I have moments every so often now when I am reminded that there are are others, probably tens of millions of others actually, who have survived to adulthood while playing a vastly different game than any that I am used to. Life for even the most destitute American Child must be viewed as amongst the highest in the world in terms of nutritional standards, universal availability to top-notch medical care, and any other number of socioeconomic advantages. American Children, who later become American Teenagers and American Adults, all grow up with certain perceived minimal standards of what constitutes safe/sanitary in the bathroom that would shock or disgust them if breached. Some need nothing short of a platinum bidet to be happy while many mountainfolk make due with holes in the ground.
I, the Intentional Gringo, have recently had to vastly alter my attitudes regarding basic bathroom axioms. Those are Suicide Showers and Poopy Papers.
A Note Regarding Basic Safety: Ever tossed a television into a bubble bath before? How about a rice cooker? No you say? Interesting. Almost sounds as though you learned from a very young age that electricity and water are bad together - Whitney N' Bobby BAD together. Trees in a thunderstorm? GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THEM. Swimming in a thunderstorm? GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WATER. Over and over again these warnings have been shouted by anyone older than 12 to anyone dumb enough to not know that electricity and water will straight up murder your ass.
Not in my apartment. Nor the apartments of a few million people in my adopted home. No...in THESE homes the 'Electricity + Water = Death' Equationists must take a seat to the Electrified Showerhead Lobby, for they are the purveyors of the aptly nicknamed "Suicide Shower". This powerful consortium of the brightest minds in this country have banded together to popularize a shower head that heats shower water via direct electrical connection located inside the shower. I do not lie. This device conveniently makes a noise similar to the low pitch hummzphummzp of a bug zapper. Many locals have remarked to me the notices in the newspaper that are frequent enough to not arouse special attention that eulogize some poor soul foolish enough to try and move the shower head the wrong way...and get fried like pollo. Because there is electricity inside the shower. Is the school for electricians THAT wildly different here than in the US where they allow certified professionals to install a separate outlet in your shower?? This is something that I doubt I will ever understand or condone. Remember this when you bitch about your water pressure - at least you wont die if you cant get all of the conditioner out. There are men here who's last words are an off key, erroneous rendition of a Nickelback song.
Etiquette de Papel Higenico: God bless my mother. She has spent the last 20+ years of her life devoting all of her love and energy to me, and for this I am eternally grateful. Unerringly she has taken every possible opportunity to shower me with praise, especially in reference to my early childhood. I musta been some sort of child wonder the way that my mother carries on about my sophisticated sense of humor and boundless curiosity.
My father, on the other hand, likes to point to a different part of my early youth as a prime example of my unique gifts. He, unerringly, loves to refer to the fact that it took YEARS for my parents to potty train me. Seriously. I don't remember anything from that period of my life but from all accounts I was just not into the whole porcelain thing. Thankfully my mother has the patience of a saint and helped me become the man that I am today, a man who is no different than yourself kind reader. I am now an Official Member of the Big Boy's Club and I wear my badge proudly. So imagine my dismay when I learned that my adopted homeland had different requirements for admission into said club. Remember Mr. Hungry, the man who lives inside the toilet and eats your poopy when you're a good boy or girl?
Here, My. Hungry only eats poopy. He thinks toilet paper tastes yucky.
I'm 100% fucking serious folks. I have been trying to convince those amongst my friends and family who have expressed shock at my decision to move that my adopted home is "third world" in only the loosest of regards and that is more akin to a Little League America than a Save The Children Zone. THEN I have to tell them that I can't flush my goddamn toilet paper and it shoots my whole argument in the nuts. Can't even fathom how strange it is? Here's an experiment - next time you take a crap, right before your brain tells you to drop the paper after wiping down the business zone...STOP. Hold the paper. Now, carefully, bring the paper Out - Of - The- Bowl and figure out what the fuck to do with it. And try not to look directly at it either lest you vomit. Then think of a 2 year old Intentional Gringo laughing hysterically at the look of sheer disgust written all over your genteel face. I literally had to buy a little garbage can (complete with lid!) to sit NEXT to my toilet FILLED with poopy papers. Leaving for the weekend? Better not forget to empty the can! Learned that one the hard way. Early in the morning and your aim is off? Well gents, this aim BETTER be accurate because a little stray piss can be handled much more succinctly than a shit-trail on the floor or wall where you THOUGHT the can was. My personal suggestion? Take two strips of paper, maybe 3-4 squares long, and lay them out in front of you BEFORE dropping the kids off. Then wrap each defiled handful of shame in one of the strips at your feet before depositing it in the poopy basket.
Yes. This is my life.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Anonymity and Public Transportation
I take the bus to work daily. Driving a car here, as I have previously documented, is an expensive and ultimately life-endangering experience that one is best to avoid at all costs. My employer is located in a relatively large office park that is serviced by multiple bus lines. In all, it is usually a voluminous yet well-heeled crowd. At peak times during the day it is not uncommon to stand for the better part of my trip, especially given that common courtesy in this country (which is a very haphazard and vexing thing that will be addressed in better detail later) and inherently within myself dictates that an able bodied man relinquish his seat for females or the elderly and otherwise infirm. My old home certainly had public transportation available to me but I hardly used it aside for the convenient train trips from my home to New York City that allowed me to eschew driving/parking in the Big Fucking Apple. It is indeed a strange development this new found reliance on public transportation. Moreover, not being able to understand a good 98% of what is said around me limits my ability to satisfy the normal voyeuristic inklings that help a person stave off boredom in a situation where he or she cannot use his or her IPod for fear of knifing after disembarking. You would think that being amidst a sea of bodies, each stretching and pushing their way into your personal 5 feet of comfort zone, might make someone feel like a regular card-carrying member of the home team.
It doesn't. It's actually suprisingly alienating.
