Small business signs often catch my eye—more character than the slick, cookie-cutter signs that line American main streets.

Here we have a happy auto body man painting a Volkswagen beetle—that once-ubiquitous Mexican car. This sign gains gravitas from the Bauhaus display font. But I dunno. The sideways baseball hat, the stylish oversize overalls, the wildly flailing spray gun pointed at the windshield—all muddies the message. I'm not convinced this place is gonna give me that shiny new car I'm hoping for.

Raf on the other hand, has an ernest, nerdy look. You just know that this guy really understands alternators, even dreams about them. You're in good hands with Rafles.

The sign below clearly was lettered either by the proprietor or his 12-year-old daughter. He's a shoe repairman. We SSL (Spanish as a Second Language) people may have some difficulty interpreting his sign. Is on a Spanish word? What does reparaci mean?

Ran out of room on the first line. Had to break the word. Syllabification? What's that?

The sign reminds me of the old cartoon...

I notice that beauty salons often incorporate unflattering images of clients.

I'm certain that Abril's clients don't want to look like the woman in her sign.

And what is this unisex deal?

I understand that cosmetologists like the idea of doubling their potential market. Up north, men have patronized beauty salons for years, although I have always felt uncomfortable in them. But it's hard to imagine some macho caballero strutting into one of these places.

Laura's Beauty Salon offers "modern cuts," one of which the female figure presumably is modeling. Her hair has been formed into a handle, sort of like a coffee mug, I guess to provide the boyfriend with a convenient grip.

This electrical supply place has a mascot made out of... electricity. He looks a little devilish; appropriate for a country where electric company customers often install diablitos on their power meters. (Diablitos are tiny magnets that slow the meter down, so consumption readings will be lower.)

The mascot probably was inspired by the American character, Reddy Kilowatt. Reddy has a more wholesome appearance, don't you think? Doesn't have such a sinister edge.

I'm accustomed to professionals of the healing arts presenting themselves in a conservative, sober way. Not so, Dr. Verduzco.

He entices clients with a "happy tooth" figure, seated on a comfy chair, faced with a tool no more intimidating than a dental mirror. "Sure. Come on in! It won't hurt." Reminds me of the old "Painless Dentist" advertisements.

Finally we come to a sign promoting one of those split personality businesses you find all over Mexico.

Is it a hotel? Is it a car wash? How are the sheets washed? How are the cars dried? How do people come up with concepts like this?

Once, a clerk in a small store handed me a package of aspirins that he had pulled off the shelf from between some cans of motor oil and a pile of industrial-grade brassieres. I was bemused until I realized that I can effectively do the same thing at any Wal-Mart.

Jean and I quit touring the United States and sold our motorhome when we discovered that any one place looked pretty much like the next. The franchising of America has brought us the dull predictability of an Arby's at every offramp. The way I see it, if you're gonna put a sign between me and the scenery, at least make it unique.

My parents asked that their remains be cremated and their ashes scattered; a wish we, their children, honored. There's no memorial, no sign that they ever existed on this earth. Just the memories we carry in our minds.

Mexican people maintain a lingering connection with those who have gone on before. We certainly see this when the whole country comes to a halt during Day of the Dead (a legal holiday) while families decorate graves and build altars. But acts of remembrance are not confined to just this one day.

I've walked by this nicho on Piedras Chinas many times without seeing it.

But the other day, it jumped out at me. Someone had decorated it. A burning candle had been set out on a purple tissue, tissue the color of mourning.

Liborso Garcia was only 57 years old when he died. I imagine his passing was a blow to his family, he being in the prime of life and probably essential to the well-being of his family. They built this niche for him

I think about my parents every day. I like how the Garcias think about theirs.

Copyrights and trademarks don't get no respect in developing economies. Not like in the USA and Western Europe anyway.

Here we see an American icon incorporated into the brand identity of a convenience store franchise.

I haven't heard that the Road Runner has entered the public domain. And I can't imagine Warner Brothers licensing him at a price this chain could afford.

(At the risk of condescending to expatriate readers, I'll point out that the name of the store is pronounced "beep beep.")

