Adventures in the Mountains

I should probably tell you about
what happened to me in New Mexico.

It was intense,
I'll tell you that.

I came back with a broken finger,
a library card, and the taste of puke
in my mouth.

I landed in Albuquerque, NM
with quite a bit of time to kill.

It suddenly dawned on me
that I had no idea where I was going, really.

I didn't know what train or what time
to catch it, and all the info was on my email.

For some reason, I didn't take my computer with me.

So, I went to the library, where we last left off.

I had to sign up for a membership
to get on the internet, and this funny
little man with a lisp pointed me to
a big, fat man with a limp.

He signed me up,
and I was on.

I got my info,
and realized I had even more
time to kill than I thought.

So I did what any good American would do,
I got a haircut.

I also picked up a 12 oz
glass of fresh made spinach/carrot/beet/parsley juice.

I've been into that kind of stuff lately.

As I drank the juice, it felt
a little odd on my stomach,
I remember that clearly,
remember that for later...

Eventually, it was time to hit the Amtrak train,
and once settled, time to hit the Amtrak bar.

Two extra strong bloody mary's later,
I was chatting with everyone in the lounge car.

We talked about Indian food for fifteen minutes
before I realized they were talking about
American Indian, Native American food.

Feathers, not dots, as they so eloquently put it.

Apparently, they don't call them Native
Americans in New Mexico, they call the Indians.

Even the Indians call themselves Indians,
the ones with the feathers, not the dots.

I guess that makes sense,
"Native American" is a real overly-
sensitive way of saying,
"sorry we killed 90 million of your people,
but we'll be polite and stop dressing like
you at football games."

Speaking of killing people,
it turns out the biggest source
of tourism for the Indian sights
in New Mexico are the Germans.

At least thats what they told me.

One lady speculated that they can
identify, and it makes their slaughter
of 8 million Jews seem paltry.

Interesting point, I suppose.

I made some good friends on that train,
and I was sad to see them go.

I especially wanted the recipe
for the "Indian Taco"

(I was picturing chicken curry
in a tortilla, before the whole dot/feather thing)

I landed in Gallup, NM,
the town of my gig.

I looked around for someone
I might recognize,
the fella who booked me
was picking me up at the station.

I didn't see anyone I recognized,
because, to be honest, I'd only
met the guy a couple times in a
bar in Michigan.

But he spotted me,
and he was white,
so I figured it had to be him.

Before you get upset,
you must realize that
Gallup, NM is a town
of 250,000 Indians.

The largest concentration
of Native peoples in the US.

I think.

So, most people you see
are not the evil white man.

This guy was,
except for the evil part.

He had a beard and a dog,
and an awesome big truck.

oh, shit...
my friends are leaving for dinner....
I gotta go,
how about,
"to be continued..."

-p

PS If I seem wordy,
I'm flying high on Ritalin,
it's my current drug of choice.
Weird, because I hated it in
highschool, but...
that's that.