Category Archives: Nada que Ver

What Fart?

Inspired, Life in the Yucatan, Nada que Ver,

A deep dive – plug your nose – into the bowels of Mexican slang.

Pedo, in Mexico, is not a pedophile. Hopefully your search engine and those algorithms at Google et al won’t punish you for reading this. Did you turn off your cookies?

A pedo is a fart, but the word is so much more versatile than just describing the (hopefully) occasional escaping of noxious fumes from one’s behind. It is a most amazing and useful term that can be applied in all manner of situations from when one is pleasantly inebriated to those that could be defined as unmistakably problematic.

¿Que pedo? is a greeting, which could be friendly and also threatening depending on the tone and body language employed when emitting the statement. Literally “what fart?” it’s meaning can range from the friendly “what’s happening” to the aggressive “what are you looking at” common at bars in the sketchier neighborhoods of northern Mexican cities.

Tengo un pedo is the lament of someone who has a problem and is coming to you for help or comfort.

No hay pedo means there is no problem at all, really. You asked someone to help you with a ride to the mall or home from the bar and you thank them and this is an acceptable reply.

Speaking of bars and such, you might be drinking a lot and become pedo. You see it also means “drunk” and can even be turned into a descriptor for the entire process of getting to be pedo in the first place. An extended bout of alcohol consumption resulting in unconsciousness or comas is called a peda.

From pedo come derivations and permutations. Un pedorro is what you call someone who is a braggart, who is constantly on about how great he is, how shiny his car is, how he is rolling in money and so on. He is a great farter.

Note that the use of pedo in everyday conversation should be limited to people with whom one is comfortably familiar. This is not something that should come up in a chat with your bank teller, your doctor or the lady that comes to clean your house on Thursdays.

The lady that comes on Tuesday? It’s fine. No hay pedo.

The Aftermath

Inspired, Nada que Ver, , , , , , , , ,

Um

A group of heavy black howler monkeys clustered on the roof of the opera house. Their growling and grunting had suddenly stopped, and an eerie silence seeped into the air. In the plaza below, a lone human stood among the bursting saplings and greenery, its exuberant jungle energy straining against paving stones and inexorably buckling concrete and asphalt.

The facade of the once-great cultural monument inaugurated to great fanfare in 1897 with money from wealthy rubber barons in what was then to be the most important urban center in the region, and for many decades afterward, the gateway to the Brazilian Amazon, was now a scene reminiscent of one of the darker chapters of Edgar H. Sullivan’s literary masterpiece The Lost Civilizations. Bright green vines snaked wildly across tiled floors and reached up to strangle pillars and columns, filling in arches. Here and there, the stained glass had broken where a branch had poked through a window and at night, fruit bats swarmed out into the cool, moist air, to hunt for insects in the abandoned mass of glass and concrete that was once Manaus.

Back in the plaza, the man – the human the apes had noticed, was a man – stood marveling at the steaming mass of plants that were obviously thriving thanks to a lengthy absence of human feet. Of the famous Abertura dos Portos monument placed in the middle of this space, only the outstretched arm of a bronze woman holding a torch – upon which now perched an indifferent black vulture – could be seen through the tangle of green. The undulating, epilepsy-inducing black and white tile plaza floor was buried under decomposing leaves and marching ants. The scene was peaceful yet somehow menacing at the same time.

The man wiped his forehead and, swinging the machete, began to hack his way towards what used to be the grand staircase leading up to the entrance of the grand building.

He had always wanted to go to the theater and this seemed a good a time as any, he thought with a smile.

Dois

The machete rang as it hit rock. Or was it concrete? Hard to tell. He was at the stairs now and what his machete had struck was the railing. Behind it, he could make out a pink-colored stone wall, now barely visible under a fuzzy green layer of moss.

The howlers began growling, their grunts and groans turning into one long roar that echoed off the San Sebastian church and the other buildings around the theater. The man, continuing his struggle up the stairs and swinging his machete back and forth, was not at all put off by their vocal expression of territorial indignation. He, just as the monkeys had seen men before, had been around howlers before, back in the day, in the jungle, but never had he been part of one of those organ-harvesting expeditions so popular in the decades following the pandemic.

