Ensenada

Don’t light a match near a “Whale Farting”

“The day my car blew up in Ensenada” (not really)

It could have been written by someone else in the “Obituary Column” and said, “The day Tom’s car blew to Smithereens in Ensenada”

As normal, I left this morning at 10AM, on my once-a-month major grocery shopping excursion. I’ve pinned it down to two stores, Smart & Final, and Walmart (when I need more of my meds), normally a two-hour round-trip.

When I first moved here the end of May last year, every time that I ventured out was a real adventure for me, but now almost eight months later, I’ve memorized all the really bad damage-causing “Pot-Holes” (ask my three tires that I had to replace), and the trip into town has become somewhat mundane. I needed groceries, so I had to make the now easy journey.

Added to the itinerary today was a stop at the propane dude down the hill from me. I had done this once before, putting the empty propane tank on the floor on the front passenger side of my vehicle, no biggie.

About a block from my first destination, “Smart & Final”, I did not see, (since my eyes are constantly scanning the road in front of me for pot-holes), but I heard this almost explosive-gaseous-like whoosh from the passenger side. It only lasted a split second. At first I thought perhaps my water-jug was burping, as IT was sitting upright on the front passenger seat, as if guarding the propane tank on the floor in front of it.

So now I’m a little concerned, (more than just curious). Was it the propane tank that made that sound like a huge momentary whale fart? As soon as I pulled into the parking lot of Smart & Final and turned off my ignition, I got out of my car, walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, took the propane tank out, set it on the ground, took my index finger and covered the little whole where the “Pressure Relief Valve” is supposed to be. Not only could I feel a slight pressure on my finger, (of the escaping propane gas), I could actually SEE the fine mist of the propane gas slowly escaping.

Now, for those who are NOT aware, propane tanks have what’s called, a “Pressure Relief Valve”, a valve that normally doesn’t function in ambient temperatures, and it is there primarily to release propane if the temperature is increased to the point where, due to the heat surrounding the tank, the “Pressure Relief Valve” functions as it’s name, it relieves the pressure that has built up because of the tank being heated and the “Gas” expanding. That’s why you DO NOT want to seek shelter near your propane tank if your house is on fire.

Well, my guess is that when the propane dude was filling up my tank, and opening and closing the “Pressure Relief Valve” with a tiny screwdriver, (a test?) he failed to tighten that screw properly.

Back to the Smart & Final, and to make this long story shorter, eventually the Ensenada Police arrived, who called the Ensenada Fire Department, who eventually called the particular propane gas company, who eventually showed up with a tiny screwdriver to tighten that tiny little screw that opens and closes that “Pressure Relief Valve”, which was more than likely only loosened enough to cause it to “Blow” a little, loosening the screw just enough for it to have constant leakage. My 30-45-minute normal shopping trip at the Smart & Final turned into a 2 ½ hour visit.

Moral of the story, (for me at least) in two parts:

1) I shall always make the propane stop, the last stop instead of the first.

2) Think about this for a second. Had I indeed waited and made my propane stop last, instead of first, and arriving home, hooked my little tank up to my space-heater, got warm and cozy, went to bed, NOT hearing that slightly loosened “Pressure Relief Valve” screw cause the valve to “Blow” perhaps in the middle of the night, releasing all five gallons of its contents into my house, you all might have been reading a different story tomorrow morning, after the lighting of my stove to make my first pot of “French Press” coffee. “Large explosion rocks the coastline of Ensenada, one person missing”. Of course, I’m sure that I would have smelled something “fishy” in the morning, unless some small spark blew me to “Kingdom-Come” in the middle of the night.

P. S. I LOVE living here, and tonight as I am eating some store-broiled chicken breast, I have to say, the chickens here in Mexico are so good, they remind me of how tasty chicken was for me as a child growing up on a farm in Minnesota. For sure the chicken here is 1,000 percent better than the chicken in California.

