Mr. Subliminal Anagram

Back about twenty years ago on the American TV show Saturday Night Live, there was a recurring segment by Kevin Nealon called Mr Subliminal, in which he quickly and under his breath tells you what he's really thinking.  So this is a little homage to that character.  But I've tried to take it one step further.  They say that anagrams can reveal something intrinsic about the subject.  So all of the subliminal messages in the text are also anagrams.  Some work really well, some are rather weak...but hell, this was my first go at anagramming !  Enjoy !

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Lots of folks know that Venezuelans are among the friendliest and most helpful anywhere.  They might also be aware of the amazing diversity and beauty of Venezuela's countryside (A Seductive Zen Rules Yon), from the mighty Andes (Highest Yet, Damn !) and the burning hot plains (Hi Lost Pan) to the piranha-filled delta (Flatland Hide A Peril) and the azure coastlines (The Ocean Lazes; I Rust).

However, I'd like to discuss Venezuela's governement.  It seems this government does not have quite the same reputation as Venezuela's other great resources.  And that's a bit unfortunate.  It's true that this Bolivarian Republic (A Probable Civil Ruin) has had some controversy.  But the president seems to have won over more than half of the population, known as Los Chavistas (So Act Slavish), with his measures.  Presidente Hugo Rafael Chavez (Havoc+Fear+Zeal = Ugh !) has done all in his power to help this country out.  For instance, he created a new time zone so that the people have an extra 30 minutes (Hi Nutty Timers !) per day.  Also, he's changed the official exchange rate between the national Bolivares (A Insolvable Ration) and other currencies.  And if there were any dollars to be found, they'd be mighty cheap.  He's changed the name of the country, making it more Bolivarian (Bravo, Oilier Man).  And let's not forget about the flag (he added a star (A Tsar Added)) and the coat of arms (now the horse runs to the left (So, The Left Turn ?).  And most importantly, he loves this country so much that he'd like to help it his whole life...by becoming president for life (re-enlisted ripoff), which would put him in a class of such dynamic world leaders as Fidel Castro, Papa Doc Duvalier, Josef Stalin, and Kim Jong Il., but at least we can say that Chavez is NOT a dictator (Tzar And Vote Is Chaotic) !  

The Guajira

My flip-flops died last week.  Or maybe the week before.  I can’t remember.  But I do remember where they died.  The Guajira : a remote peninsula at the top of South America shared between Colombia and Venezuela.  90 % for Colombia, 10 % for Venezuela.  The Colombians are in awe of her.  The Venezuelans fear her.

The peninsula is a desert.  Two types of cacti grow there.  One grows tall and straight and is planted in a row to make a fence around the yard.  The other is far less impressive.  That’s about the extent of the flora.  Less robust cacti wilt and wither in the hot sun.  I don’t feel so bad about the death of my left flip-flop.  The right one didn’t die…but he couldn’t go on without his partner.


The animal life includes lizards that eat insects and insects that bite the Wayuu Indians, the tourists, and the mangy dogs.  Looks like we’re at the bottom of the food chain…along with the mangy dogs.


The Wayuu, cousins to the Arawak, was one of the only indigenous groups in Colombia or Venezuela never to be conquisted by the Spanish.  Fierce by reputation, they also gave Simon Bolivar a hand in expelling the despised Spanish.  Even today the governments of Colombia and Venezuela have little say and less control over peninsular affairs.  But the Wayuu aren’t quite so fierce these days.  They still fish and herd goats like always (fiercely ?), but now they spend a lot of time weaving baskets, hats, and hammocks for tourists.  They also own posadas (inns).  There are more posadas there than tourists.  I don’t blame them for the death of my flip-flops; it’s the land that’s fierce.


The land jumped out of the sea millions of years ago and got baked by the unforgiving sun.  The earth got hard and jagged.  My flip-flops felt every uneven stone.  Yes, life got hard when the land left the sea.  But, damn, this land’s got some fine vistas…cerulean coastline and copper sunsets every day.  Seems like it was worth the change of address.  Except for my flip-flops.
 

Talking Delta Orinoco Blues

Down the Orinoc' in a tippy canoe
Down to the delt' to that watery zoo
Snakes and caimans and a coupl'a birds
A few Warao Injuns and the tourist herds.
(Kansas it ain't
I can't complain...)




Bigger 'an Belgium, smaller 'an the Brit Isles
With crisscrossin' channels by the miles 'n' miles.
It'd take days 'n' weeks to cross it
Won't somebody turn off this leaky faucet ?
(Getting my feet wet,
And I ain't even off the boat yet !)






Always three-fourths drunk, our guide was James
Mumbled, stumbled, and made odd claims
Pay him his due, some rum and cokes
And watch him entertain the tourist folks.
(Drinks just one a day
Just enough to teeter
Just an eensy weensy liter.)



The cook's our man, King of the Kitchen
His name's Elvis, but he's known as Pigeon.
Try his bread, his big flat yummy buns
But avoid his salad, if ya don't want the runs.
(Coo, coo,
Damn good coook...)



