Diary of a Mad Congressman

Don Young is certifiably insane. I am serious here, please don't laugh at me.
This cartoon was drawn immediately after hearing his testimony on some sort of commission dealing with the energy crisis. Don proposed an increase in the gas tax (to make it up to a dollar federal tax on each gallon of gas...he later retracted this statement click here). My jaw dropped and said, "he's insane!"
I also apologize for the lack of color in this one. I was trying for the interrogation under white light look a la Gitmo...but it just doesn't sit right with me. That is I should have colored it.

Knocked-Up & Out

I think the news of Sarah Palin's pregnancy hit the daily rags about 3 weeks ago. Miraculously, she gave birth to her fifth child just the other day. How in the hell is that possible? Fluoridation? Arctic Haze? Haliburton?
The other odd thing about this is that she was in Texas for some reason or other when labor pains started and hopped on the next Alaska Airlines flight home. I thought the policy of most airlines was not to let pregnant women about to burst board a long flight or any flight at all for liability reasons...someone tell me the facts here! And what is wrong with a Texas born baby? Strike that....
I can empathize with her now.

Cartoonist Gone Wild

Since the blogsphere is a free speech zone and bloggers could write whatever the hell we want and be somewhat free of libelous suits, I have decided to give you, good reader(s), the unedited, Spring Break version of my twisted mind and the first draft of this month's cartoon. Of course it would never see the light of day in printed media, but Jesus H. Christ I chuckle when I think of Tom Delong saying, "Mutha Fucka"to the pigs at GVEA. Here...laugh with me:
Ticolandia Update
I have been frequently asked what "Ticolandia" means. Most people get it somewhat right in that it has to do with Ticos and Land, but the word is a play on what the Costa Ricans call Escazú (a suburb of San José). Since Escazú is full of American ex-pats or Gringos, the Costa Ricans call Escazú GRINGOLANDIA.
And for all you parents out there with children on your laps reading this free speech blog, sorry for all the foul words. I'm just in that mood lately. Call it Springtime in Alaska.

Ticolandia

Well, here it is in it's flunky-journalistic glory. Someday I'll do a real travel journal.
Cheers,
D

Ticolandia

When I approached the editor about the possibility of writing some sort of travel journal about our trip to Costa Rica, the original intent was to be a simple, mundane treatise on traveling with a small family, places to stay, things to eat, activities that would keep two rambunctious monkeys in check. However, this would make my life too easy and this article extremely tedious. You can log onto Thorntree if you prefer to be bored to tears. I found that after much research on websites and travel books such as Lonely Planet and the Moon series, there is a little aspect that was greatly overlooked in getting the greatest experience a gringo or half-gringo could have in a foreign, Spanish speaking country. Let me esplain…

I devoured hundreds of books about Costa Rica prior to our departure on January 1^st. The overwhelming theme was in the country’s beauty, the generosity of its people, monkeys, beaches, zip line tours, potable water, and as an extra bonus: you can get away with speaking English! Here’s an example, “Almost everyone knows a few words in English in Costa Rica” or even, “If you at least try to say a few words in Spanish, the Costa Ricans will greatly appreciate it.” Either the authors were completely naïve or condescending.

Each of these books, in contrast, had a glossary of useful Tico[1] Spanish terms (which in reality was Castilian Spanish, that is really Spain-type-Spanish and many Costa Rican slang, sayings, and nuances were never listed). I am an eternal skeptic…editorial cartoonists have to be, and I took it upon myself to brush up on as much Spanish as humanely possible before traveling. I didn’t believe in President Bush’s yellow cake and sure as hell would not listen to some flunky English/journalist’s travel book about not having to speak Spanish in a Spanish-speaking country[2]. Si a Roma fueres, haz como vieres. But I must say, I did have a small advantage. My maternal grandmother was a native of Santiago de Cuba and my grandfather, of Chilean and Puerto Rican heritage. My mother’s first language was Spanish and even though mine was not, I have been surrounded by Spanish spoken in the house, on the phone, and everywhere in California. My grandmother took it upon herself to de-gringoize my accent through internet chats and phone calls at least a year before we departed. I like to think that her time spent helping me made her proud[3].

When we landed on the runway of Juan Santamaria International Airport late in the evening on January 1^st, I felt it was Hammer time. My first encounter with a real Costa Rican was with the immigration and customs agents, who were all in a foul mood as most immigration and customs officials are worldwide. Their scowls and “try me” looks forced me to stick with English like the rest of the passengers and I actually did not want us getting arrested for some possible miscommunication on my part.

