I just found out I've been accepted into the University of Western Ontario's PhD in Media Studies. So it looks like I'll be spending the next four years of my life in sunny London, Ontario. Starting in September, that is.

In the meantime, I will be delivering sub sandwiches for the same chain I worked for prior to earning my MA. Except that now I'm driving to the location that's 15 or 20 miles away, rather than the one across the street. Because I went back to the one across the street and got fired in a matter of weeks. It's a pretty lame gig, but I spend most of the day in my car listening to music, and they pay me in money, so it could be worse.

Everybody there seems nice enough, but there's one dude I feel conflicted about. He used to be a marine (as the stickers on his sport utility vehicle will let you know), but now he delivers sandwiches in the morning, then proceeds to deliver pizzas in the evening. Sometimes I start to think it's sad that he went from serving his country--which is supposedly brave or heroic or whatever--to serving fast food, but then I remember that I'm a pacifist and I don't believe in the idea of nations, so the notion of fighting for your country is pretty meaningless to me. Maybe I just think it's sad that the armed forces lure people in with promises of a better life, but don't make good on those promises.

Ask a Luchador

I'd like to introduce a new feature today called "Ask a Luchador," in which a Luchador, El Frijole Mágico, answers questions about all things Mexican. Today we have an immigration-themed double feature.


Q: Dear Mr. Bean, what do you think of the U.S. Border Patrol commissioning Mexican radio stations to play songs about the dangers of illegal border crossings?
-Suspicious Mind

A: Dear Suspicious, El Frijole Mágico thinks it stinks! To start with, prior to the creation of the Border Patrol in 1924, there was no such thing as illegal immigration from Mexico. The idea of an "illegal alien" was born along with the agency. Since then, the agency has been largely ineffectual in preventing so called illegal immigration. The increased use of border fences, new technologies, and so on has only forced those who wish to cross illegally to seek out the least guarded locations, which also tend to be the most dangerous. So you could say that, in effect, the Border Patrol (henceforth, la migra) itself has created the dangerous situations immigrants face.

Then there's the fact that the CD is called Migracorridos, which is either very clever or very stupid on the part of la migra. Clever if they realize that "la migra" is a derogatory term, and so people are attracted to the album because of their hatred for the agency (and this may be the case, given that la migra is very quiet about its involvement in the project). Stupid if they don't realize this, and I can't tell whether they do or don't.

Because the rationale for the entire project is so stupid. Do these pendejos really think that immigrants don't realize the danger they face? Do they think they don't realize coyotes are trying to exploit them? A representative for la migra says the point of the corridos is to make potential immigrants "think about their families" before they risk an illegal crossing. All they're thinking about is their families, idiota. They're thinking about how they can afford to support their families, and this is why they cross in spite of the risks. Maybe these songs have been well received, but probably because people can commiserate, not because they've been convinced.


Q: A Luchador, I'm asking if you agree with the decision to allow immigrants with temporary visas to join the Army.
-That One Dude

A: Dude, El Frijole Mágico does not agree with this decision! There's nothing about this that isn't exploitative. These pinche gringo Army guys are dangling the proverbial carrot in front of immigrants seeking U.S. citizenship, saying that serving in the Army will allow them to become a citizen in as little as six months, compared to the ten years most people have to wait. But the U.S. has two wars on with no sign of an end, so before they can become citizens, they'll have to survive. And they will be sent to war. Because the Army is looking for those who can translate "languages useful in combat zones like Afghanistan and Iraq."

Of course, this isn't particularly surprising, considering that the U.S. Armed Forces have always exploited disenfranchised populations with promises of opportunities for economic advancement. Remember when the Army lured Blacks and Chicanos with promises of a college education (and didn't draft those already enrolled in college, i.e., not Blacks and Chicanos), and then Blacks and Chicanos died in disproportionately large numbers in Vietnam, WWII, and so on?

Thankfully, though, Luchadors aren't the only ones who oppose the decision. In situations like these, one can always rely on the paranoia of racist and xenophobic officers and veterans, suspicious of terrorist infiltration.

Well, that's all for today! Adios,
El Frijole Mágico

I didn't even have to use my AK.

Today was a surprisingly good day. I filled out an application at a different Jimmy John's from the one where I worked before and lined up an interview for tomorrow. The manager actually seems like a nice guy and it isn't staffed by yokels, both vast improvements over my former employ.