There's a cabybara on shore, loves to chew
Your clothes, laces, and straps.  Thumbs, too.
Take the plunge when the weather gets hotter
There're are few hungry piranhas lurkin' in the water.
(Thumb- and bloodsuckers,
Show me your puckers !)




The mosquitoes in these parts are bird-sized
Tourists with type-O are the sweetest prize.
At dusk, the feared mosquito army pounces
Each one has a blood quota of 9 ounces.
(Buzz buzz
A mosquito 'twas.)



The local indigenous live in stilted huts
No walls and no doors in a house without guts.
Inside is mom, dad, 'n' sis 'n' a coupl'a floppin' fishes
And on every roof you see satellite dishes !
(Watchin' the reality shows,
Watchin' the soaps,
and the baseball pros.)

Say CHEESE !

France is the King of Cheese.  It's undisputed.  They say in France that there's a different cheese for every day of the year.  There are more kinds of fermented curd there, from more mammals' milk, using more bacteria and molds than anywhere else in the world.  And most of the time, they don't even practice safe fromage-making; yeah, that's right, they do it with unpastuerized milk.  Louis Pasteur, full of more mold and bacteria than all the cheese of France, just rolled over in his coffin.

And so it was in France that I learned how to eat and love cheese, proper cheese...from the soft Trivial Pursuit wedge-shaped cheeses like Brie and Camembert to the hard cheese from the Alps (Beaufort), the Jura (Comté), and the Pyrenees (Ossau-Iraty); from the deliciously banal chèvre (goat cheese) to the ones-of-a-kind Roquefort and Mont d'Or.

And as importantly, I learned that cheese can be combined with some rather unexpected foods and produce some mind-blowing combinations.  For instance, chèvre tastes great in the conventional way, on a baguette, with tomato, cucumber, and lettuce; but that's too easy.  For a sweeter snack, pour some honey over the chèvre.  I'm drooling.  Likewise, try eating the Basque cheese Iraty with some cherry jam.  Never would have thought of that on my own !

So your humble narrator, a true turophile, arrived in South America with his mind open and palate ready for new experiences... There was a landslide happening on my nutrition pyramid due to a sudden lack of cheese.

Well, Venezuela and Colombia don't have enough cheeses to eat a new variety every day, but perhaps one per month.  That's a start.  Here's a list of the cheeses I've met personally during my random inspections in the supermarkets.  Most of these cheeses edible, most of them forgettable.

• Queso de Mano (Hand cheese) : Several images come to mind, all of them disturbing.
• Queso Blanco (White) and Queso Amarillo (Yellow) : Very descriptive.  I'll take the white one.  Yeah, that one over there.  No, no, a little whiter.  Well, that's too white !
• Queso Guayanés (from Guayana) and Queso Llanero (from the Plains) : These come from two cow-filled regions of Venezuela.
• Queso Ahumado (Smoked) : They'll smoke anything here.
• Queso de Año (Year Cheese) :Is this its age or sentence ?
• Queso Costeño (Coastal Cheese) : The only coastal mammals I know of here are whales, dolphins, manatees, and otters.  They are all suspects...
• Cheese in a pressurized squirt can : This should disturb all peoples save Americans.
• Queso de Castor (Venezuelan Beaver Cheese) : Does not exist...yet.

If you'd like to place these quesos on bread, or arepas, or cachapas, fine, no problem, enjoy !

Just as the French like to experiment, try new combinations, these Northern South Americans are also fond of experimentation with queso.  They put their cheese, often after shredding, on fried platanos, alongside guava jelly, on pancakes (please tell me this a war crime), and (my fingers hurt just typing this) on rice pudding. Rice pudding.  So innocent : just milk, rice, and sugar.  It never hurt anyone.  If you wanted to add anything else, just mix in an egg or add cinnamon or raisins, but for the love of all things sacred, leave the cheese in the fridge.  And maybe Mr. Pasteur will stop his somersaulting.

[update]

"Everyone in Colombia drinks chocolate with cheese ?"

In Medellin, I witnessed perhaps the most savage and heinous act thinkable against cheese.  We were eating at a cliffside eatery overlooking the valley below.  My friend ordered some hot chocolate; it was a chilly night.  He also ordered some a plate of chicken, and beans, and cheese, and bread.  Then, he picked up the cheese, but did not put it in his mouth, no.  He put the cheese in his hot chocolate.  I asked if he had accidentally dropped the cheese.  It was a greasy cheese, and accidents happen.  I told him that we could buy another, not a problem.  He gave a me a curious look, and said "no, that how I like to drink it."  Remember the look that Braveheart gave to Robert the Bruce when he was betrayed ?  Yeah, that was the look I gave him.  He shrugged, "what, it's good," as the cheese started to melt and globules of cheese fat started to float on the surface.  So, I told him that he was a sick man.  Then he calmly stated that everyone in Colombia takes their hot chocolate like that.  I think I blacked out after that...