“Do you have any drugs in your bags?”

“Oh sure, we’re from Alaska!”

Like any good wife, Margaret chose this moment to insult my masculinity by asking certain questions, “Why don’t you speak to her in Spanish? Are you scared? I can’t believe you have been practicing so long to not speak Spanish to her...” Soon my children also chimed in, “Yeah Dad, I thought you were supposed to be speaking only in Spanish? Spanish Dad, Spanish.”

El Traductor

My inhibitions were soon crushed. As we walked outside of Juan Santamaria International, a little, mustachioed man holding a sign saying, “Daniel Darrow” caught my attention. We approached him and asked if he was with the hotel…

Little mustachioed man: Uh…Good Affer-noon. (It was late in the evening)

Me: Hi, you must be from the hotel?

Little mustachioed man: Uhhhh….Daniél?

It was here that I realized that this man did know a few choice words in English just as the guidebooks suggested, but I could hardly base my entire trip relying on such words.

Me: Are you from the hotel?[4]

Little mustachioed man: You speak Spanish! Thank god!

Me: Sometimes. What is your name?

Little mustachioed man: Ales

Me: Alice?

Little mustachioed man: No sir, Ales…A-L-E-X….Ales

Even though I knew his name to be Alex, I called the man Alice on the way to the hotel, at least it sounded proper in Spanish. For the first 5 minutes, Alice and I had a good chat about Costa Rica, the weather, how much the ride would cost, et cetera. I then took it upon myself to check on the family in the back (including my mother and father-in-law who chaperoned us to Costa Rica). Every single face had a pained grin similar to the pill bugs from the Disney move A Bug’s Life.[5] They must have been a bit miffed that I was having such a good time up front laughing and they could not understand a single word. In an instant, I accepted the role as translator and relayed everything that was said between us. In the course of three weeks, this would soon prove to be exhaustive, but also enlightening.

I must give the flunky journalists some credit. We found that in bigger cities like Alajuela and San José, many of the shop keepers and people that deal with tourists do know a bit of English. However, to really experience Costa Rica it is vital to get away from the big cities and tourist traps and especially American Birders. I will discuss the latter a bit later.

By speaking just a little Spanish, I found that many doors were opened to us that would never have cracked without knowing the language. One good example I can relay happened along the carretera. We were heading five hours south to a smaller sea side village when our micro-bus was stopped by grumpy looking policemen dressed in white and dark blue.[6] After waiting 30 minutes in a long line of cars, our turn to be scrutinized came up. The white shirted cop asked the driver what we were up to, while the flak vested sub-machinegun cop walked around the van looking for something we thankfully did not have. As the flak vest policeman came to my side of the van he asked the driver through the window a few things:

Cop: Where are these foreigners from?

Me: We’re from Alaska.

Cop: You speak Spanish?!

Me: Yes, everyone in Alaska speaks Spanish.

Cop: Are you kidding me? Do you fish? What’s Alaska like? Is there a lot of snow?

Me: Why would I kid you? You have a gun. Yes, everyone in Alaska fishes. It’s really not that cold.

The grumpy flak vested policeman soon lightened up as we gabbed about fishing and hiking and Alaska, which holds a great mystique for many Central Americans. Remember, they only see snow in pictures. After about 10 minutes of jovial discussion, we were released to continue our journey south. Both cops were all smiles and waved us good-bye. As we drove off, my wife commented that I was probably the only person in the world who could have made those cops smile. I think I merely broke their monotonous routine.

Speaking Spanish can also give you an insider’s view of a foreign business. Normally, when someone goes to a restaurant, he gets a seat, he orders your food, he eats the food, pays the bill, and goes. This frequently was not the case. In rural Costa Rica, the Ticos hardly see foreigners and are tickled that such people would eat at their places normally frequented by their countrymen. We had the opportunity to eat at a spot called Tilapias del Pavon. It was a beautiful, little outdoor restaurant run by Manuel and his brother and their families. The interesting aspect was that they had fishing ponds filled with tilapia where you go throw out your line, catch a fish and they take it in and cook it up for you along with traditional Costa Rican side dishes[7]. The owner and I quickly became acquainted and he marveled that I could speak a little Spanish, although with a cowboy accent.[8] I in turn marveled about his wonderful outdoor restaurant and ponds. He then bade us to take a tour of the place with him before sitting down to eat. Manuel showed us the entire operation and answered all of our questions about fish farming[9]. He also introduced us to the cook staff, the wait staff (his wife) and all the children playing outside. He then asked if we would like to check out a little waterfall near the restaurant, which we did gleefully. I sincerely believe that this extra attention would never have been given to the English-only crowd.

