Atlas Mugged

Sunday marked the 10th day I’d been in Mexico, and it also happened to mark the day I got mugged. While it obviously wasn’t peaches, ice cream or The Goonies, the way I see it, it’s like getting the chicken pox or watching Dirty Dancing with a new girlfriend – it’s good to get it out of the way early.

I’ll save you all of the details, but there was some pushing, shoving, and some extremely poor attempts at Spanish (My favourite might have been, “Malo hombre! Malo hombre!” [“Bad man! Bad man!”]) Towards the end of the whole ordeal I was cara-to-cara with the guy. Once he realized I wasn’t just going to hand over my wallet, he started throwing a few punches. Now, I’ve learned that you can never be sure how you’ll react in such situations until you’re actually in them. While some might have let their animalistic impulses kick in, I resorted to my natural Gandhi instincts. (It’s time like this I wish my idol was GSP and not a 90 pound piece of al a dente spaghetti from Bombay). In my own defence I feel I was thinking quite rationally, for I realized at the time there were only three possible outcomes.

One, I serendipitously threw some punches to his face (and by punches to his face, I mean knees to his groin) and actually harmed the assailant. (Had this happened, from that day forth, whenever someone spoke of the “Miracle” they would no longer be referring to a silly hockey game in 1980, but the great Mexican upset of 2011). Needless to say, I would have definitely sustained a few bumps and bruises along the way, but boy would I have been riding high with a lifetime boxing record of 1-0. Of course this glory would have been short lived as the two guys waiting in the car would have surely tainted my moment. In the end the outcome would be me on the ground, in serious pain and without a wallet.

Two, I try to throw some punches to his face (and by punches to his face, I of course mean knees to his groin), but to no avail. Maybe I land a good patella to his grapes, and maybe I don’t, but in the end the outcome would be me on the ground, in serious pain and without a wallet.

Three, I could realize the guy means business, hand over my wallet and avoid any serious damage; except the emotional scarring that happens every time my ancient, air-conditioner kick-starts and makes the exact same noise as an intruder and I find myself with wet pyjamas. Incidentally, the stoic approach is the advice given by Lonely Planet and therefore cannot be disputed by any mortal.

Of course there has now been talk of me finding some means of protection. People have thrown out a variety of ideas including: honing my roundhouse kicks, gaining 30 pounds, getting mace and growing a moustache. Ultimately though, I know what the paragon of self-defence is, and will use the words of comedian Pablo Francisco to share with you.

“Latin women are the best... because if you get in a fight or something they’ll help you out. In my neighbourhood if you’ve got a Latin girlfriend you don’t need a big brother. You get hit in the face [and you’re like], ‘#$&!. Let me go get my girlfriend.’
“They’ll get right in there man. Some guy comes to your party looking to kick your ass... [and your latin girlfriend asks him], ‘What’s going on? He’s my boyfriend. What’s up ese? Com mun stupid!’
“Essay... are you calling me a term paper or something?”
[Fight ensues]
[Once the smoke settles your Latin girlfriend says], “Oh my god, you’re still alive... here hold my baby.”
[Finishes him]

Watch the extended video here:
http://comedians.jokes.com/pablo-francisco/videos/pablo-francisco---latin-women

In all seriousness though, I was hesitant to comment on the incident because it perpetuates a stereotype that the people here have been assuring me just isn’t true. There is violence in this area, but it’s of a different kind. I’m told this sort of thing is extremely rare. I live in a town of millions of people, who go to work, shop at Wal-Marts, and drive nice cars i.e. they go about their lives everyday just like the people in any other city.

I’ll leave you with one thought: imagine me, my physicality and the streets of Oakland. I’d be lucky to last the night.

Estoy aqui

Hola mi amigos

I have arrived in Mexico after a six hour stopover in the Houston airport, which seemed a little like Mexico lite. Spanish, moustaches, necklaces with crucifixes and shorter people were aplenty.


A sweet SkyMall ad I found in a magazine. And I quote: "... featuring a variety of designs to make wearing respiratory masks fun."

Allow me to backtrack a bit by telling you all a tale that happened to me while I was still in Toronto. The American passport control officer attempted to make some conversation with me at Pearson airport. Upon gazing at my passport, the man noted that I had an “interesting” last name. In politeness, I gave the man permission to chortle. Of course he refrained from any outward tittering, which was polite I suppose, but he then asked if my last name was Native American. De veras? My last name has been the topic of conversation on more than one occasion, but nobody has ever asked such a thing before. (Not even an American...hey oh). I thought to myself, I’m not sure that’s exactly how the Natives used to pick those sorts of names. Just imagine the following conversation way back in the day: “How. Welcome to our land, This is my wife Thick Bush and he my friend Tiny Stick.” And to tell you the truth, I was actual put off by the whole thing, for I felt ‘Ferris’ didn’t have much credibility when it came to name calling.


Another SkyMall ad. The jokes write themselves.

I have a small complaint when it comes to flying. I dislike the power pilots flex when it comes to turning on and off the seatbelt sign while at cruising altitude. Sometimes the light comes on when there’s a little turbulence, and while I guess I understand the logic, I’m still a little apprehensive. Walking around during turbulence is no worse than walking out onto a floating dock. And people aren't just being projected into the water on those things. And besides, if I want to stand up and take the chance of accidently falling into the lap of a divorcee isn’t that my risk? But that’s definitely not the worst of it. There’s other times when I think they just put the light on to show us their power and let us know who’s boss at 35,000 feet. It’s like when a dog starts growling during an amicable game of fetch, when old people ask you to remove your hat once indoors or when you’re getting a lap dance and the stripper tells you, “no touching.”


This is a real Mexican coin. It's 10 cents, which is worth about 8/10ths of a Canadian cent. I bought 3 tacos, a side of beans and a drink with it. Totally joking.

A few people have been a touch concerned for my safety here in Mexico, so I would like to take this opportunity to inform everyone that things are going to be just fine. I spent my first night at a nice hotel and ate at Applebees. There is nothing to worry about, and besides, I like to consider myself a bit of a man’s man. I don’t want to say that I’m not afraid to die, but I would like to think that I laugh in the face of danger. I think in this dog eat dog world a strong macho offense that cracks a few skulls is probably the best approach. P.S. Mom, thanks so much for the snackies. Felt really great in my tum-tum.