Taking the plunge

They eat grasshoppers here.

Now, that might sound like the start of a rant into all the gross, weird things here that I don’t like, but it’s not.

They’re called chapulínes.

My host mother offered me some on my second day here, and I even though I knew they would be tasty (I mean, they’re crunchy and covered in garlic and lemon; it’s like a potato chip without the trans fat), I couldn’t bring myself to eat it. I knew it would taste good (maybe even great), but I looked at them, and they looked like grasshoppers (SHOCKER, I KNOW) and I just couldn’t do it. They had legs. I mean, legs. That could start moving again at any moment. (They could not start moving again at any moment.)

I told my host mother to put them in my food without telling me, and I would eat them.

I’m not good at taking the plunge. Well, that might be a lie. I did come here, knowing no one, on a program I found at a study abroad fair that no one at my university had ever heard of or had anything to say about. And I actually did that before, when I signed up for debate/journalism camp in Italy two summers ago.

I think I’ve digressed.

I’m not usually good at taking the plunge. Especially physical plunges, like just running into the Pacific Ocean (it’s cold!) or jumping into the pool (it might be cold!) or, apparently, eating grasshoppers (I’M SORRY, BUT THE WAY THEY LOOK IS JUST FREAKING ME OUT).

Last weekend we were at this market, and Ashley bought a bag of chapulínes for everyone to share. And I took one out of the bag and stared at it for what must’ve been a second but felt like an eternity, thinking Just fucking do it already, just fucking do it, it won't be that bad, just fucking DO IT, and then just fucking did it.

My host mom said, “Oh, you wouldn’t eat them before, and now you say you ate them at the market!”

This city is smaller than I thought

This afternoon we went to cooking lessons, which were fun and delicious, and I will post pictures and the recipe soon, but I have more important news.

We saw that obnoxious white girl at the Zócalo today! That is the second time we've seen her in public since eavesdropping on her at the café. (I didn't mention it but I actually saw her the same night, walking down the street.)

She is clearly stalking us. (Clearly, she is not stalking us.) I wonder if she still hates Mexicans as much as she did on Saturday.

¡Viva México!

¡Viva!, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

Yesterday (and technically today too, because we get it off? I dunno) was Mexican Independence Day. I wore a green skirt, red tank top, and white overshirt. People kept looking at me, as if thinking, "Is she doing that on purpose, or is she just retarded?"

It does feel a bit strange to go to someone else's country and celebrate their national holidays, acting like you actually live there, and I sometimes felt yesterday that I was being one of those white people. But then I remembered that this is really just a big party and an excuse to get drunk. Also, CULTURAL IMMERSION.

First we went to a party our school was throwing (complete with a mechanical bull, totally appropriate) and I finally saw the very attractive teacher from Germany. When the girls finally got him to dance, they basically took turns molesting him and I was like, DUDE, THAT'S YOUR TEACHER, IT'S GOING TO BE SO AWKWARD ON THURSDAY. But, you know, after enough tequila, you really don't care.

In the evening, after Mexican pizza (onions, sausage, chorizo, and jalapeños) at Ashley's apartment, we went to the Zócalo for the Grito, where everyone yells, "¡Viva México!" a lot and then there are fireworks. After that, of course, was the drinking and dancing and being harassed by Mexican guys and hearing "I Want You To Want Me" in Spanish. (Carlos tried to tell me that's not what it was, BUT IT TOTALLY WAS.)

We have today off (to nurse hangovers, I guess, but I don't have one!) and holy shit, it's already 5:30 and I still have an essay to write. So, woooooo, ¡viva la independencia!

White people

It's so jarring how important being light-skinned here is. Wherever I go, I get wolf-whistles, calls of 'mamacita' and 'heeeey baby', and I know it's only because I'm white. Men everywhere are eager to impress us with their sparse English vocabulary. They seem to equate being white with being beautiful. There is a saying that I do not know in Spanish, but basically, if a baby is born with darker rather than lighter skin, they say something akin to, "It's dark skinned, but it could still be pretty!"

