Cinco de Mayo 2015

May fifth is Cinco de Mayo, which is Spanish for "The Fifth of May." In addition to being a date on the calendar, it is also a holiday. Most people have heard of it, but relatively few Americans actually know what it about.

And, I discovered, neither do some Mexicans, and it is primarily their holiday.

A lot of people assume it is Mexico's Independence Day, and its not. That's in September. My dogs think it might have something to do with the invention of burritos - and they might be right.

Actually, it isn't

Macky Rae (my younger dog) looked it up online: About a 150 years ago, Mexican forces defeated a larger, better trained French forces. There is a longer, more detailed version on Wikipedia, but essentially it  to commemorate some well deserved ass kicking.

If you want more info, go read the article.

Over the years, it has taken on a different significance, and it has become more or less a Hispanic Cultural Pride Day. And it is also celebrated by non-Hispanics - because everyone likes a party, or in this case a fiesta.

My dogs celebrate Cinco de Mayo, and the reason they celebrate is twofold:

1. They're Hispanic. Or at least they think they are. They are half Chihuahua, so they think that makes them part Mexican.
2. There is food involved. Anything that involves eating ranks fairly high on their list.

Because of its large Hispanic population, Pasco WA (near to where I reside) has a Cinco de Mayo celebration, although it usually gets moved to Saturday. They still call it Cinco de Mayo, even though it was actually Dos de Mayo. There is usually a parade of some sort, followed by singing and dancing, food and drink, and other fiesta activities.



We live in West Richland, which is more or less the opposite side of the TriCities area from Pasco. There is not a large Hispanic presence here, although I have noticed a few Chihuahuas.

 There is, however, a Cinco de Mayo parade - of sorts.

Around noon-ish, there is the unofficial West Richland Cinco de Mayo Parade (and Taco Feed!). We, that is me and my dogs, head out from our place, walk up a block to the main road, then "parade" down - past the Car Wash, the Zip E Mart, Lorenzo's Restaurant, the mini-mall, etc, etc, until we reach The Taco Truck. We make our selections, then go down to the nearby park and /eat/ our selections.
Ok, the Pasco parade is more elaborate, be we like our version just fine.



Some people have an issue with Pasco, and the Hispanics, primarily over the non-English speaking people. And to some degree I agree with them, after all this is America and you should speak the official language of the country which is...

Actually, the United States doesn't have an official language.

When people deride Pasco's Hispanic community (and the not speaking of English), I remind them of a time, many years ago, when parts of Pasco were a bad, dangerous, part of town. It wasn't safe to walk the streets at night. Then the Hispanics moved, bringing their strong, catholic family values. That part of town became nicer, safer.

And their yards look nice.

And Viera's Bakery on the corner of 4th and Lewis is totally awesome - even my dogs thinks so.

Over the years, many of the stereotypes attributed to Hispanics (and other cultures) have been discarded in favor of a more enlightened view. On of the (almost) dicarded stereotypes was Speedy Gonzoles - and heaven forbid you don't know who he is.

For those who don't (¡Ay, caramba!), he is a loony toons character, The "Fastest Mouse in all of Mexico."

The Cartoon Network, about 15 years ago, decided to not show Speedy cartoons, as they might offended Hispanics.

What "offended" the Hispanics was having their mouse removed from the cartoon line-up.

As speedy doesn't do anything that might be considered offensive (culturally), Hispanics love him. The Hispanic-American rights organization League of United Latin American Citizens called Speedy a "cultural icon", and thousands of users registered their support of the character on the hispaniconline.com message boards. Fan campaigns to put Speedy back on the air resulted in the return of the animated shorts to Cartoon Network in 2002.

By profession, I am a cook and so over the years I have primarily worked to one degree or another in the food service industry. One of the places that I worked, whom I shall not mention by name but I will tell you that it was a seafood place that had lobsters. Red ones.

I also won't mention that they are managed by weasels, because it would be unfair. I didn't work at ALL of their restaurants (just one), but the one I did work at had weasels, and the district manager was rather furry as well.

I'm not saying they are the worst as weasels go, but there are above average, weaselistically speaking. 

But I digress.

I worked primarily evenings, and usually got off work around 10:30 or so. I often stopped in at the 24hr dinner across the street for a bite to eat before heading home. One night, one of my co-workers, Miguel, came in (for coffee, and to wait for his wife to get off work and come pick him up). He spotted me, and asked if he could join me (I said yes) and for almost an hour we had a rather pleasant conversation. We discovered that we were both descended from farm and working class people, we both agreed that an unnamed waitress was cute, that the managers were pendejos (Spanish for weasels), and we both thought that Luis (another co-worker) was completely insane. And a few other things. We talked until Gabriella (Mrs Miguel) arrived.

