The Raconteur
Over at Jeffrey P. Snider's Swap Spreads Implicate Huge 'Dollar' Divergence [View article]
Kramer after his diatribe about how Jeffrey Snider's most excellent article should be "translated" into English. "I could tell you about the first time I drank Dos Equis - in Tijauna in 1965, after being rolled in a local whorehouse - but that would make me a raconteur, and, well, that's not my job."
Kramer is quite the muse, inspiring us to Natter once more... Speaking of drinkable distillates and raconteurs, I believe I was in Tijuana on that day. When I asked for a Dos Equis, the beertender Pablito cringed and said, "do you know what that smell outside is." I said "yes, piss and bum's nut sacks." He cringed and asked, "How would you know what a bum's nut sack smells like? " As I knew I had my hands full, I just smiled and answered: "you dump your domestic and industrial sewage un-treated into the bay, that is what does not get dumped directly or leech into the ground along the pipeline." He approvingly nodded, and said "su un gringo muy inteligente", then asked "what do they tell you not to drink here?" I pointed to the water tap. Another nodding approval followed by, "what do you think we make the beer all you Gringo's love so much out of?" Pablito then cracked a wry grin, revealing a gold cap on his left upper incisor. With a pensive squint and an approving nod, I asked for a shot of Cuervo. While throwing his head back in disapproval and cringing even harder than before, Pablito made a whining sound out the side of his mouth while slapping his hand on the bar top... "Ai Ya Yai, Santa Maria sta faus, we clean the toilets with that shit here. Listen amigo, let me school you on some real tequila."
Pablito showed me a good way to start the evening. I vaguely remember this gringo with an small alligator sewn into his shirt, who had asked one of the chicas to exchange favors. He had seen Estrellita in a hispanic club earlier, and after a couple of Dos Equis with her he felt entitled. He offered his "valued" opinion for intimacy, which she wasn't interested in. So he took liberty to complain about something he really wasn't paying for in the first place. During her dances, he was yelling that since she was cross posting on different dancing polls or undressing in front of an English speaking audience, that she should improve her suggestive dancing and imperfect English. So that he and others like him in the audience, could better understand her.
Being a real "rack on tour", Estrellita didn't need to translate squat, it was the Gringo who wanted it on a silver plate. I tried to explain to the Gringo that certain things in life, like Estrellita were not as superficial as they might appear. Layered, complex and wrought with delicate subtleties requiring one to invest time for any hope of substantive payoff. The alligator shirt clad Gringo was far too busy heckling Estrellita's dances while whining about how his time was valuable. I moved on to better enjoy what was being given away, and otherwise somewhat discounted, if you asked for it in the right way.
On my way out, with the remainder of my bottle of tequila firmly in hand, I staggered upon Pablito and said Gracias e buenas noches muchacho!!! While we shook hands, we both noticed some staff and the bouncers in the corner, hovering over the Gringo, who was prone and getting rolled. Shaking my head at Pablito I said, "What are you gonna do?" He grinned and said, "good times. Muchacho, good times! Hasta la proxima!" Its pretty much a blur from there, as Pablito had shown me a good way to start the evening, and I was going to finish it one way or another. All I can remember is waking up the next day, face down and shirtless on a Rosarita beach mud flat with the empty bottle in my arms, and a braying donkey next to me. Neither the asino nor the dos mulo's next to him could explain how I had arrived in such condition, and Sister Sara certainly wasn't going to have the answer but I did know, a good time was had by all, well, most all.
The morals of this story are, get to know your bartender and the tequila; where water treatment is not taken seriously, don't drink the water or the beer. And like that fine mujer con el sabor... Estrellita, there are times in your life when you must take matters into your own hands, so to speak. Due to the intimacies or complexities involved, no translation or explanation from another is going to do it justice. Sometimes, rather than be spoon fed, you really have to take it upon yourself to learn the hard way because it's worth it and you will appreciate it better. Also, be careful when trying to help anyone whose job is not being a "rack on tour". Rim shot! And a man's got to know his limitations.