Peace & Abide, La paz y la morada, السلام والالتزام , שלום ושמירה, Paix et Demeure, Խաղաղությունը եւ մնալը, Мир и пребывание,, 平和と遵守, 和平與恪守, Aştî û Abad, صلح و عبید, Fred och Abide, Kapayapaan at Patuloy, Frieden und Bleiben, Mir i Ostanite, शांति और निवास, Hòa bình và ở lại, Мир и Абиде, שלום און בלייַבן, สันติภาพและการปฏิบัติ, Mir in bivanje,

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD, RSISHE

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For my faithful readers that are aware that I’m finally working on “The Dead Armadillo” story, like say, a Producer, or a Director, or a Screenwriter or someone or a company that desires to option my novel, you can contact me at any time, night or day. If you are a one of those faithful readers that wish to read and follow my progress as I work on this novel, I will be posting updates as a PDF file on every new post on this website/blog. Here’s the latest of “The Dead Armadillo”

DeadArmadilloInManuscriptFormat022721A

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This website is not filled with a bunch of “Click-On” ads for the latest in “Toothbrushes” “Fashion” or “Free trips to wherever” generating millions of pesos in income. We are not seeking your financial support as a primary goal or function of this website, although we know at some point, that we will have the necessary funding to carry out our mission at ITAD-NAO. First and foremost, If you feel this is worthy of your financial support and you do donate, that’s great, and we sincerely thank you, but first and foremost we are looking for your involvement with whatever skill-sets you may have to offer. Communicate with us, help us organize, help us plan, and help us execute the plan. Thank you

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THE COURIER – 2012 – A must see movie!

THE COURIER – 2012

Link to the movie on YouTube is at the end of this review

From Wikipedia:

The Courier is a 2012 American direct-to-video action film directed by Hany Abu-Assad and produced by Michael Arata, starring Jeffrey Dean Morgan as a courier who specializes in delivering high-risk packages.

DIRECT TO VIDEO! WHAT THE FUCK? Something REALLY fucked up here, because this movie was awesome, and Oscar worthy. Oh, I know why. Because it wasn’t made or supported by the powers in control of “Hollywood”, you know, the Zebraists!! Another reason the Zebraists turned their backs on this film back in 2012 is because the Director, Hany Abu-Assad (Arabic: هاني أبو أسعد‎; born 11 October 1961) is a Dutch-Palestinian film director who received two Academy Award nominations: in 2006 for his film Paradise Now, and again in 2013 for his film Omar. HE’S NOT A ZEBRAIST! From Production through Advertising through Film Distribution all the way to the Major Theatre Chains and so-called Professional Movie Critics, ALL controlled by the Zebraists! FUCK THEM! This was an awesome movie!

Cast:

Jeffrey Dean Morgan as “The Courier”/ Sivle
Mickey Rourke as Maxwell
Josie Ho as Anna
Til Schweiger as Agent Lispy
Lili Taylor as Mrs Capo
Miguel Ferrer as Mr Capo
Mark Margolis as Stitch
Alec Rayme as The Kidnapper

Reception:

Robert Kolarik of the San Antonio Express-News wrote that the film start off well but loses its way once it starts to fill in the courier’s back story. Gabe Toro of Indiewire rated it D+ and wrote that the film “almost seems embarrassed by its content”. Tyler Foster of DVD Talk rated it 1.5/5 stars and wrote, “The Courier is a tired thriller, filled with tired actors playing tired characters, wrapped up in a tired story.” Gordon Sullivan of DVD Verdict called it “a thoroughly average B-action-thriller” of interest only to Morgan’s fans.

WHAT FUCKING MORONS! THE PROFESSIONAL MOVIE CRITICS WERE JUST WRONG. EITHER HAD THEIR HEADS UP THEIR ASSHOLES, OR DIDN’T LIKE NOT BEING PAID FOR A REAL MOVIE REVIEW. SHAME ON THEM!

From Arclight Films Website:

A million bucks, just to deliver a briefcase…

The catch is delivering it to a killer as elusive as a nightmare and so feared the entire Underworld trembles at the mention of his name.

But THE COURIER (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) is no ordinary carrier. In a business that asks no questions he’s the best there is, and with the life of his only friend held to ransom there’s no way he’s missing the drop, come hell or high water.

Hounded by hitmen and hustlers, double dealing feds and double crossing accomplices, the Courier embarks on an impossible search for the bogeyman of the underworld, a search that unravels his own murky past.

