Nibbling On Enchiladas: One Man's Travels Through The Heart Of A Lovely Land...The $2.99 Breakfast...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

PORT ISABEL, Texas - Away from here, much is made of the Rio Grande Valley's lifestyle. Often, it is a roundhouse denigrating that spans all aspects of local culture. If it isn't some yokel downing the region's rich, Mexican food, it's some other idiot calling out local men for being abusive, adulterous and what productive people elsewhere would call ten-percenters. Valley women, it is said in those circles, ask for little and take the spousal abuse without a fight. Welcome to Hellhole, goes the line.

It's all a stereotype, of course.

The Valley is its own place, offering what it offers nicely, however slow it may be to an outtsider used to a hurry-up lifestyle. I wonder about it here, because I'm soon to be off to another place for the holidays and I'll have to acclimate myself to another social environment - a not too-difficult undertaking for me, but one that can bring its own aggravation and annoyances.

I have been critical of the Valley on a variety of fronts, from politics, to the local diet, to the manner in which public servants serve. It's a low-rent, low-flying game they play, although it can easily be ignored. Issues bounce in and out of the Valley. Where other communities in the U.S. focus on perhaps larger things, the Valley ambles along as if on a slower clock. That is both good & bad.

It is my feeling that you can leave the Valley for five/ten years and then come back to find nothing's changed. The taqueria's name may be different and there may be a few more vehicles on the roads, but it's largely the same - a land that time forgets, a land that allows for mediocrity and laggards.

Not that it is bad. Still, this do-nothing attitude lives as the face of the Valley. And perhaps that is because Valleyites forever settle for things, demanding little because they believe themselves to be powerless, to be unable to dream the impossible dream, to be okay with being led by the nose.

It's easy to feel comfortable in the Valley. Breakfast can be had for $2.99, and who will complain about that? Most creature comforts have now come to the Valley, except for those poor pockets of residents still lower on the social strata, also known as the Colonia dwellers, the parachutists who arrive to stake their claim to some dream that is slow to unfurl.

So, is time different here? Yes, it is. It's still 60 minutes to the hour, but it's long minutes, time elongated by the adopted realization that after 60 minutes, well, there'll be 60 more, and 60 more after that. No one's in a hurry to do anything, leading me to conclude that the Valley is very much like South Vietnam, like rural West Texas, like the bad side of ugly Bangkok, like a load of places in rough-edged Mexico.

It should be a country all its own, and not part of two very different countries...

- 30 -

When All The Laughter Turned To Sorrow...Family Doings...Morning At A Tex-Mex Cafe...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

McALLEN, Texas - Back when I was a young boy, when laughter filled my days, it was always the cooking hour at our home that drew the most attention, that created a familial noise I've not enjoyed in years. My mother would fire-up the old natural gas stove without announcement and it was the jingle-jangle of kitchenware that signaled something was up, that told us the ensuing gorgeous aroma would soon be another of her fantastic meals.

This is the time of the year when families get together to break bread, to catch-up, to become one again. Everybody drives or flies in, each bringing news of recent occurrences within their families. It is Life its ownself. Memories abound. My older sister laughing and then saying, "Remember when you used to like cheese?" That segued into something else. I'm good at remembering. It is the only talent my God threw into my soul, sparing no expense, it would seem.

And so the tamales would be prepared and the music coming off the radio my mother plugged into a kitchen electrical outlet would offer a neat soundtrack of traditional Mexican music. She would ask about everybody, and then about me, pulling info from my brothers and sister I would never share with her, such as stuff about my illnesses, my marriage, my work as a wandering Journalist, which for some reason she thought was dangerous work. I'd walk-in, knowing what she was doing, and she would change the subject, drawing that huge, loving smile from me. And I'd say, "Ask me. I'll tell you about all my problems..." But she wouldn't, and I suspected correctly that she didn't want to know that I was suffering or dealing with things she did not want associated with her favorite son. And that could be everything. Mothers know, of course.

So these days, it's all about remembering my dear mother. She passed away three years ago and I recall she summoned me to her hospital bed the day before she died and asked me to try and reconcile with my ex-wife. I told her I would do it. I called the mother of my two beautiful daughters and said, "Do you want to get back together?" She said, "No," and I said, "Well, I promised my Mom I'd ask you."

The book closes and we try to forget, is what Phil Collins sings in one of his songs. Yes, we try. Only, when this time of the year rolls around, it is human nature to want to think that one more family gathering is all-too-possible.

But it isn't. Everybody's got plans taking them elsewhere. My sisters in California and Colorado. My brother in Minneapolis. Life marches on, like some old movie film moving through a projector's sprockets unwilling to stop on any one single photo frame, moving to the tale's end. It's something to think about.

Yesterday, I joined an old friend and his wife here for breakfast at a Tex-Mex restaurant called Picosito's on busy North 23rd Street. It was late in the morning and the well-dressed church crowd was angling in. Tables soon filled and the sounds of family chatter sailed across the dining area, mixing nicely with the soft mariachi music spilling out of the speakers overhead. The larger portion of the customers were Hispanic, and it was good to again be amongst so many, to see happy-looking fathers with families in tow, to see fresh-faced kiddoes arriving with the idea of putting away a plate of tacos, ready to ask for drinks and then for re-fills until Mom said no more.

I stared across the restaurant, wishing like crazy that I could be one of those kids and that the attractive middle-aged mother would be my Mom. A sip of coffee chased that imagery.

And then I told myself I could never be that kid because his hair was cut too-short and that the mother could never be my Mom because my Mom was much-prettier...

- 30 -

The Mind Of The Mexican: How An American Bordertown Ignored A Bloody, Bloody War Next Door...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

BROWNSVILLE, Texas - The most popular myth about this town and its failure to progress has it that someone buried the Grand Plan deep along a harsh piece of ground, left some mish-mash of a map and then, laughing, beat feet out of town. Apparently, it would take a giant shovel to dig down far enough to find it. Brownsville stumbles along, dependent on who knows what for fuel and without an idea of where it's going or how to even prepare for the momentous - if it ever comes.

The war raging in neighboring Matamoros, Mexico is the latest example of how Brownsville hopscotches across broken glass it could easily help gather to smooth out the journey at hand. But it doesn't. Brownsville's collective brain is such that to simply sit around and wonder about the flying bullets is enough of an activity to say it knows Waz Zappenin' in the 'Hood.

