Thinko de Mayo...

Cinco de Mayo. In America, this is the day when whitebread middle-class families take their 2.6 children to play in tents and air fortresses which have been erected outside of Mexican chain restaurants while they gulp down pitchers of margaritas and queso laden chips. It really doesn't have anything to do with victory over the French, or Mexican pride or anything minor like that. But that's all right. After all, we do Christmas like nobodies business in this country, and Lord knows that those traditions have about as much to do with the baby Jesus as the instructions on a bag of microwave popcorn. I guess in the end it's about celebrating, verdad?

In other news, I played trivia tonight with two fellows who have both lost their mothers. Mother's Day is just around the corner, and so you learn these things. My immediate superior at work has also lost her mother, though not terribly recently. All of these people are under 50, mind you, two of them under 40. A bit early to be losing your mum, I reckon. Still, life goes on. New mothers are made every day. I just learned of one in my circle, so to speak. I'm still waiting to see if I can't make my own spouse be one. It doesn't seem to be in the cards just yet.

Holidays are tough. You either feel a need to celebrate or a need to grieve. There doesn't seem to be any middle ground. Ambivalence seems not to fit in to our two party system: party-er or party-pooper. For the record, I voted green once. Lot of good it did me, but still, I can't claim to have voted for anyone successful yet. Forever a friend to mediocrity, I guess. And so I take my leave of today.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Stella Artois, proudly brewed in Belgium since before this country was ever even a concept. How's that for some history?