It's a Tracker, so what?

So, another step in preparing to move to Mexico City (apart from going to concerts) is figuring out how to get myself and my stuff there. I could just show up with a dittybag containing my thong and flip-flops, maybe some sunscreen. But I've never really been the type to travel light. I have a lot of clothes for different occasions, and shoes for many moods. Plus books, and a computer (natch), which is really too much to take on the plane.

The first time I moved to Mexico, I paid the airline's extra fee and took four or five big boxes. When Oswaldo, the poor guy sent to pick me up, saw all my stuff piled next to the VW Bug he was driving, he never let his smile fade. He really tried, but the roof could only hold so much. We ended up getting a taxi to follow us with the overflow. Which was really not overflow, but the main part.

Anyway, I knew I wanted to take a car with me--1. for all my stuff and 2. to go places on weekends that aren't convenient by bus. But I also knew that whatever car I took would have to be able to blend in and survive on the mean streets of the big city. And be reliable enough to make the 1,000 mile journey back to Alabama every now and then. And be cheap enough to buy in cash. And be kinda cute.

So I found this used Chevy Tracker for sale, pretty cheap. It seemed to be in good condition, large enough to carry my stuff, inconspicuous enough to blend in, truck-y enough to run over curbs and big potholes (which I have a tendency to do), and worn-in enough so that didn't have to worry about scratches and dents and dings.

But in our automaniacal (sic, right?) culture, there is a bit of stigma attached to the Tracker. It's not manly enough to be a truck, but not a car, either. It's mostly Japanese, but doesn't get the respect of a Honda or Toyota. It's not really trendy--no one really likes it. It's sort of an undertruck.

But.

It's a different point of view, here vs. there. When I lived in Mexico before, I thought Trackers were cool, probably because I didn't have a car, and the people that I knew that did have cars had even crappier ones. For myself and most of the people I knew, a Tracker was Nice (yes, that's a capital N). Then, I also thought $40 was expensive for a hotel room, and that a $3 dollar taxi ride meant the driver was ripping me off. But it was, and he was. Ahh, economics in perspective.

I guess how the Tracker looks just depends on where you stand.

Training Exercise #1

Well, I guess we could call it training for the big move. Even though it was a school night, a group of friends and I went to see Mexican music sensation (!) Julieta Venegas in concert. Okay, maybe 'sensation' is overstating it. But you know, I did think it would have been more crowded. I had the impression that she was a big star, but maybe not--I looked at her web site, and she's playing small clubs all over the U.S. Maybe just not a big star here.

Either way, it was pretty fun. We sprung for the VIP tickets, and so we didn't have to wait in line, and we got to sit in the barricaded-off front section, complete with tables and a blond waitress to bring us beverages. The masses were behind us, standing. I wonder if I should insert something about economics and class system in action here? Nah. I'll stick it to The Man later. (maybe I AM the man...oh, well).

But the show was great. Julieta sang her hits, some new stuff, and some old stuff. On key most of the time (am I the only one who's noticed some pitch problems in live shows?) The crowd was happy. They were so happy, in fact, that they stood in front of me taking photos until I asked them to move. I politely blew smoke on them first, though. No one got the hint.

During one of the encores (Sin Documentos), an Argentinian chick asked if it was okay if she stood in front of me for this song, because it was an Argentinian song. I didn't know before, but I think Sin Documentos is a cover. Some preliminary investigation revealed this video, which appears to predate Julieta by quite a while. I'm sure I could learn more if I tried, but I'm just too lazy.

AND, the poor guy beside me. He'd printed out his favorite JV photos, and had his Sharpie all set to go, and then when Julieta finished singing, he rushed the stage to beg an autograph. He was the only one! There wasn't a mad crush or anything. No one had to pull passed-out sweaty teenagers over the barricades. But she didn't sign it. She took flowers from someone else, but didn't even bend down to acknowledge the guy. He was disappointed, to say the least. But...I think he had snuck into the VIP area.

Maybe I should've used my cred to get it for him. It's the least I could do, being a VIP and all...