For better or worse I have been groin-grabbed, ass-rubbed, and generally molested both intentionally and unintentionally by a fair cross section of my adopted bretheren over the length of my stay. Yet I still can't shake the feeling that I'm a stranger in a strange land who will never really be part of the clique and this prospect makes me feel indescribably lonely. A mentor of mine once described to me the feeling of isolation he felt as an American bond trader living in Tokyo during the "Ugly American" 1980's. Being gaijin (literally translated to "outside person" in Japanese), even a gaijin married to an Asian woman, with Asian children and a keen awareness of societal expectations and customs, was so overwhelmingly alienating that he found himself over-compensating for this exclusion by trying to shed as much of his American persona as possible. I am not naive enough to think that I can transplant myself into a foreign country, especially a country that for all intents and purposes is not on a level playing field with my home in terms of education, infrastructure or basically anything else besides the production of fresh fruit, and expect to be unequivocally embraced by the general populace. Yet at the same time it is incredibly frustrating to know that despite how hard I try to learn the language and generally embrace the cultural differences as non-relativistically as humanly possible that I will always just be another Johnny Rockets eating, fanny pack wearing Gringo. And this overarching sense of failure oftentimes taints the shimmering moment of inclusion that I feel when I get a complicated sentence correct when speaking to a native or the secret smiles I store away when a pretty girl smiles at me for no reason.
I'll always be a Gringo, Intentional or Not. I can't be on the team nor will anyone ever ask me to be. I came here willingly and with great hope to learn more about the lives of others and to hopefully be included willingly into a few of them but I now see that my assumption that a genuine smile and good intentions would be enough to get my through the velvet rope was both startlingly inaccurate and pitifully disappointing. It is my own fault and I am at least mature enough to recognize this without holding a grudge against those that I expected a favorable reception from. It's just sad, reclining comfortably on a half-empty bus while an unspoiled 7am sunshine caresses my still pasty forehead and a sprawling backdrop of limitless azure sky teases my still-unaccustomed eyes, that I will inevitably be struck back down to Earth once I remember that this sun shines brighter for those dozing quietly beside me and that this sky is not, nor can it ever be, my own.
It doesn't. It's actually suprisingly alienating.
For better or worse I have been groin-grabbed, ass-rubbed, and generally molested both intentionally and unintentionally by a fair cross section of my adopted bretheren over the length of my stay. Yet I still can't shake the feeling that I'm a stranger in a strange land who will never really be part of the clique and this prospect makes me feel indescribably lonely. A mentor of mine once described to me the feeling of isolation he felt as an American bond trader living in Tokyo during the "Ugly American" 1980's. Being gaijin (literally translated to "outside person" in Japanese), even a gaijin married to an Asian woman, with Asian children and a keen awareness of societal expectations and customs, was so overwhelmingly alienating that he found himself over-compensating for this exclusion by trying to shed as much of his American persona as possible. I am not naive enough to think that I can transplant myself into a foreign country, especially a country that for all intents and purposes is not on a level playing field with my home in terms of education, infrastructure or basically anything else besides the production of fresh fruit, and expect to be unequivocally embraced by the general populace. Yet at the same time it is incredibly frustrating to know that despite how hard I try to learn the language and generally embrace the cultural differences as non-relativistically as humanly possible that I will always just be another Johnny Rockets eating, fanny pack wearing Gringo. And this overarching sense of failure oftentimes taints the shimmering moment of inclusion that I feel when I get a complicated sentence correct when speaking to a native or the secret smiles I store away when a pretty girl smiles at me for no reason.
I'll always be a Gringo, Intentional or Not. I can't be on the team nor will anyone ever ask me to be. I came here willingly and with great hope to learn more about the lives of others and to hopefully be included willingly into a few of them but I now see that my assumption that a genuine smile and good intentions would be enough to get my through the velvet rope was both startlingly inaccurate and pitifully disappointing. It is my own fault and I am at least mature enough to recognize this without holding a grudge against those that I expected a favorable reception from. It's just sad, reclining comfortably on a half-empty bus while an unspoiled 7am sunshine caresses my still pasty forehead and a sprawling backdrop of limitless azure sky teases my still-unaccustomed eyes, that I will inevitably be struck back down to Earth once I remember that this sun shines brighter for those dozing quietly beside me and that this sky is not, nor can it ever be, my own.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Reasons To Become An Intentional Gringo
Ladies and Gentleman, I will not sit on my bully pulpit and lecture you on how to live your life. Frankly your life, or your loss of it at the hands of a hemophiliac tranny wielding a paring knife and a bad methamphetamine habit, means surprisingly little to me unless you are one of my Favorite People (who all thankfully know who they are). But please allow me a moment to give you a few reasons to ditch your seemingly comfortable life (replete with $60 gas-tank fillups and weekends spent watching Inner Space on HBO2 West until you fall asleep in your tattered, soiled undergarments) in lieu of the resplendent joy of life as an Intentional Gringo.
YOUR CAREER SUCKS: It does, even if you don't care to admit it. I don't know you, I've never shaken your hand, and I've never peed on your toilet seat and walked out of the bathroom without wiping it off. But I'm SURE your career sucks, much in the same way I'm sure that I'll never tire of women (age irrelevant) in short plaid skirts. Unless you are a cardiovascular surgeon, backup NFL quarterback, or spend your nights massaging the feet of an 85 year old emphysemic widower, your career in the United States is the rought equivalent of a 9 hour Dick Cheney Christmas Sing-Along with musical accompaniment by Jacob Moogberg and the rejects of Menudo .
It's OK. It isn't your fault!
Well really it is. Not COMPLETELY your fault, but enough your fault to make you culpable in a court of law. More likely than not your parents stressed to you the importance of a steady career and an even steadier paycheck. This paycheck, which we shall refer to here as Safety Net, was to be the one and only focus of your formative years. Your pursuit of Safety Net was encouraged initially in primary school, made a grim reality during your first job shoveling whale shit at the circus in high school, and ultimately became your late night bong hit buzzkill in college.
