OMG! I was almost in a telenovela!

It was pretty cool! When I got home one day last week, there was a girl sitting on a stone planter on my corner, wearing an i.d. on around her neck, and surrounded by big, fancy-looking lights. I thought that maybe the Bow Wow Deli was filming a commercial or something. Looking back now, that seems a strange idea (why would they film a commercial for the Bow Wow Deli?), but I really had no clue.

So I went on upstairs, about my business, but then when I looked down from the balcony 30 minutes later, considerably more people had arrived. There was a woman with a gauze bandage across her forehead, getting make-up put on by another woman. Then a lady from the crowd of onlookers asked to take a photo with Gauzehead. Hmmm. This was a clue, right? Something big was going on!

Then, I noticed a shiny red convertible parked on the corner, surrounded by the lights and people with cameras. Is it a new car commercial? I snapped some pictures with my cell phone (can you believe I don't have any other camera?), and sent them to MPM for identification purposes. Of course, he didn't recognize Gauzehead, nor any of the others (director? crew?) that I sent along. They were cell phone pictures after all.

Anyway, I watched Gauzehead and some handsome actor film a scene sitting in the shiny red car, and then my eagle eyes picked out the take-clicker-thing that they were using at the beginning of each take. You know, the thing they snap click just before saying 'Action!' It said "Bellezas Indomables" which, I later learned from MPM, is a sort of second-rate telenovela (which is why he didn't recognize the star. Mind you, he only watches the first-rate novelas!)

But when I say I was almost in it, I was really almost in every take! I was on my balcony, only about 5 feet outside of every shot! After the scene in the car under my living room, they moved around the corner to shoot another scene coming out of the bakery under my bedroom. I was almost in that one, too.

That scene was slightly more interesting....This is how it went: Gauzehead was hiding in the bushes by the sidewalk. Handsome Actor surprises his (wife? baby momma?) coming out of the cake shop. Apparently, he is supposed to be in some big important business-guy meeting, why would he be at the bakery? So-and-so's birthday/anniversary/coming-out party is too important to miss! Family/friends/kids are much more important than running a huge profitable non-specific multi-national corporation.

They walk a few steps, and Gauzehead jumps out of the bushes and surprises them! There are happy greeting kisses all around, but she is obviously disturbed, maybe from the knock she got on the head. She eventually turns the nice conversation into something sinister/scary/deranged, maybe blackmail/extortion/secret-telling and there is lots of fast talking in raised tones.

Then, I got bored with the whole thing, and my feet hurt from standing on my balconies for several hours and multiple takes, so I went in to lie down, and missed the rest. Now, I'm half-heartedly flipping through random channels hoping to see my near-premiere.

Movin' on up...

On Sunday morning, I woke up really really early. (Yes really!) And drove to Mexico City from Guadalajara. It’s not a bad drive, really. It took about six hours, and most of it was toll roads. Nice and smooth, but expensive. I think I spent almost $80 U.S. on that drive, plus gas. But I arrived at the school without incident (unless stomach-churning nervousness is an incident). I parked the car o’ stuff, and grabbed a taxi to the hotel. You see, the school puts the new teachers up in a hotel until they find a suitable apartment. The hotel was just off the traffic circle where the Angel stands, probably the most recognizable symbol of Mexico City. I forget the real name. Something about Independence. How many photos of this have you seen?

That first night started with a party, where I met lots of new people, and then the next day began the organized orientation activities. The next few days was a washing machine (whirling and wringing) of emotions. I was lonely, I was elated. I was making a mistake, I had done the best thing EVER! But I got over it.

However, the library I was supposed to be in charge of was a shambles! They’re re-constructing the high school into some sort of new-wave-architecture-style third floor box floating over the existing (but remodeled) structure. As a consequence of the floating, the library had been divided into two parts where a support column is being built—can’t float without support! I can hear the construction workers’ conversation behind the temporary walls, but I have to walk around the building to get to my own (library’s) computer center. And that’s all I want to say about that.

But work is work. Meetings, orientation, new co-workers (some interesting, some not), books, dust, typing, etc. More about the job later.

