Dear Mexican: I have a major crush on a worker with the Mexican Consulateaquí en Tucson. But I fear that, like two star-crossed lovers, we're destined for doom. I'm a gabachayaktivist and against governments in general. He represents the PAN or PRD or PRI or whatever Mexican political party happens to have more influence at the moment. How can I find my way into his inherently corrupt heart?
Dear Cutie Gabacha: Don't worry about it if you're hot -- a chica caliente could hang with the Minutemen, and Mexican men would still pile on her like a contractor at Home Depot. But you have a shot even if you're a few braces short of Ugly Betty. Guys and gals looking for Mex sex: Get involved with Latino organizations working to legalize the aliens among us. There are precious few gabachos in the movimiento, and I'm sure many Mexican activists are more than willing to exchange ass play in the name of amnesty -- even the fellas.
Dear Mexican: What's the deal with upscale Mexican restaurants? Here in South Florida, they're popping up like corn smut. Pretty soon, the yuppies down here are going to get the idea that it's a sign of class to have your guacamole made to order at your table by some grinning hourly employee! I know there's supposed to be an upper-crust Mexico City foodie scene that these restaurants claim to be "inspired by," but come on! After you pay $15 for a fancy-ass margarita and then watch a waiter mash up your avocados, you're still going to end up with the same old enchiladas or chicken mole.
Dear Half-Wab: It's about time Mexican regional specialties like mole, poc chuc and aguachile received serious culinary treatment from the nation's restaurateurs. Sure, it's a bit grating to see American chefs like Diana Kennedy and Rick Bayless make millions by appropriating centuries-old recipes, but they also expose Mexican cuisine to an audience much larger than your neighborhood taquería. So let gabachos have their overpriced agave nectar and añejo tequila. Eventually they'll patronize the real pinchedeal -- and then we get to rip them off.
Dear Mexican: I recently discovered your column and want to ask a favor: Please don't use the stereotype of the overweight dirty revolutionary to represent your column; it diminishes your work. If you don't agree with me, at least ask your readers what they think.
Dear Profe: Don't hurt my feelings -- that's a drawing of my papi, give or take a couple of pounds, whiskers and brown tones. Besides, I publish that portrait for a purpose. Yes, he's an ugly stereotype, but that happy wab is the Mexican who's been in the mind of gabachos for over 150 years. Such images have assumed an extraordinary, undeserved power to offend. By publishing the bandito archetype again and again, this Mexican hopes to lessen its sting and turn it into what it really is -- a portrait of my father, no more, no less.
But I'll take the challenge: Readers, what do ustedes think of the logo? More important, what should I name him?