Intentional Gringo has been there, believe me. He even had what could be considered A Good Job while he lived in the United States. A Good Job is characterized by an 8+ hour day spent no less than 80% at a computer or telephone, a dizzyingly diverse wardrobe of neutral blue Dockers button-downs, black slacks and patent leather shoes chosen intentionally to give off the air of wealth while costing less than $40 brand new. Most importantly though, Safety Net requires a W2 that allows the individual enough disposable income to afford bottle service once a quarter, an apartment furnished with an expensive stereo and cheap sheets, and the appearance of enough financial stability to not require a monthly loan from Mom and Dad. Once you acquire Safety Net Status, you're set, right?
No. You're living a pitiable existence in a dead end job you'd sob with joy to be fired from, wasting what's left of your dwindling youth working for older versions of yourself who will never respect you despite your College Degree (subtract even more for degree) because they know first-hand how spineless you are, and you require 2 cups of coffee in the morning to manufacture enough energy to survive 1/6th of your work day when you AREN'T hungover. This leads me to my next reason...
You Once Had Dreams: Sounds pretty trite - Intentional Gringo apologizes if he sounds like a college graduation commencement sometimes - but I'm nearly 100% sure that I'm right. Your dreams really don't look much like your current state of affairs, do they? Perhaps you wanted to go to Tuscany and study frescoes. Maybe you always wanted to spend time assisting research scientists in the Galapagos Islands. Who knows. Even if you're greatest aspiration was being a cabana boy in the French Riviera, your aspirations are just that. ASPIRATIONS. Why the hell haven't you chased them down and stuck them in your pocket yet? You're seemingly able bodies and relatively intelligent. You haven't accomplished these things because they ARE NOT EASY TO ACCOMPLISH and NOBODY LIKES TO WORK HARD FOR UNCERTAIN REWARDS. Safety Net is easy to work towards because the rewards are apparent - a humble, anesthetized existance, 2 affairs, 3 kids, an ARM mortgage and a quiet stroke on the toilet at 57. Your dreams, on the other hand , are quite hard to explain to your friends and family and even harder to put into motion because there is no convenient framework in place to get you going. Well the Intentional Gringo is here to tell you (and by Here he means in his adopted home, making a FRACTION of his prior income that nonetheless affords him a nice apartment on the nice side of town and the ability to dally in hedonistic pleasures at his heart's content) that YOU are on your way to becoming one of those people that you never wanted to become. The old guy at your high school football game who still wears his tattered jersey, dreaming of TD's past. The old woman, 2 husbands buried and 3 kids far away, who macrames hoodies for her cats and Tivos Ellen and Tyra while she's away at her data entry job. I say this not to scare you per se, though I hope it scares you a bit, but more to provoke one of those solemn "what the hell and I going to do with my life" moments. You need it.
Intentional Gringos Can Go Anywhere: Your own Intentional Gringo frequents a fairly Gringo'd-out bar in his town where he can watch his beloved football team on Sundays. There are men there who one could quite easily consider Bums. Not like Jeffrey Lebowski lovable bums. More like screwdrivers at 9 am, flabby-underarm-on-skeletal-frame bums. Since Intentional Gringo is a people person he has befriended more than a few of these men and they all share one common trait - they are able to finance their life in I.G.'s country on seemingly non-existant incomes. Seriously. Like Army pensions. Slip-N-Fall settlement moneyz, gambling systems. Whatever. And these guys are drunken slobs. YOU, of college education or at least substantial professional experience, can live anywhere in the world that you want to live based solely on the fact that you are a Gringo. Gringos have automatic cache and diginfication in most places outside of the US and Europe. Know how to work a computer? You can live here and make great money working for HP, Intel, or any of the other countless computer companies who come here to save cash while tapping into an educated workforce. Speak English fluently? You can walk into an interview hungover and get a job that pays you more money than 65% of the people native to this country. And that advanced degree? You can teach in a University and get your apartment paid for on TOP of your salary! Are you sitting at your desk in the United States wondering how you could actually legally use the system to your advantage?? Well you'd better consider coming here because it sure as shit ain't happening where you are now.
Climate: Everyone who knows I.G. knows that he is not much for cold weather or any of the diversions that can be enjoyed in the snow. My balance is not very good and I hate frozen snot on my face. Well the temperature in my adopted home varies between 70-80 degrees F all 12 months of the year. I am 3 hours from both the Pacific Ocean and Caribbean coast. Now I LOVE me some Spring and Autumn, but am I crying because I won't see leaves fall this year? Fuck no! If I get THAT sad I can always get one of you suckers to email me a video. I.G. is normally pasty in the way that only one of Irish descent can be pasty, but I have been a nice caramel brown since I arrived and I haven't spent much time at the beach at all. Don't let this sound like a travel brochure for my adopted home - unless you live in San Diego, or are a hardcore snowboarder or speedskater like Bonnie Blair, you can go to any number of places and get weather like your wildest dreams. Barbados isn't the only place where it is sunny every day.
People Are Nicer Here: "Here" can be just about anywhere. Unless you live in Mayberry, USA circa 1955. Intentional Gringo is from the home of Total Dickheads, people who would sooner spit on your expiring body than help you out of the ditch that you fell into. The reason people are nicer "here", wherever "here" may be, is because most people outside the US and Europe aren't self absorbed pricks. Sure buses are crowded, drivers don't yield, and men hoot and holler at women in ways that even make ME blush. But children are fawned over, strangers will answer your questions even though you don't speak their language, and a simple smile will get you just about anything you want. This place isn't perfect by any means but it is surely more civilized than the neon jungle I left behind.
You Will Attract People Here: The United States, for all of its faults, is most definitely the Great Melting Pot. This means that you can easily find people of any shape, size, or color that tickles your fancy with unprecedented ease. Yet the United States is also the home of Beautiful People. Our media is consumed by everyone around the world mainly because we produce some hot pieces of ass on both sides of the fence. Attractive is as attractive does. As long as you don't strive to live in a place where giant plates in your lip signify beauty, YOU ARE GOLDEN. Even if you're exceptionally homely at home, your new home will provide you with infinite possibilities to attract those of the opposite sex. If nothing else, your status as Intentional Gringo will attract those who believe that you may have money. People go to Vegas and play this game all the time. Why not LIVE it for a spell? More likely than not your meager earnings will be at least upper-middle class in your adopted home. Ever wanted to go to the hottest club in the city and have velvet ropes part at your feet? Well buy some nice clothes (undoubtedly cheaper than home) and just show up with a confident smirk and a high-value piece of undoubtedly multi-colored currency in your palm. And those who are already attractive by their home country's standards? Bon appetit.