And if he ever makes the drop, the best in the business at finding people will discover why it’s so tough to find the best at making them disappear.

My own list of credits taken from the film itself:

Director: Hany Abu-Assad

Produced By: Gary Hamilton & Mike Gabrawy

Producer: Conroy Chan

Producers: RC Everbeck, Dale Poniewwaz

Executive Producers: Carsten Lorenz, Andrew Ooi, Jason Hewitt, Avram Butch Kaplan, Victor Syrmis, Jeffrey Kranzdorf, Ryan Gilbert, Wai But Tang, Michael Arata, John Calhoun, Patrick Calhoun, Will French, Stephen Roberts, Todd R. Slack,

Co-Executive Producers: Jon Scanlon, Stuart Sutherland, Michael Leow

Associate Producers: John Kim, Brian Beckmann

Co-Producers: Joel Morrish, Robert Orr

Writers: Pete Dris & Brannon Coombs

REVIEW BY DR. SAXE, DD, RSISHE

First of all, the dude that uploaded this movie, kirov2000, to YouTube deserves some kind if award, like “Best YouTube Movie Upload Ever” award. It was the highest resolution ever so far, and excellent sound. Bravo to the dude that uploaded this!

This scene from 23 minutes and 30 seconds to 25 minutes and 58 seconds, into the movie, is in itself an Oscar winning scene. In fact, it was slightly hard to choose between four or five other scenes. That’s how frickin good this movie is.

This is such an amazing thing written and acted in the movie. We see the transition of “The Courier”, the main character, wonderfully portrayed by Jeffrey Dean Morgan where the “Courier” instantly transitions from this hard-core dude with no outward displays of humor, empathy, love, etcetera, into this new dude, that is suddenly exuding the first sign of emotion, and the audience would be having difficulty trying to figure out what that emotion was. Was it love? Was it because right at that moment, he had an enormous Woodie? That transitions in the “Smell of your perfume” bit from “Love” or “Horniness”, into perhaps the perfume reminded him of a woman that he loved a long time ago, and THAT makes you think that perhaps that love of his life was dead, which turned him into a almost zombie-like unfeeling dude.

That’s it. That’s as far as I’ve gone in the movie so far, 25 minutes. So, excuse me while I go watch some more. I’ll possibly be stopping again somewhere in movie to write some more.

I have not started the movie again yet. I went outside to have a smoke, and I began talking to myself, out loud that is. That’s when I transitioned from slightly stoned, too really stoned. Everything I thought, i.e., every thought was being verbalized. Even my last utterance “Out Loud” was, ” That’s when I transitioned from slightly stoned, too really stoned. Everything I thought, i.e., every thought was being verbalized. FUCK! Now I can watch more of the movie, maybe the entire movie. Except the funny feeling that I’m going to be stopping again to write about another 28 seconds of the movie. I’ll be back. Then I look down on the floor alongside the couch here and see my can of Dos XX that I forgot all about. Josie Ho, the actress in that scene that plays Anna, just 5 seconds of her thoughts/emotions went from a sort of, oh well, to a sudden empathy or compassion as she all of a sudden offered to help him with his wound. That five seconds alone was played so well, she deserves an Oscar, as well as the Director, Hany Abu Assad, for that entire scene (and the movie), as he was able to give direction to the two actors in that scene, as a direct and accurate interpretation of the screenwriter’s (story originator) intention for the characters emotional transitions. Which means that the screenwriters Pete Dris & Brannon Coombs both deserve an Oscar, and if they were just screenwriters interpreting from someone else’s novel, or story, THAT dude deserves a Pulitzer Prize AND an Oscar.

This dude the “Courier” is a fucking MacGyver in the interrogation scene when the fat deputy leaves the room.

44 minutes and 44 seconds in is the next contender for “Best Scene” Oscar. Where Ana (Josie Ho) comes in saying, ” I can’t find Stitch”. In the scene we see the “Courier” (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) tell her that Stitch is dead, just with the tiny changes in his facial expressions. Superb acting! All I have to say about this scene is “a kiss out of compassion, not sexual at all” how well performed and how real that kiss is, .