Now what was interesting about our conversation was the fact that Miguel spoke about as much English as I did Spanish, which wasn't much. I can order a beer and ask where the restrooms are, and a few odd phrases like "¿Por qué hay un puerco en el baño?" (Why is there a pig in the bathroom?)

So how did we manage to even talk, let alone have a detailed conversation? Because we wanted to, and were not going to allow something as trivial as a language barrier stop us. We gestured a lot, and drew pictures, but we managed to communicate.



Speaking of a language barrier (and crimson crustaceans) another co-worker was a Chinese man by the name of Wei-xing "Sam" Jong, who was from Canton (China). Sam was college educated, and was Majoring in language at the University of Canton. He spoke in addition to his native languages of Cantonese and Mandarin Chinese - six other languages, including English.

Spanish was not one of these six.

This proved comical, and frustrating, as "Sam" tried to communicate with the non-English speaking employees. He would try to employ a bi-lingual translator, but his English was not perfect, and his Asian accent made comprehension by Hispanics problematic.

Hell, I had trouble understanding him, and I speak English.

On evening, after the dinner rush ended, some of us cooks went outside for a smoke break.

Officially, we were taking out the trash. If you grabbed a bag of garbage when you were heading outside, it was a "trash run" and the store still owed you a 10-minute "smoke break" later.

So we were all out smoking, someone commented on "Sam's" trouble earlier that evening communicating with co-workers.

"Sam" he was asked. "when you were going to college, you knew you wanted to immigrate to the United States, right?"

"Yes" he answered.

"Then why didn't you take a year of Spanish before you came here????"



Macky Rae, my younger dog is learning to be bi-lingual. He is learning to speak pig Latin. We wants to be smarter than a pig.

Most of us do.

Some fail to achieve this.

On that note...


Before we start the parade , we, that is me and my dogs, would like to end this blog entry with a song. It's a popular Spanish song called Cielito Lindo. Some of you may know it, and if you want to sing along with us, please feel free to do so.

ME:
De la Sierra Morena,
Cielito lindo, vienen bajando
Un par de ojitos negros,
cielito lindo, de contraband

DOGS:
Ay, ay, ay, ay, Canta y no llores,
Porque cantando se alegran,
Cielito lindo, los corazones

ME:
Pajaro que abandona,
Cielito lindo, su primer nido,
Si lo encuentra ocupado,
Cielito lindo, bien merecido

DOGS:
Ay, ay, ay, ay,
   MACKY: Let go get tacos
   ME: Macky!
Porque cantando se alegran,
Cielito lindo, los corazones

ME:
Ese lunar que tienes,
Cielito lindo, junto a la boca,
No se lo des a nadie,
Cielito lindo que a mi me toca

DOGS:
Ay, ay, ay, ay,
   MACKY: It's time to go get tacos!
   ME: Macky, quit that!!
Porque cantando se alegran,
Cielito lindo, los corazones

ME:
Una flecha en el aire,
cietito lindo, lanzo Cupido,
si la tiro jugando,
cielito lindo, a mi me ha herido,

DOGS:
Ay, ay, ay, ay, we all want tacos!,
   ME: Hey!!!
Burritos and Nachos, Beans and Rice
Corn chips with lots of Salsa!

Mean Ass Female Drill Sergeants

So it is December of '83, almost midnight, and I am standing outside with several other guys wondering if the Sergeant was even aware that we were out there, as we had been standing there for some time. He hadn't and eventually he came out and began yelling.

And I, and no doubt the other guys, were wondering just what we had gotten ourselves into.

Welcome to Lackland AFB - the gateway to the Air Force. Basic training began right there and then.

For the first 72 hours, the yelling is continual. There is nothing you could do right. Ye stood wrong, you looked wrong, you even breathed wrong. And if you didn't breath, that was wrong too.

Most people, that is to say those who did not join a branch of the military, find this somewhat evil. We did too, at first. But the "evil" has a purpose:

• It weeds out those unfit to serve. If you can't handle being yelled at, you won't handle being shot at.
• You learn to work as a team. Even though the other guys were mostly strangers, it was us against him.
• You learn to do things the military way, correctly, the first time.

The last one is important. Unlike other professions, not doing something correctly the first time could have lethal consequence. For example: You failed to properly maintain your weapon, and it malfunctions during a combat situation. You, and/or your team may wind up inadvertently dying for your country.

General Patton once pointed out that you do not win a war by dying for your country, but by making the enemy die for his country.

 But as hard as it looks in the movies, and as hard as it seems at the start of basic, by the time you are done and look back on it all, you can't believe that you were such a wuss at the start of Basic Training.