As he forced his way upwards with some difficulty, the monkeys overhead again fell silent and focused their attention on this unwelcome intruder. They had seen men before of course, in the jungle; heard the boom of their weapons and had seen their companions drop out of the trees like ripe fruit, lying motionless on the jungle floor. Those men would sometimes cut them then, the fresh red blood pooling on the jungle floor as they removed some still-warm vital organ and placed it in a rectangular box with a lid, a white cross painted on its side.

At that time, extracting organs from certain apes was western medicine’s last gasp in its attempt to find a potential cure for the latest virus attack upon humanity. In Brazil – the last country on earth that had any great amount of the ape’s natural habitat thanks to an ambitious conservation program implemented in 2021 by the Instituto Jair Bolsonaro de Pesquisas Médicas – organ harvesting became a frenzy, and from the southern forests of Rio Grande do Sul to the northern jungles of Pará and Amazonas, government medical brigades spread out in all directions to collect the freshest possible organs to bring back to their labs. Brasilia assured the world that a cure was imminent and the world waited; watching, expectant, and increasingly desperate.

And so, Brazil – through it’s unwitting and quickly shrinking ape population – had been humanity’s last hope.

Tragically, in spite of the unwilling sacrifices forced upon thousands of howlers, capuchins and even marmosets; no viable cure was obtained and the world of humans – the much-celebrated species homo sapiens – began to crumble.

Sunday, April 5, 2020. On Chimeneas and Backyard Firepits

Inspired, Life in the Yucatan, Nada que Ver, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Not every day can be an update on the coronavirus, since we are stuck at home and the only thing that is updated is on CNN, BBC, CBC, and AlJazeera.

Should I mention Al Jazeera? Red flag for US immigration? Hola señor ICE. Stuck at home sounds negative. So much self-doubt. Oh, stop already.

Back in the carefree days before I became such a curmudgeon, I was in a high school production of My Fair Lady. One of my castmates who, for the purpose of this article I shall call “Susan”, and who brilliantly played Eliza to my Schwarzenegger-esque Dr. Dolittle back in the day, has asked why I light a fire in the mornings – what’s that all about since it is certainly not for keeping warm? A valid question and one I will try to explain.

Once upon a time some years ago, I was at a vivero, which is a nursery where plants are sold. The kind of place you go to when you want something to stick in the ground around your house, like arecas or flowers that will eventually dry up and die but what the hell they look nice for a while so you buy them.

Too pessimistic, the dead flowers?

Among the all the pretty plants arranged in orderly rows which always appeals to my Teutonic instincts, they had on display some clay pots and in tucked in amongst those, was a chimenea. A chimenea (chimney,  for the monolingual among us) is a clay pot with a hole in the front, and a chimney spout on the top. The idea is that you toss in wood or burnable things in the front, enjoy the fire, and the smoke comes out of the top. It’s for the outdoors, so mostly aesthetic but it can serve as a warming element in colder climates, I would imagine. Anyway, the thought of having one of these intrigued me so I bought it and took it home, which was fun as it took up the entire back seat of my car and sloshed back and forth at each traffic stop.

Jeez I hate it when I am uploading a photo of a chimenea and WordPress comes back with http error. I do not have the energy or desire to investigate further so I guess people will have to do a Google image search themselves. Or click here. It’s the one that is described as chimenea rustica.

Once set up, and some branches for firewood procured, I began to enjoy the ritual of preparing a fire in the mornings – when it is relatively cool here – and this was especially handy in 2002, when a hurricane – Wilma I believe – hit the Yucatan and there was a lot of material (fallen trees, branches, piles of dead bougainvillea) to be burned in that chimenea. So much in fact, that all the heat generated ended up cracking the clay and eventually, the pot succumbed under its own weight.

I missed my morning fire. Drinking my coffee on the back terrace watching the woodpeckers, the parakeets and the grackles was just not the same without those flames and the smell of wood smoke. A look around our yard yielded an unoccupied shallow clay pot (a base really, for a larger one) and I set it up on some stones in the place where the chimenea had once stood. This lasted for a while and then disintegrated as well. A conscientious search through several Merida viveros resulted in zero hits for a new chimenea. It was time to go to Ticul.

I guess now I am going to have to explain Ticul here, people are not going to understand the significance. This is going off on a tangent.

