Spanish Lesson: The Polite Plastic Bag

One way that Mexicans express friendliness or politeness in their speech is by adding diminutive suffixes to words. This makes sense with nouns, and was easy enough to get used to. In giving directions, someone on the street might tell you to pass the "parquecito," or little park, even if it isn't a small park. At the cafe, someone might ask for a "cafecito," even if he wants a large.

Sometimes this habit makes less sense. You come back from the beach and a friend tells you that you are "quemarito"—even if you are extremely burnt. When you order a juice at the corner store, the cashier asks you if you want "el chico o el grandecito"—the little one or the nice little big one. How much does that taco cost? "Diez pesitos." When should I come back? "Treinta minutitos." Of course calling them little minutes doesn't make them go by any faster.

After eleven months here, I still haven't integrated this into my speech, which makes me afraid that I am constantly being impolite because I ask for a "bag" at the 7-Eleven and not a "nice little bag."

Mexico City: Scenes—Se Busca Fido

Mexicans love to carry their dogs. I think this is why they invented the Chihuahua.

On another note: Recently I had been puzzled by the sheer number of lost dog flyers up everywhere in Mexico City. Then I realized this is because Mexicans walk their dogs without leashes (when they are not carrying them).

Elsewhere in Mexico: Guadalajara and Tequila, September

Mexico City: Scenes—David in the Harem

Recently some friends convinced me to spend Saturday night with them at a place called Bulldog Cafe. It was a strange place because it in no way resembled a cafe, nor was it going in the least for the British pub theme I had expected after seeing the flag outside the  door that featured a British bulldog clad in a suit. Instead the interior was towering and cavernous, one side full of minarets and tiled arches and salt-shaker shaped doorways that made it look like the set for a B movie that takes place in some dusty Arab harem. It was basically a multistory nightclub with an endless bar and Dolce and Gabbana-wearing teenagers and strangely bright lights (seriously, I kept waiting for the lights to dim right up until the moment we left at three in the morning).

The main attraction of the night was a Black Eyed Peas cover band. Don't make me say that again. By the time they came on we had made our way to one of the balconies on the third floor, above stage right. From their we had an excellent view of the five-hundred person crowd and the Fergie impersonator's lyric sheets, which fell off their music stand and scattered themselves over the stage halfway through "My Humps." Then it turned out I had made my way into a "private party" area because a security guard told me I had to leave the private party area, which had been clearly demarcated by a pair of couches and some kids who were wearing nicer clothes than me. Strangely, the two female friends I had been standing next to on the balcony were not similarly threatened.

This was fine because I could content myself with sitting at an empty table in this empty third-floor gallery and, on a large television, watching music videos that did not correspond to the music being played. Every third video featured David Guetta.

Adventures in Rhythm: The National Ear

If you walk around in Mexico City with your ears open, you will discover a great divide in popular musical tastes. The music that you hear on buses, in markets, at gas stations, or anywhere that working-class Mexicans are playing their tunes is usually going to fall into one of two categories. On the one side are cumbia and salsa, two Afro-Caribbean styles that are usually played when people want to dance or think about dancing. On the other side are banda and norteño, both native Mexican styles that initially sound kind of like "mariachi" music played with drums and synthesized trumpets.

You might compare this divide to the country/hip-hop dichotomy in the US. A Mexican friend of mine told me that he doesn't remember so many people listening to banda and norteño until a few years ago, when it exploded in popularity, as a kind of nationalistic expression. A non-Mexican friend told me she was driving with a Mexican couple in their car when some banda came on the radio. "Ugh, change that naco stuff," one of them said, naco being Mexican slang to describe someone low-class or with low-class tastes. Wikipedia says that norteño exploded in popularity starting in the '90s as the Mexican-American population took off.

I don't really know about all that, but this music video kind of sums up the whole situation. It's about a Mexican dude who used to be into cumbia and then switched to banda, with an outfit to match. It's called "Traiter." It's a cumbia, but there's a nice little example of banda at the beginning, and the very end.

Antiquariana: The Ringling Brothers Route Book, 1892

Introducing their astounding Impalement Act, also their beautiful Flageolet and Tambourine Solo, in Romana Compagna Costume. A great feature and astonishing sensation, fit for any Circus or Combination. Princely and magnificent wardrobe. A leading feature with Ringling Brothers’ World’s Greatest Shows. Address care of New York Clipper.

I don't remember how I found this, but it's amazing. It's written by one of the Ringling Bros.' jugglers, who dedicates it thusly:

To my girl, whoever she is, and wherever she may be, this little volume is respectfully dedicated.

