Recuerdos de DF

1. Today is 5 de Mayo and we're having a themed potluck at the office. I wore my embroidered Mexican shirt I bought (along with some pulque) on the side of the road while driving through Hidalgo. I miss my Mexico City today. I miss all those cheery faced programmers from the office with their crass jokes, terrible eating habits and supreme love for the strangest of candies. I miss my friends who would scour the city for the most oddball events taking place and drag me out of my bed on the weekends to attend. Gay parade, street art festival, world culture fair--plus all the national holidays for this battle or that general so-and-so. I miss the food. The tacos that don't come with shredded cheddar cheese and sour cream, but rather a couple corn tortillas soaked through with grease from the slab of hot beef substance. Then perhaps you add some cilantro, onion and fire-laced salsa. Squeeze about 4 limes on top and you eat that thing standing up with your knees bent a little bit so you can athletically avoid grease dripping onto your polyester suit that you are forced to wear even though it's hot outside and you only make $5 a day.  I also miss the mezcal--specifically drinking copious amounts of it in dark small corners. I even miss the commuting! That's when I could practice my Spanish with greasy old men, 90% of which have lived in the US at some point in their lives. I know taxis have a reputation for express kidnapping, but I never once had a bad experience. Even in the green VW bug taxis, which were cheaper and supposedly more dangerous than the "iron man" taxis with new paint jobs and usually rocking the Jetta. I miss the parks and walking my dog along the tree-lined streets, doing my best to avoid stepping in a huge pile of poop. Once, on our way to catch a cab, Greg stepped in the biggest pile of poop I have ever seen in my life. It was like someone walked their pet elephant out for the morning business, watched as the elephant defecated an entire half of a sidewalk, then said hello to the neighbors and walked back inside. Luckily for Greg and his poop shoe, about half a block down the road was a convenient bucket of soapy water. The Gods punished him, then immediately felt bad and gave him a break. I also miss the smells of the metro stations...oh wait. I don't at all.


2. On the contrary, This is where I work right now as a freelancer, and our attempt to win the City of Norfolk account. I never even heard of Norfolk before I moved here. Apparently the Navy Seals who killed Bin Laden came from here.