Ask a Mexican: What's with the trash dump in the Sonoran Desert?

Dear Mexican: I was today alerted to the problem of trash dumped on the Sonoran Desert in Arizona and am trying to track down more articles about the issue. That is how I found you. There are lots and lots of piles of trash — looks like clothes — in a wash in Arizona. Can you tell me what's going on?

Previously Lived in California but Moved to Massachusetts Some Years Ago

Dear Gabacha: Not just clothes, but also water bottles, backpacks, plastic bags, human excrement — at least 24 million pounds of trash collected on the Arizona-Mexico border since the beginning of this century, according to the Bureau of Land Management, and almost all of it dropped by Mexicans coming into this country illegally. But if you think the Sonoran Desert is trashed, then you should've seen the Bowery around the turn of the twentieth century. I'm not going to make excuses for the Sonoran Desert garbage dump, other than that people running for their lives tend to leave things behind and that poverty creates apathy toward neighborhood or environmental cleanliness; it's not an illegal-only or Mexican-only phenomenon. Not that pointing this out will quiet the Know Nothings who send around the pictures you received as further reason to deny amnesty to Mexicans, an argument about as logical as using photos of the bleachers after a Boston Red Sox game to boot the team from the major leagues (and those fans got into Fenway Park LEGALLY and thus have more of a responsibility to keep their cathedral clean). On segunda thought, booting those bums ain't a bad idea...a Bucky Dent to you pendejos!

Dear Mexican: I am white and proud. While deciding where to eat, my fellow whites and I sometimes decide to "go eat Mexican." When Mexicans decide to "go eat Mexican," do they say it the way we whites do? Or do they simply say, "Let's go eat"?

Big Dick in Dallas

Dear Gabacho: Hey, good luck with that white-pride thing — I hear this country's turning pastier by the day! And I'm glad whites still need their Mexican food to properly fuel RaHoWa. But racial stupidities aside, "Mexican" food to Mexicans is like "American" food to Americans: Our cookery is so varied that when we think about eating our food, we go by type of restaurant rather than a whole genre. If we want homestyle cooking, we seek out a fonda, the rough equivalent to eating at an inn; if it's something a bit more formal but still casual, a cenaduría. If it's tacos we want, a taquería, por supuesto; the wonderful goat stew birria, a birriería; tortillas, the tortillería. Tamales? We find our neighborhood tamalero. Seafood palaces don't have a formal name, but they always attach either mariscos or siete mares (the seven seas) to their name, and regional Mexican restaurants — eateries that specialize in the food of a particular region of Mexico — use identifiers to let people know their secret, whether the name of a state (Casa Oaxaca), city (Las Brisas de Apatzingán in SanTana specializes in the food of that Michoacán city) or local nickname. (If you ever see a restaurant with the word chilango in it, it's a Mexico City joint, since that's the nickname of the metropolis's residents.)

Oh, and while we're on the subject of food, gentle readers: If the "gourmet" food truck trend hasn't hit your 'hood yet, it probably will this year. Do the Mexican a favor and call them luxe-loncheras, because at the end of the día, these trucks have to park at the same commissaries as the so-called roach coaches, so they're really no different other than the luxe-loncheras that charge you four bucks for the same tacos the regular loncheras give you for two.

 
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