dirty, sexy money

I have no idea what that is. I saw it advertised on some trains in Chicago. And I thought it looked stupid, so I decided to title this blogpost after it in the hopes that it would be a well-received popular culture reference. Oh well.

To my credit, it does have something to do with the content of this message.

I´ve been meaning to write about the currency here (quetzales) for a while, but I´ve usually forgotten due to wanting to include something more pressing or more (less?) humorous. Two things have struck me about the money here.

Number 1/ (goddamn spanish keyboards have all of the symbols mixed around. The / was near impossible to find. That is not what I´ve noticed about the currency.

Number 1a. All of the bills here look like they´ve been chewed on by all of the babies I´ve met so far (8 of them, full time job). Some of the ones I have been moist. Literally. Moist. Even with all sorts of fancy clear plastic windows, holographic strips, watermarks, and images of Cal Ripken Jr., the money is still incredibly gross. I always wash my hands after I pay for something, and I´m not even a germophobe. I´ve never felt like this about American Dollars, even though I know that they are also totally disgusting (the owner of the Cliquot Club told me about his one time he put a bunch of tip money in his mouth while he was bartending and ended up getting some disease that´s all but wiped out except among infants in thailand).

Number 2. Guatemalan revolutionary heroes are way sexier than the ones from the United States. Seriously, it´s like if Elvis, John Travolta, Captain Picard from Star Trek, Ricardon Montalbán, and Central American Thor all banded together to fight tyranny. What do we have? George Washington´s got that creepy smirk concealing his wooden teeth. Ben Franklin was fat. Abe Lincoln had Marphan´s Syndrome, which doesn´t necessarily preclude sexy, but it doesn´t really help, either. I guess Andrew Jackson was alright.

Anyway, I noticed this and immediately exclaimed something about it to whoever was near me. They thought it was weird. I´m keeping a 20 (Elvis) in case any of you are curious about it.

Man. So sexy.

In real life news, I went to the kite festival. It was rad. The only dissapointing thing was that the kites that were like 40 feet tall were only for display. I had the misconception that they were going to take off at some point, risking the lives of hundreds (one smaller kite thwapped my friend right in the forehead as it was taking off), and made the folks I was with stay there for an extra hour. There are some cool pictures of it, but I´ll show them to you when I get back.

The whole thing took place in a cemetary, which was wierd. I´ll bet there were about 1,000 people, and people were walking over graves, sitting on headstones, spilling ice cream on mausoleums, without seeming to think much of it. Strange that as people pay their respects to the spirits of their loved ones in the sky, they don´t think much of their bodies below. Oh well, empty vessels, you know.

The experience also taught me that it is not wise to venture into the unknown with old people or babies. I was accompanied by sets of both. Both sunburn easily. Both need frequent naps. When the young ones weren´t crying about eating, the old ones were crying about needing to use the bathroom. Buh. Getting lost on the way back to the car was NOT the most pleasant thing I´ve ever done.

Overall, it was a good time. Kites rule. Kids rule. Giant inflatable beer cans rule.

Pinguinos en la cama,
-kebín

PS. I could not sleep last night. Because the sound of turkeys gobbling filled the night air. This was not some preliminary guilt over my eventual thanksgiving gluttony. No, this was actually the sound of the turkeys in the cage outside my window here in San Lucas. The male head of the household keeps them in a chickenwire (turkeywire) fence next to 3 white yippy dogs who apparently have to be fenced in because they´re vicious.

It´s all very strange. And turkeys are very ugly.