I'm baaaaaaack!

I'm baaaaaaack!

Back and still black. Been out of the game but not much has changed; whatever doesn't kill me only makes me STRONGER, FORTIFIED & EXPERIENCED. One silver lining of this absence are the new connections I've made. Bet your bottom dollar they will definitely be called on and put to good use in the coming months. 
Let the games commence!

Don't trust Jack (Tijuana)

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TJ4Rent@yahoo.com is the email to beware. The wolf in friend's clothing behind that address is one "Jack Smith". It ain't his real name - that would be, as per the police report, Steve Stanley Singer - and he'll probably take on another one by the time you read this. I doubt even if Singer is his real last name; but whether the business email and/or the pseudonym changes this much won't (see pic): 

the house that 'Jack' subdivides 

Jack frequently posts ads on Craigslist. 
He targets foreigners fleeing the rip-off rents of southern Cali -- only his comparatively cheap rates are rip-offs too! Why pay $400 for sleeping on someone's couch when you can have your own furnished room for $240? He announces. Wow, great. That is, until you get down to TJ - he always offers to meet you at the border - and see the dry-walled closet space that's a far ass cry from the nice-looking bedroom in the ad.  The room will likely be "only" $20 or $40 dollars above the advertised price, too. His biggest prey are young men - low on cash and brains - whom he regales with marijuana and Red Light District tales. What could be better than getting high, laid, and jewed out of your money? Either way you slice it, champ, you're getting screwed in Mexico. But, hey, at least you're sticking it to the Man. Yah!

A tour of the place includes the "temporary" upstair kitchen ("just until we finish remodeling the one downstair"), the three bathrooms, the rooftop where Jack/Steve will start his hairbrain scheme of growing organic tomatoes. Conveniently not mentioned are the following facts:

• the house is roach infested to the hilt; especially the kitchen!!
• toilets sometimes flush
• gas (i.e., hot water) is always running out
• his useless dogs shit all over the place
• his barracks of children keep up noise (as kids are want to do)
• the whole neighborhood hates him and shuns his family (for good reason)
• "maid service" is a joke
• "wifi service" is a joke
• he and Flor, his undocumented common law breeder, won't return your deposit without a hassle
• oh, and everything he just smiled to you about is 98-99.7% bullshit

Jack/Steve is a consummate liar and scumbag. So too is the indigenous piece of tail he still, after six kids, refers to as a 'girlfriend'; two peas in a pod. I imagine one day he will abscond, leaving Flor and her undocumented brood to fend for themselves. Such are the ways of a convicted con man. 

His biggest prey are young men low on cash (and brains) whom he regales with marijuana and Red Light District tales

As mentioned, I and other renters are now suing the bastards for failing to return our housing deposits. Unlike so many other travellers we did not leave the country when we moved out; thus Jack's concocted excuses, including convenient family emergencies (the latest was Flor's abortion), wilt in the light of Reality and he still has to contend with us. That's why he targets foreigners: less chance of these renters having the time to fight for their money back. It would be so much easier if the man and wife were honest and did not regard deposits as free money -- or people as marks.

By the way, the rent for his dump is not a bargain either. While the house has its good points, with just a smidgen more effort one can find better and more adequate apts in Tijuana for cheaper or slightly higher rent.

The tourist scam sits on the corner of Calle Santa Teresita & Calle Juan O. Robles (Col. Buena Vista). 858.779.4309

European landlord a duck in the wrong Pond

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Some landlords have Gov't complexes when it comes to renting their spaces: they want to know everything about you and be all up in your business. Or you can think of it as playing Mother; with their house rules regarding what the renter can and can not do under "their roof."

grandpa this ain't 1952 anymore!

While apt-hunting in Baja California I came across just such a post on Craigslist. The building is listed in Playas de Tijuana - supposedly the nicer area of town seeing as how it is near the beach (playas is Spanish for beach), populated with English-speaking foreigners and, subsequently, charges higher rents - and advertised as U.S. STANDARDS. But, according to the long-winded ad, renters can't have company over -- unless they fork over an additional $60USD per night. Wtf?! The wanker is charging $400/month for a supposedly private apartment and has the gall to dictate the limits to how one socializes -- like he's running a YMCA?! Wake up grandpa this ain't 1952 anymore!

