My classes are finally over, thank God. I thought Iâd be a better student since Iâm older, but it turns out I couldnât be lazier. I showed up maybe two thirds of the time and I didnÂt take my final exam. It was unsettling to me to discover that I still do the same thing when Iâm bored in class as Iâve always done: draw fangs in my school book. Who knows why, but always fangs. Dog fangs, vampire fangs, bloody fangs, all kinds. It made me feel like I was in high school again, so I donÂt think IÂm gonna take any more courses.
Now I have more time to just futz around the city. This place is so cool. One of the prettier things about it is the butterflies that fly around all over like we were in the country. Itâs the perfect counterpoint to all the trash and noise. Itâs probably whatâs inspiring all the damn kids everywhere you turn practically making babies in the street.
Recently I saw some kid downtown who mustâve been late to work because he only had the tiniest bit of surgical tape on his nose, an amount that couldnât have helped at all with any of the three Râs of young Mexican male nose tape. Just a dash of it before running out the door without breakfast, I guess.
And the other day I saw the youngest policemen in the history of law enforcement. These kids looked like they were sixteen at most. This canât be true, but thereâs no way they couldâve been more than eighteen or nineteen. They were escorting a money delivery and so they had their guns drawn because thatâs what they do here when money is being delivered. It took everything in my power not to to go over and confiscate those things.
What else? I think, maybe, Iâm finally getting over the goddamned altitude. At first I thought the whole thin air thing was nonsense, but it really does affect me. I get that weird wooziness pretty much whenever I get out of a lying position and I get winded at the oddest times. But the crappiest part about it is the fact that singing in the shower is more difficult than it used to be. Seriously, this is no joke, I canât sustain those long notes like before. Opera singers should come here to practice, just like those sports stars who go up in the mountains. Thereâs this restaurant four doors from my apartment that hosts a sort of Mexican bolero karaoke night, and I kinda want to try it out. Itâs my big âdonât be a chickenshitâ goal for the next few months. Iâve been giving it a lot of thought and I think that singing Mexican bolero might be the reason I was put on the planet. Iâve bought collections of it on the street and am quickly falling in love, trying to imitate the voices all the time. There was even a point, Iâm kindâve embarrassed to admit, when I thought the people singing at the restaurant got paid, so I was gonna ask the emcee if he needed some young blood in his act. I went and spent a couple of hours there on a Friday night (I was the only one in there under fifty) to learn the routine and discovered that these people couldnât sing worth shit. I was really disappointed. What a short commute to work it would have been. But passing out from lack of oxygen might have kept me off the stage anyway.
The singing/breathing difficulties gives me an idea, though. On top of the tutoring, Iâve also come up with a million dollar business idea for Mexico City: oxygen bars. Think of it, what with the altitude and the pollution, these people donât know what oxygen is. But it might be dangerous. Iâm not sure they'd be able to handle the good shit. Or maybe Iâll just get into police work, since itâs apparently about as attainable as a summer job at Hot Dog on a Stick.
Oh yeah! Speaking of Mexico Cityâs finest, my new student is a cop! An on duty cop! He was in full uniform and he brought his partner with him! We all piled into my bedroom together and the partner just sat there alternately snoozing and looking at her hat while the student and I did our thing. I canât tell you how cool it feels, after all the stories Iâve heard about the culture of bribery, to accept money from an officer.
But I have an even better image to leave you with than that. Last Thursday there was a big rain storm that caused delays on the Metro and I had to wait two and a half frickinâ hours for a train that wasnât terrifying. I guess I couldâve taken a cab, but that wouldâve been expensive. Plus, I had plenty of things in my backpack to entertain me so I just sat around waiting and watching other people freak out. At about the hour and a half mark, two clowns came along. There are clowns all over the place, by the way, and the greatest thing about them is that theyâre usually just doing everyday stuff like checking email at the Internet cafà or buying a gallon of milk at the liquor store. Imagine my delight when these two clowns in the Metro approach the impossibly full train, with their gigantic red shoes and everything, and somehow squeeze themselves in. Like it was a clown car! That made my week.
love jason