It is a community out of place in the universe, a town believing it exists in the same plane as, say, McAllen to the west. Brownsville is more Matamoros that it is willing to admit. Its people and Matamoros people often are one and the same, yet those living on the northern side of the Rio Grande cavalierly ignore the horrible plight of their border cousins. For years, that relationship was another. Not now. Today, Brownsville would rather turn its back on much-whipped Matamoros, rather say Mexico's problems belong to Mexicans, rather sit back like some overweight taco-eater blaming his fat belly for the inaction.

Brownsville could be called a pathetic town. Its leaders worry much more about others elsewhere. Earlier this year, those same leaders adopted a resolution against an anti-immigrant law in far-off Arizona. Yet, there has been not one peep about Matamoros and the strangling it is enduring at the hands of the vicious regional drug cartels. Why not say something? Why not go on record as saying you stand by the neighbor's desire for peace? Nothing, nothing is Brownsville's response.

You would think that at least one resident would rise against the violence, would be brave enough to say that Matamoros is a member of the neighborhood, would scream damnations at the killers, perhaps drawing them into some sort of area battle. Things won't change anytime soon for Matamoros, and we all know that Brownsville apparently is fine with that. Its history is heavy with outsiders coming in and stealing lands, building monuments and writing its more-dramatic border tales.

Brownsville disappoints right & left. It is mostly Mexicans who call it home and it is barely yards from the fray, yet it turns its back. Marriages bind both towns, as do adulterous relationships, yet Brownsville drops its head and stares at its feet, defeated by its very inaction.

It's a thoroughly Mexican thing.

Not my fight, so...

Not my family, so...

Not my street, so...

Not my children, so...

The Mexican brain, slowed by maize and queso, will not respond. It can't, 'cause it won't. This is the proverbial yearlong Siesta in town. We suspect that the biggest worry for its residents at present is when and where to buy that frozen turkey for the Thanksgiving Dinner.

How anyone in Brownsville could ever believe that they have the right to give thanks is the mind-blower. Of course, everyone also knows that cowards can blow-off a whole lot and still sit down at the dinner table for a plate of tamales, even as the wife is out submitting an application for a second job, even as the kids ask about new shoes, even as the boss says, "Hey, Julio, come on back to work..."

At some point, Brownsville will have to engage in some form or fashion.

Until then, it remains the so-called Coward Of the County...

- 30 -

You May Be A Gorgeous Dame, But that Skeleton Of Yours Turns Me Off...One Man's Battles With The Human Design...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

McALLEN, Texas - Is it just me, or do all of us have a fight with the human body's perplexing design? Do you stop and ask yourself what you'd think of your woman companion if you could see - and hold - her tailbone? Meatless, it looks very much like the skeletal ribs of a small bird, like those of a young crow or a fattened parakeet - not attractive at all. Bones. Why bones?

It is said that a human being needs those bones - his chasis - to stand erect, to wrap muscles around it and help propel it, say, from the bedroom to the bathroom. Those who say that are not lying; that's exactly the function of the skeleton. But why not a high-tech design, if we can borrow a word from manufacturing. Why would the Creator go with the ugly skeleton? It is ugly. Bones are never pretty, not those of a baby, nor those of the most beautiful actress. Bones are strictly utilitarian; that is, they do a job, and they do it under cover of outer skin.

Anatomy tells us there are 206 bones in the adult human skeleton, although that number may change as one ages for a variety of healthy reasons. Newborn babies count more than 270 bones, some of which later fuse together. Studies show that the human skeleton takes 20 years before it is fully developed. By the age of 40 in women and roughly 45 in men, those bones begin their slide into something akin to rusting in automobiles. The older a human being, the worse the bones function. Those Old Geezers walking into Luby's Cafeteria at odd angles are not doing it because they want to. Their bones have simply aged to the point of stiffness. It happens steadily and is unforgiving. Loss of bone marrow leads to brittleness, in some cases breaking in older people in the course of, say, taking a step or reaching for a bath towel.

So, why would anyone design such a cheap contraption for the Human body? I can't answer that, and neither can anyone except for biologists who will tell you we are made of flesh and bones and that it is your DNA that defines your skeleton's ability to sustain you into old age. Think of skeletons as automobile models: some people have Fords and some have Cadillacs.

I hate the idea of my skeleton, really because I see it as someone else in there under my skin, some lousy stick figure who should get the Hell out and leave me alone. But alone then would be a mass of muscle and skin and tissue piled on my bedroom floor. I need a Goddamned skeleton; I just hate to admit it.

The other day, at my favorite coffee shop, I looked at people I see most mornings with the skeleton in mind and decided skin is very much like clothes. There are quite a few customers at this particular Starbucks I'd not want to see naked, and there were as many whose skeletons likely would have been just as scary.

There was the young school librarian who could use a few pounds. Her skeleton no doubt would look even skinnier. There was the fat guy who walks in and asks for a grande cup of coffee and three/four pastries. His skeleton has to be just as fat as he is, bones that'll test an army of maggots when they finally bury his ass. It's funny. You can do that all damned day.

I'm just glad that the best body parts in a woman are not boney.

The creator of such loveliness was on the ball, is my feeling...

- 30 -

The Killing Tamales:...They're Tasty...But One Tamale Takes 30 Seconds Off Your Life Expectancy...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

BROWNSVILLE, Texas - Eating is fun here along the Texas-Mexico border. You can find generous helpings of a variety of fat-rich Mexican food. Eat and be happy, yes, but watch out for those tamales.

Nutritionists will tell you that you risk losing 30 seconds of your lifetime span with every tamale you eat. The reason? Lard.

Lard build-up is the silent killer in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas. One tamale contains enough lard to cook a dozen eggs, say those who know about such things. And you say you eat an order of six every time you sit down to scarf a plate of pork or beef or bean tamales? Well, sock away some cash for the early gravesite.

Americans are living longer these days. The average life expectancy of U.S. males today is 80.8 years, according to the World Health Organization. American women can expect to live about 75.6 years on average. That's not bad, but Japanese men live to the ripe age of 82.2 and Japanese women to age 79.4.

Mexico's males on average live to age 76.2 and Mexican woman to age 73.7.

The RGV residents, perhaps because they gleefully chase the maize-rich Mexican diet likely live to ages closer to Mexico than to their U.S. counterparts. It's something to think about this food-heavy Holiday Season, a time of the year when tamales fill the dinner tables in homes from one end of the Valley to the other.

Tamales are delicious; they just bite you at life's end.

Eating a dozen tamales will take six minutes off your life. How many have you eaten to this point?...