Your Country Is A Mess: Americans only. To borrow a phrase from my beloved GW, without whom I never would have left the US, I am not a "cut and runner". I love my country very much and would die for it if a reasonable cause came knocking at our door. That being said, gasoline costs around $3.80 a gallon with little relief in sight for at least 2-3 years AT BEST. We are mired in a now 6 year old war that has nearly bankrupt my unborn children. The US housing market meltdown has made for tighter lending restrictions for all, and especially tighter lending restrictions for first time buyers of anything from a used Kia Sportage to a new condo in Boca Raton. American Idol is watched by more people than Meet The Press, The Daily Show and everything on PBS combined. College graduates are entering a workforce 100K in debt while competing with better qualified applicants from India and China willing to work 20 more hours a week for 1/5th the salary. Why the hell NOT become an Intentional Gringo? You can go live where you want to live, do the work that you want to do, and come back to the United States when the climate looks a little more favorable. Moreover, your next employer in the US will look at your "overseas experience" as a sign of your ability to adapt to changing markets and an overall indicator of your willingness to go outside of your comfort zone and do something original. Chances are you'll get a glowing review from your employer in Adopted Homeland while returning the envy of your jealous friends and family. It's a homerun. Do it now before Obama fixes it all and you have no excuse.
More Reasons I Will Not Explain In Detail But Are Nonetheless Relevant:
1. Favorable Exchange Rate - again, jump on it now before the dollar is worth less than the ruble. And if you're a European, you can make it rain whenev for practically nada.
2. You Won't Miss Much - the internet and satellite TV make sure you stay up on House.
3. Your Passport Cost You $50 - and didn't you once have a dream to fill all those pages?
4. You'll Lose Weight - Fruits and vegetables are certainly more prevalent in your new land. Fresh ones that taste good and cost nothing. And you STILL can get Big Macs whenever you want.
5. You'll Learn Another Language - just like Bart Simpson did when he was shipped to France. It just sinks in. Even if it doesn't, classes are cheap.
6. You'll Learn Cool Shit - for cheap. Like any kind of self defense or dancing that you want that isnative to your home. Intentional Gringo is now learning the Jedi Mind Trick.
7. You Will Have Stories - not stories about passing out on the train on the way home from the bar. Like stories about being thrown in a foreign jail and having to call the embassy to bail you out. Travel Channel style stories, stuff your grandpa told you about WW2 that you loved to hear.
8. You Might Get Mugged - for some this is a real threat at home. But I have worked in NYC and even then I was never accosted by thugs. Somebody ganks your wallet at knife-point and they make off with the equivalent of $12? Not so bad if it gives you some memories.
9. You Might Fall In Love - self explanatory. Nothing better than looking deep into the lovely eyes of a man/woman who doesn't understand a fucking thing that you're saying.
10. You Might Regret It: Even if you do, at least you had the balls to do something that 99% of people you know would never even consider attempting. And that, in and of itself, feels pretty good.
YOUR CAREER SUCKS: It does, even if you don't care to admit it. I don't know you, I've never shaken your hand, and I've never peed on your toilet seat and walked out of the bathroom without wiping it off. But I'm SURE your career sucks, much in the same way I'm sure that I'll never tire of women (age irrelevant) in short plaid skirts. Unless you are a cardiovascular surgeon, backup NFL quarterback, or spend your nights massaging the feet of an 85 year old emphysemic widower, your career in the United States is the rought equivalent of a 9 hour Dick Cheney Christmas Sing-Along with musical accompaniment by Jacob Moogberg and the rejects of Menudo .
It's OK. It isn't your fault!
Well really it is. Not COMPLETELY your fault, but enough your fault to make you culpable in a court of law. More likely than not your parents stressed to you the importance of a steady career and an even steadier paycheck. This paycheck, which we shall refer to here as Safety Net, was to be the one and only focus of your formative years. Your pursuit of Safety Net was encouraged initially in primary school, made a grim reality during your first job shoveling whale shit at the circus in high school, and ultimately became your late night bong hit buzzkill in college.
Intentional Gringo has been there, believe me. He even had what could be considered A Good Job while he lived in the United States. A Good Job is characterized by an 8+ hour day spent no less than 80% at a computer or telephone, a dizzyingly diverse wardrobe of neutral blue Dockers button-downs, black slacks and patent leather shoes chosen intentionally to give off the air of wealth while costing less than $40 brand new. Most importantly though, Safety Net requires a W2 that allows the individual enough disposable income to afford bottle service once a quarter, an apartment furnished with an expensive stereo and cheap sheets, and the appearance of enough financial stability to not require a monthly loan from Mom and Dad. Once you acquire Safety Net Status, you're set, right?
No. You're living a pitiable existence in a dead end job you'd sob with joy to be fired from, wasting what's left of your dwindling youth working for older versions of yourself who will never respect you despite your College Degree (subtract even more for degree) because they know first-hand how spineless you are, and you require 2 cups of coffee in the morning to manufacture enough energy to survive 1/6th of your work day when you AREN'T hungover. This leads me to my next reason...