So what is the meanest animal?

It sort of depends on your definition. Some say badgers, some say Tasmanian devils, some say grizzlies, some say pandas.

Pandas? Really??

 My choice, at least for the top ten list of mean mammalian creatures in Homo Sapiens Drillus Femalia, more commonly known as the female drill Sergeant.

Women can be pretty mean to begin with, especially mothers. And not just human mothers: Sarah, my female, got fairly protective when she littered.

For the safety of all concerned (being my other dogs), I set up a special kennel/nursery for Sarah - otherwise she will take her pups and hide them under the bed or behind the sofa. Like a military commander, Sarah sets up an perimeter around the kennel/nursery, and no one (except for me) is allowed in the exclusion zone.

I have a fourth dog now, her name is Reba. She is 5 1/2 month now. Shortly after Reba was born (around the third day or so) we went outside for a potty break. We being me and the dogs, although I don't go potty outside  - the neighbors would not appreciate that very much. Potty break for Sarah when she has pups is to run out, pee, and run back in to take care of the babies - usually under a minute.

The other dogs take there time.

This time, however, there was an unexpected development. Sandy, a Rottweiler who lives nearby had gotten out of her backyard and was wandering.

Sandy is a friendly dog (not vicious), and she never wanders far, just around the neighborhood. She will eventually go home on her own, if someone doesn't take her back.

Sandy had wandered into our complex and was near our unit when I opened the door to let the canines out. Sarah spotted her right away, and her motherhood gene kicked in. She did not want any straying dog in (what she considered) her area. She let out angry barks, and charged towards Sandy.

This could have gotten ugly, but it didn't.

Sandy is a big Rottweiler, at least 100 pounds. Sarah is a Chihuahua/Pomeranian, around 5 pounds. Despite the size difference in Sandy's favor, the sight of an angry Chihuahua charging towards her at full speed, barking angrily, must have unnerved her, because she turned around and fled back to the safety of her own yard.



But female drill Sergeant mean is a bit difference. Female drills need to be a bit meaner than there male counterpart, not because the possess different genitalia, but because on the average a female is smaller than a man, and unless she learns how to get a smart ass male's respect instantly, she will never be an effective drill sergeant.

And the female drills I encountered were good at this.

I could tell several stories, but perhaps the best example involved a female sergeant who simultaneously chewed out two entire flights (platoons) of men. That was 100 men, including me

I didn't do anything

(this time)

What had happened was this: We had just finished up one of the many classes we were required to attend, and were outside waiting for the sergeants to come get us and march us to somewhere else - class, chow, etc. Since we were just waiting, we were standing roughly in formation, but at ease - which meant informal.

As we were waiting, a female sergeant walked past. She was one of the shortest sergeants I had ever seen, standing about 4'12" and weighing maybe 115 pounds. As she walked past, she noticed that one of the trainees had his hat on askew.

Sergeants notice these thing

She slowed for a moment, and requested that the trainee with the askew hat correct his improper wear of the uniform.

By request, I do not mean that she politely requested that he adjust his hat because it was improperly being worn contrary to Air Force Regulation 35-10

By request, I mean she went up to him and informed him "You better get that hat on correctly"

The offending trainee came to attention (as was required in Basic training when being addressed by anyone higher than the rank of squirrel), then swiftly and efficiently corrected the hat (improperly being worn contrary to Air Force Regulation 35-10).

Satisfied, the female sergeant proceeded onward around the corner of the building towards her destination.

After a few movements had past, one of the other trainees made kissing noises in her directions, thinking she was out or range.

Or so he thought.

Now what I remember about this was this: One moment she wasn't there, then there was a flickering of light as Mr Scott beamed her into the middle of our formation

(I said Mr Scott instead of Geordi LaForge, because at the time I was in Basic Training, Star Trek the Next Generation had not been made yet)

She had heard the cat call, such are the eyes (and ears) of the Training Instructors, but was unable to determine with any certainty who the offending trainee was

Or maybe just didn't care.

Unable to determine the source of the cat-call, she called both Flights (100 men) to attention, faced each flight towards the other, and then walked up and down between the two formations and informed all of us in no uncertain terms (and a few terms that cannot be repeated) that such behavior was not appropriate, etc, etc...

So efficient was her 100 man ass chewing that five of the 100 wet themselves, two collapsed from the verbal assault, and one (Airmen Kowalski) suffers from PTSD and is still receiving psychological counseling from the VA.

I was informed by a member of the other Flight that the offending Trainee, who made the cat-call, was appropriately dealt with by the other members of his flight, sort of a peer intervention.

By peer intervention, I mean a "blanket party" after lights out.