I then walked over to one of my favorite thrift stores in Saginaw, which is relocating, so everything was 75% off. I got a couple pretty sweet issues of National Geographic and a few classic novels all for 33 centavos.

Also, it was 60 degrees today, so I got to: 1) wear an amazing jacket I bought only days before it got too cold to wear a light jacket, and 2) drive with the windows down. And then, even better, I drove over a balloon, and the sound it made was super sweet.

Oh, and I bought a couple Tina's brand frozen burritos at the supermarket ($1 total), and they were awesome. I love Canada, but they have shit for frozen burritos.

Narwhals!

Another border-crossing rant.

I think Obama has made some positive steps toward undoing damage done during the past eight years, but when it comes to Customs and Immigration officers, these assholes still seem to be operating under the reactionary policies of the Bush regime. I don't even know where to start with today's ordeal.

I suppose the first stupid thing that happened with today's officer was, after making me shut the car off and hand him the keys, he opened the backdoor and saw my duffel bag, which I got while working for an industrial painting company and which has the logo of the company on it and is unsurprisingly covered in paint, and this conversation followed:
Him: Whoa, what's this?
Me: My luggage.
Him: Looks like paint.
Me: Nice catch, Poirot. (I didn't actually say this, but I wanted to.)

Then he found my prescription skin cream, and this conversation followed:
Him: You have a prescription?
Me: Yes. It's skin cream. I have eczema.
Him: Is it pills?
Me: No, it's a cream.

Then he spent an inordinate amount of time searching the trunk, considering there was nothing in it but a tire pump, a road side emergency kit, and a spare tire. Then he walked around to the other side, knocking on each door to make sure there was nothing hidden inside of them. This was incredibly insulting because what it really amounts to is an accusation that I'm attempting to smuggle drugs.

Then he opened the front passenger door and searched my glove box and backpack. Then he made me pop the hood. I don't know what he expected to find, but I could have told him exactly what I keep there. An engine.

Then, this conversation:
Him: You can start it up.
Me: You have my keys, dick bag. (I didn't really say the second part.)

I always wanted to think that I wasn't being profiled, but let's call a spade a spade. What I don't know is whether I'm being profiled because of my age/sex, because I'm Mexican (but maybe look a little Middle-Eastern (if you're a racist border guard)), or because I'm an academic in a field that border guards don't understand and feel threatened by.

I think it worth mentioning at this point that every border guard I've encountered coming into the states has been a white man. It should go without saying why this is a problem.

Another thing that might work against me is that I have one stamp in my passport and it happens to be from Amsterdam. Where I caught connecting flights to and from Greece, where I studied for a semester. Unfortunately for me, they don't stamp your passport when you fly from Greece to Amsterdam because you're still in the European Union.

Also, after being harassed every time I cross the border, it's come to the point where several questions in, my leg begins to shake uncontrollably, which gives away how nervous I am. But I'm not nervous because I've done anything wrong. I haven't. It's a conditioned response to the badgering, power-tripping, ignorant assholes I have to deal with every time I just want to visit the girlfriend/friends/city I didn't want to leave in the first place.

So, to recap, things border guards don't understand:
1) Cultural Studies
2) Michel Foucault
3) Eczema
4) How substitute teaching works (they always want to know how I get the time off)
5) The EU
6) Why they make people nervous when the nature of their position is to make people nervous.

It's strange how the possibility of winning $27 (minus the $3 I put in) can make me care more about football than I have in many, many years. I almost won, too, which is amazing in the way that I didn't watch a single game all year and had to look up who was even playing as I placed my bet.

Next year, god willing, a fun drinking game during the Super Bowl would be taking a drink every time John Madden says something with gay subtext (I say god willing because John Madden is looking so very old).

My favorite part of the game, though, was when the Boss meant to go into a controlled slide across the stage, but, due to a slight miscalculation, slid junk-first into the camera. He has some amazing moves for a man his age. I couldn't pull off most of them (but I do skip exercise in favor of lying in bed all day).

Watching football made me want to play football, by which I mean Madden 95 for Sega Genesis. It was difficult at first because I don't know what any of the plays mean. I don't have much of a running game because whenever I pick a play that I think will result in running, I still end up passing. I've taken to running hail marys for every play, throwing it if I can, but mostly turning them into QB sneaks, which has been surprisingly successful. I guess nobody expects the quarterback to run from a shotgun formation, so I always catch them unprepared.