That dude the “Courier” is a Sherlock Holmes and the original writer/story teller is a frickin William Shakespeare. Oh, and my “Open Face Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich” which I just invented is awesome. Like Pancakes or Waffles with PBJ smeared on heavy, only it’s just two slices of un-toasted bread. I need to add this to my book, “Gourmet Recipes for the Toothless”.

Here’s the clincher for the Pulitzer Prize for the writer. Beginning at 1 hour, 18 minutes and 15 seconds into the film, where the “Courier” and the audience receives the revelation at the same time. “Evil Sivle” spelled backwards is “Elvis Live”.

More “Executive Producers, Co-Producers, Producers, and Associate Producers than Campbell’s has “Soups”.

A most bizarre but wonderful experience tonight, taking 3 hours and 45 minutes to watch a movie that’s an hour and a half long. Tomorrow night I’m going to watch it again. This time all the way through without stopping.

THE END

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For those of you that would care to get involved with me on this project, as I intend to hire a professional screenwriter at some point, and produce a feature film, I have recently been approved for a KICKSTARTER campaign where you can contribute. Here is the link to the KICKSTARTER campaign.

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD, RSISHE

ITAD-NAO Home

Some immediate needs. On a volunteer basis for now, we need a WEBMASTER who can work on the ITAD-NAO website, we need a person skilled in “Crowd-Funding” and “Director of Charitable Giving”, we need an attorney to help in the legal matters for ITAD_NAO, including setting us up as a tax-exempt “Church”, we need a Certified CPA to insure the financial integrity of the ITAD-NAO organization, we need a “Chief of Security”, we need a film-maker, first for YouTube, eventually for larger platforms, plus a few other positions. We believe that somewhere down the road, a Billionaire will step up to the plate and write a check for $50 Million or so, which will turn those volunteer positions into paid positions.

Strain: ENSENADA SMOOTHIE, Harvested June 2019 (My own strain. Yes. I was slightly stoned when I wrote this review, HAHAHAHAHAHA)

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Here’s the YouTube link: https://youtu.be/gU4rBOxsRoE?t=159

This website is not filled with a bunch of “Click-On” ads for the latest in “Toothbrushes” “Fashion” or “Free trips to wherever” generating millions of pesos in income. We are not seeking your financial support as a primary goal or function of this website, although we know at some point, that we will have the necessary funding to carry out our mission. First and foremost, If you feel this is worthy of your financial support and you do donate, that’s great, and we sincerely thank you, but first and foremost we are looking for your involvement with whatever skill-sets you may have to offer. Communicate with us, help us organize, help us plan, and help us execute the plan. Thank you

Send Dr. Saxe a comment using the form below:

Tequila Sunrise versus an Ensenada Sunrise

We all know what a Tequila Sunrise is, you know, the drink. An Ensenada Sunrise is when you are driving on ANY major street at dawn, in this case, you’re going North on the Avenue Reforma (Highway 1) at 5:57 am towards the main city portion of Ensenada and you can’t quite see the road surface. You want to be there when the largest Swap-Meet in Baja opens up their gates at 6:30 am, hoping to score a nice, slightly used sofa and some weed.

When all of sudden, and it’s not that you don’t see them in time, it’s because you fucking didn’t see them at all. The mother-fucking POTHOLES. No, I didn’t imply that there was just ONE POTHOLE by putting an “S” on the end of the word POTHOLES.

As implied, two deep and sharp-edged potholes, one immediately after the other, in rapid, fully automatic action. The two sudden violent assaults against my vehicle bounced me 8 times in one and a half seconds, like I was a kid on speed bouncing in one of those bouncing castle things the rich kids have in their backyard on their birthdays.

Then you FEEL the damage happening to your car, your tires, your Degenerative Arthritic back, injured in Vietnam over 50 years ago. The two potholes tore up both my right front tire and left rear tire, and later on I would find out from the dude at the tire store, “Both of your rims have sustained considerable damage, dents into the rim enough that we will have to refuse to sell you the two tires that you require, if you ask us to do so. In fact, we refuse to sell you the two tires you require in any circumstance because you might just walk out the door carrying those two tires you desire and go home and have Mike your neighbor assist you in mounting them. We cannot be a part of that.

