Due to this crazy thing called life and these beings called humans, I’ve put my hobo stick over my shoulder and moved back to So-Cal. Chilangabacha lives. I just go on more freeways, eat Del Taco whenever I want, and have access to the latest cases on The People’s Court.
Does that make me La Gabachilanga now? Mmm, creo que no. In case you wanna fight about it, check the carefully worded definition of “Chilangabacha.” Like the piece of chicle you stepped on in the metro, Mexico City sticks with you – for life! The first week I was back in So-Cal I ran into Hello Seahorse at a dive bar in Anaheim. I was like, “Shouldn’t you guys be at the dos por uno Sushi across from Superama tonight?” Vanilla Face was all, “No dude, I’m from Van Nuys.”
You should see what I’ve done to the coffeehouse where I’m currently working part time. Every morning I turn off all the David Grey and freaking Jack Johnson “Bubbly Toes” nonsense and turn on the Lila Downs Pandora station. It makes me feel empowered when I’m grinding beans. I’m also trying to convince my boss to put Molletes and Horchata Lattes on the menu. You know La Chilangabacha, always trying to bridge cultural gaps with frijoles and rice drinks.
I’m still going to continue to write regular travel pieces in Mexico, so stop giving me that “tu me has abandonada” stare. I’m going to TJ this weekend and back to DF the last weekend in March, so you can stop singing Paloma Negra, ok? Jeeze.