At Home He's a Tourist

He fills his head with culture/ He gives himself an ulcer.

Saturday, March 15, 2003

I didn't go hiking because the forecast predicted scattered thunderstorms. Alas, the NWS was wrong, so I ended up spending a beautiful spring day indoors, cleaning.

It seems that most of my human contact these days is with restauranteurs. This evening I went to dinner at a small Mexican restaurant here in town and chatted briefly with the owner. Since Hispanics are almost the majority here, I expected to find a lot more authentically slummy Mexican restaurants, but the ones I had been to so far have served standard Tex-Mex fare. This one is more promising: the waitress didn't speak English, most of the other clientele were also Hispanic, and the menu had peasant fare like Menudo and Barbacoa. The owner is from Guadalajara but his English wasn't bad; he told me I could request other delicacies like tongue tacos or pig feet soup. ¡Ay caramba!

I saw a Frida Kahlo self-portrait on the wall, which made me want to see the biopic starring Selma Hayek. Is it out on DVD yet?


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