If you somehow do something to get a good seal, stuff banana leaves filled with donkey shit or whatever, in the gap where the air seems to be escaping from between the Magnesium Wheels and the tires, and you are driving down some populated section of this Beautiful City of Ensenada, and those two tires suddenly deflate, sending your vehicle into a crowd of tourists that had just disembarked from the “Red-Light Special” Cruise Ship from Tijuana, filled with a lot of gringos from San Diego (and within a 200 mile range of San Diego, basically all of Southern California and the South-West portion of Arizona, and two dudes from Colorado) we would feel liable. Worst yet, what if you actually hit a Mexican? OMG! Think of it. So good bye, have a nice day, no tires for you, Vamoosee!” That, is an Ensenada Sunrise………..Versus a Tequila Sunrise…….

Which you probably had several of that day after killing 12 gringos and maiming-for-life five other tourists from the cruise ship, the “Red-Light Special” out of Tijuana…….Oh, and the one Mexican dude that was hawking flags to this crowd of gringos looking for a good time. The Mexican vendor was waving cheap little miniature American “Stars & Stripes” flags and some really nice Mexican flags of three different sizes when you splattered him all over the pavement at 5:57 am this morning.

But how can it be that you weren’t arrested on the spot, blood on your front bumper, hood and windshield and all the dead and soon to be dead, strewn all over the sidewalk, and instead, you would be sitting at home when the Federales burst through your front and back doors, and you are wasted, because you had consumed six Tequila Sunrises and three bowls of really good Mexican weed after walking ten miles to get home. Thinking to yourself, “Oh well, it’s Mike’s car, not mine. I might have enough time to pack my bags and skeedaddle back to San Diego. I think the next bus is at 5:00 pm tonight.

So, you get home, have a Tequila Sunrise, and start packing your bags. Not even finished with the packing of the first of three suitcases, you light up a bowl of that wonderful Mexican weed. About 7.36 minutes later you think to yourself, “Hey! I can’t carry three bags walking! You had originally arrived with the three suitcases two years ago on the Tijuana Cruise Ship, the “Red-Light Special” and decided to look up an old acquaintance from back in Los Angeles, Mike. You stayed with him a few months, and then rented your own house two houses away from Mike. You mix another Tequila Sunrise and sit there contemplating the price of pencils in Moscow.

The vehicle you were driving at “Sunrise” this morning belongs to your good neighbor Mike who told the police about 12 minutes ago, when he got home from work, that he had loaned you his huge Ford Dually 4WD to you so that you could bring a sofa home. Now add the sound of 5 Federales crashing through your front door. THAT is an Ensenada Sunrise versus a Tequila Sunrise.

Peace & Abide,

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD, RSISH

For those of you that have enjoyed reading my posts and pages, and would like to make a small donation in support of my writing efforts, I have now set up a PayPal account for you to contribute $1 or so, or you can send some homemade Venison Jerky or Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups , your donation is 100% tax deductible.

The day my car fell into a pothole in Ensenada

El día que mi carro se cayó en un bache en Ensenada.

I’m just joking with my title for this article of course. On a serious note however, this is a quick story of my own recent experience, comments and suggestions.

The reason I have to replace one of my tires today isn’t because of the roads here where my Casa de Hippie is, it’s because of the main roads in Ensenada.

The dirt roads in our private gated community of Rancho Packard are not so bad that they can cause tire damage, with all the dips and furrows caused by the rain over the years. The potholes of Ensenada, now that’s a different issue.

The first couple of days driving into the city from our little community, I had no fuckin’ clue just how bad the city streets are. Even at fairly low speeds, like 25 to 30 MPH, a few really bad cavernous holes in the road took me by surprise. Sudden, and sharply deep enough that even the humongous tires on a 4WD truck would cry out in pain. That’s how bad the public roads are in Ensenada, and probably most major cities in Mexico.

I quickly have learned how to navigate these treacherous trenches of evil. I’ve always kept several car lengths between myself and the vehicle in front of me. NOW, I observe what is happening to the vehicle in front of me. If I see that the person that I’m following is swerving (to avoid the craters), or I see their vehicle undulating, rockin’ and a rollin’ as they drive right through a pothole without a care in the world, or were taken by surprise, I know right then and there that a big one is coming, and it’s coming, QUICKLY. I slow down, swerve to avoid if it’s safe to do so, or a slow down to a point where my vehicle can crawl over the chasm safely. One thing I also should mention. Drivers down here, for some reason, tailgate, and honk their fucking horns. Keep calm, flipping them the bird will get you nowhere.