- 30 -

The Time of Times:...Comes A Day To Be Civil...Politics Is Only One Game We Play...Thank God For Year's End...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

McALLEN, Texas - And so we're near the end of another year. There, in ragged images still clear in our minds, is that silly string of sad photography that speaks mostly to our selfishness, our prejudices, our inability to be united, our bigotry, our desire to lash and not embrace. It's been yet another doozy.

But we're on the lip of the Holiday Season.

Slowly, but surely, we will make the turn toward believing in our fellow man, in all that is good during a time that has been, well, bad. We were thinking about this when the cool breezes arrived yesterday and when we ventured out into the community and caught glimpses of the annual celebration that is our way of being grateful and thankful and our way of acknowledging our creator.

There will be time again next year for bad politics, for bad politicians, for screaming, for damning, for playing the horrible game of tearing each other apart, for bullshit. We are blessed to live in this country, a land where we absolutely can lob inanities at each other at will. We are free to blast the neighbor for his disdain of the lawnmower. We are free to think thoughts about the low-rent eateries around here some believe ought to be shut down by the authorities. We are free to create and to destroy. We are free to be idiots and naysayers and do-nothings and morons and abusive. There is no real talent required to be an American. We are free to act out our fantasies and our stupidities as if we're all on television.

And that's okay. It makes for a colorful existence. We are of many stripes and I suspect that most of us, even here in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, wouldn't like to live in a  country where it was only Egyptians, only Japanese, only Czechs, only Germans, only Brits, only Mexicans to be seen in one's community.

We are free. Celebrate it in some shape or form daily. Yeah, somewhere in between your yelling at that city commissioner you loathe, that governor you think is a fool, that neighbor whose wife is more attractive than your own. It's okay to breathe...freely...

- 30 -

Elections 2010:...So, Now What?...The Ground Moved, But It Always Moves In Our National Politics...Nobody Died...We Beat Onward...

"Buy the ticket, take the ride..." - Hunter S. Thompson

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

McALLEN, Texas - American politics always has been a cheap carnival ride full of fools, idiots, thugs, criminals, and, when we're lucky, a few smart people. Yesterday's mid-term elections brought the usual characters and the expected results. As theater, it was an Off-Broadway play where the witch and the porno freak did not make it to the last act and the kid from out west came from behind to get the gal.

In between the best and worst scenes, the fast-ragging country got a helicopter camera shot of exactly where its mood is these days. Like a newly-divorced woman, it wants change and it wants it now. Not big change, cause the Democrats still hold the White House and the U.S. Senate, but just enough to set a different tone. The GOP awakes today knowing it now has control of the House of Representatives, and that ballsy Speaker of the House, Democrat Nancy Pelosi, will be replaced by Republican Congressman John Boehner of Ohio (shown grimacing in photo). In early commentary, pundits are saying the House will flex its subpoena powers and tackle such burning issues as President Barack Obama's birthplace (many Republicans insist he was born in Kenya and, thus, ineligible to hold the office). Will they repeal the health care reform passed under the previous Congress? Not likely, although they will chip-away at certain aspects of it, none major.

As expected by the more insightful, Republican Christine O'Donnell's witchy Tea Party bid failed in Delaware, as did the GOP's Sharron Angle's in Nevada and crazy Republican Carl "Porno Freak" Paladino's in New York. In Florida, Republican Marco Rubio beat party-changer Charlie Crist for the governorship, and, in Texas, Republican Rick Perry beat Democrat Bill White. Still in play was the crucial governor's race in California and the U.S. Senate contest in Alaska.

So, what does it mean?

Not much. History shows mid-term elections as being contests during which the party in power loses its pants. It happened to George W. Bush in 2006 and likely will happen again in 2014. What it tends to do is rally the losing party into gearing up for the ensuing national election, which in this case will be the presidential race in 2012.

In looking at how this election unfolded, one could see the noise come to life in a handful of contests that went full-dramatic. The tugging was vigorous, but the thread nonetheless held. America plays a rough game of political musical chairs. That is what gives rise to people such as Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich and Richard M. Nixon and, now, the ever-slurring, always tanned John Boehner, a Speaker of the House who will bring us antics often seen at the circus.

The ticket was handed to you the day you were born into this great land. It's a wild roller-coaster, a runaway bus, a battered Conestoga wagon, a muddy pickup, a shiny SUV, a rusting PT Cruiser, a usedVolvo, a rolling 18-wheeler.

Take the ride, absolutely...

- 30 -

The Blogger's Confession:...It's As We'd Imagined...Just Another Urchin...We're Not Interested, Lad...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

HARLINGEN, Texas - We're pretty loose here at The Tribune. Often, we allow some sort of questionable commenter to have his silly say. It's called allowing for Life and the noise it brings, so perhaps that's why we're doing this. As most of you who follow local Blogs know, we have an old man posing as our resident cyber-urchin. Jake is his preferred moniker on MyHarlingenNews.com and on MyLeaderNews.com and a few other Blogs, although he also arrives as Ren and Renolds and Ralphy. He is one of those despicable dudes likely tied to his home computer and no doubt waiting on his poor wife to come home from work.

Well, Jake sent us an overnight Email.

Here it is, verbatim: "Say DPM, your comment to TCs (Ed. Note: Tony Chapa's MyHarlingenNews.com) blog directed to me was deleted. It pissed me off because it happened immediately after I had posted a response. But I'm going along with it. It reminds me of my old job. Where many times my work was ignored because some "supervisor" thought best of it. I'm sure I've already told you that I'm retired from ICE, right? I'm not a geezer like Deal or even TC, although I don't know how old TC really is. Even though he does act like some kind of senior citizen. But by the photo on his blog, I'm either just a few years younger or around the same age. I'm 55. Anyway, I'm going to stick by TC for the time being. But it is conceivable that I may lose it and go totally against him. We'll see. Oh, and DPM, no hard feelings, alright? - Jake."

Okay. Must be some sort of self-chased mental therapy for this guy. We've ignored him lately, but are of the opinion that he needs help. If his ceaseless comments are any indication, Jake is apparently obssessed with this writer and with homosexuality. What he wrote above is all we know about him, although his Email came from phy15@hotmail.com and he identifies himself as Ralph Garcia.
 
I know no one named Ralph Garcia and have never seen that Email address.
 
We do wish to rid ourselves of this slimeball, however, and hope that he sticks to posting his childish bullshit elsewhere. We've said it many times before, but you know what they say about bureaucratic brains. You simply have to keep pumping it into those lazy noggins over and over again.
 
