he slid his queen’s pawn forward two spaces and nodded when i mirrored the move. he moved his c-pawn up two, offering the sacrifice. i declined the Queen’s Gambit and moved my king’s pawn forward a space. i decided to spring my queen from the back row on my sixth move, which seemed to surprise The Man. he frowned, and scratched the stubble along his upper lip with his thumbnail. i chose that move because i thought it was a good one, but also because it might appear to be a bad one. neither of us yet had any sense of our opponent’s skill, and if he believed i was a poor player, i could lure him into committing a critical mistake. he murmured something in German and moved his kingside knight. a reasonable response, but not the one i had feared. if he had taken my pawn, he would have kept the initiative, forcing me to respond to his aggression. instead he played defensively, and i took advantage by moving my bishop into his territory.
From Left to Right
Long Time Puerto Legends
Jim Prewitt, Angel Salinas, Jon Silver
Baby Got Back
There was a knock on my opened door. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the Hula Hoop girl. I’ve seen her down on the beach quite a bit with her dog and her variety of hula hoops. She performs this extra super slow motion hula hoop action that takes front and center. Actually, the dude with the beanie that juggles the yellow soccer ball while remaining seated in the sand steals the show when he is around. And of course nobody can hold a stick to Yoga Antonio when he gets fired up. But the Hula Girl is pretty amazing in her own right. She wears a thong bikini. She measures in at about five feet small. She is probably in her early 20‘s. Her gigantic ass and hips allow her to work the hula hoop extra devilishly. So there she is at my door. Before I let her coax me into whatever it was she was going to try and coax me into, I said, “Aren’t you the giant assed hula hoop lady?” She smiled and did a slow motion hula hoop motion right at my door.(without a hula hoop) I said, “You ARE the bubble butted hula hooper.” I told her that I really admire her work and her courage and her passion and all the junk she packs in the back. She blushed. She told me her name was Carla, but that her friends call her Nanda. Perfect segue for me to tell her that my name was Ben G. but my friends call me Wig.
Jaws
I had no choice but to build a barricade for Rocky. He watched me piecemeal it together. I used sharp metal objects. Re-Bar. I used cactus. I used sideways ladders, glass, chains, rope, bamboo, and precariously balanced heavy furniture. I wondered what he was thinking. It was my very first time attempting to quarantine this breed of animal. I have built numerous barricades for dogs in the past. I’m a bit of a specialist. If you build a barricade for a lap dog, they will jump straight up in the air, over and over until they get a whiff of what is on the other side. If the ground provides, they may try to dig under the trap. They may also try to scratch the barricade down, risking their little teeny lives in the process. Pretty easy doings. Labs and retrievers will whine, bark, and do a little pacing during their initial time behind bars. There is no question that they will try to prop their front legs up and over the barricade and stand as erect as is possible. If part of the barricade gets loose and/or moves, it is likely to spook them into remission. Leave them with their Bippie(s) and you have no worries. Australian Shepherds will sit in the opposite corner as it is being built, and understand exactly what is going on. With one eye open, they will also pay close attention to how it is being constructed. If they determine ahead of time that their length of time behind the barricade is set to be longer than they care to tolerate, they are likely to wait until the Alpha is away and pick apart the barrier like a game of Jenga.
Rocky, the 40 lb Staffordshire Bull Terrier took an entirely different approach. I left the little fucker alone for one measly hour. When I got back to the hotel, not only was Rocky MIA, I couldn’t even find half of the items used to make up his booby trap. We’re gonna need a bigger
boat!
