Pith & Vinegar ArchiveS   #2

10/31/99

Tequila

10/1/99

FAT!

This hyperactive little dweeb has exploited the obese for far too long. Every few years he comes up with some new weight loss scam that he humps on Infomercials, interspersed with videotape segments of him crying over some chubby shut in. First, it was the "Deal a Meal". I don’t know, but I never quite understood the concept behind weight loss and playing Gin Rummy. The idea was you dealt yourself a number of cards in the morning, each with a portion of one of the various food groups, and then, when you ate one of those portions, you discarded, like in Gin Rummy, and then when you were finally rid of all your cards, you’d ‘won’, and then supposedly, the game was over. You were done eating for the day. Right. Everywhere across America there Overweight Card Clubs sprung up where fat people, done eating for the day at approximately 9:30 in the morning, would gather to play ‘Deal a Meal’ with each other.

"Got any meats?"

"Go Fish."

Then Richard came up with the ‘Sweatin’ to the Oldies’ concept, where somehow, he convinced fat people that low impact aerobic dancing, (read: very limited, non-strenuous rhythmic movement) to those hits of the 50’s and 60’s would help them melt those pounds away. You were supposed to Sweat along with Richard in the privacy of your own living room, watching he and his Lipotropic Dance Troupe slug their way through Dion’s ‘The Wanderer’. Of course, it wasn’t long until it was discovered that sitting on your fat ass on the couch with a bag of chips and running the video on Fast Forward would make you burn more calories, just from laughing at the Fitness Guru and his Terpsichorean Porkers bouncing around at triple speed.

He doesn’t have that great a track record, by the way. Just recently, there was that 1100 pound guy. The Richard Simmons failure. One of those fatties they had to knock down a wall of the house to get out. Even though this guy wasn’t one of Richard’s biggest success stories, I find the man to be inspiring, if you want to know the truth. If for no other reason than the fact that no matter how heavy I may be, I will NEVER get THAT fucking fat. This guy could lose the equivalent of three of me and STILL be 600 pounds overweight.

You don’t get to be that size by accident. It’s not like it can be gradual thing, where one day your friends go, ‘Hey Bob. Are you aware your ass IS THE SIZE OF A FUCKING PIANO? You really have to want to be that big. It takes dedication. It takes hard work. It takes commitment. You think it’s easy to get to 1100 pounds? You think you get to the point where you can eat five pizzas at one sitting overnight? You gotta train for that. One tray of lasagne at a time. This was a man who had a dream...a personal vision...he was committed to being the fattest person in the world. And dammit, he realized that dream.

I suppose the reason why I’m obsessing over the weight thing lately is Carnie Wilson just went public and allowed her ‘Non Invasive Obesity Surgery’ to be broadcast over the internet. I didn’t see it, unfortunately, I was too busy downloading porno pictures, but from what I understand, she had her stomach reduced. I don’t know, but if you’re Carnie Wilson size and you’re going to go through all the trouble, pain and inconvenience of surgery to have a part of your body reduced, wouldn’t your ass be the part you choose to have done? I mean, honey, you don’t need your stomach stapled, you need your hand stapled. To the table. Have somebody sit next to you with a staple gun, and every time you reach for a piece of food:

KA CHUKKA!

"Put that Twinkie down, you fat bitch!"

Tequila

Call me cynical, but I have a sneaking suspicion that a group of opportunists from the marketing departments of a few of the larger Tequila Distilleries is responsible for initiating the exploitation of the Mexican holiday of Cinco De Mayo. It’s not all that an outlandish allegation, especially when you consider that it was an ingenious and well-oiled conspiracy of greeting card printers who conceived, and eventually turned into an institution, the annual guilt-filled homage we call Mothers’ Day. Machiavellian or not, it’s still offensive to my historical sensibilities that what was orignally intended to be a reverent remembrance of the defense of the Forts of Guadalupe and Loreto, is now merely another cheesey opportunity to move some extra product. Forgive me, but I just don’t think that when the Mexican Forces successfully fought back the French invaders at the Battle of Puebla, they did it to insure that their valiant efforts would eventually come to be observed by fat, gringo yuppies doing Tequila Poppers.

Cinco de Mayo celebrations are becoming more and more prevalent in the United States every year. It seems to me that starting around April 1st, the inflatable promotional signs begin adorning the local liquor stores and Mexican restaurants, beckoning me to "Celebrate the Mexican Fourth of July!" Well, the fact of the matter is, Cinco de Mayo is not the Fourth of July in Mexico, it’s the Mexican Fifth of May, just as it is here in the States. Their fourth of July is actually on July Fourth, just like ours, except it’s called Cuatro de Julio, and it has no special significance to them whatsoever. Yet they are respectful enough of our national holidays not to use our Independence Day as an excuse to get hammered on Kentucky Sour Mash while singing 'The Stars And Stripes Forever'.

