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Un Borrocho (drunkard) who didn’t quite make it home.
“There are a lot of Mexicans in Panama,” I said, “A lot more than I expected.”
The fact I can even make this joke tells me a lot about myself. That I’m beyond witty? More like I’m not very cultured.
This joke shows a lack of taste. It shows me that I continually don’t expose myself to new cultures. So every practice, and worse, every person appears to be the same. And this runs to contrary to what I’d like to be about.
One of my major goals is to be a citizen of the world. I’d much rather not have a passport even though the stamps are sweet. I’d like to be able call myself a Globalan - I’m not arguing for the dismissal of countries or for free trade, hippie - and as a Globalan, I couldn’t help but get to know my people.
Put Simply: I would like the world to be my home. And once the world is my home, my culture-knowledge will sky-rocket, returning Panamanians to Panamanians in my sheltered eyes. Simultaneously, the mental connections (defects) to call Panamanians, Mexicans, and vice-versa, will disappear. I’ll be cured, and have to seek out humor in other arenas, like science and mathematics.
With the proliferation of the internet, having the world as our home is becoming more and more plausible. Essentially, we can work from anywhere. Once Mt. Everest has Wifi, I bet they’ll be crazy fucks up there selling Thomas Trains on eBay. Interpretation: more people will be free to travel and “experience” each other.
And with experience comes less uncertainty, and with less uncertainty comes less hatred. And then in time my joke is just not funny in any way - besides to my good friend Tait who needs an additional post to be explained.
The point of all this is that we all need to either a) travel and experience new peoples or b) seek out different cultures around us or c) shut up and don’t make racist or culturist comments.
So I jump ship in Hong Kong and make my way over to Tibet, and I get on as a looper at a course over in the Himalayas. A looper, you know, a caddy, a looper, a jock. So, I tell them I’m a pro jock, and who do you think they give me? The Dalai Lama, himself. Twelfth son of the Lama. The flowing robes, the grace, bald… striking. So, I’m on the first tee with him. I give him the driver. He hauls off and whacks one - big hitter, the Lama - long, into a ten-thousand foot crevasse, right at the base of this glacier. Do you know what the Lama says? Gunga galunga… gunga, gunga-galunga. So we finish the eighteenth and he’s gonna stiff me. And I say, “Hey, Lama, hey, how about a little something, you know, for the effort, you know.” And he says, “Oh, uh, there won’t be any money, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness.” So I got that goin’ for me, which is nice.- Carl Spackler, Caddshack
I’m still eagerly waiting that additional post regarding this “Tait” character.