I had arranged to take over a departing teacher’s apartment, furnished. I just didn’t want to go through again what I did when I moved to Guadalajara—living in an empty apartment, sleeping on the floor, cooking in one pot, eating from one dish. I was a little concerned, especially after I saw it the first time. It’s in a building built in 1911 in the colonia Roma Norte. The location is GREAT. I’m four blocks from the Zona Rosa (my kind of night-club central, ifyouknowwhati’msayin) and four blocks from the Condesa, which is another colonia where there are lots and lots of cafés, bars, restaurants, and beautiful trendy people. I’m glad I don’t live in either of those places, but equidistant is good enough. And my neighborhood is great in its own right. This is a picture the Cebeles fountain, half a block from the apartment. It’s ringed by trees and cafés and bars and shops, and cute little iron benches and smaller fountains and people relaxing.

But anyway, I was concerned at first because the departing teacher had sent wonderful photos of the apartment, but which I later found out were taken three years ago, before he and his family had moved in! But it worked out okay, because after he and his family had soiled the place pretty well, the landlady worked hard to get it back to the state it was in when the photos were taken. Like I said, it’s an old building, and has creaky hardwoods and lumpy woodwork, but it’s pretty much the same age/style of almost every other apartment I’ve lived in. The best thing, other than the location, is that I have five French door/balconies that have little flowers growing from pots on the stone railing (is it a balustrade? Probly not.) I get lots of light, lots of air, and lots of street noise. Which is okay, because it gets really quiet here around nine pm. I’m now working finding my way around the neighborhood—I spend an hour or so every afternoon just sort of walking around, getting to know the place.

Today I saw two interesting things, and had the presence of mind to snap pictures. The first was when I stopped for tacos on the street. The lady making the tortillas would actually pound out the dough (masa) with her hands old-school, and then slap them on the griddle to cook. But every once in a while she would throw a lump of dough on the sidewalk. At first I didn’t understand, because I wasn’t looking where the lump landed—I was just watching her throw. But then I saw, and understood, and took this picture:

(Those are tiny little birds, in case you can’t see them. Cute, eh?)

Then, as was walking home on the busy street, the big street, the one called Chapultepec, I saw this: (unexplained, but with comment: What the hell is he doing?)

Ahh, Mexico! But I found out today that all of the other three apartments in the building by Americans. Or maybe Canadians (almost the same thing). I thought I was escaping! But what can I do? More to come…

Chapter 3—The (really not-so-bad) drive from hell (or Alabama—same thing).

Well, okay. After all the family business, and car-packing, MPM and I hit the road for Ye Olde Mexico. The first day we drove from L.A. to just outside Houston, and the only time I remembered to take a picture was when we crossed the Mississippi River in Baton Rouge. MPM was not really that impressed with my knowledge of the founding of Louisiana and Mississippi River lore. Inconceivable!

I wish we’d have had more time. I wanted to take MPM to New Orleans, and to spend more time around Alabama, and see some other things visitors must do, but I had to get to Mexico City quick-like, and he had to get back too. So we just drove.

The motel in Houston (his choice) was basically a truck-stop with beds. It wasn’t quite as bad as the motel in which I found a pair of red men’s bikinis behind the bathroom door, but it was full of truckers and migrant-type workers. Good folks, all. Fine people. Hard-working. It was just a place to stop the truck and sleep, after all. Here is a photo of MPM unpacking the CrackerTracker for his favorite shirt. Lots’o’trouble for Abercrombie, but worth it (?) I guess. Notice the truckload of crap I have.

After a good sleep and a delicious breakfast from the convenience store, we drove all the next day to Monterrey (Mexico). We crossed the border at the Friendship Bridge, or whatever they call it, with no trouble. MPM was amazed at the difference, just on the opposite sides of the river. On the US side, they were pleasant, efficient, and hardly asked any questions at all. But once we got to the Mexican side, it was obvious we were back in Mexico (by the way, these are MPM’s own observations). We had to look for the immigration guy to stamp our visas. Apparently it was his lunch break and had left the office. MPM went to pee, but the bathroom had no water, so he couldn’t flush or wash his hands. Then we passed through customs without a search of me or the stuff in the car (righteous indignation from MPM—he had been searched three ways to Sunday when he flew into the U.S.) But then, we were stopped by the Mexican army guys, who asked me a couple of questions, and looked through two suitcases—one full of my shoes, and the other full of MPM’s shoes. Irritating MPM even more. He thinks his country is ass-backwards in a lot of ways, and it’s their own fault. He’s really idealistic, though, and wants to work in the gov’t to change things. He sees inefficiency and corruption in Mexico, I see color and contrast. In the U.S., he sees efficiency and order, and I see sameness and boredom.

