Updated 10:00 p.m.

Our dedicated law student, Abogado spent a Gatsybesque weekend in the Big Snapple and checked out Moreno’s gig on Saturday night where, segun la leyenda, Moreno kneed Abogado in the groin at my previous request.

Abogado of course has his revenge planned, but while we wait for his review of Moreno’s show, let me put you to sleep with logorrheic ramble of my banal existence.

Friday I worked from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m. That wasn’t planned and the story is probably longer than I’m willing to repeat, but around 10 a.m. the border patrol called our work and asked for A. I took all the orders and made the food while listening with worried ears as A was stuttering nervously on the phone, first in English and then in Spanish.

He came back into the kitchen – “ay wey, cuando se cumplio Jared?” (When was my son born) The sunavabitch didn’t even know when his own kid was born so I thought back, remembering that it was close to my own birthday and gave him my estimate.

A. says: “Señor, no se exactamente la fecha, pero mira, los rims de la troca son veintes.” (Sir, I’m not sure of the exact date, but listen, the rims on the truck are 20’s) That’s classic A for you – he knows more about the rims on his car than his own son.

I should give some background. A is Mexican and has no papers. His 16 month son is American, born hairy and healthy in Kaiser-Permanante Hospital in San Diego. A. and his wife are both from a small pueblito down in Mexico and neither one of their families have been able to see young Gringito Jared because of lack of visas and money.

So A. came up with a plan. He would buy his mother a ticket to Tijuana, have a friend drive Jared down to TJ and give him to A’s Mother. She would then fly Jared down to the pueblito for a week where the entire village could shower the gringito in love and menudo. Then A’s mother would come back to Tijuana with Jared and A’s friend would drive Jared back over the border to San Diego where el bambino would make it clear that Pizza tastes way better than Menudo.

It all seemed like a fine plan until la migra called us Friday morning telling A he would need to come down to the office to bring his son across the border. A was sure they would send both him and his son back to Mexico. In a way you could tell that A actually wanted to go back to Mexico – at least for a while – but financially it just wasn’t feasible.

Meanwhile A’s friends – friends of both of ours actually – were playing babysitters down in Tijuana. They both had visas and this was their vacation time. They were ready to go spend four days in Vegas but instead they were trapped in one of the ugliest god damn cities in the entire world.

The whole thing was a mess. Nobody could get ahold of anyone else. A was worried that his story would conflict with his friend’s. The owner of my work who is a German emigre remarked that it felt like post-WWII Germany when you had to file special requests to visit relatives on the other side of the Berlin Wall.

To cut it short, we came up with a new plan and Saturday afternoon A was able to get Jared across the border with the help of another friend. We were all elated. Except for maybe A’s wife – apparently Jared didn’t recognize his own mother. Saturday was another long working day for me – 3 p.m. till midnight. A came in around 5 to tell me the good news and we shared a six pack of Coronas.

This is the last week of Miracles. I’ve scanned in all the old t-shirt and coffee mug designs over the years. Saturday night was mostly lonely. A lot of the customers have already found their new hangout. But some of the diehards were there listening to Beth Preston do her thing one last time. I’m sure they stayed long after I closed up shop and went home.

Watched Fallen Angels after work. One of those movies so strange, so out there, that you figure you’ve got to be pretty hip if you’re watching it. There was a scene with a mute massaging a dead pig. That was about the only redeeming part though.

Sunday 8:30 a.m. – after about four or five hours of sleep – I’m up at work once again. This time to drop off some presents that A bought for his family before his mom takes off again to the pueblito. It really was Sunday. After two weeks of grey gloom, all of a sudden summer was back. Driving down the 805 listening to Prairie Home Companion and Whad’Ya Know.

I get to the TJ airport and am walking up and down the departure lounge until everyone’s looking at me like k onda con este pinche gringito? se vende drogas o que?

Por casualidad – and I mean totally random – I run into a friend from Mexico who’s picking up another friend – both of them visiting. It starts to feel like such a small little planet.

Me: No mames wey – que haces tu?
Him: No mames, pinche Oso, que haces tu aqui wey?

So we talk for a while which is a nice distraction from A’s mother being three hours late. Finally she arrives. We hug, we catch up, and I go get the car to pull it around out front and drop the stuff off.

I park it along the curb under a sign that says loading and unloading only and I start to unload. Some rent-a-cop comes up after about three seconds and tells me I need to move the car. Super mamón. So I make that ’sorry this guy’s such a dick’ facial expression to A’s mom and she totally understands and waves me away. But then I get in the car and I see her struggling with the giant suitcase that A gave me. La pobre señora. So I motion one second to rent-a-cop and run out to help her drag it inside the airport with the rest of the stuff.

Another hug, she hands me some dulces and tells me – as always – to go with God. Outside rent-a-cop is walkie talkieing to his friend in la grua, the tow truck.

