talking like a pirate , "Taco Nation", and machisimo

Today is my son's birthday. That meant he got to pick what he wanted for dinner and what kind of cake he wanted. More on that later.

Today is also 'Talk like a Pirate Day". I didn't. I suspect most pirates were, like most criminals, ill-educated and not terribly bright. Given my love for the Mother Tongue, I would likely be disgusted. Though I am not sure of the exact link, today is a day of celebrating the Flying Spaghetti Monster. May you all be touched by his noodly appendage.

Sometime in the last millenia salsa consumption surpassed catsup in this country. La reconquista is alive and well. I welcome it. The plight of the illegal immigrant is something I have discussed before. But La Reconquista is not about Mexico taking over. Quite the contrary in fact. The illegals come here because Mexico sucks. The U.S. rocks. What's so bad about assimilating a little Mexican culture? There is a weekly article entitled, "Ask a Mexican" that is the only reason I read a certain newspaper. He is writing a book entitled 'Taco Nation' wherein he discusses the encroachment of Mexican food into the American pallate.

Back to my kid's birthday. What did we want? We had ranchera preparada, abodobo chicken, with tortillas, and a tres leches cake. Was it Mexican night? Nope. He just got his favorites. For him the war is over. Can Spanglish be far off? Nope, we are already doing it. At least me. The cake had strawberries and fresh peaches, cream, condensed milk, and cake moistened with evaporated milk. There is only one cake that has ever been sweeter. That would be the cake I had a few years ago with a picture of Salma Hayek on it. Son number three ate the boobs before I got to them.

I have never been much of a 'competitor'. I played a little baseball as a kid. Growing up you could usually find me in a pick-up game of flag football or playing three on three. I played a little Church basketball and softball until I became disgusted with the lack of sportsmanship. In short, I like to play with the fellas and have some fun. No more. I live in a small house, I own nothing ostentatious or flashy. I don't have a boat. I don't have a sports car. I dress and act like an old guy and don't try to be one of my kids. I am a Taoist.

I do however like to be a hospitable host whenever possible. I always try to pick up the tab when I eat out with friends. When we eat out as a family we typically have a few extra 'Loertschers' with us. When it's dinnertime anybody is who is the house eats. All of this is nothing more than straight up 'quien es mas macho?'.

The Ybarras were my neighbors for the first 24 years of my life. I barely remember Senora Ybarra other than she was kind to me and bought we a sombrero that I wore everywhere as a child. I lover her for it. Her boys, Fred, Albert, and Carlos would throw neighborhood parties where everyone was invited. After all if everyone is there, nobody calls the cops! They would have the lights strung out. Music, sometimes live. Lots of wonderful food. Plenty of places to sit and socialize. FInally, a large area where I could throw a football around with their nephews Jose and Oscar. Even today, I cannot recall having attended better parties. When I was about 10 I remember leaving a party at midnight and going to my home next door. My parents promised they would be home in just a few minutes. For whatever the reason, I woke up about two hours later and the Ybarras were still going strong. I tried yelling for everybody to shut up and go to sleep. One of the neighborhood cops (who was at the party) pointed at me as he said something to my father. The old-man shrugged and then waved at me as if to say, 'you're bothering me kid'.

Fred poured me a beer when I was eight. I got through about half of it. My parents caught me nursing it. My mom seemed entirely non-plussed and promptly went back to chatting with the women. My old man asked, "Does it taste like shit?". I said it did. He explained that it wouldn't be impolite to not finish it. So I dumped it. Dad wandered off to grab some more tamales and lay down on the grass. I washed the taste out with some chile verde and Coke with real sugar and I was right as rain.

I blame the Ybarras for what I have become. I am nothing more than a middle-aged Mexican who suffers from an overdose of machisimo. What's next? Always wearing shirts that are impossibly white? A massive rose garden in the front yard? Growing my hair out in order that I can keep it impeccably combed? I'll have none of that. Still, La reconquista is over for me. I lost the battle by the mid-70's.