On the whole, Costa Ricans are a warm, beautiful, and generous people. I encountered some Ticos who were not so warm or generous in our travels, which in a sense, threw me off balance because it was so out of the norm. We were near a town called Dominical where we encountered these Americanized-Ticos. After some scientific inquiry and careful observations I have concluded that the lack of hospitality was due to the simple fact that the people around Dominical are inundated with retired Americans, American birders, American surfer dudes, Homeless Americans, American drug addicts, and Americans in general. I am not saying that we all bring out the worst in other people, but the evidence slaps you in the face. I witnessed one incident while checking out of the hotel that solidified my humble opinion. As we were discussing what was owed in Spanish, an older, leathery skinned Gringa Birder rushed in and interrupted my conversation with the hotel employee. She threw down a wet rag on the counter and mumbled something or other in English about it being too stifling hot in this part of Costa Rica. This of course was vital for the employee staff to know about while taking care of our transaction. I asked the employee if this behavior was normal. A sad nod of the head was his simple reply. My only bit of travel advice in this column is this: Do not stay anywhere near where hoards of Americans are vacationing.

Finally, I will relay a morsel of my take on Costa Rican Spanish. Before traveling I got in touch with Costa Rican “cousins”[10] to help me with my Spanish and give me a heads up on what to expect and where to travel. The conversations with these cousins and research through the flunky guide books revealed that the Ticos speak distinctly and very formally. Even between good friends and some family members, the Usted (formal of you) is used. Tú is rarely used and considered too informal, even though the rest of the Spanish speaking world uses it. Ticos, much like Argentines, Guatemalans, and a few others, use the archaic familiar…vos[11]. But this ‘informality’ is also very rare and used only between very close family members. At any rate, I got the chance to meet these cousins who so greatly helped me with Spanish and travel questions. One cousin in particular, Francisco Alfaro, and I became very close because I served as his translator for my father-in-law and we spent many tiring hours discussing politics, agriculture, CAFTA, Rush Limbaugh, and other lively topics. I must confess that I did not translate everything my father-in-law wanted to discuss with Francisco (mostly about Rush Limbaugh and wacko Neo-Conservativism). Francisco knew what I was doing and I think appreciated my endeavor of keeping strange politics out of the discussion. He then offered to take us to his finca up north to spend three days with his family. This was the best three days of the entire trip and probably on of the top in my life. It was a rare gift that I will never forget. In the end, while Francisco was driving us back to San José, he began to use the vos in addressing me during our discussions/translations. I asked him,

“Did you just call me vos?”

“Yes, is this all right?”

“Of course, I am honored.”

Francisco and his family bade us farewell at the hotel. We all had tears in our eyes as we hugged and said our good-byes. I promised that we will meet again and we even offered to exchange our children when they reach high school age in a student exchange sort of thing. Poor Francisco will be getting the short end of the stick in this one!

I hope this article gives you a small taste of what it means to travel to a Spanish speaking country and try to “do as the Romans do.” My Spanish speaking abilities were not outstanding and in fact, at times very laughable. But the Ticos greatly appreciated the effort and would always help me correct faulty Spanish. It is more than worthwhile to take a course in Spanish, especially conversational Spanish before traveling. A new world will open up to you and you will meet people, interact with them, appreciate their culture and stance on issues, and return home a better person for it. I encourage anyone interested to do as much research as possible before traveling to any country. If you have any further questions regarding this trip, do not hesitate to contact me at simiolus@hotmail.com

I will soon update my blog (www.monkeytoons.blogspot.com) with a complete, boring travel report for those interested.

Saludos!

Unas jergas Ticas that were frequently used but not mentioned in most books

Mae: (sounds like MY). You will hear this all over by the younger crowd. It means, buddy, friend, dude, pal.

Plata: wealth, to be rich…literally means ‘silver.” El hombre tiene mucha plata.

Con gusto or con mucho gusto: literally means: with much pleasure…used as “you’re welcome.”

Pura vida: pure life. Also used as ‘you’re welcome” or cool, very nice, fantastic.

Cerca: near and also means “a fence” to keep cows in a pasture…it took me a while to understand what in the world a cerca was when I thought everyone was telling me the cows were “near.”

Tranquilo: nice, peaceful…used frequently

Reglar: to give

ATH: (Ah-Tay-Ah-che) ATM machine

Coopealianza: The only bastards that accepted Plus ATM cards.

