Tag Archives: Netflix

PC TV

(Warning: the following post is not advisable for Mennonites, evangelical Christians or 8-year-old children.)

AFTER A HARD day of work, we customarily spend evenings quietly at home sprawled in recliners before the Samsung Smart TV, eating salads and watching something on Netflix.

We are often appalled at what we see.

It is no secret that American universities have become indoctrination centers for raging leftists, that movies coming out of Hollywood relentlessly push political correctness, but television is another matter because any 8-year-old can turn it on and stand slack-jawed before the screen.

What he sees is a combination of lies and deviancies.

* * * *

First, the lies!

Most current series give the impression that many, if not the majority, of romantic relationships and marriages are interracial. This, of course, is arrant nonsense.

Most couples, the world over, are the same race. The exceptions are a minuscule minority. This fact, however, conflicts with the left’s idolizing of diversity and multiculturalism.

So a large percentage of television dramas is a form of reeducation camp that any 8-year-old child can flip on at will while mama’s in the kitchen washing  the dishes.

We just started the second season of Secrets and Lies, a pretty good ABC series starring the normally scenery-chewing Juliette Lewis as a deadpan police detective.

The story line revolves around a rich family where the father is white and his adult kids are black. In the first show, mother is mentioned but not seen just yet. She’ll have to be black for this family to even be genetically feasible.

This is not rare. The script gymnastics the television industry puts itself through to “diversify” families is laughable. Multiracial and multicultural families on television far exceed their numbers in the real world. It is inaccurate and silly.

It is political.

* * * *

Now, the deviancy!

According to the television industry, homosexuals are everywhere. Every family either has gay members or knows numerous gay couples. Yeah, sure.

Modern Family is a great example. A gay couple belongs to the family, a gay couple who’ve adopted an Asian child (hitting the multicultural drum). There’s also an Old White Man married to a young, hot Latina.* Modern Family pours it on.

It’s another ABC show.

Not even the president of the United States is immune. In the series House of Cards the president occasionally gets it on with a guy. It’s a good series, but does the president really have to be a switch-hitter? An unnecessary script element.

Blatant indoctrination, Ho Chi Minh-style.

What percentage of humanity is actually gay? Hard to say. A Washington Post story cites a poll that indicates it’s about 1.6 percent. Gallup, on the other hand, tells you it’s about 3.8 percent. I’ve never seen a number higher than that.

Taking these figures as two extremes, that means the number of people who are neither gay nor lesbian range between 98.4 percent to 96.2 percent. Dang near everyone.

This is, in political terms, a landslide for straights, something you’d never know from watching television dramas where gays are as common as the lovable aunt and the cute pooch.

And they’re always kissing. They kiss far more than the straight couples. Kiss, kiss, kiss!

Not surprisingly, most Americans now think homosexuals are considerably more numerous than they are.

This is propaganda in action.

Gallup reports too that the U.S. public believes gays make up almost a quarter of the population! The television industry/reeducation camps are stunningly effective.

Again, this is all political.

Let us continue with the gay theme. First, I chose the word deviancy over perversion intentionally. Perversion is a value judgment. Deviancy simply means outside the norm.

One may or may not consider homosexuality a perversion. However, its being outside the norm is indisputable.

I don’t give a hoot if someone is gay. And I do not believe it’s a choice any more than my being straight is a choice.

We are what we are.

Back to the television industry. It is not content to simply insist that gays are everywhere. Increasingly, it wants to show us precisely what gays do in the privacy of their homes.

It’s way overboard.

* * * *

Barebacking and strap-ons!

Just recently we were watching a fun series called Penny Dreadful starring, among others, the stunning and yummy Eva Green.

Then one evening, there it was, anal, homosexual sex in a graphic manner that once was reserved for sticky-floored movie houses frequented by men in brown overcoats.

It was totally gratuitous, deviant sex that, once again, is available to any 8-year-old who turns on the television.

