Poor Mexico – so far from God, and so close to the United States.
– Mexican folk aphorism, often erroneously attributed to José de la Cruz Porfirio Díaz Mori
Cinco de Mayo isn’t Mexican Independence Day; that’s September 16. It isn’t the date of the Mexican Constitution – that’s February 5. It isn’t the date of the discovery of Mexico, that’s March 1. And, contrary to what many people believe, it’s not Pancho Villa’s birthday, either. That’s June 5. No, May 5 is the date of a dumb luck victory of the Mexicans over invaders under the command of the Second French Empire at the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862. Which is remarkable, because although the Mexicans won that particular battle marvelously, they lost that particular war in total disgrace, and the French accepted the Mexicans’ surrender and instituted a colonial government on July 10, 1863. For obvious reasons, nobody celebrates that. And, probably due to those ambiguous circumstances, Cinco de Mayo is not even celebrated everywhere in Mexico – in Puebla, certainly, but not necessarily in say, Zacatecas, Tapachula or Merida.
On the other hand, Cinco de Mayo is enthusiastically celebrated all over the United States of America. Americas who would never be caught dead hanging out at the local Seven Eleven at six thirty in the morning looking for casual construction, landscaping or domestic cleaning work enthusiastically don sombreros, guzzle tequila and gorge on tacos, burritos, tamales and guacamole, which, as far as they know, is what Mexicans do on Cinco de Mayo. My apologies, of course, to any Mexicans reading this, but that’s gringos for you.
There are some things happening with Cinco de Mayo that are, in my humble opinion, worthy of comment. Mexico is, by and large, a Catholic country. So is Ireland, and what have we here in America in the way of Irish drunken blowout holidays? Why, nothing less than Saint Patrick’s Day itself. And we Italian Americans, we have Columbus Day, without which – if you think about it – there would be no Cinco de Mayo or Saint Patrick’s Day. So my question is, why aren’t Americans celebrating Swieto Konstytucji Trzeciego Maja, Polish Constitution Day – or Dzien Niepodleglosci, Polish Independence Day – with vodka, pierogis and paczki? Or, if it has to be a battle with an extremely ambiguous significance, why not Dzien Wojska Polskiego, Polish Army Day, August 25, which commemorates the Battle of Warsaw in 1921? What’s the matter – is 1921 too soon?
I guess I’m thinking about that because of my dear brother-in-law, Hank, who’s, well, not to put too fine a point on it, Polish. Which makes all of my nieces and nephews he has produced, like any good Catholic, with my dear sister Rose, half Polish, a fact that I, as an America of Italian heritage, have to accept, of course, since we’re all Catholics, and so forth. Nevertheless, I must confess he has a knack for getting on my nerves.
For example – here’s Cinco de Mayo, falling on a Saturday in the Year of Our Lord 2012, which makes it a prime Cinco de Mayo party day. So my dear brother Rob Roy and his wife Katje (who has graced me with a nephew who is half Norwegian – they’re mostly Lutherans, by the way) decided to throw a huge drunken Cinco de Mayo blowout party at their place in Falls Church, Virginia. Rob and Katje invited me, and I was pleased to say yes, I’m looking forward to it and I’ll bring a bottle of Casa Herradua Seleccion Suprema tequila, too.
Then Hank got involved. He called Rob, he called Katje, and after that, he called me. Cinco de Mayo only falls on a Saturday an average of once every seven years, he argued. This implies a very large party upon the rare occasions when this occurs, he insisted. Rob and Katje’s modest home is not large enough to do it justice, he opined. And, of course, the home which he, Rose, his brother, his brother’s wife Shannon, and their huge broods of Catholic progeny occupy in Fairfax, Virginia would not be suitable. My place, in Great Falls, Virginia, on the other hand, he reasoned, would be more than adequately spacious and appropriate. Therefore, this year’s Cinco de Mayo celebration should held at my house. Okay, I finally relented – but, in that case, I say forget about me supplying any especially rare tequila. I’ll make the margaritas with Corraelo Anejo instead. Not that Corraelo Anejo is cheap, by any means. It’s just not Casa Herradua Seleccion Suprema, that’s all. But if I have to pay for the Mexican comestibles to feed all people everybody in my extended family invites to a big blowout Cinco de Mayo party, then I figure I’ve done my part.
So we celebrated Cinco de Mayo at my home in Great Falls, and by nine-thirty last night, the Corraelo Anejo, plus a couple of bottles of Patrón Reposado Rob and Katje brought, was talking, loudly and with definite opinion, around the pool table in my basement game room. The subject, as it happened, was Julia. Haven’t heard of her yet? Believe me, you will. She’s the subject of an “infographic” released recently on the Web by the Obama campaign. It’s basically a cartoon slide show you click through one panel at a time, which follows the life of a female American from toddler-hood to dotage. Trying to be hip, the Obama camp also set up “#Julia,” a Twitter hashtag, so that Tweeters could share their thoughts on how great Obama is. It didn’t exactly work out like that, though.
“How dare they,” Shannon demanded, “say that Romney would cut Head Start by twenty percent?”
“It says ‘programs like Head Start,’ actually,” Katje tartly responded.
“Julia at three years old,” Hank sneered. “That’s the socialists for you – get them while they’re young! You know what they teach them in Head Start? That it’s okay to have two mommies, that’s what! And that…”
“And that millionaires ought to pay taxes at the same rate as we do,” Rob interrupted. “Oh, sorry, Hank, that’s right – you’re unemployed, aren’t you? You and Shannon, as a matter of fact! So how come you two still think a Republican free market economy is the solution, anyway, huh?”
