The banks are open for several more hours, which means there’s still time to transfer your assets over to me before the world ends tomorrow. Cash or money orders are preferred, but I’ll also gladly accept vehicle titles, blank checks and powers of attorney. So all you true believers, click on the link to the left to send me an email and I’ll forward the numbers of my various Swiss bank accounts.
For those of you out there who aren’t so certain, but may be experiencing anxiety about the Mayan calendar, I have it on good authority that the world actually isn’t going to end tomorrow. What authority is that? Why an indigenous Zapotec, a native of the Yucatán, who spent this past week weekend with us celebrating his birthday. I know what you’re going to say: “Indigenous peoples don’t have birthdays, Joe.” Actually that’s true. But even though Victor grew up speaking the Zapotec language, he likes cake and candles like everybody else. We were pleased to have him.
Of course the subject of the apocalypse came up after the girls were in bed, and he told us with a smirk that all the people worrying about the Mayan apocalypse aren’t Mayan. In those regions of Mexico tomorrow is just another day. It’s only significance is as a point of renewal, as they anticipate the turning over — not the ending — of the calendar.
We get to meet a lot of interesting people here at Chez Pastry, what with Mrs. Pastry being an academic and all. I was very glad to have Victor drop in. It was a great thing for little 5-year-old Joan Pastry especially. She’s the worrying type, you see. Her great anxieties in life are snakes, bears, robots and Indians (the arrow-shooting kind from movies). How she settled on those things as being particularly threatening to her I’ll never know. What I can say is that she would have been terrified had we told her that a full-blooded Mesoamerican “Indian” was coming to stay. Of course come Monday morning she’d had a stellar weekend. On the walk to school I asked her what she thought about her new “Indian” friend. She looked up with alarm. “What Indian?”
“Victor,” I said. You could see the wheels turning as it dawned on her that a person could be an “Indian” and not wear feathers. She didn’t really say much for the rest of the walk, save that it explained why his bedtime stories were so unusual. That’s one anxiety down. Now I guess we need a snake, a bear and a robot to each come visit for a weekend. We’re going to go through a lot of clean sheets and towels I think.