Ceviche: raw fish and onions in lemon juice and other spices..mmmmmm.

Mareo: air or sea sickness

Chance: (sounds like Chan-Say) Means the lottery or time. Dame chance. (give me some time)

Escolares: Students

Súper: supermarket

Subasta: auction

Impuesto: tax or duty

Repuestos: automobile parts

TLC: Tratado de Libre commercial…trade treaty within Central America

ICE: Instituto Costarricense de Electricidad…the phone and electric company

Subsidios: subsidies. Small farmers in Central America frequently complain about the US government’s subsidies of its agricultural products.

Useful websites on Costa Rica

http://www.lonelyplanet.com/thorntree

http://nacion.com

http://www.amcostarica.com/

http://costa-rica-guide.com/

http://www.visitcostarica.com

---

[1] Tico: a term that Costa Ricans (costariquenses) call themselves. Many nouns they use may have “ico or tico” thrown at the end to make it sound cute or distinct. Momentico= wait a little bit. Nicaraguans are referred to as Nicas or “those bastards that are crossing the border and taking our jobs.” Interesting similarities, no?

[2] I offer my sincerest apologies to my flunky English and Journalist friends.

[3] Ana Rosa Alfaro Gonzalez died suddenly while we were in Costa Rica.

[4] Italicized dialogue was actually spoken in Spanish, but I am translating because Alaska is an English-First type of state.

[5] If you don’t have children and have not seen this movie, the pill pugs were Slavic and could not speak English…they always had pained grins. Why in the hell didn’t Thela review this movie before she left?

[6] There are many such puestas del control throughout Costa Rica. If you see a stop filled with cops in white shirts and handguns, they are looking for immigration violators (Nicas) or faults in vehicle registrations. The cops in dark blue with flak vests and sub-machine guns are looking for drugs and Nicas.

[7] Gallo Pinto (rice and beans), tostones (fried plantains), yucca (yummy), and salad.

[8] I told him that after 7 years of George Bush, all North Americans speak like cowboys.

[9] I neglected to mention to Manuel that Alaskans consider fish farmers to be the anti-Christs.

[10] I luckily belong to a noble and well researched apellido…Alfaro. I have “cousins” world-wide and most likely; we share ancestors from the 700’s…during the Moorish Invasion of Spain.

[11] The tense structure of vos was mind numbing for me and I preferred to stick with Usted in all my conversations to play it safe.

The Big, Bad Wolves

"My Grandma, what shiny white teeth you have!"

This was a fun cartoon to do and got much help and advice on what to add. I wish I could have implemented it all, but alas...only have so much time and space. I do owe credit to Dave James, even though he is grumpy as all hell, does have a great sense of humor (his idea was to throw in the typical, chivalrous Fairbanks Taxi). To everyone else with great insights, thank you and perhaps I'll steal your idea next time.
In January I will not be submitting a cartoon to the esteemed editor of the Republic as my family will be on vacation in Costa Rica. (Yes, you can all call me a rat bastard now).
I will be taking many pictures, compiling notes from my travel journal, and drawing numerous sketches over a few dozen Imperiales. I will do my best to write some sort of article just for the Ester Republic.

Hasta pronto.
D

Freedom from 'Family Values' Neocons

I think I have a little explaining to do...
This cartoon is a rendition of Norman Rockwell's "Freedom from Want" painting depicting a happy, white Thanksgiving scene. I happily replaced many of the faces with our very own Republicans. Starting on the left (of course!) is my rendition of Jay Ramras, the patriarch is any old oil executive, then there's Princess Lisa serving the turkey, email me for who the dough boy is, the troll is Don Young, and then there's angry old Uncle Ted.
The Kool-aid seems to be ubiquitous in toeing the party line at all costs which seems to be the norm in this state, no matter how much it stinks.
The Charlie Rex anti-dumpster diving initiative would have been fun to draw up, but hell, I was on a deadline and accidentally bumped into the editor/publisher at Lu Lu's who promptly asked me, "where in the hell is my cartoon, you rat bastard?" Maybe not so harsh, but I was working under pressure. Perhaps Charlie will step on his Twinkie again soon so I can belittle him.

Countess Palin

I started off by making her a "boogey-woman" for Halloween. The intent was to scare oil executives. But as I was sketching her, the thought permeated my creative process "she would make a great vampiress...oooohh the Queen of the Damned."
This is the end result. Notice, her outfit isn't as sexy as normal governor's clothing (did anyone see last week's DNM? She was decked out in all leather just like Trinity from the Matrix). I chose the fundamentalist white Christian look.