Kramer after his diatribe about how Jeffrey Snider's most excellent article should be "translated" into English. "I could tell you about the first time I drank Dos Equis - in Tijauna in 1965, after being rolled in a local whorehouse - but that would make me a raconteur, and, well, that's not my job."
Kramer is quite the muse, inspiring us to Natter once more... Speaking of drinkable distillates and raconteurs, I believe I was in Tijuana on that day. When I asked for a Dos Equis, the beertender Pablito cringed and said, "do you know what that smell outside is." I said "yes, piss and bum's nut sacks." He cringed and asked, "How would you know what a bum's nut sack smells like? " As I knew I had my hands full, I just smiled and answered: "you dump your domestic and industrial sewage un-treated into the bay, that is what does not get dumped directly or leech into the ground along the pipeline." He approvingly nodded, and said "su un gringo muy inteligente", then asked "what do they tell you not to drink here?" I pointed to the water tap. Another nodding approval followed by, "what do you think we make the beer all you Gringo's love so much out of?" Pablito then cracked a wry grin, revealing a gold cap on his left upper incisor. With a pensive squint and an approving nod, I asked for a shot of Cuervo. While throwing his head back in disapproval and cringing even harder than before, Pablito made a whining sound out the side of his mouth while slapping his hand on the bar top... "Ai Ya Yai, Santa Maria sta faus, we clean the toilets with that shit here. Listen amigo, let me school you on some real tequila."
Pablito showed me a good way to start the evening. I vaguely remember this gringo with an small alligator sewn into his shirt, who had asked one of the chicas to exchange favors. He had seen Estrellita in a hispanic club earlier, and after a couple of Dos Equis with her he felt entitled. He offered his "valued" opinion for intimacy, which she wasn't interested in. So he took liberty to complain about something he really wasn't paying for in the first place. During her dances, he was yelling that since she was cross posting on different dancing polls or undressing in front of an English speaking audience, that she should improve her suggestive dancing and imperfect English. So that he and others like him in the audience, could better understand her.
Being a real "rack on tour", Estrellita didn't need to translate squat, it was the Gringo who wanted it on a silver plate. I tried to explain to the Gringo that certain things in life, like Estrellita were not as superficial as they might appear. Layered, complex and wrought with delicate subtleties requiring one to invest time for any hope of substantive payoff. The alligator shirt clad Gringo was far too busy heckling Estrellita's dances while whining about how his time was valuable. I moved on to better enjoy what was being given away, and otherwise somewhat discounted, if you asked for it in the right way.
On my way out, with the remainder of my bottle of tequila firmly in hand, I staggered upon Pablito and said Gracias e buenas noches muchacho!!! While we shook hands, we both noticed some staff and the bouncers in the corner, hovering over the Gringo, who was prone and getting rolled. Shaking my head at Pablito I said, "What are you gonna do?" He grinned and said, "good times. Muchacho, good times! Hasta la proxima!" Its pretty much a blur from there, as Pablito had shown me a good way to start the evening, and I was going to finish it one way or another. All I can remember is waking up the next day, face down and shirtless on a Rosarita beach mud flat with the empty bottle in my arms, and a braying donkey next to me. Neither the asino nor the dos mulo's next to him could explain how I had arrived in such condition, and Sister Sara certainly wasn't going to have the answer but I did know, a good time was had by all, well, most all.
The morals of this story are, get to know your bartender and the tequila; where water treatment is not taken seriously, don't drink the water or the beer. And like that fine mujer con el sabor... Estrellita, there are times in your life when you must take matters into your own hands, so to speak. Due to the intimacies or complexities involved, no translation or explanation from another is going to do it justice. Sometimes, rather than be spoon fed, you really have to take it upon yourself to learn the hard way because it's worth it and you will appreciate it better. Also, be careful when trying to help anyone whose job is not being a "rack on tour". Rim shot! And a man's got to know his limitations.
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