Are the people who make this out of their minds? No, they simply want you to get on board with this diversity thing.

It is political.

Let us move on now. A couple of weeks ago, we began a new series, but never got further than the first show. We were stopped dead in our proverbial tracks by lesbian love!

Two lovely lesbians going at it (one black, one white!) with vigor on the bed. They finish and the topmost disconnects and tosses an oily, strap-on penis to the floor. Ker-plop!

Camera lingers on firm, rubber penis.

This isn’t pay-for-view. It’s regular, commercial television.

I don’t care if people do this stuff. Power to them. But do it at home. If you want to film, do so and sell it to adults. Bring back the dingy theaters. Don’t make it available to 8-year-olds.

But, it’s political, and you know which side is doing it.

It ain’t my side. We have standards.

* * * *

* This sounds sort of familiar. Not sure why,

The drop-ins

Here we are! What’s on the stove? Where’s the tequila? Let’s dance!

LIVING IN Mexico can be a challenge. Don’t let anybody fool you with that “it’s magical” hooey.

The pluses outweigh the minuses, of course, but some of those minuses can be maddening, especially to me.

Way up the list is what I call the “Mexican yes,” or as I often say it to my child bride, “el sí mexicano.”

She does not dispute the point.

This refers to the custom of responding positively to pretty much everything. Are you coming tomorrow to fix the faucet? Yes!  Are you coming to lunch tomorrow? Yes! It’s always yes, and it never has any connection to reality whatsoever.

Maybe you’ll come. Maybe you won’t. No telling.

The only exception to this occurs when the positive response is not yes, but no. Are you going to drive my car that I’m loaning you 200 kph over potholes? No!

But, like all Mexicans, I have become accustomed to the “Mexican yes,” knowing that it’s meaningless.

By the way, the “Mexican yes” is just one example of a broader problem, which is rampant lying. This habit stems from trying to make other people feel good on one hand, and avoiding embarrassment to yourself on the other hand.

Mexicans get embarrassed a lot.

Most of the lying falls into the “little white lie” category, the fib. It’s no big thing really, but it becomes a bigger thing due to its being spectacularly widespread.

What all this means is that you often cannot depend on what people say. I am convinced this is a major factor in our not running a First-World economy, which relies on trust.

There is little trust between the Rio Bravo and the Guatemalan border. Probably not south of the Guatemalan border either, but I have never been there, so I don’t know.

I suspect this is not a Mexican thing, but a Latino thing.

But it’s not lying or lack of trust that inspires me today. It’s another Mexican habit that drives me nuts.

It’s the drop-in.

If relatives want to visit, they just do so with no warning whatsoever, and it can happen at any hour of the day or night. And they rarely do so individually or in couples.

Think groups. I call them mobs.

Do they phone first to let you know they’re on their way? Do they wait for an invite? Do they think for a nanosecond that you may be busy with someone or something else? Do they attempt not to come right at a meal time? No.

My wife says this is just part of the culture, and nobody thinks anything of it, including the recipients of the drop-in. Relatives are always welcome. Always!

I very much doubt this. I think the recipients of the drop-in often are faking it to avoid that widespread embarrassment.

We usually end our days the same way. I make a big salad for the two of us. We’re in our PJs, and we sit in our recliners upstairs, eat and watch a movie on Netflix. This rarely varies, and I do not want to hear the doorbell. It will be ignored.

We had been eating our salads for about 45 seconds last Saturday night when my child bride’s phone rang. Here we come! it was said in Spanish, the five relatives driving down from Querétaro.

They were five minutes away. They knew when they left Querétaro hours earlier that they were coming here. They surely knew the day before, but did they let us know? Of course not.

It would have ruined the drop-in!

The five of them sat in our living room for over an hour, shooting the breeze while our salads wilted upstairs. Then they got up and headed downtown at 9 p.m. to “drop in” on other relatives who had no clue they were coming either.

Actually, we got off lucky because they did not decide to spend the night on our floor. The other relatives won that prize.

