Zona

I received my copies of Matt Good's "In A Coma" today and immediately popped the acoustic disc in the player. It's simply amazing.

Thank you Matt.

Your friend and fan,

Dan

// posted by sinner @ 1:47 PM 2 Comments

Cool.

// posted by sinner @ 5:39 PM 3 Comments

Seventeen years ago this month I was hired as an Agent with the U.S. Border Patrol. I was sent to the academy at a temp facility in Alabama and stationed at the I-5 checkpoint near San Clemente, California.

I was a fun job back in those days but the greatest lesson I learned was from an illegal alien from Mexico who we had apprehended. We apprehended about 5 to 6 thousand illegal aliens a month back in the early 90's when I was at San Clemente.

Paperwork was done on every illegal alien we caught and this was the very first illegal alien I processed. He was from southern Mexico and was probably in his mid 40's although the rough life of these people tended to make them appear older.

We were trained to ask if an individual had any scars or marks and we would note it down on the paperwork. This man raised his shirt when I asked and showed me a very large scar on his abdomen. He had been stabbed by border bandits during one attempt to cross into the United States.

We also searched their belongings for contraband and weapons and would look through wallets for fake immigration documents that many carried. In this man's wallet I found a note that had been written by two of his children. It was a Christmas wish list. His son wanted a remote controlled car and his daughter wanted barbie dolls.

This first man who I processed in my career would set the tone for my career which stays with me to this day. I have seen people who struggle to get what they have without complaining. I took water and a blanket to a couple but could not console them. They had been abandoned by three smugglers after those men had taken turns pistol whipping the man and raping the woman. I stood on that checkpoint on a cold winter night when a car approached driven by a man with a terrified look on his face and a woman sitting in the passenger seat who was more like a statue. The woman held a baby and as the car stopped at my side I could see a toddler sleeping in the back seat. The man timidly showed me his immigration document and I waved the whole family up the road towards Los Angeles. I wasn't the only one to have done that back in those days.

I transferred to the southern border as an inspector and soon learned who all the local drug traffickers were and watched them cross into the U.S. with their visas. I listened to the Agriculture inspector complain because during the night shift we would let the kids come up to our booths and take the prohibited fruits and vegetables out of the buckets that we would toss them into when we took them away from people trying to sneak them in.

Now I work in an airport as an inspector and I see people flying home on planes after taking multi thousand dollar cruises and complaining that the line is too long and they want to get their starbucks before getting on the plane and why don't I stamp their receipts so they can get their Canadian sales tax refund.

It has been interesting to say the least. I have been able to support my family and help some people out. Although I have not been assaulted I have been in a few wrestling matches. Just 15 short years and I'll be able to retire.

// posted by sinner @ 5:03 PM 1 Comments

So I've been looking through all of these photos. I'm looking for a good picture of me and although I know that the pickings are slim I didn't think I would find some of the horrors that I've dug up. I has hammered home the reality that as much as I have tried, I am just not cool. I've always known of course that there were people cooler than me but I though I was at least a little cool.

But alas I am no longer worried about it because although I can still get young good looking women to laugh I KNOW that I am a 47 year-old fat guy.

I had my days and they were great days. I mean check it out you younger kids. What songs do you hear on the radio? A lot of them are from MY day when I grew up. So even though I don't look or sound cool now I will always have that on you. I can pity you because the sound track of MY life was composed by the likes of Elton John and The Who and The BEATLES and Pink Floyd. I remember when Jimi and Janis and Jim were ALIVE, You poor guys got stuck with NSYNC and Michael Jackson and Bryan Adams.

Sure, you had some cool bands but I grew up with the bands your bands emulated. The undiluted birth of what you now know as rock and roll.

Gee, I feel better now then when I started this one. Thanks guys. I knew I could rely on you.

// posted by sinner @ 9:43 AM 0 Comments

Oruro, Bolivia is the folkloric capital of Bolivia. I lived there for six months as a missionary and years later while my wife and I were dating we went out to Oruro to watch Carnaval. Carnaval in Bolivia is similar to those around the world in that it is before lent. What I liked about it the most is that it is four days of no rules water fights. If you were in the streets you were going to get wet.

We stayed at my wife's cousin's house in Oruro which was great because the parade passed right in front of the house. I had a day's supply of water balloons and the crowd around us was in awe that I could throw them so far. One time I let my guard down for just one second and a kid from across the street nailed me good. So I pick up a bucket of water and I'm chasing this kid around and everybody is in histerics. There was a break in the parade (parade participants are prohibited from being targeted) while I chased this kid. Then I let loose with the bucket. Needles to say I missed the kid and drenched an innocent woman. I was walking back to the house and turned to see a lady in hot pursuit. She was screaming at me and mentioning the police.

My wife's cousin jumped between me and the lady and I thought the two were going to throw punches. The lady mentioned that she was going to have the foreigner (me) arrested to which my wife's cousin, who was 20 years older than me, responded, "he's not a gringo, he's MY son". Between that and the crowd booing the lady she backed down.

That's how Teresa became my "Bolivian mother". Whenever I saw her that's what I called her and I was her "hijito" (ee HE to) or little son.

My Bolivian mother lost her battle with cancer last Friday. It was diagnosed in the advanced stages and took her very quickly. She is at peace and her pain is gone.

Mine will linger a bit.

// posted by sinner @ 9:13 PM 0 Comments