Halloween (PHL to ORD to MEX to OAX)

 

I don’t know what I was thinking when I booked my itinerary for this trip: a 6 a.m. fight from Philadelphia to O’Hare, two hours in Chicago, then a 9 a.m. flight to Mexico City, then a five-hour layover before making my way to Oaxaca. It took me some time, in the surreal early-morning hours hours at the Philly airport, to realize why people were wearing costumes: It's Halloween.

I'm on the ORD to MEX flight, and I’ve started reading Roberto Bolaño’s The Savage Detectives—and become immediately engrossed. Ever since my 2003—or 2004, I don't remember—trip to Japan, I pack and read literature of the countries I’m visiting. On previous trips to Mexico I read through Juan Rufo’s Pedro Paramo, The Underdogs by Mariano Azuela, and others by Carlos Fuentes, Rolo Diaz and Paco Ignacio Taibo II. My favorite Mexican American writers so far have been Guillermo Arriaga and Pedro Juan Gutierrez. (Even though Gutierrez isn't Mexican; he's Cuban. Bolaño is also technically Chilean, but writes from his years in Mexico City.)

The flight is like most other international flights: an interesting mix of people and languages between those returning to and those coming from. The guy the row in front of me to my right is, I’m pretty sure, from the U.S. He’s reading Never Trust a Liberal Over 3 (Especially a Republican), by America’s favorite liberal-baiting troll, Ann Coulter.

In-flight wi-fi is pretty cool, even if it is ten bucks.

Mis Nalgas Me Duelen: Session #6 (NYC)

Shinji was playing jazz today. I had to fight the urge to try to talk to him in Spanish.

Between my two Spanish classes per week at the International House (plus homework), my two tutoring sessions per week with Andrés (once in English, for him, and once in Spanish for me), and my correspondence with friends in Mexico about my upcoming trip, my brain seems to be trying to default to Spanish—even though my Spanish vocabulary and grammar are nowhere near up to the task.

I have those two languages fighting already, and then Shinji was speaking to his apprentice in Japanese, so my head was a strange swirl of Spajaplish (Jaspanglish?), with classic American jazz as the soundtrack.

We worked on my ass and the back of my leg today. I must admit I was a little scared of today’s session. I’ve been tattooed before—a lot—but getting that little amount done on my ass before hurt.

Yes; it sucked. A lot. But it wasn’t anything I haven’t been through before. It all sucks.

I was lying on my stomach while Shinji worked, with Spanish and English swimming and churning in my head like two different types of fish cresting to the surface before diving again: Fuck this hurts. Me duele mucho. Que me duele? What is “ass” in Spanish? Celo…? Culo? Cielo? No…. that’s “sky”—that’s Skylar’s name in the new Colombian “Breaking Bad.”* “Skylar” to “Cielo”….  Culo. I think that’s it: Mi culo me duele. My ass is paining me.... Fuck, this hurts…

We finished up the dragon’s body today.

“Next time, we do flames, Shinji said, pointing to the tail. “And then peonies.”

After I left my appointment I texted my employee, Eduardo.

Me: Mi culo me duele. Is that how you say it? Hice mas tatuaje.

Ed: Jajaja. Culo=ass. Nalgas=butt  cheeks.

Me: Which is better in this case?

Ed: Nalgas. Saying my culo could get you hazed and bring up jokes of taking it in the butt.

Me: ¿Como una prisión? Entonces, “Mis nalga me duele” es correcto, ¿no? ¿Mis nalgas?

Ed: Mis nalgas me duelen. Plural.

Me ¡Gracias!

Ed: De nada.

*Yes, they really are planning to make a Colombian version of Breaking Bad.

In Progress (Philly)

An outtake from the most recent Infinite photo shoot, by the amazing Autumn Swisher.