I remember when I thought racism was as easy as deciding not to hate people because of their skin color. Sometimes I miss being twelve years old.


On Saturday, Catherine and I were at this café and there was this obnoxious white girl sitting behind us. The kind (of person, not specifically white girl) who talks really loudly about personal things in public places like coffee shops and restaurants where NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT HOW YOUR EX-BOYFRIEND THOUGHT YOU HAD TO WASH YOUR FACE IN THE MORNING BECAUSE THE SANDMAN PEES ON IT AT NIGHT. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.

Anyway, not only was she the regular type of annoying, but she was the racist type of annoying as well! The most ridiculous shit was coming out of her mouth, such as, "I hate the Mexicans here. It's like, all the English they know, they learned from a porno." What an asshole. She also didn't know how to say 'water with ice' in Spanish, and it's like, IF YOU DON'T SPEAK SPANISH, CARRY AROUND A PHRASEBOOK LIKE A GOOD TOURIST. Or if you hate Mexico that much, just leave. The people are wonderful and nice, and even though they holler at white girls, it's only because white people have been imposing racist and unrealistic standards upon them for hundreds of years, so SHUT UP AND GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM.

Things I learned this weekend

Dye job, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

• You can make these two colours by taking a parasite that lives on cacti and mixing it with acid (lime juice) for orange and an alkaline (lime) for purple.

• You can salsa dance to techno electronica.

• Three shots of Mezcal will fuck your shit up. (I think I already knew this, inherently.)

• Chedraui sells goat cheese.

• Mexican police are ridiculous caricatures of law enforcement officers.
  

• 'Mole' is the pre-Hispanic word for sauce, so 'guacamole' is 'mole del aguacate' or, avocado sauce.

• Be wary of those Mexico City boys.

Hasta Los Huesos

A lovely, haunting short film my Spanish teacher showed us in class today.

Truly getting away from it all

You know how, sometimes, you just wanna get away? Like the Southwest commercials, but for real, and completely, not some weekend-trip-to-Philadelphia-get-away, but 3,000-miles-and-a-different-language-get-away.

Well, I love romanticizing this feeling. Which is one of the reasons I choose to study abroad; so I could be away. But, of course, in this modern age of Teh Interwebs, you are never truly away, especially when you bring your laptop with you.

Even so, it's surprising how much you stop paying attention when you get away. I could, of course, read several news websites several times a day to keep up with the things I would hear on TV or the radio or see in the headlines or have people tell me in the course of a normal day while living in Los Angeles. And that would be without even actually reading the copy of The Los Angeles Times that gets delivered to my parents house every morning. But I don't bother. Because that would be a lot of work, and I'd rather spend my time and energy on Facebook.

Of course, they have news here, but it's all in reallyfuckingfastImeanunbelievablyfastlikeatenyearoldboywithADDoncrack Spanish, so I usually try and listen for a few minutes then give up, space out, and congratulate myself when I hear a word I understand. And the other day, the word I heard was Los Ángeles.

So I looked up.

Now, just before the story about Los Angeles, there had been one about floods in Mexico City, was a bit easier to follow because there are very obvious, illuminating pictures of cars with water up to the windows and people standing on rooftops as the waterline creeps up their walls. And then a few minutes later then mention Los Angeles and the word inudación (which means 'flood') and I'm all Huh? Did I just hear that correctly?

I asked my host mom if I heard it correctly, and she said, Yeah, there are floods in Los Angeles. And I'm thinking, um, no, it's September; Los Angeles southern California is being reduced to smoldering rubble, but it is not raining. That does not start until November or December, when all the fires have burnt up all their tinder and there is nothing left to stop the inevitable mudslides. That is how southern California works.

No, she said, the story said there are floods.

I went to latimes.com and searched for 'flood'.


It turns out two water mains broke, flooding Studio City and Valley Village.

I knew it wasn't raining in September.