Not that a country’s defeat of political opression shouldn’t be celebrated. I’m just afraid that in light of the growing success of Cinco de Mayo, French Restaurants will start offering two for one Armangnac shots every July 14th in observance of Bastille Day. If you need an annual reason to suck down an inordinate amount of Margaritas, let’s just call it Tequila Appreciation Day, and hold it on a less historically significant date. I’d actually be in favor of putting aside a special time each year wherein we would bow our heads and pay tribute to one of the most brilliantly inspired elixirs ever to be spilled forth from a bottle. Because even if you are not a fan of it, Tequila is a very special drink.

Never it be said that the sum total of the contributions made by the ancient Mexicans is represented solely by the magnificent Mayan ruins at Chichen Itza. Any race of people that could look at a cactus and think: ‘Hey! I bet this would make one tasty beverage!’ must hold a special place in the history of civilization. I mean, I can see where a desperately sober Russian, left to his own devices in a frozen cabin in Siberia with only some grain and a few potatoes, could eventually come up with the recipe for Vodka. But to actually conceive the concept of distilling the fermented juices of the Agave plant? That takes pure genius, amigo. Never underestimate the power of an ancient guy in a desert looking for a new way to catch a quick buzz.

Tequila should hold a special place in the annals of drink as there is no other spirit that has such ceremony attached to it, or such controversy surrounding it’s imbibing ritual. I’ve seen violent confrontations, rivaling those of Benito Juarez’ liberal armies when they deposed the Archduke Maximillian, over the proper order in which the salt, lime, and tequila are to be taken. As far as I’m concerned, that argument only adds to the legend and mystique of the drink.

I would just like to know who started the whole idea of 'eating the worm'.

I believe a liquid should be a liquid, and anything floating around in it should be removed, preferably at the bottling stage. Yet over the years, to eat the worm has been equivocated to some manly rite of passage... although I have seen the occasional, alarmingly drunk co-ed get coerced into performing the disgusting act as well. Well, let’s face it, how hard can it be to cave in to the dare after drinking enough Tequila to actually get at the worm at the bottom of the bottle? Probably about as difficult as getting women at Mardis Gras to take off their tops for a handful of beads. I prefer to think the worm eating is the best gauge for knowing when to say ‘when’. For there is only one thing more certain than a waiter at a Mexican restaurant cautioning you ‘The plate is hot':

If you are seriously considering eating the worm, you have drunk enough Tequila.

I say this as a public service, so as to avoid any ugly incidents next time you find yourself slightly inebriated while at a Mexican restaurant. Which is not altogether a difficult state to achieve, seeing as how, like movie theatres they have discovered the marketing benefits of the really large size beverage. You can't just get a Margarita any more. The smallest size would definitely be considered, in any Latin American country, as 'Grande'. From there, it works its way up to something that looks roughtly like a bird bath with two straws. It's a convivial idea, sharing with friends, but as a rule of thumb, three or four of these should probably be accompanied by at least a plate of nachos if you're actually considering driving home.

If you are planning to get drunk at a Mexican restaurant, there are a few things you should remember. First, despite the fact that they will smile appreciatively, the waiters will not find your ordering your food with a cheesy, Cantinflas mexican accent all that amusing. It's also a pretty safe bet that your 'Badges…we don't need no steeenking badges' impression will not be appreciated either. Nor will pretending to hump the stuffed burro with the sombrero in the lobby. I suggest you avoid all three if you wish to insure that there will be no errant, unwanted body fluids added to your Guacamole

Secondly, no matter how much you tip them, asking the Mariachis to play 'La Bamba' over and over again is not advised. When you see the guy playing the really big guitar start to look angry, thank them for their serenade, and then request 'Rancho Grande' or 'Cielito Lindo'. Should you convince them to play the latter, try to refrain from singing the obscene words to the 'Ay yi yi yi' chorus. It's a traditional Mexican folk song. They will find the parody lyrics about your 'Willy' particularly offensive.

Third, don't ask your waitress why she has a moustache. In some international cultures, facial hair on women isn't the taboo it is here in the states. In fact, Frida Kahlo, the famous Mexican surrealist, probably could've stood to use a little Gillette Foamy herself, but it didn't seem to affect the brilliance of her paintings. Nor did it seem to bother her husband, the famous muralist Diego Rivera.

Especially after he had a few shots of Tequila.