Wanted to write that some other way, but perhaps Jake knows the concept of "pumping it." Still, now we know a little more about this insipid something or another. He reminds us very much of those dickless chumps in high school who just wanted, would die, to belong to the hip group.
 
Jake, we're not interested in anything you say or propose, but why don't you go get me a soda from the teacher's lounge...
 

- 30 -

The Party of Exclusion: Teabaggers & The Craziest American Way...Kooks, Thugs and Crippled On Parade...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

HARLINGEN, Texas - When they arrived for their march on the nation's capital this past summer, members of the so-called Tea Party did their best to express their anger in stupid posters and signs (see photo above) that did little to bring them credibility. On the contrary, their petulance intially brought a slew of unqualified candidates and then ridicule. Today is their Waterloo.

So, what is it about this rag-tag group of racists, segregationists and unemployed psychos that delivers them on the rest of us? Can they ever be taken seriously in the main, or are they, like many fringe parties of the nation's past just another failed stab at belonging. One thing does separate Teabaggers from the earlier groups - anger.

If they're not handcuffing and detaining reporters, as happened in Alaska, they're knocking down and kicking those who protest them, or they're saying absurdities that belong in a high school election or in some country where brains are not part of the process. Will the party last beyond this election?

The odds - and history - say no.

Twenty years ago, it was Ross Perot's Reform Party that captured similar far-right Republican sentiments. And the Reform Party did shake the voter trees to the point that it cost Papa Bush (George H.W. Bush, the dad) the White House, when Reformers took many votes from him, allowing Democrat Bill Clinton to win in 1992. Heard anything about the well-financed Reform Party lately? Of course not, it's gone. So will be the Tea Party.

America knows these third parties as gatherings of a small amount of goofy, usually unemployed  citizens uninterested in doing anything for the entire country. The Tea Party's musings are not for all Americans. And that is why it will not survive any length of time. A big part of the reason is that  in our strong, two-party system, the Democrats and the Republicans are very much alike. They share more in common than they do not, in other words. Fringe groups such as the Tea Party separate themselves so much from the GOP and the Dems that a national sway will never follow them. You keep Blacks out and you're not inclusive. You keep Hispanics out and ditto. All you have to do is listen. Listen and you shall hear the midnight madness of Tea Party candidates who openly blame America's problems solely on immigrants, on Blacks, on Hispanics, on Asians, on government programs, on the president, on foreigners, on everything & everybody but themselves.

Are they Americans?

By nationality, they are, but the Tea Party's philosophy seems to apply only to a certain sector of the nation: the Sarah Palins, the Carl Paladino's, the Sharron Angles, the Christine O'Donnells. See the pattern?

It's mildly hilarious, like an audible fart at a crucial moment in lovemaking, I imagine.

But, then, most Americans share very little with the die-hard, racist Teabaggers. And the only salvation is that the obvious now comes due for them - the end of the silly flirtation. Oh, perhaps one or two will win today. But, really, win what, a seat at the country's already-entrenched political table? Perhaps it never did dawn on them that they'd be serving alongside a huge number of Democrats and Republicans who would never, ever align with their retarded approach to public service.

Carl "Porno Freak" Paladino in New York?

Sharron "No Abortions for Rape" Angle in Nevada?

Christine "I'm not a Witch" O'Donnell in Delaware?

The mother hen Sarah Palin in Alaska?

Uh, no. The noisy Reform Party postured billionaire Ross Perot in 1992 and he did not even come close to defeating the less-wealthy Bill Clinton. All he did was take votes the elder Bush needed, but never received. America is not Mexico, where fringe parties surface every other year and gain some place in that country's Congress. It seems we're a bit more sophisticated, although, because of who and what we are, we allow anybody to paste a name alongside his/her candidadcy and make perhaps too much noise...

- 30 -

Election 2010: A Year of Living Stupidly...Who Will Win & Who Will Lose?...Few Novel Ideas...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

McALLEN, Texas - As American voters march to the polls tomorrow, they will be casting votes for some well-qualified candidates and a handful of very strange wannabes. The nation's politics have never been so frayed as they are at present, but there is really nothing wrong with that. It's the system we've known for all these years.

In Delaware, Tea Party senatorial candidate Christine O'Donnell offers her debt-ridden history and flirtation with witchcraft as two principal qualifications. In Nevada, the brain-challeneged Republican Sharron Angle, also a Teabagger, arrives with idea that span use of weapons to remedy the country's problems to denying abortion even in the case of rape. They're not alone, however. In races set to be decided in Alaska and Florida and Ohio and Texas and New York, similarly-odd Americans are posting themselves for victory.

The country's problems are many, as it happens. So for these hardly-qualifed candidates (the Tea Party candidate for governor of New York, Carl Paladino, is accused of being a porno addict with stereotypical Italian sensibilities), tomorrow's vote is the day of reckoning.

We have sort of monitored many of these national contests and can only come up with one example of what we consider a positive proposal: The state of Washington's ballot initiative to, yeah, adopt a state income tax that would affect only the rich.

Who's backing that one?

You may know the name: Bill Gates. Sr.

And, for residents of the far northwest, it is something of a goldmine they'll tap into if the measure passes. Seattle counts a large number of millionaires. To his credit, the elder Gates, shown in photo above, is contributing his own money to push for the legislation, which would bring yet additional tax burdens on his ultra-millionaire son, Bill Gates, Jr. of Microsoft fame.

Aside from that, we have seen nothing as interesting in meaningful proposals offered by the candidates in this cycle, the so-called mid-term congressional elections.

Among the more interesting contests are the governorship of Texas ( a victory by Democrat Bill White over incumbent Republican Rick Perry would turn the state upside down in more ways than just redistricting of congressional districts), in New York and in California, a state where the Republican (Meg Whitman) has spent $160 million of her own money.

It'll all be something to watch, absolutely.

Pundits on the wall-to-wall cable news programs predict the Republican Party will win a majority in the House of Representatives, a development being seen as both a  plus and minus for President Barack Obama, a Democrat. A Republican takeover would see Democrat and Californian Nancy Pelosi hand over the gavel to Republican John Boehner of Ohio. That would create a new working dynamic for the White House.

For the most part, this year's contest will not bring great change to the country. Tea Party candidate for the U.S. Senate Rand Paul and others of such minds will arrive as junior senators, and history tells us that, at best, all junior members of Congress ever accomplish is raising the volume of Washington, D.C.'s regular noise.