The drop-in.

Living in Mexico can be a challenge.

Night salads

SOMETIMES it’s good to show one’s human side.

Our evening meal is always a salad. I fix it myself. It’s served about 8 p.m., and we dine upstairs sitting in recliners watching Netflix, recovering from our ever-arduous days.

kit2While making the salads last night, my child bride snapped these two photos with her phone camera. The photos are not very sharp.

But neither am I.

It’s been quite nippy here in the evenings lately, and that’s why I am heavily clothed. We have no central heat. Or central air-conditioning either for that matter. No need.

kitThe flannel pants I am sporting were purchased in Costco, and are adorned with skulls and crossbones. The heavy hoodie was also a Costco buy.

That thing atop my head is an ancient and dreadfully misshapen watch cap. My child bride detests it.

But I never wear it out of the house, and I have a much newer version of the exact same model for social wear. The newer one looks quite smart, I think.

My normal preference for black-and-white photos has been cast aside for obvious reasons. We live in blazing color.

De common code

green

I GODDA CODE. Yes, a cold. Started last Friday night, and it’s marching on, day by day, not improving, not worsening.

I loathe colds with a passion. Everybody dislikes them, but my feeling toward them is red-hot, sizzling. And if anyone around me has a cold, expect me to stay 10 feet away.

That, or I’ll be running out the door, screaming.

My biggest fear is that it will lead to a sinus infection, which it can do. Sinus infections are hell on earth or, at least, that’s how I see them. Any ailment above the neck is dreadful.

Since moving to Mexico, I’ve been fascinated with the locals’ cavalier attitude toward colds. First off, few seem to make a distinction between the common cold and the flu, which is a whole different ballgame.

The Spanish-English dictionary defines cold as resfriado, but I’ve never heard anybody use that word. The word they use is gripa, which the dictionary defines as flu.

Go figger.

No Mexican I know shares my horror of the common cold. You can have red eyes, a scarlet nose and be dripping snot all over the place,  sneezing your head off, and you still get the damnable cheek kiss if someone wanders by.

Last Saturday when my current cold was still iffy, I was downtown, and my sister-in-law appeared.

She leaned over to plant the damnable Latino cheek kiss on me, and I said, “Better not. I have a cold.” “I don’t care,” she replied, and let me have it. These people are loco.

Many years ago, when I still lived above the Rio Bravo, I often neglected the yearly flu shot. Then I got a case of the flu, which a doctor told me was rather mild. If that was mild, I sure didn’t want to risk the whole enchilada.

Now I get a flu shot yearly. Been doing it for ages. My child bride never got a flu shot before she knew me, but now she does, at my insistence.

I haven’t been away from the Hacienda since Saturday. I live in my pajamas. My feet are in Polar Pairs (c) shoe-socks. My cold remains relatively low-grade, and I am waiting it out.

After breakfast, I wandered out to the yard, noticed the view above, and snapped a photo. Gotta have artwork.

Now it’s time for another movie on Netflix.

One great day

view
This morning’s scene from my rocker.

HERE I SIT on a rocker. It’s around 10 a.m., and I’ve already watered the veranda potted plants and the hanging ones too. I’ve cleaned the glass-top table on the Jesus Patio, and I’ve changed the yucky birdbath water.

At 11 we’ll be having second breakfast — either oatmeal or cereal — and then I’ll don old pants, take off my socks, slip my tootsies into ancient Crocs and circle the yard perimeter with my new Stihl weedeater.

When that’s done, I’ll shower and dress myself up. Later, I’ll make lunch, which will be fish burgers, wild rice, sauteed veggies and lentil soup from a can. I’m no elitist.

After lunch, we usually watch a show on Netflix before heading downtown. My child bride to her sister to gossip and me to a sidewalk table with café and my Kindle. I’m currently reading a bio of Ronald Reagan by H.W. Brands.

Tonight will find us in our soft chairs watching two more shows on Netflix while supping on big salads that I create myself. We don’t have real jobs, of course.