Play on Words
I like to swap the word Veterinarian for Vegetarian when the time is right. The time is always right with kids. You can just tell them you don’t eat meat because you are a Veterinarian. It usually dawns on them that something sounded fishy, but it’s a pretty clean play on words. I also like to interchange the words Telemarketer and Telemarker. This one is more for the adults in the room, and if it is played right, timed perfectly, and spoken with conviction, I can even get an adult or two to double take on me. That is because I prefer back country snowboarding to telemarketing. Or those fucking Telemarkers! Always calling me, trying to sell me something!! My favorite word swap of them all is the one I use on real special occasions only. That would be Milano and Mulatto. Been doing it since 1996, because as everybody knows, Derek Jeter is the greatest Milano to every play the game of baseball. If I play this one right, perhaps I say it as I am leaving the room, it usually turns out to be one of the better feather ruffling, shock value(esque) devices that I put in motion. Sometimes it’s even the Jeter part that does the ruffling. Many more times than not, somebody corrects me immediately by saying, “You mean Mulatto.” Anyway you slice it, #2 for the Yankees plays the game pretty sweet.
Rocky II
The Gorgeous Male Golden aggressively crossed the busy street to flex itself. I saw it coming from the very start. It had that purposeful look that it needed to reign on our parade. Tail wagging, but stiff. Head held real high and certain. Trotting like a show horse. This beauty was about to make a bad play. Must be a visiting dog from the big city I thought. It obviously didn’t know that nobody fucks with Rocky. And it’s NOT because Rocky is a mean dog. It’s quite the opposite actually. It’s just the way it is. It’s the birds and the bees. If you’re a canine in Puerto, when you see cute little Rocky coming, you make the right dog move, and look the other way. Some dogs I know like to freeze in their tracks with their tail tucked high and tight. The other popular dog move is to bark all mean as you run the other way. So it’s safe to say that there are plenty of viable, non violent dog plays out there.
But here comes dumb-dumb. I tightened my reign on the leash. I probably should have kicked goofball away, but this dumb mutt, and the owner it belonged to(wherever he or she was) I guess needed to be taught a Puerto Dog Lesson. As this three year old, full sized Golden got real close, I remember calmly saying things like, “Not a good idea dog, and Don’t let his small size fool you dumb dog.” I probably [should not have] imitated Willy Wonka’s demeanor when he half heartedly attempted to prevent the Demise of Violet Beauregarde, [but I did.] The dogs went nose to nose, which is never great. Ass to nose, great. Nose to nose, not so great. Then this giant headed 100 lb Golden Retriever Stud decides it is time to rest his beautifully sculpted head and neck on 40 lb Rocky’s back. Rocky didn’t like that, and said I’m gonna get that boy.. The ONCE proud & beautiful Golden didn’t even know what hit it. The fight lasted one second. The scars will last forever.
Upper Vee
I was introduced to this young lady at the Monday hot spot in all of Puerto Escondido. Cabo Blanco would be the place. Great food. Great dancing. Party usually starts around 11:30pm. Probably why I’ve never been to a Monday party at Cabo Blanco. Needless, it’s the only place to be, and it’s a great night out. A new friend of mine named Emilio introduced us. We drank Mojitos. The music was loud. We barely spoke. I believe her name was Maggie. I forget what I told her my name was. There were a bunch of other dudes fancying her attention. Like I cared. Anyway, two weeks later I see her running the beach with a soccer ball. She was wearing a tight pair of Roxy shorts with a skimpy lime green tank top. On the back it read Favre w/ a big #4. She looked pretty damned good. From what I could tell, she looked like a player with a bit of skill too. I approached her and began stupid small talk. She was maybe 27 y/o at the most. Her toes were painted black. She sported a couple of tattoos. She had a nose ring. I was hoping that I would be given a chance to tell her why I was living in Puerto Escondido, but she would have to ask. This is not information I give out too readily. And then it hit. “So why are you down here in Puerto Escondido?”, she said. “So I can prepare myself to play soccer in The States,” I said. No Really. Seriously. I don’t get it. Well that’s because it is sort of complicated. Are you a paid player? It depends on your definition of paid. Well what is yours? My ROI is the better indicator. It’s value added. I think you are full of shit. Frustrated with my ambiguity, she pushed the ball with pace towards my folded hands. It was my moment to win or lose. Instinctively I dropped my hands, softened the ball off my chest, juggled it from my left quad to my right quad, and knuckled it hard with the Left towards the vacant lifeguard tower.
