A Fresh Perspective

I’m a bit of a perfectionist, thus it’s not uncommon for me to read each of my own blog pieces over and over and over again – pausing occasionally to email myself praise. In reading over some of my previous postings, however, I couldn’t help but notice a rather strong, almost unhealthy negative undertone emanating from in between the lines of playful parody and satire.

When adjusting to a new culture and customs, some frustration and critical commentary is only natural, but that doesn’t give me the right to lampoon an entire country and its people just because they seem to lack any sense of direction or driving rules. Or humor. Or hearing.

After my seventh or eighth reading of my entire blog repertoire, I started to feel ashamed of the negativity and the stereotyping so prominent in many of the pieces. I was writing like a reactionary American, not an open-minded world traveler.

But I aim to make amends. There’s a wonderful quote that I once heard or came up with myself: “You can change the world simply by changing your mind.” When things seem to suck, you need only to view what’s going on from a different perspective, such as that of a dying man or somebody who just got transferred to Newark, and soon the situations, sights and behaviors that were initially bothering you will start to seem trivial, even endearing.

Since altering my mindset – a process that has been aided by Vicodin and Valium – I’ve come to realize just how lucky Miranda and I are to have been given this once in a life-time experience in Puebla, Mexico, just how much beauty and mystique surrounds us, and just how limber I can be.

So, what I’d like to do now is go back over some of our previously cited Mexican struggles and annoyances, and highlight the brighter side of each.

The Crooked Cops. Yes, at first you will be miffed about being pulled over for doing nothing wrong and getting extorted by a fat man who smells of smoke and cilantro, but there are benefits to such a seemingly unjust and unsavory occurrence. For one, you’ll get to practice your Spanish with somebody new, perhaps even learn some new vocabulary – like the word for “bribe” or how to say “suspend your license.” In addition, while you are being escorted by police motorcycle to a clandestine ATM machine, you will get to see parts of the city that few tourists ever discover. Exposure to such exotic, off-the-beaten-path areas can be a godsend, especially if you happen to be a weapons collector or have always wanted to know how crystal meth is made.

The Death-Defying Drivers. While you as an American with license plates to match are getting pulled over for letting your tires revolve while accelerating, Mexican drivers who run through red lights and shopping centers are totally left alone. Unnerving initially, but actually quite enjoyable once you learn how to get out of the way. In America, you would typically have to go to a large stadium on a Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! and pay upwards of $50 to $75 to see a pick-up truck drive over another vehicle, but here in Puebla it’s free and occurs daily right outside your door. Another positive is that the total lack of road rules will likely discourage you from ever trying to drive again down here, which is good for the environment, and enables you to take the money you’d normally spend on gas and put it toward the police bribes you’ll be making to avoid a jaywalking ticket. And if you do decide to continue driving in Puebla, you can be assured that the constant tension and torsion of your body as you grip the wheel in terror will help you to develop well-defined arms, abs and gluteus muscles, thus making it easier to kick the shit out of any meth addicts who try to accost you while at the ATM.

The Bad, Blaring Music. True, I have ripped into and ridiculed Mexican music in several of my blog pieces; however, I have since learned to accept it and to appreciate what it has done for Miranda and me. If it weren’t for Mexican music, I would spend much more time outside of our apartment, where the vodka is a lot more expensive than the bottle in my freezer. Also, excess time outdoors would greatly limit the amount of blog writing I could get done, as well as put me at a much higher risk of being struck by a pick-up truck or getting extorted by Puebla’s finest. Furthermore, hearing how awful yet extremely popular the music and musicians are here has given Miranda and me the confidence to form a band of our own, where she plays the kazoo while I rap and smash bottles together. Our first single is currently number 2 on the Mexican Top 40, right behind a song by a mariachi band that specializes in Shaun Cassidy covers.

Our Struggle to Make Friends. Though I think the local people will really start to take to us after they read this posting and see how open I am becoming to their culture, Miranda and I remain relatively amigo-less in Puebla. But the truth is, we are quite fortunate that such is the case. If we were in Austin, where we are adored by so many, we would be hemorrhaging cash. Miranda would be buying dresses for all the cocktail parties we’d have to attend, and purchasing gifts for all the baby showers she has been invited to; and I would be spending a ton of money on Miranda to make up for coming home at 4 am when out with all my drinking buddies. But here in Puebla, our non-existent social life has left us with more than enough funds to get Miranda a top-of-the-line kazoo for the band, and to fly my shrink down every two weeks.


As you can see, by simply changing my perspective and my attitude, Puebla has completely transformed from being a hum-drum city full of annoyances to a place where I may very well not commit suicide or murder. In addition to all the positives I have pointed out in this piece, let me remind you also that the food here is quite good, the climate is quite nice, and, most importantly, it’s only a 20-minute ride to the airport.