You Once Had Dreams: Sounds pretty trite - Intentional Gringo apologizes if he sounds like a college graduation commencement sometimes - but I'm nearly 100% sure that I'm right. Your dreams really don't look much like your current state of affairs, do they? Perhaps you wanted to go to Tuscany and study frescoes. Maybe you always wanted to spend time assisting research scientists in the Galapagos Islands. Who knows. Even if you're greatest aspiration was being a cabana boy in the French Riviera, your aspirations are just that. ASPIRATIONS. Why the hell haven't you chased them down and stuck them in your pocket yet? You're seemingly able bodies and relatively intelligent. You haven't accomplished these things because they ARE NOT EASY TO ACCOMPLISH and NOBODY LIKES TO WORK HARD FOR UNCERTAIN REWARDS. Safety Net is easy to work towards because the rewards are apparent - a humble, anesthetized existance, 2 affairs, 3 kids, an ARM mortgage and a quiet stroke on the toilet at 57. Your dreams, on the other hand , are quite hard to explain to your friends and family and even harder to put into motion because there is no convenient framework in place to get you going. Well the Intentional Gringo is here to tell you (and by Here he means in his adopted home, making a FRACTION of his prior income that nonetheless affords him a nice apartment on the nice side of town and the ability to dally in hedonistic pleasures at his heart's content) that YOU are on your way to becoming one of those people that you never wanted to become. The old guy at your high school football game who still wears his tattered jersey, dreaming of TD's past. The old woman, 2 husbands buried and 3 kids far away, who macrames hoodies for her cats and Tivos Ellen and Tyra while she's away at her data entry job. I say this not to scare you per se, though I hope it scares you a bit, but more to provoke one of those solemn "what the hell and I going to do with my life" moments. You need it.
Intentional Gringos Can Go Anywhere: Your own Intentional Gringo frequents a fairly Gringo'd-out bar in his town where he can watch his beloved football team on Sundays. There are men there who one could quite easily consider Bums. Not like Jeffrey Lebowski lovable bums. More like screwdrivers at 9 am, flabby-underarm-on-skeletal-frame bums. Since Intentional Gringo is a people person he has befriended more than a few of these men and they all share one common trait - they are able to finance their life in I.G.'s country on seemingly non-existant incomes. Seriously. Like Army pensions. Slip-N-Fall settlement moneyz, gambling systems. Whatever. And these guys are drunken slobs. YOU, of college education or at least substantial professional experience, can live anywhere in the world that you want to live based solely on the fact that you are a Gringo. Gringos have automatic cache and diginfication in most places outside of the US and Europe. Know how to work a computer? You can live here and make great money working for HP, Intel, or any of the other countless computer companies who come here to save cash while tapping into an educated workforce. Speak English fluently? You can walk into an interview hungover and get a job that pays you more money than 65% of the people native to this country. And that advanced degree? You can teach in a University and get your apartment paid for on TOP of your salary! Are you sitting at your desk in the United States wondering how you could actually legally use the system to your advantage?? Well you'd better consider coming here because it sure as shit ain't happening where you are now.
Climate: Everyone who knows I.G. knows that he is not much for cold weather or any of the diversions that can be enjoyed in the snow. My balance is not very good and I hate frozen snot on my face. Well the temperature in my adopted home varies between 70-80 degrees F all 12 months of the year. I am 3 hours from both the Pacific Ocean and Caribbean coast. Now I LOVE me some Spring and Autumn, but am I crying because I won't see leaves fall this year? Fuck no! If I get THAT sad I can always get one of you suckers to email me a video. I.G. is normally pasty in the way that only one of Irish descent can be pasty, but I have been a nice caramel brown since I arrived and I haven't spent much time at the beach at all. Don't let this sound like a travel brochure for my adopted home - unless you live in San Diego, or are a hardcore snowboarder or speedskater like Bonnie Blair, you can go to any number of places and get weather like your wildest dreams. Barbados isn't the only place where it is sunny every day.
People Are Nicer Here: "Here" can be just about anywhere. Unless you live in Mayberry, USA circa 1955. Intentional Gringo is from the home of Total Dickheads, people who would sooner spit on your expiring body than help you out of the ditch that you fell into. The reason people are nicer "here", wherever "here" may be, is because most people outside the US and Europe aren't self absorbed pricks. Sure buses are crowded, drivers don't yield, and men hoot and holler at women in ways that even make ME blush. But children are fawned over, strangers will answer your questions even though you don't speak their language, and a simple smile will get you just about anything you want. This place isn't perfect by any means but it is surely more civilized than the neon jungle I left behind.
You Will Attract People Here: The United States, for all of its faults, is most definitely the Great Melting Pot. This means that you can easily find people of any shape, size, or color that tickles your fancy with unprecedented ease. Yet the United States is also the home of Beautiful People. Our media is consumed by everyone around the world mainly because we produce some hot pieces of ass on both sides of the fence. Attractive is as attractive does. As long as you don't strive to live in a place where giant plates in your lip signify beauty, YOU ARE GOLDEN. Even if you're exceptionally homely at home, your new home will provide you with infinite possibilities to attract those of the opposite sex. If nothing else, your status as Intentional Gringo will attract those who believe that you may have money. People go to Vegas and play this game all the time. Why not LIVE it for a spell? More likely than not your meager earnings will be at least upper-middle class in your adopted home. Ever wanted to go to the hottest club in the city and have velvet ropes part at your feet? Well buy some nice clothes (undoubtedly cheaper than home) and just show up with a confident smirk and a high-value piece of undoubtedly multi-colored currency in your palm. And those who are already attractive by their home country's standards? Bon appetit.
Your Country Is A Mess: Americans only. To borrow a phrase from my beloved GW, without whom I never would have left the US, I am not a "cut and runner". I love my country very much and would die for it if a reasonable cause came knocking at our door. That being said, gasoline costs around $3.80 a gallon with little relief in sight for at least 2-3 years AT BEST. We are mired in a now 6 year old war that has nearly bankrupt my unborn children. The US housing market meltdown has made for tighter lending restrictions for all, and especially tighter lending restrictions for first time buyers of anything from a used Kia Sportage to a new condo in Boca Raton. American Idol is watched by more people than Meet The Press, The Daily Show and everything on PBS combined. College graduates are entering a workforce 100K in debt while competing with better qualified applicants from India and China willing to work 20 more hours a week for 1/5th the salary. Why the hell NOT become an Intentional Gringo? You can go live where you want to live, do the work that you want to do, and come back to the United States when the climate looks a little more favorable. Moreover, your next employer in the US will look at your "overseas experience" as a sign of your ability to adapt to changing markets and an overall indicator of your willingness to go outside of your comfort zone and do something original. Chances are you'll get a glowing review from your employer in Adopted Homeland while returning the envy of your jealous friends and family. It's a homerun. Do it now before Obama fixes it all and you have no excuse.