Ticul, a small town about 90 minutes from Merida, is famous for its shoes and its pottery. It is also the original home of Los Almendros, once Yucatan’s premiere Yucatecan food restaurant. There is good clay in the region and a dozen or more crafty-minded people make clay planting pots both large and small. They also make garden ornaments like clay pink flamingos and clay fluorescent green frogs (dubious tastes abound) which are sold in small locales along the street. The shoes, incidentally, are locally made and while they are not Jimmy Choo, they are cheap. And that is a good a reason as any to buy them, apparently. As for Los Almendros? They sat on their restaurant laurels for way too long and were overtaken by other, far better Yucatecan food options like Kinich, Teya, La Tradicion and even Chaya Maya and MUGY.

Why am I writing about restaurants? This is not the Casual Restaurant Critics column; he is always butting in and trying to get attention. 

Along with the manufacture en masse of planting pots and colorful kitschy clay creatures, there are a few high-minded individuals who dedicate their time and energy to the fabrication of Mayan archeological replicas, ranging from small pots and whistles to enormous Chaac (Mayan rain god aka Tlaloc in central Mexico) faces and detailed calendars. These are sold to hotels, boutiques, and serious collectors.

I am really rambling here, have to rein it in. Rain it in. Reign it in. No, rein is right. Right as rein. The mind wanders.

I ended up ordering a chimenea from one of the former (manufacturers of clay pots) paid my deposit and left. Some time later, more than a few months since I had forgotten about it, I went back and although I was sure they would have long ago sold my piece and kept the deposit, there it was. The owner remembered me, remembered the chimenea, even had a copy of the deposit receipt.  Again, a gigantic sculpted pot rolled back and forth on the back seat of my car, on the drive back to Merida.

Es cierto! Este viaje lo hice con Mus. Que mala memoria tengo. It was the day we went to Uxmal and ended up on a hilltop in Ticul, having some great Yucatecan food and enjoying an amazing view. 

Being of a rather delicate clay, this pot lasted less than a year before cracks appeared and it also fell upon itself one morning when I was stuffing in a particularly stubborn piece of firewood.

Getting to the end now, I can almost feel it.

Finally, I broke down and had some albañiles (bricklayers, construction workers) come and build me an actual fire pit with blocks and cement which I now enjoy on a daily basis. This is what you can see sometimes in photos posted on social media.

Lighting and enjoying the fire has become an inescapable pleasure of my morning, a moment to sit with my Better Half, enjoy our fresh coffee and watch the birds in the backyard.

 

 

Canada has a gender neutral national anthem. Here’s what’s missing.

Inspired, Nada que Ver, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

In the current climate of political correctness, many well-intentioned people are heartened by the recent change in Canada’s national anthem to make it gender-neutral. Personally, speaking as a white, Canadian male with obvious privilege issues, I am ambivalent, but this is the state of the world today and while it was probably a step in the right direction, there remains much to be done to make the song, most often heard at hockey games and the winter Olympics, more inclusive.

The one (just one!) line that changed went from this:

“True patriots love, in all thy sons command”

to this:

“True patriots love, in all of us command”

a line which doesn’t make much sense to me but what do I know about archaic Canadian grammar. It could just as easily have been rewritten as:

“Blue farts and doves, in all our pants demand”

and still make the same point which is … who knows.

In any case, more changes absolutely need to be implemented as there is a plethora of other terminology that could be deemed discriminatory. For example:

“With glowing hearts we see thee rise”

This is obviously a very serious snub to the sight-impaired formerly known as the blind, who can’t see anything rise, let alone the ambiguous non-visible concept of (and this is the next line) a country called:

“The true north strong and free”

North? What about the southerners? Most Canadians live in the southern part of Canada given the country’s hostile climate. Are those people to be left out? This is not good and the good folks from Vancouver to Toronto will most certainly feel left out. I see a lawsuit coming.

But wait, there’s more:

“Oh Canada we stand on guard for thee”

Here we are leaving out those who, for lack of a better term, can’t stand. What if you are in a wheelchair? What if you’re bedridden. You can’t stand so you’re not included? Shameful.

“God keep our land…”

The whole mention of God raises all kinds of red flags. Which God? Whose God? Also, atheists, of whom there must be a few in the far and wide land, should – and rightfully so – feel left out. A major re-write is necessary here as well.