Anglo-Francophile landlord should return his pink hide across the Pond and live under Big Brother since he approves of it so much

A check of the personal contact of the advertiser reveals a United Kingdom email address with a Frenchy handle. The U.K. is one of the countries with the most prevalent surveillance. It was also, you might recall, the inspiration for George Orwell's 1984. And France is, well, French -- and socialist. It sounds like this Anglo-Francophile expat landlord should return his pink hide back across the Pond and live under Big Brother socialism since he approves of it so much. Don't want families/pets/smokers/children? Then stipulate it. This is Mexico for fuck's sake not litigious 
USA/UK/Germany where political correctness forces people to lie. 

I wasn't interested in this ad - apart from a geriatric who in the hell would? - but was put off enough to email the owner about his hubris. This is how he replied (do notice the funny characters alongside the iPhone. Suddenly the greediness all makes sense):   

FUCK OFF YOU BLOODY BASTARD! If I don't like u r not obligated to stay with us. We charge extra to prevent tenants from bringing the entire family as many of u tried to do it in the several occasions. Do u get it stupid!
iPhone Россия/אןלימןר גיירמן 

Well! Wonder what finishing school the poor chap went to.

Stay Hotel (downtown LA)

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A while back I stayed in this "new" hotel called, with much brevity, Stay (technically it's Stay on Main). It's new in as much as it represents the remodelations of the Cecil Hotel next door and is aimed toward snaring young foreign travellers with its bunk-bed dorm rooms, bright ugly orange color schemes, and funky fashion conscious furnishings that strive for "Cool!" more than, say, "Elegant".


 %#@! hideous decor

Stay is still in the scary area of downtown L.A. and, in fact, not far from the infamous Skid Row. A little advice for backpackers coming from the downtown Greyhound bus terminal: walk hard and stay on 7th Street; but, otherwise, try to wait for the bus. And, do know, L.A.'s bus schedule leaves a lot to be desired.
This wannabe urban hotel requires credit cards in order to book rooms. I guess just in case some drunk fool tosses the ugly ass orange hand chair out the window. I don't like places that don't like cash.

L.A.'s bus schedule leaves a lot to be desired

Stay at Stay on Main if you must. 
If you mustn't, then don't. Might I suggest USA Hostels?

RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

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Never trust anyone who insists on assisting you for no apparent reason. Help requires distress; so if you're not in distress, then why would anyone be motivated to come to your, uh, well, distress? Not even the Boy Scouts go out of their way to help other people. Besides, if shop keepers and Customer Service can ignore me, then surely this perfect stranger on the street is scheming to gain something other than a warm fuzzy good Samaritan feeling.

Robbed in Mexico...and nobody gave a damn (Vallarta)

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I woke up that Friday and pulled myself out of bed and down to the beach for a morning exercise of jogging, crunches, and swimming. It felt good. Before heading back I stopped and cashed in an I.O.U. for a massage. Then I hurried home, showered off the beach and did laundry (by hand) and left within the hour for the 2:15 massage appointment. It felt good. This was looking to be a good T.G.I.F. and I had only several more days in Mexico.

I went practically straight home after the massage to find my door open, my computer gone and the room a mess. My place was burgled...in broad daylight (3ish)! Stunning, disheartening, and terrible summed the mish-mash of my emotions in that moment. I was burglarized. Some motherfucker broke into my house, messed up my neat home, rifled through my things and stole what pleased his criminal desires. My laptop..cell phones...and cash: GONE. He hit up my next door neighbor as well. The two "gringos" in the building got got. 

Stunning, disheartening, and terrible summed the mish-mash of my emotions in that moment. I was burglarized

And, of course, none of our Mexican neighbors, the devoutly theatrical God-fearing pagans that they are, saw or heard anything. That actually bothered me more than the burglary itself. I can never stomach cowards and complacency; maybe because, ultimately, those attributes are the stuff of weakness and hypocrisy. And the Mexican police? What a sad joke. Lazy, sorry ass do-nothings. The pig didn't even pretend to investigate the scene of the crime -- which I and the landlord had to telephone twice to come out. The malefactor left behind shoe and full hand prints. But that didn't interest the pig in the least. Are you kidding me?!

As I wrote in my journal later that night I suddenly realized the date was Friday the thirteenth. And, boy, was it ever.

When in Rome...

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Rome is such a fascinating city. All the things one sees in pictures really does exist here: the Colosseum, the church artifacts, the marble statues, the espresso-loving Italians, the mopeds, the fountains, and, of course, the Vatican. Put to see it up close is striking; not so much for it's grandeur but that it actually exists and, yes, is as grand as you had imagined.