More Reasons I Will Not Explain In Detail But Are Nonetheless Relevant:
1. Favorable Exchange Rate - again, jump on it now before the dollar is worth less than the ruble. And if you're a European, you can make it rain whenev for practically nada.
2. You Won't Miss Much - the internet and satellite TV make sure you stay up on House.
3. Your Passport Cost You $50 - and didn't you once have a dream to fill all those pages?
4. You'll Lose Weight - Fruits and vegetables are certainly more prevalent in your new land. Fresh ones that taste good and cost nothing. And you STILL can get Big Macs whenever you want.
5. You'll Learn Another Language - just like Bart Simpson did when he was shipped to France. It just sinks in. Even if it doesn't, classes are cheap.
6. You'll Learn Cool Shit - for cheap. Like any kind of self defense or dancing that you want that isnative to your home. Intentional Gringo is now learning the Jedi Mind Trick.
7. You Will Have Stories - not stories about passing out on the train on the way home from the bar. Like stories about being thrown in a foreign jail and having to call the embassy to bail you out. Travel Channel style stories, stuff your grandpa told you about WW2 that you loved to hear.
8. You Might Get Mugged - for some this is a real threat at home. But I have worked in NYC and even then I was never accosted by thugs. Somebody ganks your wallet at knife-point and they make off with the equivalent of $12? Not so bad if it gives you some memories.
9. You Might Fall In Love - self explanatory. Nothing better than looking deep into the lovely eyes of a man/woman who doesn't understand a fucking thing that you're saying.
10. You Might Regret It: Even if you do, at least you had the balls to do something that 99% of people you know would never even consider attempting. And that, in and of itself, feels pretty good.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Quirks
Some out there know where Intentional Gringo resides, both in the US and in his new adopted homeland. But for those who do not, please don't beat yourselves up over this lack of knowledge. In the end I do not believe that it makes much difference WHERE Intentional Gringo resides because the experiences chronicled here would no doubt be quite similar in any number of locales. Yet it would be totally inaccurate to assert that my new home is exactly the same as ANY place besides the United States. I indeed live in a place that many other gringos would consider more “civil” than some others, and one that indeed provides some subtle tones of home.
BUT, ladies and gentlemen, do not get it twisted. This place can be utterly infuriating and downright stupefying.
1.Where The Streets Have No Name – for quite some time (like 26 years to be exact) this statement meant really only one thing: the title to a pretty decent U2 song. NOW this statement has taken on a whole new meaning. Mind you, I live in a metropolis. There are upwards of 2M people that inhabit my city and the surrounding 'burbs, and it is most certainly a financial and cultural hub for not only the country but for the general geo-political region. So why in the fuck can't they put some signs on streets? I am not joking when I tell you that even in the high traffic, heavily travelled sections of town that are the homes to any number of high profile businesses and governmental offices there are ABSOLUTELY NO STREET SIGNS. I'd say 10 % of the streets I have seen have any signage at all, and those have ONE sign at some point of what could be a mile long stretch of asphalt. Every direction is given in terms of landmarks. This is fine when you have lived in this place for a while and know your way around, but for an Intentional Gringo it is little more than an opportunity to wander around with a thumb up my ass while every cabby honks at me to get in his cab because he knows I have no fucking idea where I am. When someone gives you directions for a hardware store in terms of a rubber tree across town that was felled over 50 years ago, you know that you should probably just go home and blow your brains out. And when it happens twice in two days, you die a little inside.
2.Would You Like Cheese With That? - all of those who know Intentional Gringo and love him very much know that Intentional Gringo loves HIM some cheese. Multiple cheeses actually, in many lactose-erotic combinations. So imagine the chagrin of our intrepid I.G. when, upon ducking his head into a large supermarket in his home city, picked up a 13. oz block of Kraft Sharp Cheddar Cheese and nearly had a stroke. For this cheese was, in terms of US dollars, somewhere in the neighborhood of $11.30. Fresh mozzarella, something that I.G. has become quite fond of due to the high percentage of Italian-Americans in his ridiculously expensive American home? Try $13. Gouda or anything else similarly odd required a mortgaged kidney, which coincidentally could be removed next door to the grocery.
3.Paging The Owner of the 1991 Nissan Sentra...- if this statement were made on a loudspeaker in any crowded market or restaurant, literally half of the people would be forced to perk up. Not that I have anything against the 1991 Nissan Sentra at all. I give it up to my adopted countrymen who, despite a yearly climate about as hospitable as the summit of K2, eschew (for the most part) the American temptation of massive, gas-guzzling SUV's in favor of a more responsible, practical, reliable automobile. But please, Mr. Nissan Owner, TAKE THAT RIDICULOUS MUFFLER OFF OF YOUR CAR. Nearly half of the cars that cruise the streets of my home rival the decibel level of a 747 at ¾ thrust. Ever thought that those Asian kids in shitty Civics down the street who constantly drive 50 mph in 2nd gear are an annoyance? Go to hell. Try sleeping past 6am here. I need my Gringo sleep and I get precious little of it because of these douchenozzles who outfit their 90HP cars with 5 ½ inch exhaust pipes. And your three boost gauges? When I can outrun your car, you don't need a boost gauge. Or a hood tach.
4.Further Discourse Regarding Automobiles – Intentional Gringo was born, weaned, and taught to drive in a part of the United States NOTORIOUS for aggressive asshole drivers. NEVER have I ever seen more endemic disregard for traffic laws and basic human decency than I have encountered in my new home. Driving at any time of the day is like a quadriplegic trying to navigate a Turkish bazaar. Traffic lights? A suggestion. Crosswalks? A laughable anachronism. Signal lights? 10 car lengths in the rain? Buses changing three lanes with less than 200 people hanging on for dear life? No way Jo-Say. But at least drivers have the added safety of the 9 inches of reinforced aluminum of their 1991 Nissan Sentra. Pedestrians be warned: you show up in my city and you're a hunted animal. Like Ivan Drago once said, “[Y]ou will lose.” Most likely at least a toe.
