...Oaxaca Nights

As we rounded the halfway mark of the 13th Annual Oaxaca Summer Institute, a phrase began to surface more frequently among the group. It is a phrase that I'm sure must have emerged early in the history of the seminar: What happens in Oaxaca stays in Oaxaca. Given the numerous hours spent in the local karaoke bar (and the impromptu karaoke sessions in the streets, in class, and at Maria's apartment), it isn't surprising that this has come up. Staying true to our motto, I'm not going to name names, but I do have to mention a few musical highlights (or lowlights, depending on your perspective).

We finally found a local watering hole last week, where we can get two peers for fifteen pesos, which is under $1.50. The other night we were thrown out after a rousing rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody, which I can assure you was of the highest quality. Our singing is always better after a few liters of beer. Now, to be fair, the bar was closing, but we didn't see them kicking anyone else out. I know at least one of the staff appreciated our show, however, as I saw her hiding behind the stairs laughing. Oh well, down the street to the karaoke bar we went. The guys already know everyone there, and the bartender is more than happy to ply us with drinks, although we do suspect he's over-charging us. No wonder he's always smiling when we walk in the door. The selection of English music is basically limited to Michael Jackson, so the night kicks off with Billie Jean before we begin massacring Mexican classics, to the horror of the patrons, who soon reclaim the microphone and attempt to show us up with their amazing vocal skills. What we lack in ability, we make up for in enthusiasm.

Then there was the 4th of July party, which ended up having very little do with U.S. independence and much more to do with the Mexico vs. Chile football game, the outcome of which I will not discuss. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. Everyone started to file out around 9 pm, leaving the fridge full of beer. Our host told the six of us who remained that we had to finish it and, to be honest, I didn't think we were up to the challenge. Three hours later I had the last beer in my hand. What transgressed in those three hours will be the stuff of legend in years to come. Our host, scarf tied Rambo-style around her head, worked her way through the most amazing playlist of 80s and 90s tunes I've ever heard. No more than a minute for each song, and at least three of us knew almost every word. The most impressive skills came from a certain individual who knew all the words to Alanis Morisette's greatest hits. I will not say his name, but he is an inspiration to us all. By far the highlight of the night came when we were treated to an interpretive dance, performed to Madonna's "Like a Prayer," and featured a special guest appearance by the Black Jesus. I don't throw this term around loosely, but it was an epic night.

Those of you who know me well will wonder what my role has been in all of this debauchery. Of course, I take myself far too seriously to participate in this sort of public embarrassment, verdad? But Oaxaca does strange things to people, and for whatever reason, Shayna and I bring out the best (or worst?) in each other. Even when no-one else is singing, we can be found wandering the streets, re-enacting the off-tune performance of Baby's sister Lisa in Dirty Dancing, subjecting all of Oaxaca to our unfortunate vocal stylings.

That's all I have to say on the subject for now, but I'm going to leave you all with a couple songs that I think a few of us will hold close to our hearts after our time here. Enjoy.