Friday, April 25, 2003


Raven has been listening to a cd of intense Venezuelan music by Cristóbal Jiménez. Which means I have been listening to it, too, since Raven can’t use headphones. His eyes are ready to pop out of his head—which bobs in time to the music as he reads the day’s news on the computer screen.

Rave, give us a break here. From the music. Please.

Rave gives me a bald stare.

“I did not bring these raucous tunes back from Caracas, now, did I?”

They were a gift from my friend Félix. But I doubt that even he listens to them 24/7.

Raven shuts off the music.

“Okay. Silence is golden. You want to talk, or what?” He helps himself to my stash of granola bars, tears off a wrapper, begins pecking at one of the peanut butter bars.

I was wondering which country is the target for a regime change this morning, that’s all.

“Well, let’s see. In less than two weeks we’ve had Cuba, Syria, North Korea, and Iran. The Iran change is somehow connected to the presidential elections in Argentina, apparently.”

I don’t think so. I think it’s connected to the bombing of a Jewish center in Buenos Aires in 1994. Maybe by Hezbollah. Which in turn is connected to elections and gun-running in Paraguay in the multi-country corner where all the terrorist groups like the CIA and Al Quaeda are supposedly hanging out selling each other weapons and secrets.

“And the knee bone is connected to the thigh bone? Key word apparently is Jewish, so we´re talking Mossad? And Ariel Sharon? Bush says the US is going to occupy Iraq for at least two years. His own private Idaho—er, Palestine.” Rave tosses the granola bar wrapper in the waste basket. “Cynical bastard is even now admitting it was all about oil.”

As if we hadn’t figured that out. Well, in that case for the moment, anyway, we can probably push Cuba and North Korea and even Syria to the back chairs of the musical chairs and move up Saudi Arabia and Venezuela.

“Does that mean you’ll be flying off to Saudi Arabia to bring back cds of belly dance music?” Raven has a malicious gleam in his eye.

In your dreams, Rave.

“If it’s all about oil, maybe we’ll be looking at the Tomahawk missiles here in Mexico pretty soon.”

Naw, Fox will continue giving Bush all the oil he wants. Losing money on every barrel. Making up for it in volume.

“Another idiot at the controls. Isn’t that enough reason for a regime change?”

It should be. Do you have somebody in mind? Rave, you wouldn’t be planning to run for president of Mexico, would you?

“I’m strictly a behind-the-scenes guy. But what’s the name of that beetle sidekick of Subcomandante Marcos?”

Durito, I believe.

“¡Eso! I think I’ll send him an e-mail. Before Bush pours Tony Garza all over us again like a bad smell....”

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