I have been in Rome for a full week. The weather has been beautiful throughout (there was one day of grey and light rain). When I first saw the famous Colosseum I was in awe - naturally! - because the reality was so surreal; I somewhat didn't expect to actually see the actual thing. I know that sounds a bit off. 

Today I was privy to a tour of the city via motor scooter. The nice Italian - and they are not all nice or welcoming to dark skinned people! - gave me a ride on the back of  his moped. It truly makes a difference to see the city this way. Travelling through the subway sucks. Travelling above ground, however, keeps Rome from seeming so claustrophobic and primitive...even if one isn't driving a zippy moped.

I saw the Trevi Fountain, the stock exchange, the Pantheon, two churches with amazing, jaw-dropping Baroque art, a military procession at the president's palace, and one expensive lunch (9€ minestrone soup and bread). ¡Mama mia! 

I first experienced bed bugs in NYC

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I had long thought bed bugs were a part of nursery rhyme folklore but, noooo, those suckers are real. And vicious! I first experienced a dose of them in NYC when I stayed a week in this hotel on 8th Avenue. Good God! I didn't grow up with them and didn't know what the #@%! to make of the insects...but I soon learned to sleep covered up from neck to toe!!

Now the U.S.A. is experiencing an "outbreak" of bed bugs.

It wasn't me!

RULES OF TRAVEL

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NEW RULE:

A black man should not travel to foreign countries via any means other than air or sea; even rail travel gives the authorities a chance to remove you from the train on the flimsiest of pretexts. However, land travel within the territory is usually without hassle.

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Q:

WHAT'S RED & WHITE ALL OVER AND RACIST AT EVERY BORDER?

A:

it's no riddle to this but it's a big wonder that

a "dangerous" threat to Canuckistan's borders

is a young man who is black

(period omitted because there's more to come)

Liberal bullshit in Puerto Vallarta

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vallartascene.com

JOURNAL: SEPTEMBER 23, 2009

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Sept 23

post scriptum: almost forgot to record my second assault by supposedly customs officers which means my identification was requested twice within twenty-four hours by these racist pigs. Only one of the two spoke and he balked upon being handed a US passport, How can you complain when the US always wants papers to get in? Not everyday! Since he claimed to be on the alert for Amsterdam marijuana I told him to use drug sniffing dogs. Don't explain me my job, said the bitch pig and walked away.

JOURNAL: SEPTEMBER 22, 2009

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Sept 22

    Left Seefeld for Munich en route to Berlin. It's Oktoberfest so there were drunken fools in Bavarian garb all over the damn place. No sooner did I arrive was I confronted by two assholes who supposedly were undercover agents of some shit. 
  Like Amsterdam, Munich thrilled me none at all. The famous Oktoberfest--my passing through was coincidental--is an obnoxious bore. The foreigners were loud drunkards...and the Germans were loud drunkards in funny dress. Found no lodgings. I stayed up the whole night bent on leaving on the morrow. 

Antropology Bar is not classy or fun (Puerto Vallarta)

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Antropology sucks.

By virtue of no competition it is thee go-to nude male strip bar in Puerto Vallarta. But would tourists still go to it if they knew they were supporting a sonofabitch who essentially operates along the lines of a sweat-shop? That rich sonofabitch would be owner Jose. There's just something about this country which is sluggish to respect the self-evidence of human worth and dignity. Some travellers understand the folly in expecting foreign lands to proceed like their native society. I wager, however, that no one expects serfdom or indentured servitude to exist in North America in this day and age! Times do not always keep pace with years. Just look at Cuba. Or Mexico. Or Estonia.

The strippers are too afraid to speak up because no one wants to be unemployed

My beef with Antropology is uncomplicated and sincere: slavery is wrong. Anything akin or tantamount to slavery is equally wrong. The bar touts itself as a place "where classy meets fun" but there is nothing classy about how it is run. The strippers are treated like shit and given as much thought as one gives to the crap he just dumped in the toilet---zero save for flushing it away. 

Strippers are not paid any wages yet are required to work nightly AND forbidden to ever dance in any other venue. By any other venue I mean private affairs (bachelorette parties or house parties) and social galas (parades, fundraisers, store openings) as well as in other bars. Preventing a man from taking a second job to make ends meet or from making an honest living is inexcusable, ridiculous, wrong. Exclusive rights to something means that thing is paid for or in the case of a human worker is compensated for. 