This routine is so grueling that we felt we deserved a vacation, so next week we’ll be heading to Colima and Comala for a few days. I’ve never been there. I want to see the volcano.

Now, on to politics: The California Democrat primary takes place Tuesday, and Bernie might beat Hillary, which would be an hilarity. And then the Brexit vote comes on the 23rd, and I’m rooting for a British departure.

It’s a lovely day, but it will rain later.

Thanks for stopping by.

The long table

kitchenBW

SEE THAT CHAIR down there, just opposite? That’s my chair, and it’s where I sit when I eat a morning bagel or an afternoon pozole. The King’s Chair, and I’m the King.

The Queen sits to my right. The Princess and her Prince by marriage live in Georgia and have yet to visit the castle.

Perhaps one day.

Nobody sits at this table for the evening meal, which at the Hacienda is always a green salad with diced chicken on top. I make that, and we go upstairs and watch something on Mexican Netflix, a great service.

We have side-by-side recliners separated by a tiny table.

But this is a view I rarely see, which is why I photographed it. What I always see is what’s behind the photographer’s back. That would be me at this moment.

There’s a big window to the left, and another behind, both of which provide great outdoor views.

But it’s uplifting to view life from a different perspective now and then. I think so, and I want to stay uplifted.

Changing world

lovely
Child bride sits on love seat, a good place for her.

IMAGINE MY GLEE on seeing our high mountain lake through the window of the second-class (or was it third?) bus we took from the state capital to the Hacienda, the final leg of our return trip from Mexico City, on Friday.

I’m not a fan of Mexico City, but we must go there at least twice a year to air out and tidy up our tiny condo.

Things are changing. First off, we made some significant progress in wresting the deed from a government agency, and it appears now that all depends on a deed lawyer, who’s in private practice and, perhaps, a bit more efficient than the aforementioned government agency.

And our next-door neighbors, there on the fourth floor, appear quite interested in buying the place once we get the proper paperwork in hand. Perhaps in another year. I pray so.

If you want to get your bid in, the price is 500,000 pesos, fully furnished. That’s about $35,000 U.S. at the moment. Property tax is about 40 bucks a year. Staggering.

sink

Our world there is changing, but before I dive into that, here’s a photo of the condo’s sink area, which sits not inside, but outside, the little space that encloses the shower and john. That’s me snapping the shot.

But now, the changes. We’ll start with the photos just below. Right beside our condo complex is this uncompleted junk of a construction. It was there when my wife purchased the condo in the mid-1990s, and it’s never been anything but an eyesore, reducing our property values.

We have no clue what it was intended to be, but it was abandoned in mid-construction God knows how long ago. When we arrived on Monday we discovered it is being renovated and will become a “cultural center,” whatever that means. A sign says there will also be yoga and exercise classes.

The eyesore will be no more. We don’t know why the building sits on concrete pillars, but we suspect it was to park tractor-trailers below. The area used to be industrial, but that’s changing rapidly, and we’re going upscale.

old
The unfinished end.
new
The almost finished other end.

And there are other changes as well. When our tenants left in 2006, and we painted and furnished the condo in January of 2007, we brought books for the bookshelves. We purchased a DVD player for renting movies at the nearby Blockbuster.

Now, the books are decorations. We read Kindles.* The DVD player is unused. Evenings we watch movies on Netflix on the Samsung Tablet via wi-fi from our neighbor’s apartment.

In 2007, there was a dinky, dingy shopping center a long walk away. Now it’s a huge, modern complex with a snazzy Walmart, cineplex, food court, banks, restaurants, you name it.

* * * *

Speaking of that cineplex, we saw a movie on Thursday afternoon. Two of the current biggies were available: Fifty Shades of Grey and American Sniper. Which to choose?

Since I can bind my wife with rope for sessions with whips, feather dusters, oils and leather straps whenever the urge strikes me, but I cannot shoot Mohammedan terrorists, their enablers and dupes,** the choice was clear. We bought tickets to American Sniper.

