Google tofu boy calls 911

I’M A DEVOTED FOE of Google even though it’s hard to avoid online. I have a Gmail address which long was my primary, but I don’t use it anymore though I still have a Google account. It’s very difficult not to have a Google account.

If you don’t have a Google account, you’re cutting off your nose to spite your face. Alas, Google owns YouTube, one of the most interesting, fun and informative corners of the World Wide Web. I love YouTube. If anything has ever been filmed, it’s likely on YouTube.

I never say I’m Googling anything. I do “online searches,” and I use the oddly named DuckDuckGo search engine. It’s very good and not sneaky.

The folks who run Google are the sort of people who are ruining Western Civilization. The same kind of people run Facebook and Twitter, and since one can easily live without those two, I do not have accounts with them anymore. I don’t want to be an enabler.

Enjoy the video even though it’s on Google’s YouTube. Sigh.

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As I write this late Wednesday afternoon, it’s dark overhead and there are lightning flashes. This should not be happening in March which is the middle of the dry season on the mountaintop. Must be that global warming we hear about, eh?

Does global warming cause unseasonable rain? Lord knows. Ask Al Gore.

Why didn’t it storm yesterday, the last and most riotous day of Carnival in my hardscrabble neighborhood? Maybe it would have canceled the ear-splitting concert we endured last night till 3 a.m. Even my earplugs did not fully suppress the godawful racket.

Living in Mexico is not always a sack of tacos.

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(You may notice that I’ve reverted to a previous look for The Moon. And back are the wise quotes down the right-side column plus links to all manner of fascinating stuff. The same material was available in the last “look,” but it was hidden behind a Menu button. Who bothers to mess with that? Darn few. That’s who.)

Hacienda happenings and pilgrims too

New Image
Some pilgrims travel this way.

HOLA, AMIGOS. It’s a lovely day at the Hacienda, and here’s what’s happening.

I am alone today, abandoned by my child bride who, with her sister and the nephew formerly known as The Little Vaquero, has gone on a pilgrimage. The trio is walking to a town about 12 miles distant.

They left at 10 a.m.

This is an annual event, and hundreds of folks hereabouts do it. But not me. I have no desire to go on pilgrimages. It’s a religious event — Catholic, of course — but that’s not why my trio does it. They just like the walk, which takes about three hours.

They switched to this pilgrimage two years ago. They previously went on a far longer one to a town called Caracuaro to visit the “Black Jesus.”

I once went on that pilgrimage, years back, out of curiosity. The traditional way is to walk, but I drove because I am a lazy pilgrim.

I walked through throngs of other pilgrims in the streets of Caracuaro, some on their knees. I ate tacos and beans, and I came home. It was my only visit. The Black Jesus will have to get along without me in the future.

I said I was alone today, but that’s not quite true. There are workmen here. January and February are when we do renovations at the Hacienda. It doesn’t rain in January and February normally, so it’s a good time for renovations.

We’re having work done on some windows, and there’s painting too. I’ll have a full post on that in a few days because I know you’re curious.

Meanwhile, here I sit, alone, while my pilgrims stroll in the sunshine.

Bull dick taco

IMAGINE MY horror.

But first, let’s back up a bit.

It was just two weeks ago roundabouts that I was standing beside my favorite fast-food stand on our small plaza downtown, eating a shrimp cocktail.

The proprietress with the bleach-blonde tresses tossed a meat cylinder of some questionable appearance on the chopping block and proceeded to dice it with a cleaver.

What is that? I inquired, foolishly. She was chopping a cooked bull penis. Again, imagine my horror.

Part of said material landed atop a tostada with all the trimmings and served to a customer. My mind reeled.

You run into some pretty weird stuff living down here, but this one had passed me by. In the 17 years since I crossed the Rio Bravo, that was the first I’d heard of this, uh, delicacy.

I finished my shrimp cocktail and walked away.

Then yesterday I was on the big plaza. There’s a new taco restaurant near my sister-in-law’s coffee shop. I was hungry, so I stepped in and stood by the stove.

While waiting to order, there it was, a familiar sight. The cook dropped a bull penis on the grill. I knew it by sight because it’s not something you easily forget. He diced it and served it on tacos to the customers ahead of me.

Returning to the coffee shop with a couple of normal tacos — they weren’t very good, by the way — I asked my child bride and her sister if they had eaten bull dick tacos. My sister-in-law said yes and that they were quite tasty.

My wife said no, thank God. I can still kiss her.

Just like home

SEVENTEEN YEARS ago when I packed my two bags and flew to Mexico alone to reinvent myself in late middle age, I arrived in a spectacularly strange world.

Many of the things I was accustomed to simply were not available down here, and most of those things were commercial. I am a fan of capitalism and the goodies it offers.

Flash forward from 2000 to 2017 and — oh, my — how things have changed. Just about anything you can buy above the Rio Bravo is now available Down Mejico Way.

There is even a Mexican version of Amazon.com even though I much prefer our homegrown MercadoLibre.

The list of Gringo chain stores in Mexico is too lengthy to repeat here, and it seems to grow longer each year.*

I was particularly delighted when Bed Bath & Beyond, one of my favorite stores when I lived up north, opened recently in the nearby state capital. I shop there often.

There are eight BB&Bs in Mexico. Six are in Mexico City or its environs. A seventh is in Cuernavaca, the not-too-distant Mexico City playground,  and the eighth is in our capital city, the only one relatively remote from Mexico City.

Why were we chosen over the considerably larger burgs of Guadalajara or Monterrey? God knows.

Mexico commercially improves on a daily basis. You can now get most of what is available to the Gringos up north. Plus, we have great tacos, fresh avocados and beautiful babes.

Best of both worlds.

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* Very incomplete list: Best Buy, Sears, Costco, Walmart, McDonald’s, Burger King, Chili’s, Sirloin Stockade, iHop, Home Depot, Office Depot, Office Max, KFC, DQ, Starbucks.

(Note: We don’t depend entirely on the Gringos for great shopping. For example, the Mexican chain El Palacio de Hierro — The Iron Palace — will knock your high-end socks off, especially the flagship store in Mexico City’s Polanco.)