Friday, September 12, 2008
This charming electronic postcard comes to you from an undisclosed location somewhere in Mexico where, distant from the chemical-leeched wastelands of the Maquiladora region, sequestered from the soupy, smog-laden skies of Mexico City, and catacombed from the cacophony of Cancun, AHB III breathes the dry, salubrious air of the mountains, all the better to becalm his asthmatic wheeze. No longer will yr mustachioed maven of meritocratic malfeasance have blue Mondays, since every day and every night here will be a most pleasurable Saturday. My departure is both joyful for I will be at last unchained from the tyranny of quotidian posting, but wistful, for I am loathe to disappoint those who so ardently hoped that I would remain the Andrew Montour of the history profession, forever crossing the frontier between Metropole and Periphery and interpreting the one to the other; or the Elizabeth Van Lew of the early twenty-first century, cleverly disguised to carry messages between historiographic battlefields; or the latter-day Wallace Thurman, constantly shifting identities and affiliations while presenting his culture to another.
To my fans and foes alike, I hoist a fine crystal glass containing the delightful elixir of the blue agave and offer a heartfelt toast that you may live in interesting times. May you live long and prosper whether you inhabit Flyover America or are one of the good old boys or girls of the elite, whether you dwell in Podunk or in Princeton.
No doubt, I will enlighten my many dinner companions here with fine tales of the foibles of the American academy. Perhaps, good blogfellows, blogstresses, lurkers, lovers, tattlers and tipplers, the underplaced and, yes, the overplaced, I shall return again in another guise. Should the Fates or the Goddess Clio have something interesting in store for me, our paths may cross again. Or they may not.
Some parting words, which yr faithful correspondent hath taken the liberty of scribbling here for you, since the one-dimensional nature of this medium does not permit you to read the inscription on the obverse of the above postcard.
"Good-bye. If you hear of my being stood up against a Mexican stone wall and shot to rags please know that I think it a pretty good way to depart this life, lest my assassin is bedecked in the colors of orange and black. It beats old age, disease or falling down the cellar stairs. To be a Gringo in Mexico - ah, that is euthanasia!"
As always yr humble servant,