Ladies and gentlemen, it pleases me greatly to announce that I’m going to be heading to mexico tomorrow and I’m going to be gone for exactly one week. What in the world will I do while I’m there, you may ask? Well, that’s simple. I’m going to kill some female factory workers, take down the police department, terrorize innocents and post-apocalyptically turn my black market system into the dominant force in the nation. Then, I’ll play mariachi music, eat some burritos, fuck a donkey, and sneak over the border (and back) in the gas tank of a Chevy pickup truck. At that point, I’m going to watch soccer and after that, I’ll get drunk and stab someone and get thrown through a window, all while wearing a cowboy hat. I’ll drink some tequila and show my tits to an entrepreneurial group of young men with video cameras. I’ll overact in a televised melodrama. I’ll eat the worm. I’ll be tragically injured by a parasailing obese man from Nebraska and finally, I’ll become the richest man in the world.
Yeah, it’s gonna be a busy trip. I’m also gonna try to find a little time to be a gorgeous woman, a very old woman who makes lots of things by hand, a bunch of unwashed children selling chicklets, a ridiculously wealthy businessman with amazing hair and a booming voice, a teenager that loves Morrissey and of course, a happy go lucky 20 something who’s in charge of activities at the pool that loves listening to stories about the grandchildren of strangers. I’m gonna be poor, but with a wealth of family and love that can’t be measured in things like pesos and pairs of snakeskin boots. I’m also going to be exceedingly wealthy and blonde and look surprisingly german. Did I mention I’m going to have the best hair of anyone in the world? Because I am.
The whole thing is gonna be very Leaves of Grass, but maybe in reverse, or inverted, because frankly, I never really could pay too much attention to Walt Whitman or take the time to understand what he was really getting at. So, I guess technically, I don’t know. Maybe it’s not gonna be Walt Whitman at all. Maybe it’s gonna be more like Hemmingway. I’ll be curt and evasive, talking about certain things to let the negative space of what I’m not mentioning chip away at your soul. If that’s the case, I’m also gonna have to eat some big steaks and fuck a ton of broads, which sounds like it could be okay, but I’m kind of thinking the whole thing’s gonna leave me feeling empty, repulsive and on the run from myself, you know, spiritually. So fuck that. Plus, really if we’re being honest, Hemmingway has had too large of an influence on modern writing for me to truly be able to enjoy him anymore. This is a topic for another time, but (short version) it’s kinda like listening to the Kinks. They invented distortion, and I can appreciate that the first time anyone ever heard the distorted guitar riff of “all day and all of the night” it was probably a face melting experience, but it’s never been that way for me because it had such a humongous influence that by the time I came along, distortion had evolved to a point where that original bit was no longer cool or interesting to my ears. But I’m getting off the subject and talking WAY too much about Hemmingway and the Kinks, which are two things that I like in theory, but not in practice.
Maybe I’m going about this Mexico thing all wrong. Maybe what I should do is go down there with my screaming, wiggly baby and my screaming wiggly toddler and my screaming exhausted wife and just do my best to drink margaritas and relax while everyone else attempts to fall into the pool and drown, or cram a zillion death-march-like activities into our days.
Nah, for real, what I’m gonna do is have a lovely week with my family where I do my best to forget all my troubles, forget all my cares and maybe go downtown once or twice to the lovely city of Bucerias. It’s a cool zone. I like the small, dusty, droopy eyed awesomeness of it. Besides, last time I was there I ended up in a wrecked mansion playing chess on a board that was drawn in pen on the inside of a cheerios box with a dude with tattoos on his face (he whipped my ass ten times out of ten) and having a great time. I also kind of think I got kicked out of a bar on superbowl Sunday. Or maybe I just had to take a dump. I don’t know. It’s been a few years and I can’t be expected to keep track of all my wheelings and dealings. I know I saw a really shitty hippy band play a song or two and it was infuriating. Anyway…
Anyone up for the Garfield Park Conservatory? Good. See you there. Otherwise, see you in a week!