Last weekend, I saw the movie Tropic Thunder with my sons despite the protests against the R-word that was used in the movie. The R-word, for those of you living in a vacuum, is retard. People with mental disabilities do not want the word to come back into use. And I can understand that. I’m not apologizing for the movie, which satirizes Hollywood and its movies, but the movie doesn’t really make fun of people with mental disabilities. It ridicules actors and their over-sized egos when using the R-word.

For as long as I can remember, I have heard the word used as an insult whenever someone did something that’s less than intelligent. When I was growing up in the 1960s, everyone called everyone a retard just out of habit. If someone pushed you: “Hey! Watch it, you retard!” If someone tripped and fell: “Walk much, retard?” Worst of all was if you did something stupid and your name was Rick: “That’s the women’s washroom, Ricky Retardo!” Of course, being called a retard wasn’t as bad as being called a racial or ethnic slur. We were taught: “Sticks and stone may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” But, if someone insults you, you’re still hurt by those words. Lately, the R-word was on course to be replaced by “DUH!” But the R-word is gaining ground on Duh!

So, I’m driving around using the GPS function of my new iPhone and I’m amazed at how it’s tracking my movements quite accurately. Somebody or something is paying attention to what I’m doing. But I shouldn’t be surprised because I’ve often thought about the many ways that we leave electronic traces of our humble existence. Every time I make a credit card purchase, my presence is documented very precisely. I’m photographed every time I withdraw money from an ATM. In Chicago, we have cameras on most corners downtown and in many stores. We also have those police cameras with flashing blue light in high traffic areas. We also have traffic enforcement cameras that take your picture if you run a red light. Every time you make a cell phone call, your location is detected by the phone tower that transmits your call. All incoming and outgoing telephone calls on your landline are listed on a database for billing purposes. If you pay for the toll roads using a digital transponder, your location, time, and date are recorded. And they also take a picture of your vehicle. When I was driving to Mexico, while still in Texas, a camera took a picture of my car. When I returned to the U.S., the border patrol officer knew that I was using my passport for the first time. All this information may be used against you.

I often read in the newspapers about cases where prosecutors subpoena records from phone companies, the Illinois State Tollway Authority, banks, police cameras, and credit card companies to use them as evidence in court. Now with the internet, every keystroke is recorded. Just because you deleted the e-mail to your mistress asking her if she took her blue dress to the cleaners doesn’t mean the e-mail was deleted into oblivion. When you delete files on your computer, they’re still there. And it seems like everyone can access them except you. And they’re also archived on several servers that back everything up in case of a disaster. I wouldn’t be surprised if many e-mails are floating aimlessly through cyberspace, or even outer space in the form of radio or electromagnetic signals.

Then there’s the government spying on private citizens for the sake of the safety of the American public. Which reminds me. Once, my neighbor was arrested for allegedly having millions of dollars of drugs and cash, but no guns. This absolutely floored me. One morning as I was getting ready to go to school, I noticed plainclothes police officers conducted a raid next door. When I saw the news that night, DEA agents announced this major narcotics bust involving my neighbor who seemed like a nice enough man. We didn’t talk much, but we always said hello to each other. My son played with his son at their house. The DEA agents said that they found money lying out in the open, all over the house. If that were true, I’m sure my son would have mentioned it to me. Another thing that bothered me about the case was the fact that they didn’t recover any firearms. Everyone knows that the tools of the trade for drug dealers are firearms. I’m sure my son would have mentioned seeing guns if there had been any. Something was very wrong with everything in that case. Then to top everything off, I noticed that I’m being followed by DEA agents in unmarked cars for about a week afterward. Having 20-20 hindsight, I realized that they had been following me for about a week before the raid. If they had framed my neighbor, what was to stop them from framing me, too?

I’m not exactly sure how I became a teacher, but believe me, I never planned on speaking before large crowds because they scare me. In fact, I become self-conscious and nervous when I realize someone is even remotely paying attention to me. I begin to stutter and lose my train of thought.

So why do I teach college Spanish? Well, I’ll tell you. I don’t know! Ever since grade school, I wanted to have a Ph.D. Well, a Ph.D. in literature sort of locks you into teaching. I mean what else can you do with a Ph.D.? I mean, besides start your own website where you prominently display your full name followed by your pretentious degree. So somehow I ended up teaching college Spanish.