Antropology demands exclusive labor and gives nothing in return. By nothing I mean nothing. No pay, no perks, no support, not even free drinks of water or juice; hell, even slave masters fed their slaves and chain-gangs earn cents to the dollar. Would it really impoverish the queer bastard to comp the dancers a beer or bottle of water?! Plus, he takes a share of the tips (private dances). What part of this is okay to any right thinking customer?

My beef with Antropology is uncomplicated: slavery is wrong. The strippers are treated like shit. They are not paid any wages yet are required to work nightly AND forbidden to ever dance in any other venue

One wouldn't knowingly patronize a sweat-shop or child labor or de facto forced labor; nor would one be okay if the scenario involved female dancers so why justify an exception for this? The strippers are too afraid to speak up because no one wants to be unemployed (failing to realize work without pay doesn't actually constitute actual employment anyway). Since Right counts for nada with Jose the man sees no reason to change his business practices.

Therefore it is up to customers, or perhaps the absence thereof, to motivate change. The expat gringos (and homosexual community) are always going on about acceptance and fair treatment so I want to see if they can convince the owner of Antropology to accept that his policy is not fair by, at minimum, North American standards. Jose needs to get with it. 


Until then, I do hope tourists boycott Antropology because Antropology sucks. Adult entertainment need not come at such a cost.
(Hmmm, wonder if the business association knows about this....)

I welcome feedback; Or click here to send your comments straight to Antropology (pun.so.intended).

Watch out for these 5 tourist scams!!

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I've had my experiences with goddamn tourist scams so am glad to direct you to this helpful article about five scams making suckers of unsuspecting foreigners.

The infamous Reeperbahn sucks (Hamburg)

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Hamburg's Reeperbahn Avenue was probably the shit back when polyester and 8-tracks ruled but now it's just shit. As far as its red light district intrigue goes it is still the locale for smut and sleazy thrills but I wouldn't unzip my fly in that district to take a piss let alone penetrate anyone. Holy snikes!

At night it is tacky, crowded and loud. From every building protrudes cheesy neon signs bright and big. In the day time the Reeperbahn is plain tacky and, worse, ugly because there isn't night to cover it. The "sexy girls" posters are all faded and resplendent with hair dos from the '80s. So un-sexy. My hunch is the girls are desperate Eastern Europeans or other waifs ensnared by the Russian mafia. And they either look old or under fed. I couldn't possibly contribute to white slavery.

I wouldn't unzip my fly in that district to take a piss

One bar absolutely refused me entry due to the color of my skin. The supposedly private party was open to everyone else in our group which included two Bavarian girls, two white southern males from Atlanta, two Englishmen and an English girl. We were all offended and went to the claustrophobic 99cent Bar instead, where all shots cost just ninety-nine cents; and I played Sinatra's Something Stupid on the jukebox. But, of course, as every non-black person and homosexual informs me, racism no longer exists.

A rainy night in Toronto

Last night my host unkindly threw me out of his apartment. The episode had all the trappings of a Roger Corman fright night: cold, rainy night, a lost newcomer in the big city, a controlling antagonist.


Never mind the rain, it is totally unforgivable that I was sent packing johnny-on-the-spot. But I wasn't worried. I've been through worse---much, much worse---and, anyway, was ready to go at the drop of a hat. As the scouts cry, Always be prepared! And I was.

Reloaded MY things in my two suitcases and was out of there in under twenty minutes. The indian giver even took back the stuff he gave me. Talk about class! Imagine: inviting someone over and then tossing him out. You'd think I had stolen something. Fuck him. Though tasteless I am not bothered by that either. I left with what I came with, including my dignity and an ever fixed distrust of any "friend" over forty.

The apartment was beyond nice and comfortable but material stuff doesn't hold much of a trance over me. And I do dislike the notion of being kept. Am too independent and straight for that shit. No golden handcuffs for me, thank ye very little. Now if a wealthy divorcee enters my life, well....

Always be prepared! And I was

Luckily after leaving the bar, which, by the way, was the initial---and un-suspicious and totally innocent---plan of the evening, I found a hostel just two blocks away. Sweet!



This cool cat may not always immediately land on his feet from a fall but I'll be goddamn if I crawl and grovel to any man.