These are a few of the initial differences that I have found between my American home and my new land of opportunity. I'm sure that as I get a little more hip to the ways of the people here that I will certainly find more vexing things about this place and its inhabitants, and I assure you kind reader that I will keep you abreast of these discoveries. Now I'm off to sell some plasma so that I can buy some Jarlsberg.
BUT, ladies and gentlemen, do not get it twisted. This place can be utterly infuriating and downright stupefying.
1.Where The Streets Have No Name – for quite some time (like 26 years to be exact) this statement meant really only one thing: the title to a pretty decent U2 song. NOW this statement has taken on a whole new meaning. Mind you, I live in a metropolis. There are upwards of 2M people that inhabit my city and the surrounding 'burbs, and it is most certainly a financial and cultural hub for not only the country but for the general geo-political region. So why in the fuck can't they put some signs on streets? I am not joking when I tell you that even in the high traffic, heavily travelled sections of town that are the homes to any number of high profile businesses and governmental offices there are ABSOLUTELY NO STREET SIGNS. I'd say 10 % of the streets I have seen have any signage at all, and those have ONE sign at some point of what could be a mile long stretch of asphalt. Every direction is given in terms of landmarks. This is fine when you have lived in this place for a while and know your way around, but for an Intentional Gringo it is little more than an opportunity to wander around with a thumb up my ass while every cabby honks at me to get in his cab because he knows I have no fucking idea where I am. When someone gives you directions for a hardware store in terms of a rubber tree across town that was felled over 50 years ago, you know that you should probably just go home and blow your brains out. And when it happens twice in two days, you die a little inside.
2.Would You Like Cheese With That? - all of those who know Intentional Gringo and love him very much know that Intentional Gringo loves HIM some cheese. Multiple cheeses actually, in many lactose-erotic combinations. So imagine the chagrin of our intrepid I.G. when, upon ducking his head into a large supermarket in his home city, picked up a 13. oz block of Kraft Sharp Cheddar Cheese and nearly had a stroke. For this cheese was, in terms of US dollars, somewhere in the neighborhood of $11.30. Fresh mozzarella, something that I.G. has become quite fond of due to the high percentage of Italian-Americans in his ridiculously expensive American home? Try $13. Gouda or anything else similarly odd required a mortgaged kidney, which coincidentally could be removed next door to the grocery.
3.Paging The Owner of the 1991 Nissan Sentra...- if this statement were made on a loudspeaker in any crowded market or restaurant, literally half of the people would be forced to perk up. Not that I have anything against the 1991 Nissan Sentra at all. I give it up to my adopted countrymen who, despite a yearly climate about as hospitable as the summit of K2, eschew (for the most part) the American temptation of massive, gas-guzzling SUV's in favor of a more responsible, practical, reliable automobile. But please, Mr. Nissan Owner, TAKE THAT RIDICULOUS MUFFLER OFF OF YOUR CAR. Nearly half of the cars that cruise the streets of my home rival the decibel level of a 747 at ¾ thrust. Ever thought that those Asian kids in shitty Civics down the street who constantly drive 50 mph in 2nd gear are an annoyance? Go to hell. Try sleeping past 6am here. I need my Gringo sleep and I get precious little of it because of these douchenozzles who outfit their 90HP cars with 5 ½ inch exhaust pipes. And your three boost gauges? When I can outrun your car, you don't need a boost gauge. Or a hood tach.
4.Further Discourse Regarding Automobiles – Intentional Gringo was born, weaned, and taught to drive in a part of the United States NOTORIOUS for aggressive asshole drivers. NEVER have I ever seen more endemic disregard for traffic laws and basic human decency than I have encountered in my new home. Driving at any time of the day is like a quadriplegic trying to navigate a Turkish bazaar. Traffic lights? A suggestion. Crosswalks? A laughable anachronism. Signal lights? 10 car lengths in the rain? Buses changing three lanes with less than 200 people hanging on for dear life? No way Jo-Say. But at least drivers have the added safety of the 9 inches of reinforced aluminum of their 1991 Nissan Sentra. Pedestrians be warned: you show up in my city and you're a hunted animal. Like Ivan Drago once said, “[Y]ou will lose.” Most likely at least a toe.
These are a few of the initial differences that I have found between my American home and my new land of opportunity. I'm sure that as I get a little more hip to the ways of the people here that I will certainly find more vexing things about this place and its inhabitants, and I assure you kind reader that I will keep you abreast of these discoveries. Now I'm off to sell some plasma so that I can buy some Jarlsberg.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
A Basic Definition of Terms
Hypotheses are required for scientific endeavors, as they state the belief of the experimenter and lay the general groundwork for what one is to expect from the coming data. I, intrepid reader, shall not dare to label this piddling account as anything that even closely resembles scientific rigor. Nonetheless, as a matter of formality that may help offset further instances of frivolity and a general lack of responsibility, I felt it best to provide you with a tiny, tenuous bit of framework to build upon.
in·ten·tion·al [in-ten-shuh-nl] - Adjective
1. done with intention or on purpose; intended: an intentional insult.
2. of or pertaining to intention or purpose.
3. Metaphysics.
a. pertaining to an appearance, phenomenon, or representation in the mind; phenomenal; representational.
b. pertaining to the capacity of the mind to refer to an existent or nonexistent object.
c. pointing beyond itself, as consciousness or a sign.
grin·go [gring-goh] - noun, plural -gos. Usually Disparaging.
1. (in Latin America or Spain) a foreigner, esp. one of U.S. or British descent.