The challenge is enormous and to really bring Canada into the PC world of today, the entire antiquated anthem; this relic from another, more innocent and homogenous time, needs to be consciously examined.

I suggest a Royal Commission. You can contact the prime minister’s office here:

https://www.ourcommons.ca/Parliamentarians/en/members/Justin-Trudeau(58733)

Paying it Forward – the Houston InfoDesk Volunteers

Inspired, Nada que Ver, Travels, , , , , , , , ,

PART ONE – I am stuck in Houston, thanks for a mental seniors moment that caused me to miss my flight back to Merida today. A couple of things stand out from today’s experience, which really doesn’t upset me that much as make me feel stupid and will help be a little less relaxed next time I travel.

Having arrived well after the airplane doors would have been closed, I was sent off to the side and after waiting an interminable amount of time in line at the United customer service desk I played it as humbly as I could with the unsmiling lady behind the counter. It’s hard to play the indignant customer when the fault was entirely mine. Having already  checked on line it was no surprise when she told me that tomorrow’s flight was booked solid with the exception of one business class seat at $1300 USD. Now that is pretty steep even if you do love leather and cutlery but I thought, what the hell, and told her to book it. Perhaps I could get some credit for the flight not taken and if not, well so be it.

She stabbed at the keyboard for a while and told me that she had to check with someone to see if in fact that seat was still available. She was put on hold and told me that it would be at least 10-20 minutes. By this time she and I were on good terms and I suggested maybe Cancun would be an option. Cradling her phone between her shoulder and cheek, she hit a few more keys and a morning flight appeared for $500 and then, miracle of miracles, she announced an 11:30 flight that could be had – at no charge at all.

I was so happy I almost jumped over the counter to give her a hug but that would have been inappropriate and so I settled on a hearty and thankful handshake. When I then asked about a hotel recommendation she actually gave me a coupon for a discounted hotel stay, the kind you get when THEY screw up. I was most grateful and again thanked her enthusiastically.

PART TWO – I am at the info desk at terminal E, the United terminal where two elderly folks in red uniforms are helping people with questions related to all manner of things. They wear tags that have their names on them and the fact that they are volunteers. The lady whom I will call Lady helps me with a phone to call the number on the United coupon to set up the hotel, offering to let me use her cell phone in case their courtesy phone didn’t work for what was obviously a non-local number.

Meanwhile the man whom I will call… Man, is dealing with a sloppily-attired individual who demands to know the flight schedule of ANA from Tokyo to Houston. They are obviously flummoxed and can not pull up any information on their computer, which seems to be not working. Mr. ANA is very rude and sarcastic with them, telling them that any Google search would display the information – oblivious to the fact that these are senior citizens and probably not the most tech-savvy people in the world. It is obvious from their expressions that they don’t even know what ANA is. I wonder why he doesn’t check it himself on his own computer or a rental somewhere.

As I complete my hotel booking over the phone, I can hear a lady in the wheelchair behind me loudly ask if there is a time limit on the use of the phone, to which Lady answers ‘no’ which is met with ‘well there should be’ which I choose to ignore since she is already in a wheelchair and I don’t want to further complicate her existence with a smack on the head with the telephone receiver.

The Man has now consulted with the Lady about Mr. ANA and they both are now trying to find some info on the computer and at the same time apologizing to Mr. ANA who remains unfazed and continues his eye-rolling and relentless questioning.

An elderly lady of the oriental persuasion appears and demands attention in that impatient and oh so charming way that some older folks have developed. Lady points her in the direction she needs to be moving.

Throughout all this, both Lady and Man are smiling, patient and while frustrated, they do not take it out on their ‘clients’.

I pull up the FlightTrack app on my iPhone and find the ANA information and tell the guy what he needs to know and finally, to the relief of Lady and Man, he walks away. What possible satisfaction this man gained from knowing that ANA’s flight from Houston landed at 3:55 PM at Narita airport is beyond me.

Wondering what motivates them to be there in the first place, I ask if every day they had difficult people like this guy. Their features relax and they smile a tired smile.

Lady answers first. “Some days, yes.”

But they both shrug it off.

“I just wish that coffee line wasn’t so long” says Man, pointing at the Starbucks outlet in the corner, where a long line of people waiting to order coffee stretched into the terminal, almost blocking the children’s Christmas choir doing their best to sing Jingle Bells in tune.

