So on April 21, 1986, the then notably less infamousGeraldo Rivera arranged for CBS to record a live special on the opening of Al Capone’s hidden vault.2 It was amazing. Amazingly boring! Rivera speculated they would find tons of loot, cash, rare whiskeys and wines. The pre-opening was thick with drama and blabber. But alas, it only contained dust and cobwebs. Geraldo is now Fox News’ token liberal, still full of himself, absolutely nothing.
Now, along comes the FBI! These 30 agents are also full of themselves, absolutely nothing. Seems Christopher A. Wray, Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, got a hold of some genuine intelligence (I’m doubtful) that led him to believe that Trump left office with a bunch of classified documents. And, that he bought a brand new safe to keep them in at his residence at Mar-a-Lago. So Wray‘s minions, 30 of them, assaulted the Trump residence to search for said documents. Oh, they were very thorough, even searching Melania’s underwear drawer for said documents.
They were so thorough, they brought a professional safe cracker. [I haven’t heard of a safe cracker since the last time I watched a Humphrey Bogart movie] So, when the professional was done and the safe’s doors were opened, they found
Absolutely NOTHING!
Proving Christopher Wray has no intelligence.
I was going to write something along the lines of finding Geraldo in the safe, but that would have been too much of a cheap shot.
I called you Maddy for a long time. Then, one night as I was going to credit you with a post, I asked you first and asked how you wanted to be described. You said that you preferred Madison. It dawned on me that you might not have liked the nick name, so I quit using it.
But I never explained why I had used the nick name, in the first place.
I was a disappointment to my mom for 2 reasons. I had dyslexia and couldn’t spell for the life of me and I couldn’t remember a person’s name 5 minutes after meeting them. Mom discovered the later when I was in the 4th grade and my teacher wanted to hold me back because she thought that I was retarded. Mom, being an elementary school teacher sat me down one day and had me read to her. She figured out what the problem was and went to war on my behalf with the school system. The school system wasn’t as “dyslexic” aware in the 1950’s as it is today. But with her fighting the system and Dad beating my but, I made it through school without being held back. Not necessarily with stellar performance, though.
I never overcame the name remembering thing, though. Somewhere along the line, I discovered using a relationship trick helped get me through college and medical school. It’s called associative learning.1
In pharmacology in medical school, we were studying belladona alkyloids, or anticholinergic toxicity. The signs of belladona overdose were presented in Lewis Carrol’s “The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland”3 by the little ditty/mnemonic, “red as a beet, dry as a bone, blind as a bat, mad as a hatter, hot as a hare, and full as a flask.” This, of course, refers to the symptoms of flushing, dry skin and mucous membranes, mydriasis with loss of accommodation, altered mental status, fever, and urinary retention, respectively.2
So, Madison became Maddy, mad as a hatter, to help me remember the name. Not as a derogatory reference to Madison’s mental status at all.
I grew up in West Texas, from 1951 until I left in1970. I was partially raised by Hispanic caretakers, although that term wasn’t in use at the time. My family made frequent trips to the Texas-Mexico border towns for vacation. My first 2 wives were Hispanic, the second couldn’t speak English when she started school in the first grade. I knew and loved the food, the culture and the people of Mexico.
My, how times change and yet, they stay the same
In those early years the Mexican police were almost considered buffoons. Little more than local constables to give tourists traffic tickets and keep drunks in line. Their uniforms were mismatched, tattered and often dirty. If real law enforcement was expected, one went to the Federales, which was a Federal police force. The Mexican border patrol didn’t care who or what came in or left Mexico. No passport was required if one had a Mexican visa (requiring almost nothing to obtain) or US identification (usually a driver’s license sufficed). Food, leather crafts, pottery and textiles were the main attraction. B
Bars, alcohol, prostitution and some types of skilled labor were second on the attraction list. Drugs were present and known to exist, but way down on the list and not remotely organized. Vacation resorts on both coasts and central Mexico were very popular but more exotic because of travel expense. Air travel at that time was the exception rather than the rule. Many of my caretakers taught me some differences in regional cuisine because they would cook according to what they were taught growing up. Prior to this excursion, my only visit to Mexico City or central Mexico, was for a few hours for a plane change, not even leaving the airport grounds. I did spend a couple of weeks off the coast of Veracruz and Cozumel on a ship in the Caribbean while in college, though.
The people are the same and the food is the same, but Mexico is decidedly different in atmosphere and crime compared with my recollections.
Today to me, Mexico looks more like war torn Afghanistan than the Mexico of my memories. Sure, one can reasonably expect modernization and changes in 51 years. The whole world has changed during that time. But let me describe some of those changes through my eyes.
