Discrimination is a good thing

Many corporations above the border and elsewhere are drawing attention to themselves, and not in a good way, for knuckling under to leftwing nonsense. Southwest Airlines was one when just recently it said unvaccinated employees would be fired.

And then Delta Airlines, to its credit, said it would not buckle under to the same White House diktat. When that happened, Southwest had a change of heart. Delta was always one of my favorite carriers, back when I went to airports.

And then there are corporations that sincerely promote leftist imbecility. One is AirBnB, which is headquartered in … drum roll, please … San Francisco, California!

Our Downtown Casita is listed on AirBnB. I’ve tried to switch to other services, such as VRBO, but it’s stunningly complicated and demanding. AirBnB is far easier, so I stick with it.

AirBnB embraces political correctness and woke-ness with a vengeance. Here are two laughable, imbecilic examples. For the hosts — people who offer their properties — we used to get photos of those requesting reservations. And as the saying goes, a picture is worth a thousand words. Lots of truth in that.

No way.

I like to see who wants to stay in our Downtown Casita, what they look like. If the person resembles either Manson, Charles or Marilyn, I will refuse the reservation based totally on appearance, and I see nothing wrong with that. I have refused one request due to the photo of the fellow requesting it. Just one time.

Well, that’s out the window. A couple of years ago, AirBnB made it impossible for hosts to see what the guest looks like before accepting the reservation. This is, of course, to block discrimination!

In truth, it’s discrimination against the hosts.

But I favor discrimination. Being a discriminating person once was a compliment, and I still view it so. I bitched about this new rule to AirBnb, but it accomplished nothing, of course.


No Gringos!

We have tenants coming this weekend for two weeks, the first rental in about two years, mostly due to the pandemic. It’s a nice-looking couple in their early 60s who live in Dallas. I got to see them after accepting the reservation. Yesterday, we were exchanging information via AirBnB’s messaging, and I used the word Gringo.

Oh, dear me!

Before sending my message to the tenant, I received a pop-up from AirBnB advising me that Gringo was “offensive”! But I was given the option of sending the message anyway, which I did.

Let us look at this word Gringo. All Mexicans use it when referring to Americans. The only time they don’t is when there’s a Gringo they do not know who’s within earshot. And almost all Gringos who live in Mexico use the word too. Maybe some leftist PC dimwits don’t, and we have quite a few of them down here, sadly.

There is nothing wrong with the word, and almost 100% of our rentals over the past decade have been to Gringos. My child bride prefers them. She has more trust in Gringos than in her own paisanos.

She is a discriminating woman, which is why she married me.

Around the mountaintop

HERE’S A GOOD video a nice-looking couple made of our mountaintop town and lovely things nearby.

I landed here by pure luck 18 years ago, first living eight months in the state capital which is about 40 minutes away down a smooth four-laner.

One day I came up here, sat at a coffee shop sidewalk table on the main plaza (not the one owned by my sister-in-law), took a look around and said to no one in particular: I could live here.

So I went back to my two-story, sparsely furnished rental in the middle of the state capital, packed my few things, rented a car, tossed it all in, and drove up the mountainside where I moved into yet another two-story, sparsely furnished rental. I lived there for 2.5 years until we built the Hacienda.

The first 1.5 years, I lived there alone.

When I moved to the mountaintop, there were about 40 Gringos in residence. Now there are about ten times that number, too many for my taste.

No matter. It’s been a fine time. Best decision of my life.

Refugee, not an expatriate

EXPATRIATE, OFTEN misspelled, has something of an exotic ring to it.

It can conjure up images of Hemingway in Paris, Lenin in Switzerland or Felipe in Mexico, sitting at sidewalk cafés with steaming cafecitos, plotting revolutions, penning pamphlets or simply chilling out.

I excel at that last one.

While it’s common to hear Gringos who’ve moved to Mexico referring to themselves and one another as expatriates, I have never considered myself one, never used the word in reference to myself even though I am one.

I feel more like a refugee.

I didn’t feel like a refugee when I moved to Mexico over 18 years ago, but I feel like a refugee now while I watch my former homeland come unglued.

It’s nice to have found refuge South of the Border.

My child bride goes topless

This hombre was my father-in-law.

THERE ARE NO two abutting nations on earth that are more different than the United States and Mexico. Moving from one to another can be a jarring experience.

It is so jarring that it causes Gringos in Mexico — and Mexicans in the United States — to huddle with their own people for comfort and familiarity.

While the Gringos often crow about assimilating, blending in, the Mexicans know better. While Gringos often say they “love the culture” of Mexico, Mexicans never say that about the United States. Blame envy.

If you go further than simply moving from one nation to the other, and marry into a family from the other side, things can get more jarring or less, depending on you. It definitely provides a different perspective.

Speaking of perspectives, here are some photos my child bride recently pulled from the closet. Above is my father-in-law.  He owned a horse and a pistol, and he would pull the pistol out if necessary. He was a family physician and a surgeon to boot. I never knew him because he died over 30 years ago at the age of 61, a heart attack.

He was not, I am told, fond of Gringos.

Here are two more photos, both of my child bride in the early 1960s. I graduated from high school in 1962, so it’s clear why I call her my child bride.

Enjoying a bath in a galvanized tub.

Going topless with a goofy grin.