“I’m going to buy you a coffee” I tell him.

He comes back with an energetic “No, you are not!”

But I go stand in that line anyway, which takes forever as this is the one Starbucks in all of the great state of Texas that has the winner of the Slow-as-Molasses Ass-Dragging Contest working the till. Her companion, whom I will briefly refer to as Scruffy Mexican, looks out at the line with dead fish eyes, bored beyond belief and chewing his gum with a gusto reserved for recently rescued shipwreck survivors when fed their first meal.

I buy a couple of coffees; black – who knows if Lady and Man have milk allergies, high blood sugar or whatever – and a couple of packages of biscotti. I then head back and set them on their counter. “Merry Christmas” I say.

Man makes a move to reach into his back pocket. “How much do I owe you for those?”

“Absolutely nothing. Just want you to know that you are appreciated. Thank you for what you do and the way you do it” I tell them.

I shake their hands, grab my bags and head outside to wait for my hotel shuttle feeling like I have returned a little of the goodwill I received from the United lady earlier.

Looking for that elusive great television series

Inspired, Nada que Ver, , , , , ,

FearWalkingDead

Just so my seventeen faithful readers aren’t under the impression that the only thing on my radar is anything Yucatan-related, I hereby remind them that I can go off at length in other areas as well.

This week I downloaded the first episodes of Fear the Walking Dead, in response to David Bianculli recommending the series as worth a look, on NPR’s Fresh Air recently.

While the show, a prequel to the highly successful Walking Dead drama which I enjoyed until it became too much like a never-ending and splatter-y graphic catalog of how to kill a zombie , tries to muster up some tension and suspense from the outset, I found myself completely distracted by both the dialogue which was heavy and not particularly natural and the grossly distracting (to me, the neurotic observer) details in the finished production, particularly the sound.

For example, the woman who is the main character, is told by her boyfriend/husband that the strange story told by her drug addict son makes some sense as he (boyfriend/husband) had gone to the site where the event took place and she tells him no “Oh you went there, what did you see?” but “Really? I don’t think you should validate his outrageous stories by pretending they are based on real events.” To me this implies that she certainly does not take her boyfriend/husband very seriously indeed and is hardly believable if they are in an adult relationship. He of course, like a good TV husband/boyfriend, just stands there with no expression, waiting for her next line.

Other distractions:

  • Misunderstood overachiever white daughter is sitting with black boyfriend on bleachers at school (edgy) and he begins to draw on her arm, because he is a graffiti artist and that’s what they do: they draw on you. Camera is back to their faces, earnestly expressing some lovey-dovey mush and when the camera comes back to the arm and he asks her if she likes his creation, you can’t help but notice that what is there has nothing to do with what he started drawing previously
  • Family drives a 2006 Toyota Camry – as I do – and every time they lock or unlock the door and I hear the chirp of the alarm, I am thinking “THAT IS NOT THE SOUND THAT CAR MAKES”
  • Aforementioned daughter is visiting empty house where missing boyfriend lives. She is walking on concrete, then a wooden floor and the sound of her shoes is important to the plot here as it is supposed to be a very suspenseful buildup to something. The distraction is that her shoes are sneakers aka running shoes and they would never sound like a solid heeled shoe like that.

And so, I made it to the end of episode 2, but doubt that I will continue as these and other distractions will make it impossible for me to take the series very seriously.  Sorry David.

I’ll Pray for You

Inspired, Nada que Ver, , , , , ,

Finally it happened. The most condescending phrase that self-righteous Christians can lob at an unbeliever when they have no real argument, has been leveled at me.

Under a cloud photo on Facebook that someone shared where the cloud bears a resemblance to a flying something, the post raved about the glory of God and the sign that was this angel in the heavens over Buttville, USA.

I commented simply that it was, in fact, a cloud. The rebuttal was that some people have no faith which seemed silly since it was a photo of a cloud and it didn’t require faith to imagine it was a pterodactyl or an angel or whatever. When I replied that indeed, I did not enjoy that kind of ‘faith’, the patronizing phrase was thrown in my direction.

“I’ll pray for you.”

I looked it up as I was at a loss as to what to counter with and came across this fantastic little article. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did.

http://atheistexperience.blogspot.mx/2008/09/ill-pray-for-you.html

Pretty Property Priced Perfectly.