The police now travel in caravans of modern, weaponized, armored vehicles staffed with 4-6 law enforcement officers who appeared to be as well equipped as any swat team one might see on The Shield or Law and Order. The Federales look like an Army Ranger or US Marine platoon in size and equipment. I can’t show pictures because they weren’t allowed.
I recently traveled to Mexico City by air. Our host met us at the airport and took us to a local hotel where we stayed for 2 days. He was a Mexican citizen with several nice cars, but chose to travel by Uber for safety. From there we traveled by bus to Uruapan, Michoacán. We left Uruapan for Paracho, Michoacán, our destination. We stayed 3 days there and returned to Mexico City and the US by a slightly different route.
Mexico City is now the most populous city in the world with 21.9 million people in 573 sq. miles (that is 38,220/sq mile). That is more than double what it was last time I was there and even in the 1970s, smog was a problem. Atmospheric conditions, climate, being located in a mountainous fish bowl and lack of consistent and enforced smog prevention leaves Mexico City plagued with smog. Mexico City is 7,349′ above sea level and Paracho at 7,303′ above sea level, which made breathing very difficult for me that week. Carjacking, mugging, snatch-and-run theft, and kidnapping are very attractive to the poor, disenfranchised and Cartel victims living there. Local citizens are affected as well as tourists, which explains why our host uses buses, Uber and taxi travel as well as taking other security precautions.
Americans are bombarded with news about illegal immigration problems along it’s southern border. We hear the statistics and see the video footage almost daily. But, most Americans do not hear about or see the pervasiveness of Cartels, crime and corruption within Mexico (this discussion started above with mention of the modernization of law enforcement and changes of tactics). There was visual evidence of Cartel presence everywhere we went through out this trip. Military guards and patrols everywhere. Two days before we left for Mexico, Cartel members stormed a tourist beach in Cancun, Mexico to assassinate 2 members of a rival Cartel.1 While we were there 70 Mormon missionaries were robbed by 2 thugs with knives.2 A 12 year old Mexican girl and birthday entourage were stopped and robbed in Michoacán last year on their way to a birthday celebration. Eleven boys/men were killed over Cartel turf battles just before we arrived in Michoacán.3 This is a drop in the bucket of crime in Michoacán, but gives reference with respect to the time frame when we were there.
The food was out of this world, the people are still the warm and affectionate people I remember. One particular dish I remember growing up was pozole. But, the one I remember was made from green chilies instead of the red chilies I found on this trip. Otherwise, the same ingredients. The first 4 days in Mexico I let my host order food for me without questioning what I was eating. I ate a few things I wouldn’t have otherwise ordered, but everything was delicious. I had the pozole several times, head tacos, brain tacos and for breakfast one day I had sheep stew! I had home cooked pork fajitas and one evening a traditional American hamburger and fries. The many different chili salsas were wonderful and despite American perceptions, not all chili salsas are spicy hot. But, it is still advisable to not drink the water.
The 6 hour bus ride from Mexico City to Uruapan was very comfortable. The seating was better than first class on most airlines. There was onboard digital entertainment and the view of the mountains and farms through central Mexico was spectacular. The taxi ride from Uruapan to Paracho was somewhat tense, to say the least. Despite the risk of carjacking, robbery, and kidnapping, the driver tended to drive way too fast for the traffic conditions. Passing on curves and hills when line of sight was just past the front bumper. On reflection, I think the threat of Cartel interference was to blame. Once in a city, though it was a strategy of racing from speed bump to speed bump. Another case in which reflection allowed one to see that this was a method of saving tax dollars (pesos) in requiring less traffic police to control speeding. About midway through this adventure, my travel companion who is now learning to drive told me, “I think I’m a very good driver.”
One day we went to a neighboring town to shop. Our host pointed out that the population was predominantly “Indian”, by which he meant descendants of the native Mayans. He said that they have a hard time getting their needs recognized by the government and under threat of Cartel violence have hired their own security force. Every entrance to the town is staffed by armed guards and a security check point where those entering are required to slow or stop to be interviewed by security.
One afternoon, a group of young teenagers, friends and family of our host, wanted to walk to the town square to have coffee with friends and hang out. Our host gave them a strict curfew requiring them to be home by dark. He explained to me that the threat of young girls being abducted for human trafficking was ever present.4
All in all, it was a good visit. No harm came to anyone except my shortness of breath and stomach ulcers from stress and worry. Worry wart, you say? Here are some exerts from U.S. Department of State – Bureau of Consular Affairs.5
Country Summary: Violent crime – such as homicide, kidnapping, carjacking, and robbery – is widespread and common in Mexico.
U.S. government employees may not travel between cities after dark, may not hail taxis on the street, and must rely on dispatched vehicles, including app-based services like Uber, and regulated taxi stands.
Do Not Travel To:Michoacan state due to crimeand kidnapping.