P. S.

As my girl has gone clear back on me since writing the above,  I respectfully dedicate this book to “Hey Rube, King of the Sawdust,” Who never went back on a Circus man.

and concludes his introduction with the following words:

No doubt there are lines that might have been blue-penciled, and perhaps, as in case of the man with the second concert announcement, there is “something I forgot to mention.” My business as a circus juggler would hardly require me to juggle the English language, and besides there are spots on the sun and flies on Nancy Hanks.

Good one! Nancy Hanks! I don't know who that is...

Within the Route Book, you can find out about the various circus personnel, including Rhoda Royal, Superintendent of Ring Stock; Charles W. Roy, Superintendent of the Chandelier Department; and C.F. Ryan, Superintendent of Pinkerton Detectives; Fred Ehlers, Tonsorial Artist; and Lawshe, King of Ice-water; the Sleeping Car Department, the Mechanical Department, and all the inhabitants of Car No. 4, "The War Eagle"; the horsetent men, the side show canvasmen, and the ring makers; the four cages of lions, the gnu, the hippopotamus den, and Demon the Hairless Horse; the waiters; the Midnight Lunch Cafe staff; Joseph Levis of the Running Dogs and Two-Horse Act; Signor Arcaris of the Impalement and Musical Acts; John Moncayo, the Boneless Wonder; and C.H. Clark, General Performer; the Leapers and Tumblers, the Four Horse Chariot Drivers, and the Lady Jockeys...the list is nearly endless.

Then comes the circus juggler's journal...

Spanish Lesson: Son of Sand

(Scene: A pair of hammocks in Oaxaca.)

Friend with British accent: How do you say "sand...?" As in "sand of the
                                                  beach?"

Mexican friend:                     Hijo de la chingada.

Friend with British accent: Really?... No, no, "sand." "Sand of the
                                                  beach."

Mexican friend:                     Sí. Hijo de la chingada... O hijo de puta.

Friend with British accent: No, "sand..." Of the beach...

Mexican friend:                     Sí, es lo que dije, no?

Friend with British accent: That's "son of..." Never mind.

Mexican friend:                     Bueno...no entiendo.

Mexico City: Scenes—Lost Avocados

Dear Cleaning Lady:

Please stop putting my avocados in the refrigerator. If I had wanted my avocados to be cold and inedible, I would have put them there in the first place. I always thought Mexicans were avocado experts, but you have greatly injured this conviction and proven a disappointment to your country.

Sincerely,
A.D.

Stranger with You: Permanent Horoscopes

The horoscope on the matchbox tells me that because I am a Scorpio, "Today your thought is unaware and tends to use evasive or misleading tactics in communication." Then again, it said that yesterday too.

Everyone's a Critic: Stars and Criminals

"If I hadn't been an actor, I've often thought I'd have become a con man and wound up in jail."
—Marlon Brando


"They experienced failure after failure after failure, and decided that rather than being a 'nobody,' they wanted to be a 'somebody.' "
—Robert Fein, on people who attempt to assassinate politicians

Elsewhere in Mexico: Ancient Dinosaur Art, Artisanal Bread, and the Art of the Hoax in Acámbaro

Shreds and Clippings was a bit sparse on writing during August and September, and here's why: I visited a small central-Mexican town that is home to a collection of alleged pre-Hispanic sculptures that depict dinosaurs, camels, and extra-terrestrials, and were discovered by a German amateur archaeologist in the 1940s. Then I wrote an article about it.

The article is out now, in the November/December 'Art' issue of the Believer. The town where the figures were found looks like this:

The museum that houses the figurines looks like this:

And the sculptures look like this:

Adventures in Rhythm: Oh Captain, My Captain. Captain Beefheart Is Dead.

With the above words my good friend JWR in Connecticut informed me that one of the most creative musicians of the last fifty years died today.

It's strange because during the past six months I've been going through a bit of a personal Beefheart revival, after not listening to his music for years. In April, for Vice magazine's 'fine art' issue, I proposed interviewing Don Van Vliet, who devoted himself to painting since he gave up music and being Captain Beefheart in the early 1980s, but one or more of the editors didn't like the idea. Or they just realized that it would have been impossible since Van Vliet lived somewhere in the Mojave Desert and virtually never granted interviews. When he did he conducted them by fax.

In the meantime I satisfied myself by finding live performances of Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band on YouTube. Among the best of these was a set of performances taped for French television in 1980 (one of which was featured on this blog recently), just before he stopped making music.