My suggestion? That dude Carlos Slim, number two or three, sometimes number one richest dude in the world, COULD donate what would be pocket change from his vast wealth and fill ALL the potholes in Mexico. Think about it Mr. Slim, if you happen to read this little essay. While you’re at it, please pave the roads here in Rancho Packard, thank you for your kind generosity. Hey Mr. Slim, just think of all the jobs you would create, and all the families you would help.

Peace & Abide (La paz y la morada)

How many years must the Cannon Balls fly, before they are forever banned?

PTSD

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Hit a tree going down some “Bunny Slope” in Aspen and broke both legs? I doubt if you will experience PTSD.

You are tortured for two days by an enemy and they finally cap that off with breaking your legs with baseball bats? You just MAY develop PTSD after that, if you survive to even think about it.

You are at Fort Stewart, Georgia as part of the 3^rd Infantry Division, being trained to operate a M1A1/2 Main Battle Tank. You are clumsy enough to have your left foot in the wrong place and a tank runs over that foot severely crushing it during a training exercise. Back home on leave you, with your left foot in a cast, are sitting in a bar with some friends from High School, and you tell them, and some hot looking chick that you were wounded by an IED in Afghanistan. You poor little thing, your fake PTSD isn’t really fake after all, it’s childhood PTSD from growing up in a violent home. You beat the shit out of that hot looking chick that night because she refused to suck your joystick. Recognize it for what it is. Childhood PTSD, (with all due respect to your “service”), IS real, and there should have been a through mental evaluation before you even “volunteered” to go “Kill Some Camel Jockeys”.

The point is, the military, all branches, SHOULD have a system of screening the mentally unstable, preventing them from ever enlisting in the “Armed Forces” in the first place. But wait! Mentally unstable dudes make good cannon fodder, just look at what the military sent to Vietnam. Many of the young dudes that were “drafted” and sent to Vietnam were the poor and middle-class dudes that were dispensable, many already strung out on dope, some avoiding prison sentences for various crimes against society. I guess if you’re going to sacrifice young men and women, it may as well be the undesirables. Right?

In recent history, Iraq and Afghanistan, the problem is that many of the dudes enlisting were normal when they joined, then in boot camp, we trained them to kill like a crazy man, and these crazy ones return even crazier. When they return from the killing, they go into “Law Enforcement”. Now, our society probably deserves that, right?

A vast majority of the “Sheeple” really believe that it is an honorable and respectable thing to go to “War”, to sacrifice yourself or your children for “Freedom & Democracy”. Here’s a thought, maybe Trump should send HIS children into some foreign country with weapons in their hands. Oh wait, we have an all “Volunteer” Army/Navy/ Marine Corps/ Air Force, right? No draft. If we DID have a draft, Trump’s children, and the children of many other rich fucks would suddenly have “Bone Spurs”.

The truth is, ever since Vietnam, there has been a growing population of Veterans who have learned the truth about war and killing, and have joined many anti-war groups like “Veterans Against War”. What is it they discovered? They learned, after serving the Good Ole USA and the fight for Democracy & Freedom, that it was all about OIL and the financial gain of the few, the elite at the top of the pyramid.

Now back to PTSD. If somehow, we manage to eliminate wars, in other words, eliminate reasons for sending our children to wars, that takes care of a large percentage of decent young men & women that enter the various branches of the military as normal people, and return, maimed for life, physically and mentally. Eliminating the need to send our children to other countries to kill and be killed, will allow us, as a species, to concentrate/focus on those who are seriously fucked up due to childhood PTSD. Make sense? I think so.

Gee, what if we spend the billions and billions of dollars that we currently spend on the huge war machine commonly known as the “Military/Industrial Complex”, on re-building our infrastructure, various things like bridges, roads, etcetera. What if we use that ungodly amount of dollars to fund research and development of cures for all diseases? What if we also use that money to defeat starvation, homelessness, etcetera? What if we spend those insane dollars on further development of mass transit and space exploration? Makes sense, right?