I’ve always been a law and order kinda of guy. Well, at least since I overcame that naturally occurring adolescent urge to rebel against everything. But for me, law and order means Murphy’s law and total disorder. For example, technology has made everyone else more productive. Computers, smartphones, smart refrigerators, smart toilet paper and the like. It’s never worked for me. Literally. I have to tweak every gadget, every piece of software, every device because they never work as advertised, for me. I look at others around me, who seemingly have no problems and I wonder why I do. Before you get on that high horse, let me tell you that on most every occasion, I seek geek advice and ask them to try it (whatever the flavor of it is, in that instance), and they fail. To me, technology is a word that in my dictionary means, “There are a bunch of gremlins living in this digital ethos that are out to get me!” Plain, simple and as sure as death and taxes.
Two days before our scheduled departure for Mexico City, alleged drug cartel thugs landed on a popular Cancun tourist beach and assassinated 2 presumed Mexican nationals in a suspected turf war. Initial reports said no tourists were injured, just scared to death. Not exactly a warm and inviting atmosphere for a our upcoming trip to Mexico. I don’t know if my companion was aware of the event.
Our United flight to Mexico City, Mexico was a bear to get on. My wife’s daughter, a flight attendant bought and scheduled our tickets, thanks to her for that. But, checking in was a nightmare. I have the United app on my phone, and have for awhile. I know how to use it and used it 2 weeks ago, when it worked fine. But, not this time. I received 8 texts from United to check in for my boarding pass the day before departure. Each time I clicked on the included link, I received 3 more texts, all were exactly the same. And, none of them allowed me to check in. I, also, got a message that I needed to provide passport information and that I could do so by photographing it with my smartphone and using the United app to submit it. Failed, no I couldn’t. Every time I tried, I was returned to The TextMessage that was exactly like all the other texts inviting me to check in via the spiffy United app, that didn’t work.
On the day of departure, 5:30 am, I check my texts to find that my flights were cancelled, but rescheduled for 45 minutes before the cancelled flight was scheduled to leave. With a 2 hour drive, it offers me the choice of fucking up the whole trip or hauling ass to the airport. I hope Big Brother doesn’t see this, but we made it with more than a few potential traffic violations. At the United counter, we did get special service for check in. We made the flight by the hair on our chinny, chin, chins.
Then, we flew for 1 hour and 10 minutes with me bored as a bat because the United in-flight entertainment software was not compatible with my browser. But it was just enough compatible to tell me that it wasn’t compatible. There was no in flight monitor and United wants $9 for 1 hour on their in-flight internet service. I think, not! That is equivalent to $1,944/month for wifi service.
In Chicago, we arrived at concourse E and had 10 minutes to get to concourse C. We made it using some of those chin, chin hairs, again. No time to eat. The 3 hour flight to Houston was equally a trip of torment. The 3 seats in front and back of me and the seats on either side all had in-flight entertainment. And, personal device entertainment. Guess what, I didn’t. The passenger to my right and my companion tried to help. I talked to the flight attendant, who pointed to the controls on the arm rest and walked away, as if the problem was solved, leaving me with non-functioning in-flight entertainment. So, I watched 3 hours of United’s commercial loop telling me of all the wonderful technology United wasn’t providing me, over and over again. I was ready to go ballistic. But, I didn’t want to be That Guy pulled off the plane by Chicago Police and on a video clip on Fox News, leaving my minor travel companion stranded and traveling internationally, alone.
Now, we looked forward to arriving in Houston with 15 minutes to get to the next terminal, that was advertised as being 19 minutes away according to United’s app, for the flight to Mexico City. We walked up to the boarding line and directly onto the plane. They had already boarded groups 1, 2, and 3. This flight was uneventful, except that one of the flight attendants could not see me. Five times I tried to get an Mexico immigration form to fill out for my companion and he totally ignored me. Finally, I got one from the head flight attendant.
Once through the terminal and immigration, I just followed the signs to Salida (Exit) and we found Julio and his brother Jesus waiting. Although my companion has no memory of her father ( they were estranged when she was 9 months old), she has been in virtual contact with him for several years. The reunion tore my heart out and washed away all of the negative aspects I’ve been dealing with on this trip and for years. Tears and hugs and it was obvious that she was very comfortable with Julio and Jesus.
On the way to the hotel, Julio asked if we had any trouble in customs. We didn’t because the signs led us directly out the door and totally bypassed the Customs inspection station. Julio was surprised, but this isn’t the first time I’ve illegally immigrated to Mexico.
I know most of you didn’t know Mister. And some probably don’t want to or care, but this is one amazing cat. Feline, although if he were human, I’d have called him cat anyway. This cat had long since used up 9 lives.