Still, it is the American electoral system at work. Some years, we see smart, prepared  citizens posturing themselves as public servants. And other years, we see what we are seeing today...

- 30 -       

Romancing McAllen: Making It & Selling It...Downtown's Gone Tri...Some Now Call It Little Monterrey...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

McALLEN, Texas - Downtown here has been All-Mexico, All-The-Time for years. Shops geared toward the Mexican trade dominate buildings and land where once Anglo-McAllen traded. Today's Main Street looks very much like the old, calmer Reynosa, Mexico of the 1980s and early 1990s.

Once proud stores such as Woolworth and Terry Farris and JC Penney which occupied prime real estate on the city's main drag have been replaced by electronic shops, bridal outlets and  discount clothing stores that are seemingly frequented only by shoppers from Mexico. There is Gilberto's on 15th Street near the new bus station, and there's Hollywood Fashions up toward the intersection of Austin Street. The yellow-splashed La Mordida Mexican Restaurant is two doors east, not far from a money exchange business. On a recent Saturday afternoon, downtown McAllen looked very much like downtown Monterrey. The hustle and bustle of Mexican shoppers jabbering with each other as they made their way past stores blaring Mexcian music is as much a part of the scenery as are the many vehicles sporting Mexican license plates.

It's an occupation of sorts for the City of Palms.

McAllen has opened its arms as wide as it can open them to welcome all Mexican trade. At the corner of 15th and Austin streets, a vacant building is being offered for lease. The realtor's sign notes that the building is "in the Entertainment District," and the metal being used to frame a new front door overhang says, "Arco Metal. Hecho en Mexico." Made in Mexico. That's right, and likely paid with income generated from the numerous Mexican shoppers. Soon, it appears, it will be yet another of the entertainment district's many bars, clubs and eateries.

Indeed, it is impossible to move about McAllen without sensing that you're among moving crowds of Mexican nationals in their country. They're everywhere, at the mall, the movies, the restaurants, the car dealerships, the health clubs, the tennis courts, the spas and, yeah, the Botox clinics. In exchange for throwing the border door wide-open for them, McAllen receives hefty sales tax revenues other Rio Grande Valley communities can only dream about.

Is McAllen just the lucky city in the RGV? Or has McAllen, unlike Harlingen or Brownsville gone all-out to take the lead in boosting its economy with cash coming in from the south. Mexico is going through Drug Cartel hell, and many Mexicans are not only driving across the river to get away from the fear and danger, but also to outright relocate. McAllen's population is listed as 106,000 on the city limits signs. On any given day, it swells by more than 40,000. Saturday is a business gangbusters day at La Plaza Mall on South 10th Street, where the Mexican shopper mingles with locals.

Downtown, it is largely the Mexican crowd. Few locals shop the Main Street stores, and fewer even know of the action at the bus terminal, where locals using that sort of transportation go to buy a ticket that'll take them to San Antonio and Mexicans a ticket on a bus bound for San Luis Potosi. The spacious bus station lobby is a veritable scene out of a bus terminal in any large Mexican city. Flinty, mustachioed men in straw hats, wearing ostrich-skin boots and matching belts funnel in and out all day. Physically-eccentric women in tight jeans and hefty bottoms drag their kids to the ticket counter, arriving to pay the fare with a string of questions. Near the snack store on the side of the station facing Austin Street, a woman wearing flip-flops adorned with the Chivas futbol logo grabs a pastry, a bottle of water, and five Lotto tickets. I marvel at the ant-like movement inside the terminal, marvel because it is a sort of organized arriving parade of humanity. It is the counter dealing in tickets to Mexico that is busiest, far outworking the one for Greyhound buses headed north, in the opposite direction.

That McAllen has opened its arms for all-things-Mexico is no longer in doubt. Mayor Richard Cortez speaks positively of the historic relationship at every opportunity. Mexican citizens in town is nothing new. The city's history on that is clear: It is what it is. End of discussion. Indeed, the Mexican flag has joined those of Texas, Canada and the U.S. on the four flapoles in front of the bus station.

Nothing wrong with that. Clashes of culture happen elsewhere.

Here, it is an arranged marriage that seems to be working...

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The Tribune Will Not Be Endorsing Any Area Candidate For Elected Office...Voters Ought To Educate Themselves...

By RICARDO KLEMENT
Staff Writer

BROWNSVILE, Texas - After careful consideration, The Tribune has decided it will not endorse any area candidate or incumbent seeking elected office. The decision is in keeping with its historical stance.

"We simply believe endorsements enable these public servants to believe they are being selected to do everything but serve," said Tribune Editor Patrick Alcatraz. "The people will vote without our suggestions, and that's the way it should be. Endorsements are part of our national tradition ahead of elections, but, around here, politicians see it as some sort of license to be assholes."

The Tribune, however, trusts that all eligibile voters turn out on Tuesday to cast their votes for the candidate of their choice. In the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, where we reside, it is important that all go to the ballot box. Political sophistication includes the idea that a good citizen will educate himself/herself on the issues and on the people posting themselves for election.

"We would be more inclined to not endorse, but merely note those candidates we feel are not doing the people's work," Alcatraz went on. "Perhaps that would be a better contribution from our area news outlets. We just don't see much criticism from the news media, other than when yet another shameless, Valley elected official is arrested for wrongdoing. So, no, The Tribune will not be telling you this or that candidate is the one for the job. They simply need to do it..."

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The Word of Reason:...Harlingen City Commissioner Robert Leftwich Addresses The Tony Chapa Mess...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

HARLINGEN, Texas - More and more, people here are saying it is now very much like the final note of the last waltz. The opera that has been the Tony Chapa blogging experience is losing endorsements right & left. And, worse yet for him, there are those who say he has singlehandedly made room for the hated Old Guard to become the Right Guard, exhibiting the Midas Touch in reverse with every story and senseless attack he offers on MyHarlingenNews.com.

Now comes this from one of his acknowledged most-trusted allies, City Commissioner Robert Leftwich, shown in photo above: "Believe it or not, I was one of the first persons to give Tony advice about cutting down on his bias and rhetoric."

We had fired-off an Email to the popular commissioner, asking him if he, as a public servant, could stomach Chapa and his vicious, anti-social approach to offering news & information to the community.

Leftwich went on: "Do I approve of his attacks, no. But as you have written yourself, he has his agenda and is entitled to it. I believe I've read where you have also written that he also has his place as a blogger, like him or not."

