dias Senor Gerber" - he said
"apparently somebody emptied your pool last night and... floors 14Th and 15Th (exactly below the SPA) on which we have our VIP and Presidential Suites are completely flooded, this had never happened before and we found the cause was that the pipes where overwhelmed by the amount of water..."
I had no choice other than put on my poker face, immediately
and had to retort "are you trying to tell me that my SPA members don't have a pool to swim? I will look into it right away, don't worry about it, EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL" tapped his shoulder and hurriedly made my way to the elevator before exploding in uncontrollable, torture-chamber-cat laughter.
By the end of the day the pool was filled, mission accomplished.
I eventually quit my job, packed my room in a box and moved back in with my Parents until the next itchy feet attack took me to the Caribbean.
This experience makes me thank God every single day for my job and my place. Far away from the whore house where I learned how to dance to Technotronic.

Continents

Sometimes your distance
your silence
when you throw my imperfections on my face
the same you used to love not long ago


When our words become battleships
and torpedo one another with deadly accuracy
or simply when you pretend I'm not there
and I pretend to be strong


When I no longer know which way is up
and I have nowhere to run to
I walk and walk some more
not knowing what to do


Wishing to evaporate in sighs
or dilute in the bath tub
letting this broken heart bleed to death
leaving a Goya on the floor
letting go