My Grandson is going to be seven-years old this month. I DO NOT want to see him going to war when he’s 19. Think about it folks, that is all I ask of you, is to think about it. If you have ANY common sense at all, you will wake up and realize that what I have been preaching, and what other like-minded folks have been preaching for a long time now, is the truth, and “The TRUTH shall set you free”.

P. S. Being that I am an optimist, I believe that I will live long enough to one day hear my grandson say to me, “Grandpa, please tell me again what war and killing people was all about”. I believe we will find peace eventually if we can accomplish a miracle or two, or three. If you agree to all the wars, and you are a shareholder in several companies that manufacture weapons of war, it is beyond stupid, it’s insane, give yourself a Lobotomy. If you are a Zebraist, or support Zebraism, your just due is coming very soon.

or those who have been keeping up with my progress with “The Dead Armadillo” story, here’s my latest:

TheDeadArmadilloManuscript112619

Yadhum oore yaavarum kelir, “The World Is One Family”

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD, RSISHE

www.itad-nao.com

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The Cigar Store Indian

My conversation today at a shop in Ensenada that I THOUGHT was a Cigar Shop. I was taken there by my iphone map app. What turned out to be…….

Me: “Do you have small cigarillos”

Spanish Translation: “tienes cigarillos pequeños”

(I do NOT speak a lick of Spanish, the preceding translation, like all of the following, are purely for educational purposes…..perhaps I might learn a little Spanish?)

Store Clerk/Artist: “No tenemos cigarros de ningún tipo, señor”

English Translation: “We have no cigars of any kind, senor”

Me: “Then what’s that Cigar Store Indian doing outside the door as I walked in?”

Spanish Translation: “Entonces, ¿qué está haciendo el indio de la tienda de cigarros afuera de la puerta cuando entré?”

Store Clerk/Artist: “Señor, creo que ese es el abuelo de José, el hombre que posee la tienda de cigarros que se mudó”

English Translation: “Senor, I think that’s the grandfather of Jose, the man that owns the cigar store that moved”

Me: “Why is he still here?”

Spanish Translation: “Por qué sigue aquí?”

Store Clerk/Artist: “Jose lo olvidó”

English Translation: “Jose forgot him”

Me: “He looks like a gnarly old wooden statue to me, and why is he standing so still then?”

Spanish Translation: “A mí me parece una vieja estatua de madera, y ¿por qué está tan quieto entonces?”

Store Clerk/Artist: “Tiene 107 años. También te verías así si trabajaras en los campos de Agave durante 90 años. Sí, él se queda bastante quieto cuando está estreñido”

English Translation: He’s 107 years old. You’d look like that too if you worked in the Agave fields for 90 years. Yeah, he does stand pretty still when he’s constipated

Me: “Does he ever move from that spot?”

Spanish Translation: “Alguna vez se mueve de ese lugar?”

Store Clerk/Artist: “Solo una vez al día cuando se caga el pantalón”

English Translation: “Only once a day when he shits his pants”

The Cigar Store had obviously moved, and the reason I tagged on the “/Artist” is because it was now a Tattoo Shop, with a Constipated Cigar Store Indian hanging around outside, and I was speaking with a “Tattoo Artist”.

Of course, the previous story is purely fiction, except the true part is that the Cigar Store HAD moved, and there really WAS a Tattoo Shop there in its place, this is what I discovered after driving through the heart of Ensenada from the very south end, to the very north end of the city of Ensenada, letting my iphone map thingy guide me turn by turn, pothole by pothole, taking me to the street address and a store that used to be the location of Habanos Cigar Shop at 335? Avenue Primera, Zona Centro, 22800 right next door to Papas & Beer Event Ticket Office, according to my iphone.

I confirmed with the nice young senorita working the ticket office for Papas that, indeed, there used to be a cigar store next door. The tattoo shop was closed. At home this evening I discovered with someone’s help, that Habanos Cigar Shop was now at 1096 Avenida Blancarte, Zona Centro 22800. I’ll be going there at some point to check the place out, and hopefully get my cigarillos.

