You know things are bad when you’re not sure which sadness the tears belong to. Is it because someone is gripping your shoulder trying to shove things back into place? Or is it because someone has taken your dignity and socked it in the gut, again?

That is every day in Arizona and Afghanistan. But remember:

Tulips tulips tulips. (Poppies and Cacti!) They come in yellow. They stay in rain. (What rain?) But best in sun if you can swing it. Oh, the bright colors. Oh oh!

De colores, de colores
Se visten los campos en la primavera.
De colores, de colores
Son los pajarillos que vienen de afuera.
De colores, de colores
Es el arco iris que vemos lucir.

I hereby declare every day to be a Cinco de Mayo fiesta y revolución. Except for Día de los Muertos. We’ll keep that one. In the meantime, please let the chingadores in Arizona know that thanks to them, I know Francisco X. Alarcón. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!