 You don't have much of a sense of humor in basic training.

The base I spent most of my time in the military was Kelly AFB, located in San Antonia, TX. Kelly AFB was right next to Lackland AFB - and by right next to i mean they shared a common fence.

Two of my close friends during this time was a supply specialist (who was part of my unit) and her husband who was a KP sergeant.

At least once in Basic you will get KP duty (washing dishes, etc). Its a five to mine job.

Yes, I said five to nine. You start a 5am and get off at 9pm.

Welcome to the military, where regular hours are a luxury, and working long hours occurs more often than you might like.

My record was 3 days straight when lightning fried out the air traffic control toweree's comm systems.

 So we drove to the  trainees chow hall to pick up her husband. As we were sitting at a table, waiting, trainees came out and quietly sat at anoth table, waiting to be dismissed. At the time, I had heard this totally funny joke and had been telling it to anyone and everyone all day

I can't repeat it here - it's one of those kind of jokes.

My friend told me to tell the boys my joke, so I did. They sat quietly as I told it, and when I got to the punch line...

Nothing.

They just stared at me, like frightened rabbits.

Later, my friend the KP sergeant reminded me that there was no such thing as humor in Basic. To them, an NCO was something to fear, and the fact that I was trying to tell them a joke didn't register.



So like I said, my base was next to the trainee's base, and since we had minimal shopping facilities on Kelly, I often went to Lackland. One of the "facilities" was a photography studio. For whatever reason I felt I needed to have a portrait of me in my full uniform, so I scheduled an appointment.

Being that I didn't want to risk getting my Dress Blues dirty and/or wrinkled before I had the picture taken, I waited until I got to the mini-mall before going into the men's room and changing into my uniform.

After I got my picture taken, I returned to the men's room, change out of my uniform and started to go to my car.

That's when the Female TI stopped me

"You had a uniform on when you went into the latrine" she informed me.

Latrine is military-ese for bathroom, in case you didn't know.

"Where is your uniform now?" she asked.

"In my duffel" I responded.

Now I should explain what was going on. Most of the personnel on Lackland are trainees, either in basic training or technical school. As such, they are subject to certain restrictions, such as not being allowed to wear your civilian clothing when going off base. The Sergeant assumed that I was a trainee who was trying to sneak off base in his civvies.

I realized this, and decided to play along for a while - I had nothing major planned until that evening.

"Why is it in there?"

"It's easier to carry"

"OK, smart guy. Why don't you just hand me a 341"

AF form 341 was a disciplinary form that, as trainees, we were all required to carry at least two of them at all time. That was, no matter where we were on base, if a training sergeant saw us doing something wrong, he (or she) would request on of our forms (which already had our names and units filled in) and the sergeant would fill out the bottom part, detailing our misbehavior, and forward them to our sergeants via the distribution system (which worked very quickly). Our sergeant would then apply the appropriate level of yelling and punishment.

In theory, the Form 341 could also be used to inform our sergeants what a good job we were doing, but I never heard of them being used in this capacity.

"I don't have any" I informed her.

I burned my 341 after I completed my school and was no longer considered to be in training status.

"What is your name" she asked, pulling out a small notebook and pen.

I gave her my name, and she wrote it down.

"What's the number to your CQ?"

CQ is, essentially, the main office for a military unit.

"5-1693" I answered.

She pause, momentarily caught off guard. The reason was that each of the (then) six military bases had a different exchange number. Lackland was 3-, and I had just given her a 5- number.

"What unit are you with? she asked, not quite as forceful.

"1923 Comm" I answered.

"Your permanent party? Why the hell didn't you tell me that when I stopped you?"

"Because I have always wanted to get back at a training sergeant"



I encountered my Basic Training Sergeant some time later, at a base wide softball tournament - my shop had a team. Me and O'Leary had been drinking beer all afternoon, and slightly buzzed I noticed the man nearby with a small child was none other than MY sergeant. I mentioned this to O'leary, who dared me to go talk to him.

"I ain't afraid of him" I said

"Then go talk to him"

"OK, I will"

And I did.

I walked up and and said "Sir..."

Yes, I said "Sir" - Drill Sergeants in the Air Force, while you are in training, are addressed as "Sir"

"Sir, you may not remember me..."

"Barnes" he said. "Flight 015, January/February 1984"

"Yes, sir" I answered.

I almost came to attention (also required in Basic). The reason I didn't was because of all the Beer I drank.

We chatted for a moment, then I was informed (by O'Leary) that our team was next up in the Tournament. I informed him that I was needed, and that it was good to see him again.

I actually pause for a moment, waiting for his permission to depart.

Basic training lingers for a long time.