There are two funny things about these performances. One was that the Captain is much thinner than he was during his 1960s blues-ringleader days. Later I read that he just wanted to 'try out' being fat for awhile.

The other is that, as much as you have to thank French television for putting on so original an artist well after the height of his fame (whatever that means), you realize that they didn't really get it—in the way that I think the French have never exactly gotten American rock and roll. At the beginning of each song, a title appears on screen, and beneath that, in parentheses, "Van Vliet"—as if "Safe as Milk" was an old jazz standard composed by some Tin Pan Alley scratcher. After two songs, you kind of expect something other than "Van Vliet" to show up under the title of the next song, but I don't think Captain Beefheart ever felt compelled to do covers. The French station titles one song "Bat Chain Pullet," which clearly makes no sense, since the song is called "Bat Chain Puller."

But the best thing about these performances is that Beefheart has thrown off the warped blues trappings of his 60s and 70s bands, and actually sounds more unique than before. Even more you realize he never queued his musicians. The violent stops and starts no longer sound random—though they never were—and are now simply shocking.

So long, shiny beast of thought.

Mexico City: Scenes—Halloween

I kept telling people here how nothing can equal the pageantry of Halloween in New York City. But I have to stay that the folks of Mexico City impressed me mightily. We headed down to the main square of Coyoacan, a quiet and slightly traditional neighborhood in the south of the city. And it was madness.

At first, all we could see was this.

Then the lights went on, and we saw this.

Last-minute makeup adjustments in a truck window.

That's a real person.

Traditional Mexican pan de muerto. Some are ghost-shaped.

Sand painting in an ofrenda, or altar to the dead.

More of the ofrenda.

Then a costumed motorcycle gang showed up.

At one point while we were struggling through the throng some of my friends started saying, 'It's Changoleón! Take a picture! Take a picture! He's famous.' It took me awhile to realize they were talking about the damp guy in the Mickey Mouse sweatshirt. Apparently Changoleón is a beloved drunk who became famous after appearing on a Mexican reality TV show. There were fears that he had died in 2006, but he's still here, hanging around Coyoacan. His name means 'monkey-lion.'

These kids won.

The strangest thing was that the shopping mall where we parked had this huge Christmas scene in the lobby. I guess without Thanksgiving to conveniently mark the division between fall and winter, Mexicans can basically start gearing up for Christmas whenever they want.

Stranger with You: I Looked for the Hamster in the Chevrolet

Over a year and a half ago, while doing some work for the magazine n+1 in Brooklyn, I read a short story by Juan Villoro called 'Among Friends' in which a Mexico City detective, who is questioning a local screen writer about the kidnapping of an American journalist from an Oxxo in the Distrito Federal, constantly makes statements such as “This is pure Buñuel, God damn it!”

The claim that Mexico City is a surreal landscape is a popular one, and not just in literature. Several months ago I was in a meeting with a lawyer here when he gestured out the window excitedly, in relation to what I can't remember. "This is a surrealist city!" he insisted. "You could look out that window and see an elephant walking through the courtyard!"

I never found these assertions all that convincing. But then today I saw a man who looked like a body double for the ambassador from the Republic of Miranda in The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie while walking to the metro.

Mexico City: Scenes

Horse topiary, near Metro Hospital General.

Kitchen of a friend and amateur herbal medicine practitioner.

El Chopo market.

Street-side altar, la Condesa.

Stranger with You: One and a Half Episodes

Someone explains to me how this happens, because it's happened to me before.

I have seen the show Two and a Half Men exactly one time in my entire life. It was four months ago, in Guadalajara, at a friend's house. In that particular episode, the hard-living best friend of Charlie Sheen's character (played by Emilio Estevez) had just died; Charlie Sheen's character is worried about his own mortality, and the following joke is made during a funeral in a dream sequence:

  Emilio Estevez: Nice turnout.
  Charlie Sheen:  Yeah, standing room only.
  Emilio Estevez: Goes to show you. Give the people what they want...
  Charlie Sheen:  You mean the open bar, right?

Today, on my seventh day at a new apartment, my roommate turned on the TV in the living room and I heard the following dialogue:

  Voice of Emilio Estevez: Give the people what they want...
  Voice of Charlie Sheen:  You mean the open bar, right?
  Voice of Emilio Estevez: Sure.

Adventures in Rhythm: Your Hat's Too Small

Charlie Winston's "Like a Hobo": "Like a Virgin" for the hipster generation?

Elsewhere in Mexico: Pie de la Cuesta