Good Dog
Ciao, Jazz Pickles, and fermented edibles of all styles of music! I am happy to announce that the mighty Oyl, the dogs, and I are all back at Rancho Bizarro in San Miguel de Allende this weekend. We absolutely adored our time in the countryside but we’re glad to be home.
Those of you who read last week’s post about the ever-elusive FedEx package and my brief role in the ongoing copyright squabbles of Turkey may enjoy hearing how some of that turned out, so consider this part 2 of that essay.
Last Wednesday, the morning of our departure from our month’s exile in the backwoods outside of Oaxaca City, I ran the tracking number on my package through the FedEx website again just to see if it was, indeed, on its way back to San Miguel, as I had requested two days previous. Would I be writing this if it were? No, I would not.
The website informed me that it was “waiting to be picked up” at the same address in Oaxaca City that was a mere six blocks from where I was originally told it would be two weeks ago. (To make sense of that sentence, see last week’s post.)
Given our previous wild goose chases, it seemed pretty illogical that it would actually be there this time, but Mexico is the land that logic forgot, as I’ve said, so we decided to give it a try. Yes! It was there and had been all along! Apparently, the previous counter person had simply read the computer screen wrong, causing her to send us to an address across town that does not exist and would be nowhere near a FedEx office even if it did. These things happen.
To summarize: I brought an electronic drawing pad to work with while away for a month but it broke the first time I tried to use it. I arranged to have a back-up drawing pad sent to me from home so that I could get at least some work done while away, and I only got my hands on it as I was leaving town, just in time to drive it back home myself. (I think a lot of ex-pats recognize this as an archetypical pattern.)
One might think I’d be pissed off and steamed about missing so much drawing time and up until recently, one would be correct. But in this case, I took it in philosophical stride, accepting it as a sign that I should take a break. As it turned out, Olive Oyl and I had the most amazing month—one that didn’t end up looking very much as we had expected it to, but that was so much better. We really took some big steps forward in our now seven-year-old relationship, and each of us had some powerful inward experiences that I won’t attempt to describe here.
Meanwhile, in Turkey, people are still alternately thanking me, cursing me, or offering to be my lawyer. I’m still determined not to get involved further, so most of this is moot. I was attacked a few times, however, for my comment about imagining the accent of the Sasha Baron Cohen character, “Borat,” when reading the comments and for that, I was called a racist.
I’m not a racist and am sorry I pushed that button for some folks. Personally, I don’t think funny accents are tantamount to racism but I know I’m in the minority on that these days and that’s cool. For the past four years, I’ve been living as an immigrant in Mexico trying to learn the local language, and have provided a good number of laughs for the locals. Rather than being offended or embarrassed, I laugh along with them. My only regret is that I often don’t know the language well enough to understand exactly what they’re laughing at.
My most grievous/hilarious misuse of Spanish was when I attempted to compliment a taxi driver on his cool jacket but instead said what would translate locally to, “I like your hand-job.” He was nice about it and I didn’t understand the look on his face until weeks later when someone corrected me in a different context. I love that story.
Now it’s time to see what grievous hilarity awaits us in Wayno’s weekly Bizarro cartoons…
Ignoring the political angle of this, I’ll just say watch “My Octopus Teacher” on Netflix. It’s a documentary. If it doesn’t improve your life, you may already be dead inside.
Some markets published this one with a trigger warning for any readers who have problems with white women.
Give him 48 hours to come up with something, Mayor.
A couple of the Secret Symbols in this one are almost too small to find. I’m going to have to mention that in Wayno’s quarterly review.
The BZFD rescue squad is always available for any surreal domestic emergencies.
This guy can be kind of an astralhole. Hey, if you’ve not checked out Wayno’s weekly post on his cartoon blog, you should do that. He has some interesting stuff to say about music, as usual, but this week a bit more.
That concludes this secret meeting of humor enthusiasts. Thanks for not giggling too loudly and giving us away. If you enjoy what we do and want to encourage us to keep doing it without ads or paywalls, toss us a buck now and then via one of the handy links below. In gratitude, we’ll flood your astral plane with positive energy from Rancho Bizarro.
Till next time, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about a thing I heard a guru-type guy say: The mind is where the soul hides from the heart.
BIZARRO SHOP We have new stuff in the shop that’s fun and cheap!
…Signed, numbered, limited edition prints and original Bizarro panels
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