“Just because the free market screwed me over,” Hank protested, “doesn’t mean America isn’t still the greatest country in the world – and don’t you forget it!”
“Right,” Shannon eagerly seconded. “And what if Hank and me do something… entrepreneurial, okay, and we get millions of bucks out of it? Why should we have to share more than ten or fifteen percent of our profits with everybody else? We took the risk, didn’t we? What you and Katje should do,” she haughtily advised Rob Roy, “is actually read the Ryan economic plan, instead of assuming that just because you’re liberals, you already know what’s in it!”
“Yeah,” Hank nodded, “like Michelle Malkin tweeted, ‘The life of pound-Julia: Entitlement, dependency, with redistribution.’ That’s what the whole thing is about! I tweeted that Julia’s a Web designer because gas will be too expensive for her to drive to work, so the government gave her an online job at home.”
“I tweeted she’s a ward of the state,” Shannon added, “who depends on the government for free contraceptives!”
“I tweeted, ‘Where’s the scene where Obama lets the Chinese take over?’ Good question huh?” Hank demanded, eyeing Rob Roy defiantly.
“I tweeted that the story stops when she’s sixty-seven,” Shannon snickered, “because at sixty-eight, Obama’s death panels finally got her!”
“And I tweeted that Julia’s share of the national debt doubled under Obama!” Hank crowed.
“I tweeted that her college loan under Obama was so high she could never pay it back,” Shannon tittered.
“I tweeted that because of Obama, Social Security and Medicare will be bankrupt long before she can use them!” Hank bragged.
“I tweeted that when Julia dies, the Obama government takes eighty percent of her estate in taxes,” Shannon countered. “Bet you can’t top that one, Hank!”
“Oh yeah?” Hank replied confidently. “How about this – I tweeted that Julia ended up on welfare, living in public housing, smoking crack and turning tricks, all because of Obama!”
“I tweeted that Julia couldn’t get into college,” Shannon quickly responded, “because she’s white and Obama’s affirmative action kept her out.”
“Well, I tweeted that socialist government goons came and took her away at three in the morning!” Hank proudly proclaimed.
“Is that all? I tweeted that Julia was born a boy named John,” Shannon declared, “and that Obama’s nanny state gave him gender confusion resulting in a sex change operation!”
“So this is what a couple of unemployed conservatives do all day?” Rob Roy wondered aloud. “Try to beat each other at making up stupid, snarky tweets about Obama?”
“The Democrats started it!” Hank complained. “They’re the ones who put ‘The Life of Julia’ on the Web! They’re the ones who tried to scare old people by saying Romney is going to cut Social Security by forty percent and that ‘Medicare as we know it’ – whatever that is – could end if he’s elected President.”
“Right,” Shannon chimed in, “The Democrats are the ones who say Romney’s going to slash Pell grants, kill health care reform and reduce federal funding for local school systems!”
“Hey, wait a minute, Shannon,” Katje insisted. “Aren’t slashing Pell grants, killing health care reform and reducing the role of federal government in local school systems things you and Hank have said you want Romney to do?”
“Yeah, well, sure,” Shannon admitted. “But what gives the Democrats the right put those things in ‘The Life of Julia’ and use them against us?”
“The First Amendment?” Rob Roy suggested.
“Of course!” Hank roared. “See? There they go! The First Amendment! That’s the knee-jerk liberal reply to everything, isn’t it?”
“Just like ‘socialism’ is the knee-jerk conservative reaction to anything the Democrats do!” Katje hotly shot back. “And that’s total bull [expletive]!”
“Not when everything the Democrats do actually is socialism!” Shannon hissed.
“Is not!” Katje yelled.
“Is too!” Shannon shouted, taking a step toward Katje.
“Hey Tom,” Rob Roy interjected, casting nervous glances at the two women, who by now were glaring at each other, obviously on the verge of a spirted cat fight, “what do you think of Julia?”
“That she’s obviously not human,” I dryly observed.
“Huh?” Hank managed to grunt as he stared at me blankly.
“Well,” I explained, “If Obama manages to get re-elected President, he will hold that office from January 20, 2013 through January 20, 2017. During that four year period, however, according to the Democrats, Julia with have simultaneous memberships in twelve different age demographics, ranging from three to sixty-seven years. For that to be true, Julia can’t possibly be human. I conclude, therefore, that Julia must be a Tralfamadorian.”
“A what?” Shannon inquired curiously, now staring at me instead of Katje.
“An alien from outer space,” I elaborated, “originating on the planet Tralfamador. Invented by the late Kurt Vonnegut, they exist simultaneously at all times during their lives.”
“Really?” Hank exulted as he reached for his iPhone. “Wow! That’s [expletive ] awesome, Tom! How do you spell ‘Tral.. Tral-fama… Tral-fama-whatisface?”
“Hey!” Shannon shrieked at Hank as she frantically began punching at her own iPhone. “Tom was answering my question just then! I have dibs on that tweet!”
“Nuh-uh,” Hank argued with his usual eloquence while shaking his head vigorously. “I thought of it first!”
“Did not!” Shannon wailed, her thumbs flying so quickly they became a blur.
“Did too!” Hank growled, fumbling to beat her to the post.
“Oh, God, look at them,” Rob Roy muttered in my ear. “Isn’t it pathetic?”
“Almost as pathetic,” I shrugged, “as ‘The Life of Julia’ was in the first place.”