As if that weren’t  quite enough, this year, I became part of the university bureaucracy. As a teacher, I always savored the fact that I could complain about institutional policies. In other words, I liked sticking it to the man. This semester, however, I am the man. What to do? Well, I hate having anyone tell me what to do, but I especially hate telling others what to do. I could do without giving orders to anyone about anything.

Hopefully, my administrative duties will only last this academic year. I think I would prefer just teaching to shuffling paper. But I will do my job to the best of my abilities. I will grumble under my breath about my position, though.

I haven’t had a cell phone in about three years, but I finally bought one the other day. Yes, I bought an iPhone 3G. I wanted to have the latest technology. And I wanted to look cool. My trip to Mexico influenced my choice of cell phone models. While there, I didn’t have a cell phone, but my sons did. I liked the fact that they were able to call home in the U.S. because of the roaming feature and we easily called my cousins in Mexico. There were a couple of times on my December trip to Mexico that a cell phone would have come in handy. There were times that I was worried about having car problems or a car accident and I wouldn’t be able to call anyone because I didn’t have a cell phone. It’s nice to be able to tell relatives that I’m on the way to their house so they can wait at home for me. A cell phone is useful for little things like that.

Anyway, I kept seeing all these iPhone ads all over the place. On billboards, in the malls, on storefront windows. In Mexico, it was called iPhone G3–that’s Spanish for iPhone 3G. If you know Spanish and a little about noun and adjective placement, you know exactly what I mean. Many Mexicans had cell phones. Some didn’t even have a phone at home, yet they had a cell phone. They just leapfrogged the land-line technology went straight to the cell phone technology. Well, the iPhone was released in Mexico at about the same as in the U.S.

As I was planning my next trip to Mexico, I was thinking about how everyone liked looking at the vacation pictures that I took. I’ve been printing them up and putting them in photo albums, but that’s a lot of work. Then, I realized that I could load all my pictures on my new iPhone! And it’s quite easy, too. I was even able to upload pictures on the first try. So lately my life revolves around preparing myself and my iPhone for my next trip to Mexico. I’ve invested a huge chunk of my life on preparing my iPhone for my next trip to Mexico. I’ve been spending way too much time learning how to use it. I’m actually enjoying it, though. That’s the way I am. When I really get into something, I really overdo it. I do nothing in moderation! I’m putting phone numbers and addresses of everyone I know in Mexico. On my next trip, I’ll be able to wander around a little more with my new iPhone. I’m still learning how to use all the features. I have always hated having a cell phone because it was so clumsy and awkward, but the iPhone is so sleek and cool, and it reminds me of using a computer rather than a cell phone. In fact, I get to plug it into my laptop to synchronize all my files! By now, gentle reader, you’ve noticed that I spend an unnatural amount of time on the computer. So, I don’t mind preparing my iPhone for my next trip.

When I was driving on the highway in Mexico, I suddenly noticed that my tire pressure warning light came on. This handy little invention saved me from changing a flat tire twice before.

But now, on the highway in the middle of nowhere–or so it seemed in my panic when I saw the warning light–I knew I had little time to get to a gas station to check the tires. I didn’t want to have to change a flat on the highway, especially since it had been miles since I saw anything resembling a shoulder where I could pull over.

Luckily, I saw a Pemex gas station a few minutes later. I had the attendant check my tires and he told me that my front driver’s side tire was low on air. Suddenly, I remembered driving into a pothole that swallowed my entire tire in Celaya. Then he pointed out a hole in the sidewall.

When you go to the tire shops in the U.S., damage to the sidewall automatically means that you have to buy a new tire. I asked the attendant if there was a tire repair shop nearby. He told me to keep going a couple of more blocks until I saw the sign that read, “Vulca.” As I pulled up, I didn’t see any new tires. I pointed to the hole in the sidewall and asked the vulcanizador if he could repair it. He nodded and immediately jacked up my car and removed the tire. He took the tire off the rim and patched the hole from the inside. He repaired my flat in about ten minutes. And he only charged me thirty pesos, which was about three dollars.

I was so grateful to have averted changing a flat tire that I tipped him twenty pesos. We were both extremely happy by the transaction. Well, I drove more than two-thousand miles on that repaired tire. I’m still driving on it! That makes me wonder about all those previous new tires I bought because I was told that sidewall damage couldn’t be repaired!