Welcome to Gringo-landia

L.A., Ca., U.S.A.

Feb 22, 2011

First day back in the U.S., bankrupt California and L.A. after two months in Mexico and South America and the city seems astonishingly well maintained and affluent - Havana just after the fall to Castro before fifty years of neglect and 'infrastructure entropy'. The potholes are still being filled. Even after two days of airports, jet travel, Mexico City smog, and extreme climate changes, I feel remarkably well rested, well-fed, well-excercized, well- meditated. ( Not medicated) Three weeks on the beautiful Oaxacan coast and the sweetness and kindness of the Oaxacan people filled me with a sense of well being. Perhaps I was even ready to encounter gringo culture and all its neurotic shrillness. I set out for the 'Bodhi Tree' , a spiritual and poetry themed bookstore in Hollywood to buy a friend a book of Rumi poetry- thinking that would be a safe venue to re-aquaint myself with American culture. Not too harsh or brash.

In front of the store was the quintessential young L.A. woman: blonde, pretty, perky, and carefully quaffed, sitting in the sun in Buddha pose. How perfect. How spiritual. This looked safe and innocent. I was casually broussing books on the shelves on the porch with a song in my head and lightly marking the beat on my leg, when she broke her buddha pose and shot out sharply with ,

"PLEASE don't tap like that!" I give her a ' huh?-double-take'. "I had an auto accident, and that upsets me."

'' Sorry. '', I reply, surprised and a little stunned.'' How long ago was the accident?"

" A year and a half ago."

" Sorry to hear that." And of course wondering if it were true, and even if it were, what difference it would make. I sensed a lie. The inner dialogue was arguing with the gut-level-bullshit-meter. 'Now Steven, be compassionate, she may have actually have had and accident' And yet her implicit demand for her private meditative moment in this very public place struck me as equal parts very ' gringa' -behavior, very self-entitled-behavior, and frankly a little nuts. At least in New York, the crazies look like crazies and indicate their marginal mental health! In Mexico City the night before last I gave a homeless woman a sack of fresh uneaten Mexican food from my dinner. Her face filthy. Her hair deshevelled. Her cloths rags. She carried lots of sacks. These were all indications of a street person with marginal mental health. I offered her a 'Sope' with 'flor de calabasa, hongas, queso y frijoles'. ( Tortilla with zucchini flowers, mushrooms, cheese and beans.) We had a brief conversation, and even SHE was less crazy than this blonde bitch! Initially wary and suspicious, perhaps thinking I was a missionary or something. ( They make me wary too.' Puras corbatas' . Mormon-missionaries in their ties. Jehovah' s with their doomsday predictions.) She politely thanked me though, and looked me in the eye! Her eyes retained a sweetness. But this shrill Blonde?

Oh dear, welcome to Gringo-landia!

After purchasing a book I headed down Melrose Avenue where I had noticed a coffee shop.

The patio of the 'Urth Caffe' . Was this a play on the word earth? Earthy? Natural? And the Cafe was spelled pretentiously with two 'F's. 'Caffe'. I wondered if the owner also had a hyphenated last name. Smith-Zablonski. or Cohen-Kurusawa. Years of landscaping clients had proved the 'hyphenates' are always high maintenance! The patio was filled with L.A.'s beautiful people and as I passed on my way into the restaurant, my right, very funtionally-designed travel shoe kept squeaking. Clearly these were not expensive Italian shoes or three hundred dollar tennis shoes. The people in line were stylishly dressed and friendly, and I started perusing the various menus and signage. One sign proudly announced the 'Urth' used 'shade grown' coffee and I chuckled to myself. It's ALL, 'shade and mountain grown' in my experience. 'Sustainable' and 'Heirloom' were also proudly annotated, and I wondered if this was Guatemalan coffee grown on fertile, former Mayan agricultural land that had been appropriated by the Spaniards and never returned. Would growing coffee on confiscated land make it sustainable? Probably not sustainable for the present-day Mayan indians trying to grow corn, squash and beans on undesirable and infertile 'urth' high up on the slopes of the volcanoes. My green tea was sourced from three continents and countries one of them China, the 'heavy-metals' capital of the world. 'Ugh,, Grreeat!' It probably was 'Chinese organic', I just wasn't sure how that translated into english, or to my liver. I walked outside to the patio, 'Squeek, Squeek, Sqweek' goes the right shoe. And sat down at a small metal bistro table. To my left an attractive gay couple, a black man and an over-pumped white man whose arms dwarfed the little bistro table, chatted fluently in French. And to my right a young attractive straight couple, very stylishly dressed also chatted in French. Very urban, very New York. Very chic. I involuntarily sneezed and farted, although ever so softly. A French fart, delicate. Almost elegant . Barely audible, especially with the non-organic traffic noise just on the other side of the potted plants.

French phrases like "Ah boh." "Ah Boh." , kept appearing in the conversational lexicon like popping corn shooting from a kettle.' "Oh good, well yes, very good." she was saying over her arugula and California ' Nouvelle' greens.

' I wonder', thinking back to my recent travels, 'how you say in French : I got bit by bed bugs while sleeping in a grotty hostal in Cartegena!' I noshed on the chocolate chip cookie, rich and delicious, and formed the phrase in Spanish. 'Pulgas de cama' would be 'Bed-bugs. ' Me Piko' would be 'they bit me'. 'Hoooriiiiible Hostal!' ' would be 'grotty hostal'!

They at least did not complain, these elegant French, about the squeaking shoe. Or the passing of minor flatulence. But on second thought, maybe they had. Probably even complaints in French sound pretty and elegant. Don't they?

Welcome to Gringo-landia.

Abrazos

Esteban