[Origin: 1840–50, Americanism; < Sp: foreign language, foreigner, esp. English-speaking (pejorative); prob. alter. of griego Greek. The belief that word is from the song “Green Grow the Lilacs,” popular during U.S.-Mexican War, is without substance]
2. Word History: In Latin America the word gringo is an offensive term for a foreigner, particularly an American or English person. But the word existed in Spanish before this particular sense came into being. In fact, gringo may be an alteration of the word griego, the Spanish development of Latin Graecus, "Greek." Griego first meant "Greek, Grecian," as an adjective and "Greek, Greek language," as a noun. The saying "It's Greek to me" exists in Spanish, as it does in English, and helps us understand why griego came to mean "unintelligible language" and perhaps, by further extension of this idea, "stranger, that is, one who speaks a foreign language." The altered form gringo lost touch with Greek but has the senses "unintelligible language," "foreigner, especially an English person," and in Latin America, "North American or Britisher." Its first recorded English use (1849) is in John Woodhouse Audubon's Western Journal: "We were hooted and shouted at as we passed through, and called 'Gringoes.'"
in·ten·tion·al [in-ten-shuh-nl] - Adjective
1. done with intention or on purpose; intended: an intentional insult.
2. of or pertaining to intention or purpose.
3. Metaphysics.
a. pertaining to an appearance, phenomenon, or representation in the mind; phenomenal; representational.
b. pertaining to the capacity of the mind to refer to an existent or nonexistent object.
c. pointing beyond itself, as consciousness or a sign.
grin·go [gring-goh] - noun, plural -gos. Usually Disparaging.
1. (in Latin America or Spain) a foreigner, esp. one of U.S. or British descent.
[Origin: 1840–50, Americanism; < Sp: foreign language, foreigner, esp. English-speaking (pejorative); prob. alter. of griego Greek. The belief that word is from the song “Green Grow the Lilacs,” popular during U.S.-Mexican War, is without substance]
2. Word History: In Latin America the word gringo is an offensive term for a foreigner, particularly an American or English person. But the word existed in Spanish before this particular sense came into being. In fact, gringo may be an alteration of the word griego, the Spanish development of Latin Graecus, "Greek." Griego first meant "Greek, Grecian," as an adjective and "Greek, Greek language," as a noun. The saying "It's Greek to me" exists in Spanish, as it does in English, and helps us understand why griego came to mean "unintelligible language" and perhaps, by further extension of this idea, "stranger, that is, one who speaks a foreign language." The altered form gringo lost touch with Greek but has the senses "unintelligible language," "foreigner, especially an English person," and in Latin America, "North American or Britisher." Its first recorded English use (1849) is in John Woodhouse Audubon's Western Journal: "We were hooted and shouted at as we passed through, and called 'Gringoes.'"
How I Became the Intentional Gringo
I have not always been the Intentional Gringo. Not quite sure why I feel it necessary to preface that yet nonetheless it feels like the appropriate thing to do. Nor have I ever aspired to enter the blogosphere. In fact, the mere action of punching those keys onto the screen in that seemingly incongruous combination of letters makes my stomach turn a but sour. Maybe bilious, for I'm not quite sure of the actual substance traipsing its way up my esophagus at the moment.
No matter.
The important thing to take from this little sojourn is that I have only recently become Intentional Gringo and I am fairly uncertain as to how this persona will fare in comparison to my previous persona, Nondescript Male. Nondescript Male (who I may refer to as N.M in the future for brevity's sake) was a pretty good look for me for quite some time if pressed for the truth. Not that it ever brought upon me riches heaped upon a glimmering bed of infamy and privilege - those things are reserved for the true elite and I, alas, have never been a permanent member of the Club. Yet Nondescript Male (N.M.) certainly WAS given partial admittance on certain instances to some of the Club's functions and WAS privy to a limited range of the Club's perks when the governing body saw fit to bestow them upon me. These limited forays into the enviable life of the Man of Leisure were certainly relished when they were offered and even now are quietly stowed away in the icy cockles of my heart like a secret pre-school crush whilst I lay upon my pillow at night. And that pillow now belongs to the Intentional Gringo, for the pillow of N.M. now lays in a storage space many thousands of miles from the home of Intentional Gringo.
And that far-off pillow, while perfectly contoured to my headshape after years of solemn service, will probably never feel right again.
That's the thing about abandoned pillows. They're sort of like jilted lovers who, despite their desire to reconcile and put history behind them, nonetheless harbor a subtle lumpiness born of indiscretions past. And that lumpiness, Ladies & Gentlemen, is never going to be smoothed no matter how many impassioned thrashings or gentle proddings it is given. Not even the Drool of the Gods will make that motherfucker relevant again.
So now I, Intentional Gringo, set about to tame a new pillow while leaving N.M. and his comfortable garb by the wayside.
No matter.
The important thing to take from this little sojourn is that I have only recently become Intentional Gringo and I am fairly uncertain as to how this persona will fare in comparison to my previous persona, Nondescript Male. Nondescript Male (who I may refer to as N.M in the future for brevity's sake) was a pretty good look for me for quite some time if pressed for the truth. Not that it ever brought upon me riches heaped upon a glimmering bed of infamy and privilege - those things are reserved for the true elite and I, alas, have never been a permanent member of the Club. Yet Nondescript Male (N.M.) certainly WAS given partial admittance on certain instances to some of the Club's functions and WAS privy to a limited range of the Club's perks when the governing body saw fit to bestow them upon me. These limited forays into the enviable life of the Man of Leisure were certainly relished when they were offered and even now are quietly stowed away in the icy cockles of my heart like a secret pre-school crush whilst I lay upon my pillow at night. And that pillow now belongs to the Intentional Gringo, for the pillow of N.M. now lays in a storage space many thousands of miles from the home of Intentional Gringo.
And that far-off pillow, while perfectly contoured to my headshape after years of solemn service, will probably never feel right again.
That's the thing about abandoned pillows. They're sort of like jilted lovers who, despite their desire to reconcile and put history behind them, nonetheless harbor a subtle lumpiness born of indiscretions past. And that lumpiness, Ladies & Gentlemen, is never going to be smoothed no matter how many impassioned thrashings or gentle proddings it is given. Not even the Drool of the Gods will make that motherfucker relevant again.
So now I, Intentional Gringo, set about to tame a new pillow while leaving N.M. and his comfortable garb by the wayside.
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