Yes, The Tribune has supported Chapa's right to publish a blog, just like we support any news & info venue out to help society. But Chapa has gone over the cliff, and his site is no longer credible, no longer relevant. To be sure, it is Chapa who has given up his place on the high road, traded it in for his misguided belief that reader comments - any comment - indicates he is drawing attention. He isn't, and we suspect he knows it.

Leftwich distances himself diplomatically: "I proclaim to be only an advocate of the people. Some have said those are the crazy of this town. Those of us in the good fight have never been accused of being on the same page, unlike the 'establisment,' thus the rag-tag bunch of crazy people will continue to limp along self-destructing, limiting our effectiveness."

That fight we support. There is something to be said for waging honorable battle. But to merely take cheap shots at people opposed to your political point-of-view shows a remarkable lack of class. Who will follow a fool? Only another fool.

We have met Mssr. Leftwich and he strikes us as a public servant out to do good things for Harlingen. The Tribune has written such on several occasions, including our recent story on area public servants we belief have the people in mind. For him to continue supporting Chapa's crude inanities would not reflect kindly on the commissioner many say could be the city's next mayor.

In the world of politics, you can never defend the indefensible. It is the literal mangrove swamp no politician ever wants, or needs. Tony Chapa's MyHarlingenNews has no defense for what it is doing.

Commissioner Leftwich seems to know that...

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THE LAST TRIAL: In McAllen, A Lawyer Who Fell From Grace With His Profession...Allen Odum Dead...

[EDITOR'S NOTE: This story was initially published last May. Allen Barry Odum, the subject of the story, died on Monday. His funeral was held today. We recall him as a good friend and fellow coffee shop hangabout. He was 62. The cause of death was cancer...]

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

McALLEN, TX - Several weeks ago, at my favorite coffee shop here, one of my friends sat up and pointed to the man in the photo above, saying something about how we might be interested in inviting him to our little gang. His manner was calm, like that of someone who'd been someplace awful and was now back. In his free hand, he always carried either a popular novel or a notebook, his laptop strung across a shoulder in its bag, his other hand occupied by his cup of coffee. You see all kinds at this particular coffee shop, from Chief of Police Victor Rodriguez to County Judge Rene Ramirez to overly-dressed businessmen to bums. I had taken to saying everyone in the shop likely had a good story to tell.

This slim, gray-haired man did.

His name is Allen Odum. And if you were in this town back in November, 2008, you likely read in The McAllen Monitor about he had been arrested at the U.S. Border Patrol checkpoint near Falfurrias. The charge would be transporting of marijuana, some 60 lbs. for which he was being paid $2,400 for the trip from McAllen to Corpus Christi. It was a fall from grace for the well-known attorney.

Odum, shown in photo above, is waging a losing battle against cancer, but he has one more task to accomplish: he is writing a memoir, one whose beginning is a heart-tugger. And he'll tell you openly, never once painting his problems with any sort of self-pity. The anecdote that serves as send-off for his book is this one: His daughter had tired of seeing him lose interest in his profession, as had his employees, so much so that one day she took her red lipstick to a sliding glass door mirror in the family home and wrote about how Odum had once been a good father, a respected attorney and someone to be proud of. "Now," wrote the kid, "...you're just a crackhead."

Odum says it in a matter-of-fact tone, yet acknowledges that it hurt to see that scribbled in big, red lettering.

The arrest took him to a jail in Rockport, north of Corpus Christi, where he awaited his trial. Odum recalls he had no illusions about skirting a stay in prison. He just knew he didn't feel well as the days moved onward. The cancer diagnosis, he feels, led to the judge handing in a three-year probation, which was optimistic in that his doctors have given him little to make him think he'll see 2011. And so, Allen Odum writes. And he sends me his chapters. I look them over and note my review in a subsequent Email reply. In the mornings, he pops into the coffee shop during the early hours when I am there and we talk about his story, his writing, his memoir.

"At least, it'll be something to leave behind," he says, only his eyes and voice tell me there is more than just a desire to jot down his back pages. His fall from grace is rarely discussed. He knows he blew it and he knows there isn't much that he can do about it now. It is, however, a good story, especially when he recounts the details of his involvement in the drug trafficking, the bitching he got from clients he neglected, the shame he found when facing friends in the local legal profession.

"Duardo," he tells me when I get up to leave. "...thanks, man. You don't know how much I appreciate your help and your way of motivating me to finish this book."

I never tell him it's a bear to complete. I never tell him the first and last 50 pages are the easiest to write in any book. I never tell him about the publishing clock, which is slow. I never tell him anything negative. A book, even a non-fiction effort, is a monumental climb up an unforgiving mountain. Allen Odum will likely tire of it and greet me with words of failure. I know it. But I'll smile and say this: "You're not even writing that book; it's writing itself."

And he'll stop and think about that a few seconds before nodding, run his hand through his hair as he often does, and want to shake my hand. He'll keep writing. He'll finish his book. You can't beat Life. And you can't beat writing. You just can't...

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The Rise of Harlingen Birthers...They Want Answers...Is Tony Chapa A Mexican?...He's Not Talking...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

HARLINGEN, Texas - Is it even important? Does it matter if local Blogger Tony Chapa is not an American citizen. We could not care less, but many in this town of 74,000 patriotic residents wonder about it daily. Some even say, in posts submitted to other blogs, that they believe Chapa is a Mexican national.

And now, he has been asked to post his birth certificate.

Chapa, operator of MyHarlingenNews.com, is hanging low, being mum, not answering the question. He should post a copy of his birth certificate and silence the critics, or he should come out of the closet and acknowledge that he is from, uh, there. It's no Big Deal, unless he's not an American citizen. In these hell-fire days of raging politics, it would not be cool for Tony Chapa to incessantly rag on some local elected officials if he's not a citizen.

Is that what Harlingen is telling Mssr. Chapa?

He's not talking.

At last check, the "comments" section of his Blog is full of Tony Chapa self-aggrandizing musings, with himself and with some urchin who identifies himself as Jake. It wasn't that long ago that he counted 40 to 50 comments for every story he posted. It is a tremendous, humbling fall from relevance. Suddenly, nobody cares about Chapa, or about his lifeless Blog. Were this a Porno movie, we'd say the star has lost his dick, or seen it shrink.

For Chapa, the opposition always is a sky full of heartless, blood-thirsty vultures. They want to kick his tail, only Chapa won't come out. He's bunkered and that's where he's gonna be. It would take, we are led to say, a giant shovel to find any evidence of Tony Chapa. Tales of his being accosted at city hall abound. Something about a heavyset man yelling at him at the last City commission meeting, and Tony merely taking it.

