Let the music begin; and to my surprise it is the Mariachi. A strange new set of rules when you cross the border and into something a bit more substantial than a crappy country garage band filled to their brim with the BUD ON TAP ordered for the very special occasion/wedding. The Mariachi are so damn unique to themselves, hence my intrigue.
Having worked for a certain company that involves itself with social occasions, I have been exposed to a gamut of entertainment experiences. I can tell you when the thought out toss of hair by a neurotic Quinceaneras mother can mean; the cake will be cut in five minutes, get your cameras ready.
Then I hunch in the corner, secretly zooming in on your face to see what you might be eating. I might experiment a bit with night shot to get a glimpse of a bra line through a diaphanous black dress, scarcely a nipple but the art is imperfect anyhow. Light plays tricks indeed, but nothing that godlike. Sometimes invited to eat; never the cake though. Ill fill up on dinner rolls and inscribed valentine mints. Ill try the chicken entrée and endless iced teas, gets warm lugging this equipment around.
Those are all bland facts compared to the capacity for voyeurism. Image you pay said company to send me on a paid trip with a bag full of electrical voyeurisms; to your precious wedding/birthday/someday I want to film a divorce. I show up and am immediately an extended member of the family. Hence, I dine with you, meet all the family, see the girls baby pictures that stretch all the way back to bloody. I hear the jokes, delight when you dance and lip sync, and laugh on the inside when you have five too many margaritas, do a conga line, lose you shoe and fall on your head. Why laugh on the outside, right? Because video is forever, and that’s laughter enough.
So enough of my poor Spanish to get through and its midnight, time to pack it up and ship it out. By then the Padrino’s are a bit brandied up and need not babysitting for they are practically pickles. Give the thanks, and say goodbye to your instant family forever, or until some other fine young Hija ripens to age or gets a rock on her finger. See you all again someday, different time, different popular restaurant, and certainly a new and unique variation of “El Mariachi Loco”.
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