He was mostly black, with some white spots here and there and of average size, for your common domestic house cat. The most distinguishing features were that he had an over bite, a gimp and a personality that even my brother Jim couldn’t make up. Yup! Let me explain.
Mister was acquired by Angie and Stacey before I came into their lives. Sometime, shortly after he came around, he was run over by a car (Don’t laugh, by the end your gonna think Ray Willie Hubbard wrote this). At least that is what Angie surmised. He crawled home dragging his hind quarters. She took him to the vet and found that he had a broken femur (leg bone) and pelvis. I’m sure he got hit because he must of been standing in the middle of the road hissing at the car and refusing to move, as was his style. At the time they didn’t have the money for complete surgical repair. So the vet patched him up with a pin in the femur and skepticism that he would survive. Angie and Stacey carried him back and forth from the litter box and bed, where he spent the next 3 months. Every since then, he walked with a gimp gait that even Hollywood couldn’t have imagined (think Walter Brennan). And every since, he had unique litter box habits. He pooped and peed in the box, missing most of the time, and then pawed the litter to the out side of the box making one hell of a mess in the process.
The over bite was congenital, meaning he was born that way. At the last vet visit, the vet who was new to Mister, he commented that he had never seen, heard of, or read about a cat with an overbite. There was a good 1/4″ gap between the upper and lower teeth from front to back.
Mister had traveled quite a bit in his life. He basically lived with Stacey all his life. Every time she moved, Mister went on a walk-about. It usually would happen a few weeks after moving in to a new place. Its not that he would get lost, because before he left, he would go in and out and come home on a regular basis. He would be gone for as long as 10 weeks and as far away as several miles across town. He had been returned by individuals, vets and he had come home on his own. When individuals had returned him, it was usually discovered that he had been living with them as if they were his family.
Occasionally, Angie and I would cat-sit Mister. He would view these cat-sit trips the same as a move and would take off on a walk-about. Once, after we had let him out, he was gone for 3 weeks and we had written him off to the coyotes. But one day, Angie heard a low growl in the spruce trees behind the house and there he was, scruffy, skinny and attitude intact. After that, we did not let him out.
So, Mister found that the downstairs bathroom had a hole in the sheet rock ceiling where I had done some plumbing repair. He decided that that was the equivalent to taking off on a walk-about. Somehow, gimp and all, he’d crawl up in the crawl space (pun intended) between the basement and first floor and hang out. The opening was 4.5 feet above the nearest flat surface from which to stage a launch. The 1st time it happened, it took us a couple of days to find him. We knew he must still be around because he was regularly making a mess of the cat box and eating his food.
Mister was deaf. As a door nail. Worse than me, even. When he meowed, it was like a banshee (whatever the heck that is) screaming in eternal agony. It was as if he was trying real hard to hear himself. Usually, he would cry when he got home sick or when he thought we were ignoring him. And usually after midnight. Makes me wonder how he survived the coyotes. He also liked heights. For some reason, he liked to sleep, nap, hang out on the top of a book case or a fireplace mantle. Yeah well, those pictures or whatever were not in his way, he’d just push them off onto the floor for fun. When Mister would come over, Angie would go around clearing the top surfaces for him so he wouldn’t break picture frames and what not.
Mister was the kind of cat that would rub up your leg for affection and then hiss, spit and scratch you in the same moment. He would not drink water out of a bowl. Only from a dripping faucet or the toilet. After satisfying his thirst, he would bat at the water drops as if they were a toy on a string. Spreading an otherwise unexplained puddle of water all over the bathroom or kitchen floor. Mister was most sociable when someone was in the bathroom. Even when he wasn’t thirsty, he would come to the bathroom and bat water, for instance, while you were brushing your teeth or washing your hands.
His next to last adventure involved a move to Independence, Mo. They’d been there for a few months and low and behold, Mister turned up missing. Stacey and Jon put a sign in the yard about their missing cat and several weeks later a young guy pulled up and asked if their cat had a gimp, an overbite and an attitude. Yup. Well, it seems that Mister had found the Sonic, about 2 blocks away from their house. This young man was at Sonic and Mister just jumped in his car through an open window. His Mom was a cat person so he called her and told her what had happened and she agreed to take the cat. She lived in Blue Springs, Mo. about 20 miles away. They said that Mister had acted as if getting in the car and moving in with the mom was the most natural thing for a cat to do.
Like I said. An attitude. Mister was part cat, part raccoon and part dog.
When Mister lost almost all of his sight, Stacey fitted him with a collar and would let him out in the back yard on a chain tether. Like one would use for a dog. Mister’s last skill was that of a Houdini-like performance in escaping from bondage. His last walk-about ended in his demise and he was found in a neighbor’s yard, dead. No cars involved. Mister was probably 18 years old cumulative, because that was spread over 9 lives.