The 'ol homo art ploy

One of the more common cons I encounter has to do with modeling. Every homosexual with a shutter-eye likes to think of himself as a photographer with "appreciation for male beauty." Oh brother. Get a shovel! Having a camera doesn't make one a photographer and liking nudity doesn't elevate it to art. Two gallery owners flattered me with the moon and stars if only I would pose for them au natural.

Email me with the details, I smiled. If they emailed me, I've a bridge in New York for sale.

Here are some photographs from a legitimate artist I befriended in Puerto Vallarta. Real McCoys exist...they're just hampered by the many copy-cats and wannabes out there.

Get up & Go Global (GGG)

Get up & Go Global is a one-man job placement agency out of Canada that purports job placements in beach resorts around the world. By employment he means the possibility of a work contract by which one actually gets paid for his labor. By "around the world" he means Mexico. And as far as I can tell there is only one real contact: Club Maeva. (click to read about my horror job story)

For GGG, suckering young, wide-eyed foreigners down to Mexico is the most important goal---because once the youth has flown down---on his own dime---GGG has collected his commission and the young hopeful is on his own...in Mexico--where everything is done in the least simplest way possible.

Operated by Canadian Lee from his home in Toronto, the agency is pisspoor at answering emails or striving to ensure an honest, fun working abroad experience. Crucial information concerning exact payment, pay schedule, working and living conditions, and employee reviews are conveniently not shared or sweetly obfuscated. One learns of the truth quickly, though, upon arrival when, as I've said, he is on his own.

website

Club Maeva, Manzanillo

This all-inclusive beach resort is a very popular vacation destination in Mexico. One is located in Manzanillo and the other, Tampico. Club Maeva is a great place to vacation (if R&R is part of the goal otherwise the constant "animation" can be a bitch) but a far less than great place to work (if you're non-Mexican).

I had the experience of working at Club Maeva, Manzanillo, last November, and would forthrightly caution any foreigner considering emploment as a Maevamigo: supervisors are harsh, working environment is not fun, Mexican guests are pigs, stressful long hours.

The team leaders---wannabe "chiefs"---in step with the boss who is sychophantically referred to as Chief are high-strung, overbearing, loud, egoists whose reactions are often out of proportion and sometimes bluntly irrational. (With this as the accepted model of leadership is it any wonder Latin American countries keep electing strongmen to power?)

being a Maevamigo is a bragging right for Mexicans for whom four thousand pesos and degradation and a sense of belonging beats working in a warehouse

Working conditions are stressful and non-stop---and degrading: Most of the guests are Mexican and seemed to equate all-inclusive with servitude. They were always demanding I pose for their stupid ass photos and thought nothing of interrupting my or any other Maevamigo's work and rehearsels for it. Even in mid-swing during a game of ping-pong they were piggish enough to poke me on the shoulder for a picture. This happened more than once! During meal breaks, which the "chiefs" begrudgingly allow, Maevamigos must interact with the guests which often meant subjecting myself to more stupid ass snapshots, intrusive questions, crude and inappropriate jokes whilst the plate of food grew cold right under my nose.

The hours are looooooooong, running from possibly 7 or 9am to 11pm or 1am with nary a respite in between (revert to above paragraph) six days a week. Sports activities piggy back one after another; then there are dance and theatre rehearsals in preparation for the nightly shows and further entertaining ("animation") at the Tropical Hut after the show. On top of all this, the pay ranges from maybe to little: maybe you will get paid if the Chief likes you and extends a work contract after the first month OTHERWISE the company tries to screw you out of pay, arguing the illegality of paying for labor rendered sans an inked contract. Barring that corruption, the $4000 pesos is little for all the work and hours logged AND, worse still, was less than the advertised $5000 salary.

Oh, and the other departments---0% foreigner---especially dining services, are envious and resentful of the Maevamigos. Why? Principally because we had the task of humoring and entertaining their crude, fat, ignorant countrymen with song, dance, and posing for stupid ass pictures from morning to midnight. (Guests are audacious enough to ask you to work on your day off. Talk about no class!)

Sadly, but tellingly, being a Maevamigo is a step up, nay, a bragging right for Mexicans for whom four thousand pesos and degradation and a sense of belonging beats working in a warehouse or taco stand. For some peoples, any attention is good attention.

Personally, I cannot abide nor find anything endearing in ignorance, racism ("chocolate bar", "little nigger"), lack of privacy, whimsical job security, in-house animosity, or dressing in drag. And so I left. A boy gots to draw the line somewhere. By all means go as a guest but flee from any job agency's lure of working as a Maevamigo.