Mr. Toads
I gave a shout that I was down below. I was certain that I would get asked up and offered a green juice. If I ever needed a green juice, it was now. It was 8:45am. It was raining. I had shivered under a wet wool blanket all night. “Be down in 15 minutes Big Guy,” the voice yelled. No Juice. I set all my stuff down in the back of the truck, and walked over to a massive grass area overlooking the Pacific Ocean that reminded me of the spread in Hawaii that James Caan took Sara Jessica Parker to in Honeymoon in Vegas. The bugs began bugging me. I paced around the crab grass. I couldn’t get The Who’s Behind Blue Eyes out of my head. After about five minutes or so, I spotted a mid-sized Rottweiller lying down about 50 yards away from where I was standing. Apparently it was running decoy for the 140lb dog that spooked the piss out of me when it appeared out of the shrubs. This Mother Fucker came within 10 feet of me and stood there. It had a teaspoon of snot in each eye. Dual side slobber. It was also pulling a six foot wood fence plank that was attached to the giant eye ring that was attached to a heavy duty steel chain, which was attached to his choke collar. Not the type of thing you see on 41st Ave. I froze and looked the other way. I’ve been in a few real life Cujo moments over the years. This was gonna be another one. I knew the routine.
Got Milk?
I made the special trip to El Tomatal for peanut butter just as I was coming down with something hard. I braced myself for a brand new experience. I had now spent a total of 250 days over the course of four different years along The Oaxacan Coast, and had never become ill. When I got out of the truck in El Tomatal, I stepped in dog shit but failed to realize it. When I stubbed my flip flop on the uneven cement, that particular flip flop went flying into the uncrowded peanut butter area. When I retrieved the flip flop, that is when I noticed the dog shit. By the looks of the residue outline on the bottom of the flip flop, it appeared as if only half of the dog shit that must have originally been on my flip flop was still on my flip flop. Like it had been ‘jarred’ off during the stub. I looked for the missing half circle of flattened dog shit. What human in their right mind would ever do that? The only thing in the room was the 400 Liter peanut butter making machine. No..Don’t tell me! I had a Junior Mint moment. I was spaced. The Indian Senora sold us 2 kilos for 160 pesos. That is a lot of fucking peanut butter.
My Two Cents
Four to five days per week, I buy tacos and a juice from the ladies pushing the wheel barrel down my street. It all goes down at 10ish. Five tacos are two bucks. One 32oz juice is a buck. The juice changes everyday. Sandia, Melon, Coco, Horchata, Tamarindo etc. The juice comes in a 32 oz Styrofoam cup. Good ol Styrofoam. Styrofoam is nice in the hot tropics because it keeps the juice cold for hours. The ladies run a clean operation. The lady making the tacos never touches the money. The lady preparing the juice never touches the tacos. Here’s a cute story. From the hotel, I always yell down Cual Jugo? One time she shouted Melon. I shouted down Manana. The next day I tried to explain that Orange Melon(Cantaloupe) is one of the few fruits that I have an allergy to. Here’s where the story takes a turn towards cute. My favorite of all the liquids is their Horchata. They leave floating pieces of Melon in the Horchata, and it makes for a wonderful touch. I noticed Shorty scooping OUT the melon chunks. OMG!!! NO NO NO!! I knew why she was doing it, but couldn’t believe she had the care-with-all to do so. Perhaps I’m an A client? I tried to explain that I love the small melon chunks in my Horchata, but that a full 32 oz Melon drink always gets my throat and nose itchy. She finally understood when I clutched up and said, “Mi throato no likee and lo recibo itchy and scratchyo cuando i drinko el melon, pero mi likee el melon chunkos en mi Horchata.” Just a joke Yo. I always bring my used cup down to reuse over and over and over. And over. That would be the definition of an unheard-of-practice down here. Trying to do my part. Probably saving them two cents in the process…