But, really, what we say to Mssr. Chapa is that he post his birth certificate, or address the citizen issue with a "yes or no." Until then, he will be seen as an outsider, and, worse yet, an outsider from crazy Mexico.

It's the roiling novela in town. Is dwarfish Danny deVito in it? Think so.

As another day breaks in town, the nagging question being asked is: Will Tony ante-up his birth certificate? Will his critics stay with the barrage? Will things be different tomorrow?

Naaaaaaah. MyHarlingenNews is toast, as they say at Waffle House. Day-old toast and fading. Is there anyone who will rise with Tony Chapa? Is there any Harlingenite who will lift a hand to help him up? Doesn't look like it.

We're not losing sleep over his demise. We actually wish Chapa good luck, mainly because our liberal sensibilities don't allow us to see a man being kicked silly while he's down. It's become an ugly sight.

Tony, Tony, Tony. Throw the Goddamned towel...

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DEATH OF A BLOG:...How Harlingen's Tony Chapa Lost His Groove...Empty Bus On A Darkened Road...Doing The Right Thing...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Shorts

HARLINGEN, Texas - Who says, we are driven to wonder, this city of 74,000 fun-starved souls can't ever get together on anything? Au contraire, mon frere. Harlingen has come alive to bury a Blog that not that long ago was kicking arse in town.

The Blog? MyHarlingenNews.com.

But it seems its operator, one Tony Chapa, went on something of a flight across perhaps the warring sands of Egypt, picked up this idea that everybody was against him back home and, voila!, he was soon at war against the entire community, save a handful of loyal pals. If a blog can ever be a bus, well MyHarlingen News.com is an empty bus. Where once it counted a large number of visitors and commenters, it now is a mere shadow of its once-en fuego bravado. Gone are the many bloggers who arrived daily to join him in spats, praise and inanity. The insane were as welcome as was the town's however-tiny intelligentsia. These days, and we have been keeping an eye on Chapa's blog for this very reason, he counted less than five "comments" on his latest offerings.

So, what happened? Can a Blog be so easily dismissed?

Critics charge Chapa with the Bogger's worst disease: censorship. And Chapa did censor right & left, killing comments he did not like and comments from people he did not like with a butcher's vigor. Today, it's hard to tell if anybody is visiting MyHarlingenNews.com, and some in town have begun to issue death certificates that they say come with a road map to the city cemetery. Not that we at The Tribune believe Chapa will fold his tent and quit the game.

But just how long can a Blog go without reader interest?

We know Chapa and would advice him to be a bit contrite, to circle his wagons while he figures out a way to return gracefully to the world of community, to re-gain the high ground on which his ambitious blog was born. News venues are needed in Harlingen. A Blog on every corner would be the best thing that could happen to Harlingen, a city currently in the throes of its own self-inflicted demise.

Will Tony Chapa eat his humble pie and once again join the civilized flock? Or is his anger so strong that there really is no way back for him? Saying "I'm sorry," or saying "I was wrong" is a tough for any man.

Still, there is a certain class in admitting you blew it. Wasn't it in middle school that teachers taught you about saying "I'm sorry" to the little girl whose pigtails you yanked out in the playground. Harlingen is Tony Chapa's little girl, and he can certainly acknowledge his actions for what they were. The little girl that is his hometown may just accept his apology...

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Election Central:...Something's Up, But What?...Is This Really Election Week?...How Can You Tell?...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

BROWNSVILLE, Texas - Bill Clinton is coming to town. It'll be a little Early Christmas for the 120,000 lost souls who call this falling town home. Clinton, the former president, is bringing needed life to a local election that has had all the drama of a popularity contest over at the neighborhood nursing home.

Is this really Election Season?

Clinton's swooping in to support fellow Democrat Solomon P. Ortiz, the congressman from Corpus Christi up the coast. Ortiz has no competition to speak of, other than a pajama-addicted Republican no one has taken seriously. There will be other local Dems with Clinton at the city's Veterans Park rally - notables such as county judge candidate John Wood and perhaps even State Sen. Eddie Lucio, a public servant known to bop into a social gathering just because...

The former president's star power is a breadth of fresh air for Rio Grande Valley of Texas politics. To date, in this long season of posturing and lying, the expected gloss has been, well, missing. Does anyone really get excited at seeing Solomon P. Ortiz in person? Perhaps his wife, but who knows? This is a guy whose name should be Rigo M. Ortiz, the true-to-life personification of a stiff. Word is Ortiz serves his district as little as possible, and then serves himself with decidely more vigor. Yeah, it seems Hispanic politicians are now as sophisticated as their Anglo colleagues. Free travel? Si! A larger slice of the pie for me? Si, si!!

It's almost here, and yet this Nov. 2nd election brings way-too many yawns. Nothing stands out in any RGV politician up for election. Nothing. Wood is challenging incumbent Carlos Cascos for the position of county judge, yet what is it about these two men that spreads the color of fog across Cameron County. Cascos, a rare & lost Hispanic Republican, will not greet Bill Clinton. Wood should be there, beaming through that worm-like mustache.

Ah, but as they say here, what the Hell? Still, Clinton's visit is something. He could easily be elsewhere, maybe drawing a bigger crowd in Florida or New York. But Brownsville it will be.

"At least we'll know we're alive," said one resident who openly acknowledged living in a part of the world where everybody's face looks like 75 miles of bad road...

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Without Yanks, This Year's World Series Will Be Crap...Where's Dick Young?...Texas Rangers?...Boring...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

McALLEN, Texas - In the late-1980s, after he'd made something of a name for himself with the lowly Texas Rangers, infielder, and fan favorite, Toby Harrah was traded to the New York Yankees. In Gotham City, Harrah never could duplicate his hitting prowess and was subsequently benched. His career soon ended, but it was a column by New York Daily News sportswriter Dick Young that sparked a bit of adios anger from Harrah.

Young, known as Big Dick in New York writing circles, penned a column saying Harrah's batting woes had come as a result of his "shacking up" with some broad in the Bronx. I thought about Dick Young after the hated Texas Rangers whipped my NY Yankees last night and now head for the World Series next week. I'm not much of a Sports Section reader in the Rio Grande Valley, mainly because the local sportswriters largely are "homers;" that is, they cheer for the hometeams and disdain objective reporting.