Nada que Ver, , , , , , , ,

Kan-Ha – Chetumal Area, Quintana Roo – $250,000 USD

If you are looking for a large, beautiful property near Chetumal and Bacalar, this could be right up your alley.

Perfect for weekend getaways or even vacation rentals.

Perfect for weekend getaways or even vacation rentals.

It’s 11,700 square meters of river-front property about 15 minutes from the city of Chetumal, with its own electrical 25 kva substation, pumps, boat dock and garage, river front palapa and weekend cottage.

Riverfront palapa for your barbecue fiestas.

Riverfront palapa for your barbecue fiestas.

Like tropical fruit? The property has 45 coconut trees and over 60 different fruit trees including orange, lemon, abal, pistachio, guanabana, anona, zapote, chaya, pepino kat, avocado and tamarind.

If you have a boat you can access the property from the river side from Bacalar and Chetumal Bay.

The riverfront palapa is where you launch your boat and head off into Bacalar. No traffic!

The riverfront palapa is where you launch your boat and head off into Bacalar. No traffic!

Clear title, private property, not ejidal, because we all know what a pain that can be. Electricity, hot and cold running water, two bathrooms.

 

Datos en Español

Ubicación: A un kilómetro al norte de la población de “ Huay Pix”, camino blanco transitable todo el año con automóvil, a diez kilómetros de la ciudad de Chetumal, o quince minutos de la ciudad a Kanja.

Superficie total: 11,700 m2 (Título de propiedad vigente)

Superficie construida: 150 m2 (Cabaña y casa de visitas, palapa junto al río)

Servicios: Energía eléctrica, agua fría y caliente, dos baños completos, mosquiteros en puertas y ventanas de la cabaña y casa de visitas.

Instalaciones especiales: Vialidades internas, cercado al frente con postes de madera de la región, malla ciclónica y demás perímetro con alambre de púas y maya borreguera (todo el cercado en perfectas condiciones), subestación eléctrica de 25 kva,  tres pozos artesanos con bombas eléctricas para riego, instalación eléctrica en construcciones y alumbrado en áreas descubiertas con postes y reflectores, hangar para lancha y bodegas, rampa botadero de lancha para el río, palapa con muelle de atraque junto al río.

Árboles frutales: 45 cocos en producción, 60 árboles frutales  (naranja, limón, ciruela, pistache, guanábana, anona, zapote, caimito, chaya, pepino kaat, aguacate, tamarindo)

My Two Centavos on the US Election – Romney vs Obama

Nada que Ver, Politics

Yesterday, while folding shirts I took the opportunity to listen to the keynote speeches from both the Republican and Democratic conventions ie Mitt (Mitt! Mitt!! Mitt!!!) Romney and Barack (4 more years! 4 more years!) Obama. I had a lot of shirts to fold.

First I watched Obama. Watched Michelle introduce him and actually teared up when she introduced him as “the love of her life, the father of their children…” as the man came on stage to thunderous applause. I’m a sap, I know. But can Anne Romney pull this off with any credibility? Obamas speech was, like practically all his speeches, well crafted, delivered with passion and eminently listenable-to. At the end, the kids came out and I thought “this is the man they accuse of being a Hitler, a communist, an atheist, destroyer of families, job eliminator and Muslim?” It’s just racism, plain and simple. They hate the fact that he is black and that says a lot about the good old U.S. of A. which has become a bipolar nation in severe need of a natural disaster to bring everyone back together under the same flag.

Of course there were things I didn’t agree with such as his pandering reference to the energy companies (“clean” coal – what the hell is that) and the continued insistence on being the greatest nation in the world. Um, no? But in general, the speech this man delivered made the time spent folding shirts pass quickly and effortlessly.

En cambio, although he also got thunderous and adulating applause, listening to Mitt Romney’s sappy story of his family’s life and their ‘struggles’ and the use of every cliché (“like every good American” “real American values” “we came together after the election because we are a good and generous people” etc ad nauseum) available to his speechwriters who must have just graduated from middle school in Kentucky, interspersed with crowds chanting “USA, USA” in a manner that suggested the sound might have been added later, actually made folding the shirts a boring tedious task as I was constantly seized by the urge to throw things at the computer. What people see in this uninspiring, white-bread, OBVIOUSLY fake human being is beyond me. Also, when I did glance at the computer screen, there were lots of closeups of very white people; the only blacks I saw were at the beginning, when a few black secret service dudes were there to control the enthusiastic white folks.