What really happened is spread over several days in my hunt for “Cigarillos” those thin little cigars made by Swisher Sweets and other manufacturers. I know they are not healthy for you either, but I switched to the little cigars in 2012 after being a cigarette smoker most of my life. No chemical additives I tell myself.

In various trips into town, everywhere I happened to be shopping at, mostly for food, I asked for my cigarillos. The two Walmart stores, two different grocery stores, etcetera. I also purposely stopped at three 7-11 Stores (same logo) and three various gas station ‘Marts”. Every place I looked, plenty of cigarettes, no cigarillos. I was beginning to see a pattern here, what it was still puzzles me. Not a single store, not even the liquor store close to the Tattoo Shop, had anything other than cigarettes.

The very last 7-11 on the way back home didn’t have cigarillos either, but while I was in line waiting to ask the question, I asked the dude behind me if he spoke English. He did. A young dude from Texas. He had been down there in Ensenada for a while, and he and I had a small conversation about the lack of certain types of tobacco products, which turned into a brief discussion about the easy access to weed, which turned into my following him to his truck, which turned into the nice dude sharing a little of his bud with me.

So, to cap this story off, I finally made it to the actual location of Habanos Cigar Store in the north end of Ensenada. Not without getting lost again, thanks to BOTH map/direction apps on my iphone leading me astray. The map/direction apps, the ones that have the pretty female voice saying things like, “At Los Angeles Avenue, make a right turn”. It’s okay in a town like Simi Valley, but when you are ON the correct street/avenue and the algorithm tells you, “Your destination is on the right”, obviously when you are driving, and looking for a small “Hole in the Wall” place like this cigar store I’d been looking for, you are looking to the right, looking for that storefront that you previously saw in the mapping/direction image.

Well, both the Goggle Map and the mapping system that comes built-in were WRONG! I finally made some common sense decisions and made a U-Turn and went the opposite direction towards the harbor. Mind you, I followed the map lady’s (voice) precisely. “Turn left, go straight, turn right”, and it STILL took me in the opposite direction. Even when I was now going in the right direction, even when my vehicle was directly in front of the cigar store, the frickin’ “Voice” was saying, “Your destination is on the left”. So, I looked to my right, and BEHOLD! I AM REALLY THERE! Must be Karma, because just as I looked to the right, a vehicle was backing out of a parking spot directly, and I mean if you measured it with a measuring tape, directly in front of the door of the cigar store.

Habanos Cigar Shop, at Avenida Blancarte Number 10, Zona Centro 22800, Ensenada, B. C. was worth the two days of searching. I bought some Mexican-Made cigarillos, and chatted with the owner, Martin, for about 30 minutes or so. His store has a walk-in Humidor, the kind you see in all good cigar stores, and his English was excellent. His store moved from the Tattoo Shop location six years ago. It’s real close to where all the tourists depart the cruise ships for a day of shopping. Unless someone comes up with a better suggestion, I highly recommend that you stop by Martin’s store.

Peace & Abide (La paz y la morada),

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD, RSISHE

The Gatekeeper

On my first day here, when I first followed Roy and his wife Esmeralda to see the house, I was busy driving behind their pick-up, and as Roy pulled up to this simple chain-link gate, it opened for him and I to drive thru, I thought to myself, gee, I’ll probably get my own “clicker” to open this gate, it’s nice that Roy has installed one of those “Automatic Gate Openers”.

About two hours later, as we were coming back from dinner (I was in the front passenger seat), when we pulled up to the gate and it “automatically “ opened, I said, “that’s cool, I didn’t see you click a clicker, the gate just “automatically” opened”. I momentarily thought maybe his “automatic” gate was opened by some sensor in his vehicle. Then Roy pointed over to this dude sitting there with a rope in his hand, which was attached to the gate, which he pulled open for us.

The “Gate Keeper” was sitting in a rudimentary shanty, a portion of it being a small travel trailer, to protect the dude from the sun. How efficiently Mexican is that? I plan on stopping sometime to say hello to the Gate Keeper, maybe bring him a basket of fruit or something, and a thermos bottle of my world famous “French Press” coffee.

Peace & Abide (La paz y la morada),

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD, RSISHE