But Dick Young, shown in photo above, didn't take crap from anybody. He sparred with hyper-linguist Howard Cosell, Muhammad Ali and every uppity athlete who found himself in his crosshairs. Young died in 1987, yet his work has gained stature even in death.

Wrote one New York Times sportswriter: "With all the subtlety of a knee in the groin, Dick Young made people gasp...He could be vicious, ignorant, trivial and callous, but for many years he was the epitome of the brash, unyielding yet sentimental Damon Runyon sportswriter."

Does any wannabe sportswriter in the RGV fit that description? These are kids around here, sportswriters who are barely gaining their stripes. Can you imagine Young covering this mess involving area high school football players smoking Marijuana and drinking booze until they go completely stupid? Good Night, Irene.

This year's World Series may be the most underwhelming of all time, especially if the San Francisco Giants beat the Philadelphia Phillies and get to meet Texas. SF vs. Texas? Boring! No, the World Series never is the World Series without the Bombers. Baseball history is on my side.

But perhaps I'd be okay if only Dick Young covered the damned thing. It is the equal of seeing Gonzo Journalist Hunter S. Thompson cover our national politics. A no-bullshit interview of Brownsville Mayor Pat Ahumada by Thompson? Priceless literature...

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10 Hours On South Padre Island...Los Fresnos Is A Rural Hoot...We Love Port Isabel's Energy...

By PATRICK ALCATRAZ
Editor-In-Chief

SOUTH PADRE ISLAND, Texas - It is by any measure of the word "lost" the only rib of sand in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas that can offer genuine escapism from the cheap hustle & flow of the Rio Grande Valley. Every inch of ground west of here will only disappoint, if not hurt you. It is true that no man is an island, yet, here on the lip of the Gulf of Mexico, one can get the feeling that the island will block-off the Valley's more-horrible vistas. In search of something different, we journeyed here one day last week.

I was accompanied by one of this Blog's loyal commenters, a lovely lady from up Austin-way who identifies herself to you only as M. She'd come down to visit the Ol' Cowboy for a week, and the island was something she wanted to see one more time. As most who know me know, I love the road. This one is flat as a West Texas high school cheerleader, but it is still a road. Texas 100 has to be the region's loneliest highway on an early Thursday morning. Why, you can even hear the seagulls flapping wings in a welcoming symphony of sorts. Andre Rieu anyone?

The tiny city of Los Fresnos is a nothing-there blur. Obligatory car wash outfits wait on tourists heading home after a day on the island's sandy beach, a sprinkling of stores offer snacks and drinks, a few heavyset cops in cruisers park where you can't help but see them wave you by, and businesses for the locals with neat sounding names, such as the eatery Easy To Go Tacos, #3 beckon right there off the highway. A drive through Los Fresnos is very much like a drive through a brief rain, quiet and calm. You can almost hear residents speaking about the goings-on of their day. "Dad, the lettuce delivery dude is late again," I imagine an employee of the taco joint saying somewhere in the eatery's kitchen. Yeah, something familial, yet all-business - smalltown concerns, absolutely.

So we pressed on toward the island a few miles ahead, and shortly we were rolling past the small bedroom community of Laguna Vista and then into busy, busy Port Isabel. Some electrical charge or another cuts across Port Isabel. The smell moving across town is of fish and fishing bait, but the energy sweeps across the bodies and faces of its inhabitants - workabout shrimpers, tourist shop operators, seafood joint employees, transients angling for a beer, sunseekers in vehicles headed toward the Queen Isabella Causeway. It feels like a coastal town in more than just the obvious ways. Port Isabel could easily transport itself to the Massachusetts coast, or even Maine, and fit right-in, something all other Rio Grande Valley communities could never do. It strikes me that a commercial airfield in town likely would take all the business currently flying into Harlingen to the west. Maybe some day.

We make it across the Causeway and angle left on Padre Boulevard. It's your typical t-shirt shop and seafood restaurant drag, with cheap and expensive hotels lining the bay & gulf sides of the road. Nothing stands out as being spectacular, just a row of utilitarian convenience stores, gift shops and gas stations. South Padre Island is not Key West, Florida. Not even Key Largo. Not yet anyway. Aside from two tall towers off to the right as you clear the causeway (hotel), little change has come to SPI in the past 20 years. A new convention center has good acreage far up the city's main drag and sun-deck public facilities on the northern end seem to be about it. Some say the nightlife is better these days. A looksee at the natives walking around allows for quick characterizations: today's wino doesn't necessarily walk at an angle. I run into a pair of upright boozers at a convenience store halfway up the boulevard, where I also pick up a great snack deal: Two hot dogs for a dollar. The two men are arguing over who'll pay for the cigs. It's yet another hopeless lament. There they go, again.

Then it's on to the beach, where M and I sit on a sand dune and watch an oil tanker out in the gulf seemingly at rest. It doesn't move, framing itself in our line-of-sight between wind-blown seagulls looking for crackers. None has seen Jonathan Livingston lately, they all tell us, which is a disappointment. I say something about whether it's true that the gull that flies highest sees farthest (a line from the Richard Bach book), but I get nothing from the hungry seagulls. Perhaps it's the region's corn diet, I tell myself as we walk back to the car. Maize is bad for the brain, is my feeling. Clumps grow up there, taking space designed for thinking.

On our way out of town, M picks up a few T-shirts and a few flower pots at a store in Port Isabel, there in the shadows of the fabled lighthouse. The drive out of town is uneventful. I think about hooking it over to Brownsville for a beer, but decide against it. Why spoil a lovely day by spending even a second in that falling town?

Back on 100 headed west, it is Bobz World, a mirage of sorts on the right side of the highway east of Los Fresnos that blows me away. What is that monstrous thing doing there? Construction crews are putting the finishing touches on a chicken-wire framed sculpture of King Kong. A giant ape in the Valley? Something's wrong about that, I say to myself. Perhaps it's tourist business. Next year, it'll be Tarzan, eh? Big, loin-attired Tarzan at the city limits. That'll draw kiddoes from every sector in the fun-starved RGV.

We roll to the end of Texas 100 and turn right on the highway. Harlingen looms up ahead. It's a strange town singing bad tunes at midnight these days, but we'd found the Starbucks coffee shop on Tyler somewhat welcoming. A town can't be all bad if one can readily find a cup of Pike's Blend early in the morning. But it was a bit weird reading the day's Wall Street Journal in such a struggling town, very much like reading Successful Farmer magazine in, say, war-torn Matamoros.

M went back to her hometown at weekend's end, but what she said there near the end was that we'd have to do it again real soon...

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