“No se preocupe señor, ya estoy aquí” I yell running to the car. But the fat ass gordote – “un triple cheeseburger” as A would say – was standing there in front of the driver’s side door while his friend was backing the tow truck to attach A’s car.

I don’t know where it came from – maybe four hours waiting inside of Tijuana’s tiny airport – but I got super missed. “No mames, pendejo, muevate tu culo” and I pushed the dude who’s totally shocked that some white kid just told the dumb fuck to move his ass and I speed off while the onlookers cheer and give me thumbs up.

But check this out – the rent-a-cop who threatened to call “los federales” jumped in his 1980 something Toyota truck and was in hot pursuit. He followed me all the way to the border (we passed like 10 cop cars who did nothing) before turning around.

I’ll admit, my knees were a little shaky. I thought I was at least going to get in a fight, if not thrown in jail. While waiting to cross the border I spent the last of my pesos on some frozen rompope and nervously switched between Tijuana’s and San Diego’s public radio stations.

Back at work I recount my run in with the psuedo-law of Tijuana’s municipal airport but neither A nor El Comandante look impressed so I’m forced to embellish.

Then, washing a tuna sandwich down with iced chai, I’m out the door and driving south on sunny 101 to 15th street Del Mar where the kids from Sudanese English Project were out Surfing.

Surfing is not exactly Africa’s biggest past time. (though that’s slowly starting to change in Senegal) So it wasn’t so much that the kids weren’t able to ride in the white wash and stand up on the beginner’s foam boards as they didn’t understand why they would want to do so. These are kids who come from landscapes like these. Putting on batman looking rubber costumes and paddling out into the frigid water only to be pushed back in just didn’t make sense to them.

At one point I was encouraging Hassan to try getting up on his knees first and then standing up all the way when he had his balance. After falling, he walked unphased to the shore, picked up a stone and tried killing a seagull. I told him not to kill the birds and he gave me this look like, “dude, why not?”

For which I have no answer. Why do we not kill animals but we eat them constantly without second thought? Don’t ask me.

In the second debate, Bush tried to imply that Kerry’s health care plan was written by Fidel Castro. I wish. But it is a step in the right direction.

This article, originally in Time, does a much better job articulating what I failed to last week.

I’ve been reading a lot lately. A lot of good stuff. Which reminds me, I need to update my Reality Fuel list. The book of the moment is Don DeLillo’s Players. Here’s a passage:

To forge a change that you may be reluctant to forge, that may be problematical for this or that reason, you have to tell people. You have to talk and tell people. Jack sees what I’m getting at. You have to bring it out. Even if you have no intention at the time of doing it out of whatever fear or trembling, you still must make it begin to come true by articulating it. This changes the path of your life. Just telling people makes the change begin to happen. If, in the end, you choose to keep going with whatever you’ve been doing that’s been this problematical thing in your life, well and good, it’s up to you. But if you need to feel you’re on the verge of a wonderful change, whether you are or not, the thing to do is tell people. ‘I am on the verge of a wonderful change. I am about to do something electrifying. The very fibers of your being will be electrified, sir, when I tell you what it is I propose to do.’ To speak it in words is to see the possibility emerge. Doesn’t matter what. Don’t bother your head over what. For the purposes of this discussion it could be mountain-climbing we’re talking about or this friend of Jack, the oft-mentioned scaly chap who plans to swim teh North Sea left-handed. Our lives are enriched by these little blurbs we send each other. These things are necessary to do. ‘I am going back to school to learn Arabic, whatever.’ Say it to people for six months. ‘I am going to live in Maine or else.’ Jack sees my point. Tell people, tell them. Make up something. The important thing is to seem to be on the verge. Then it begins to come true, a little bit. I don’t know, maybe talking is enough. Maybe you don’t want to forge the change. Maybe telling people is the change. How should I know?

This is exactly how I feel. Every day, at work, a steady stream of 20, 30, 40 customers interrogate me with their “so what’s next?” and “do you already have something lined up?” or “so, which exotic country are you off to this time?”

And I tell them things, mostly lies, because people pretend to look so interested in, so captivated by the future, that realm of endless possibility and certain disappointment.

“Gonna work tables in Vegas” I say. Or, “some foundation, some marine union or something is going to pay for me to learn underwater welding.” The more fantastic the lie, the more support they show me. For they too know that we speak of our futures out of either fear of listlessness but not detirmination.

Indonesia has elected a new president as Abogado and I knew they would a few months ago. We were both disheartened to learn that the Islamic Dubya-look-alike Amien Rais did not win.