Kyle

Great movie. It left me teary at the end. I admire Chris Kyle immensely, though clearly he was a little off-balance. No matter. He was a superlative soldier, and my hat is off to him. We need more of his caliber.

Especially in the White House.

* * * *

* Did you know that there are Mexican versions of eBooks?

** Alas.

Jalapeño cornbread

cornbread

THE PASTRY WORKSHOP is off and running, as they say. It debuted Monday with jalapeño cornbread, something I first enjoyed in Texas in the late 1990s at a popular gumbo restaurant just behind the Houston House Apartments where I lived a miserable year after my second wife tossed me into the street.

But let’s not wander down the sad alley.

While in Houston 10 years ago, en route to Atlanta, my Mexican bride and I lunched at the gumbo joint, the name of which escapes me, and the gumbo was accompanied by yummy* jalapeño cornbread. A Georgia Cracker by birth, I’ve eaten lots of cornbread in many guises, but never before with jalapeños, a Mexican twist.

When we returned to our mountaintop Hacienda, my wife began making jalapeño cornbread, and we have it every night to accompany the big salads I prepare to eat upstairs in the recliners while we watch Netflix.

The proper flour is not common here, but we find it in the state capital in a natural food store.

Unlike all her other tasty goods, she does not make jalapeño cornbread to sell. It’s just for us, and a friend who lives down the road gets some on occasion too.

Now and then I make gumbo which is a stupendous addition to jalapeño cornbread, or perhaps it’s the other way around. No matter. It’s a great way to live, and I pray it continues for a long, long time.

* * * *

* Some years ago I was criticized for using the word yummy. But here it is again. Do forgive.

Tears for Dexter

A PALL HAS FALLEN over the Hacienda.

DexterWe have just finished the eight-season run of the stupendous television series Dexter. We saw it on our Mexican Netflix, which costs a bit over seven bucks a month, and is worth far more.

We have a tradition here at night. I make a big salad for each of us and, roundabouts 8 p.m., we kick back with the salads in the two recliners purchased years ago at Costco in the nearby state capital, and we watch television for a couple of hours.

That’s usually two shows of 45 or so minutes, and sometimes we add a dessert program of a 20- to 30-minute show like Two and a Half Men or Friends or Modern Family. Yum! Sofia Vergara.

When I was a working stiff, I almost never saw television at night, which is when most good shows are on, because I worked evenings. For example, I never saw Friends, likely the only person in America who didn’t.

Yeah, yeah, I  know you didn’t either because you’re so high-brow. You spend your evenings with a glass of white wine, reading Shakespeare and Schopenhauer.

We have seen some excellent American series on our Mexican Netflix over the past few years. They are subtitled in Spanish, and my wife follows along well.

Our favorites have been Mad Men (we still lack the last two seasons), Breaking Bad (lack a couple of seasons of that too), The Sons of Anarchy (lack a couple of seasons), Downton Abby (lack later seasons), The Shield (all seasons) and now Dexter (all seasons), which is our favorite so far.

The missing seasons will arrive in time.

The finale of Dexter was incredibly poignant. Sure, he was a homicidal maniac, but does that mean he can’t have love in his life? In spite of his, er, personality defects, he was engaging, charming and handsome. We adored him, and we were hoping things would turn out well for him in the end.

Well, they didn’t, and we’re very, very sad.

Other shows we like are Justified, The Killing and Netflix’s own House of Cards. Almost anything with Kevin Spacey is worth your time. Lots of great material from the BBC is included on Netflix. And there are no commercials.

Remember when cable television started decades ago, and one of its major selling points was no commercials? That promise didn’t last long. “Commercial” TV and cable are now indistinguishable.

We wish Dexter well, wherever he is.

Looks like he’s in the Pacific Northwest chopping trees. Or drowned in a hurricane. It really was not all that clear.