No comparison whatsoever. If millionaire Romney and his lackluster campaign wins the presidency, it will be a sad (and eminently boring) day for the USA and sadder still for the countries both to the south and north of the border of the ‘greatest nation on earth’.

links:

Obama – http://youtu.be/Hd8MFmUDbg4

Romney – http://youtu.be/MGTi4-ysJS8

Comic Relief – http://youtu.be/yoqKdWY692k

Typical Facebook Exchange?

Nada que Ver
I was looking for someone on Facebook and a similar name came up and so I clicked on it. There was a photo and this mind-numbing exchange. The names have been deleted to protect the author(s) but it is completely and absolutely real. Note the first two post is the same person talking to herself. Another reason to learn about privacy controls on Facebook.
Enjoy. Imagine it as a play.
    • Sandra R K where u at

      March 21 at 1:49pm

    • Sandra R K im here where are u

      March 21 at 1:49pm

    • Sue W love the picture

      March 21 at 1:52pm

    • Sandra R K thank you

      March 21 at 1:53pm

    • Sue W We all had some good times together. Remember the Sunday dinners and the holidays.

      March 21 at 1:57pm ·  1

    • Cindy R P yea we did

      March 21 at 2:08pm

    • Sandra R K u nonwhere that was taken at

      March 21 at 2:14pm

    • Cindy R P yes i do at dada bday at ur house

      March 21 at 2:35pm

    • Sandra R K i have some with dad and the grandkids and great grand kids we need to print ythem of and take some to dad

      March 21 at 3:46pm ·  1

    • Cindy R P yes we do he would like that u think he would like this one

      March 21 at 6:03pm

    • Kay R S Hi Family! Very nice. Could we all get a copy? How long ago was this taken?

      March 21 at 6:32pm

    • Kay R S Hi Suzy, Sandy and Cindy.

      March 21 at 6:34pm

    • Cindy R P dads birthday last nov 2010

      March 21 at 6:34pm ·  1

    • Cindy R P i will gwt some copys made

      March 21 at 6:36pm

    • Sandra R K tanks can u put in on your computer

      March 21 at 6:55pm

    • Sandra R K ok how do u do it i have more

      March 21 at 6:55pm

    • Cindy R P do what

      March 21 at 6:58pm

    • Sandra R K i have more pictures of dad bday on my computer

      March 21 at 6:59pm

    • Cindy R P sorry about that my computer keeps freezing up why cant i see u on her

      March 21 at 7:04pm

    • Sandra R K what do u mean u cant c me

      March 21 at 7:05pm ·  1

    • Cindy R P t dont see ur name on the chat rm when ur on here

      March 21 at 7:09pm

    • Sandra R K i dont c u eather

      March 21 at 7:11pm

    • Cindy R P r u not my friend

      March 21 at 7:12pm

    • Sandra R K what do i do

      March 21 at 7:13pm

    • Cindy R P u have to ask me to be ur friend

      March 21 at 7:15pm

    • Sandra R K how do i do that

      March 21 at 7:16pm

    • Cindy R P go to my page and clickon friends

      March 21 at 7:18pm

    • Cindy R P i was told that when they mow at the cementary theythrow the flowers away was there any trash can around there

      March 21 at 7:20pm

    • Sandra Ruckman Keehn no

      March 21 at 7:21pm

    • Cindy R P how did u lose me

      March 21 at 7:21pm

    • Sandra R K dont no

      March 21 at 7:22pm

    • Cindy R P when u click on my page does it say were friends

      March 21 at 7:25pm

    • Cindy R P u can go to ur friens list and it will tell u if were friends

      March 21 at 7:27pm

    • Sandra R K i cant find where u wrote

      March 21 at 7:30pm

    • Cindy R P go to ur friends list and look and see if im in ur friends list

      March 21 at 7:31pm

    • Sandra R K i still cantget u

      March 21 at 7:34pm

    • Patty D This is a wonderful pic!!!!

      March 22 at 8:07am

    • Angie S hi good pic

      March 25 at 7:46pm

    • Cindy R P thank u

      March 25 at 7:48pm