Deny wrote me another charming email:

hai david how are you?do you still turn around the world?
some times if you have enough time please come to my country agian.
since we meet I think somedays I’ll be touristman like u.the pictures that
u send to me is good.could u send me another place in USA?
my country is beeing sad now,cause A trgedy bom make my nations hard.
we hate terorisimt but now my country had crys.
If your freinds want to went to my country tell him that my country isn’t
hate westren people,
don’t affraid to come to my country.cause our goverment will protecting you.
so david I see u next time.please give my hello to kevin.
your freind,
DENY

The girl at my corner deli still won’t smile at me no matter how hard I try. I’ve gone as far as putting on my sheep costume and tipping her $5 for my $3 eggel but she only flashed her fangs.

I am down to one cup of coffee per day. Supplemented by tea here and there, herbal and otherwise.

The Beats used to refer to Marijuna as ‘tea.’ I can still hear Kerouac say, “Hey Benny, let’s buy us a bag of tea!”

If you haven’t heard Kerouac read his own poetry you haven’t experienced Kerouac.

There was an editorial in today’s New York Times encouraging readers to volunteer their time by monitoring this year’s elections to ensure fairness after 2000’s fiasco. (I’ll copy and paste it below) Being the good NY Times readers that we are, Abogado, Mari and I will be doing exactly that. You should too – check out one of the websites in the article and get involved. (and don’t forget to apply for an absentee ballot – and quick!)

With an Ass’s help, I’ve stolen Brian Wilson’s Smile. Please, no one tell him what I’ve done with it.

Fo reel doe. I’ve tried listening to it a few times, but each time I conclude I’m not in the right mood. I’m not sure what the right mood is, but Moreno’s notion of ingesting fungi might help me get there.

OK, so here’s that NY Times editorial:

Be Part of the Solution

Published: October 11, 2004

Voting Requirements

The 2000 mess in Florida was supposed to make the nation more dedicated to ensuring that elections are fair, but it appears to have had the opposite effect. The chances of having an election in which all qualified citizens can cast votes that are counted accurately seems more remote than ever. Local election officials have been choosing electronic voting machines of questionable reliability that do not produce a paper record. Secretaries of state have been rejecting valid voter registration forms on technicalities. And rather than trying to attract supporters to their own candidates, some political operatives are concentrating on disqualifying voters on the other side.

As bad as things have been so far, the most vulnerable time for a democracy is Election Day itself. Polling places can be closed or moved at the last minute, with little or no notice. Registered voters arrive at polling places where they have been voting for years, only to find that their names are not on the rolls. “Ballot integrity” teams show up in heavily minority precincts, trying to intimidate people into leaving without voting. Voting machines fail to start up properly or develop troubling glitches.

Ordinary Americans can, and should, become more involved in monitoring the election process. National and state political parties, and candidates at every level, have a long tradition of sending out volunteer poll watchers to observe the voting on Election Day. These partisan poll watchers can play an important role in keeping elections honest – though it is important that they be committed to helping all citizens to vote, and not interfere with those who appear most likely to support the opposition. If there is a party or a candidate you feel strongly about, see if the group will send you to observe the voting in a precinct where problems are anticipated.

This year, for the first time, there is also a nationwide nonpartisan election-monitoring program being run by a coalition of public interest groups, which include the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law and People for the American Way Foundation. Election Protection will be putting volunteers on the ground in states like Florida and Ohio to distribute voters’ bills of rights and identify and report problems at the polls. These groups say that volunteers will be trained to provide immediate help to voters who have problems, and will also have access to roving teams of lawyers, who will be prepared to go to court if necessary. Volunteer lawyers are also being recruited to staff a toll-free nationwide hot line (866-OUR-VOTE), answering questions and fielding reports of trouble. There is a special program coordinating law-student volunteers, Impact2004, which is providing them with low-cost transportation to the swing states of Ohio and Pennsylvania.

Verifiedvoting.org, a leading critic of electronic voting in its current form, has started up an election protection program called TechWatch, which hopes to sign up thousands of volunteers, particularly computer scientists. TechWatch says its volunteers will observe the pre-election “logic and accuracy” done on the voting machines, watch actual voting on Election Day and then monitor the postelection vote counting. The goal is not only to identify electronic voting problems in this election, but to also start developing a database that can be used to evaluate and improve electronic voting in the future.

We hope these election protection programs will have the added benefit of helping to bring about more serious consequences for election officials who flout the law. There have been widespread reports from all parts of the country of officials doing everything from insisting on photo ID from voters when it is not required to installing uncertified software on electronic voting machines. If monitors witness these things firsthand, their reports could help remove irresponsible election officials from their jobs, or even have them criminally prosecuted.

In a well-run democracy, the government would be running elections of such unquestioned integrity there would be no need for volunteer projects like these. But the mechanics of American democracy are deeply flawed, and Congress, state governments and local elections officials have been unwilling to do what is necessary to fix them. If this election is going to be a fair and honest one, concerned citizens will have to do their part to ensure that every vote counts.

Making Votes Count: Editorials in this series remain online at nytimes.com/makingvotescount.