Anyway. Monterrey is a pretty cool city. It’s surrounded by mountains (maybe really big big hills), and one of them crops up right in the middle of town. Supposedly there’s a cable car to the top. Never saw it, though—and we saw lots of the city. We got lost in the maze of course, and argued pointlessly about staying in a nice hotel, which was full anyway. But we got lucky after we decided to go on to Saltillo, and found a really nice hotel on the edge of town for a price he could live with. We even had a really nice dinner at the restaurant next door. A little pricey, but we’d been eating from the shelves of truck stops, so we felt we deserved it. This photo is of the (big hill) just behind the hotel. Dramatic, right? I love big clouds.

The drive after Monterrey (well, Saltillo, actually) goes through a big nowhere-land, maybe not officially a desert, but close enough. The clouds are usually really beautiful. On the side of the road you see all kinds of people under tarps selling strange fruits, snakeskins, or gasoline in milk jugs at way-jacked-up prices (it’s a long way between gas stations).

We were both ready to get to Guadalajara, so we didn’t stop again after Monterrey. We got to Guadalajara at about 11 that night. Since I’ve been in Atlanta, MPM and his Puerto Rican roommate Jose had moved to a decent neighborhood in a pretty bad area of town. Strange, but the bad area is on top of a big hill that has great views of the city. Their little neighborhood is some developer’s attempt to reclaim the hill for decent folk. This is the view from MPM’s bedroom. It’s actually really cool at night. You can see some more construction going on just below. More reclamation I suppose. The reason MPM had to be back was because he and Jose were supposed to moving that next week to better digs.

Ahh, Guadalajara. I had a great four days there, going to all the same old places, seeing all the same old faces. I really do like it there, and still have many good friends. We even went to see MPM’s mom, in a small town about 45 mins outside the city. It’s a cute little town, mostly. No tourists, ever (not much to see, really). This is MPM, aka Mr. Cool Big Man With a Razr in the Small Town. The town has a great name, though. Pronounce this: Tlajomulco de Zuñiga.

Coming up after a short break: the big move to the big city.

Chapter 2: Meet the Crackers

So after all the fun and multiculturalism (okay, maybe not so evident in the party photos) of Atlanta, I got to take MPM to lower Alabama for a day or so of family fun. Yup, he got to meet the whitey whitersons. Okay, we’re not that bad, but I’m sure it was overwhelming. Mom, Dad, BrotherM, SisterL, SisterJ, S-inLawL, B-inLawC, plus four niece/nephews and an Alzheimer’s-riddled in-law grandmother. AND we were taking family photos. But we weren’t able to get a photographer, so guess who took the whole-group shots? You got it; MPM! But I have to say that the family was very nice, trying to communicate. MPM especially liked my BrotherM, who is very personable. And has a Harley.

That’s me peeking out from the back row. Does this say something about MPM’s attitude toward me? Or more about his photography skills?

Coming soon: Chapter 3—The (really not-so-bad) drive from hell (or Alabama—same thing).

Incredible Bittersweet

Yes I know, it’s been a long time since I’ve updated this blog, but get off my back! I’ve had some living to do. And now I’m going to write about it.

But where do I start? I guess at the beginning (or the end).

Chapter 1: Leaving Atlanta = Bittersweet. It was so great to see everyone that Saturday night. People danced, talked, laughed, and was there singing? I know there were Colombian TV commercials, but I have to confess I stepped outside for those. If you're reading this and didn't come to the party, well... here are some pictures to show you what you missed. (oh, and PS, if you don't want your picture here, let me know and I'll take it down).

But it was also sad to leave. I found myself Steven M –style (who is, by the way, the heretofore uncredited photographer of the sexy Matt photo), making a toast that I meant to be sincerely expressive of my emotions, but I think just ended up being dry (get it—dry toast). Steven always made toasts, and always seemed to take the zeitgeist of the party, of the moment, and put it into words. I don't think I did, but I tried, right?


Anyway, I’m glad that My own Personal Mexican(MPM) got to see my friends and the way I lived and all. I’ve made a lot of good friends in the couple of years I’ve been in Atlanta, plus reconnected with the best old friends a guy could ask for.