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In Capitola on Monterey Bay in California, a funky vegetarian restaurant operated for some years under the name, McDharma's. Once alerted, McDonalds Corporation's lawyers crushed McDharma's with lawsuits. McDharma's lost and changed their name. I can see McDonalds' CEO wiping the nervous sweat off his brow: "Boy, we sure dodged a bullet with that McDharma's thing."

I bet he doesn't know about the latest threat to the McDonalds hegemony:

Yes, it's McNopal's, right down to the golden arches. (If any McDonalds executives are reading this, I want a finder's fee after you collect.)

Actually, I think McNopal's is less of a threat than McDharma's was. There's something fundamentally wrong with McNopal's concept. I just can't get hooked on the idea of a grilled cactus pad on a bun. McDonalds Corporation probably can let this one slide, if you ask me.

I'm thinking that if you see a lot of copyright violations, you may be in a country where maintaining your human rights is a little sketchy. I mean, if multinational corporations find the local justice system inadequate for protecting their intellectual property, what do you think your chances are?

Bip Bip.

If Safeway wants to sell pork, it runs ads with images of grilled chops or some such. The response of those of us who eat meat is almost Pavlovian: we feel hungry, our mouths start watering, we start the grill and run on down to the supermarket.

Images like this really reach their target market.

The one below targets Mexicans, apparently successfully, because you see pigs in pots everywhere. I found this one in the Yucatán.

Frankly, it doesn't do anything for me. Yes, this image succeeds in coveying the message, "Carnitas sold here." But it doesn't stimulate my appetite, at least not directly.

It's almost as if the cartoon is a familiar joke: a smiling pig enjoying the pot. With dainty eyelashes, waving "hello." The Mexican equivalent of "Eat at Joe's and Get Gas."

(Guy could use a copywriter. "Quality and Price." Not a lot of zip there.)

Anthropomorphic food isn't just a Mexican thing. The French, when they're not eating cheese, have a thing for happy pork. And check out this image from an American chain of barbecue joints.

The pig in the pot theme crops up here in San Miguel, too.

This sign is on the door of a van. Valentín Alazañez may not even have a storefront. Here he's advertising home delivery. Same old pig in a pot, although this one doesn't look quite as happy about it.

To further whet your appetite, he offers chicharrones—crispy fried pig skin—what used to be marketed in the states as "pork rinds." (As if skinning a pig was like peeling an orange.) They're more than just a snack here. Street vendors sell single-serving plastic bags of them with sliced onions and peppers and spicy tomato sauce dumped on top. Chicharrones are also used in soups and stews.

His other featured item, cuero fresco, is another matter. Cuero fresco is fresh pork skin. You buy it if you want to make your own chicharrones. What's the advantage? Well, my friend Patty says fresh skin comes with fat attached, so you get lard as well as chicharrones. Great, if you're looking for lard.

Over in Delores Hidalgo is my favorite carnitas joint—Vicente.

At least his sign doesn't illustrate pigs being boiled alive. These fellas are singing to the accompaniment of a muchacho playing his guitar. Vicente trades on a little gratuitous patriotism, what with the red, white and green serapes and sombrero. His ad is no more appetite-inducing than the others, but at least it doesn't push raw pig skin.

The singers' expressions almost look angry, leaving me with an uneasy feeling. That is, until the smell of carnitas hits me. The savory odor of well-done pork and fresh corn tortillas is Vicente's best advertisement.

In a previous post, I allowed as how I thought machismo was more playacting than reality. Elguapo commented, saying that I have "only cursory access to the culture [as] an observer at [a] considerable distance where the cracks don't show." He went on to advise me to "keep it light and keep ... to [my] areas of expertise."

I must point out that Elguapo is one of my best friends.

I supported my argument with the assertion that bullfighters, as professional athletes, would naturally be risk-averse, to ensure continuity of income and career longevity.

Maybe I need to re-think this.

On the west side of the Ancha de San Antonio you'll find the taller (workshop) of Hermilo Tovar. It's not uncommon to see automotive repair businesses decorated with artworks made from old car parts, and this one is a beaut.



The image above is a rare one. Usually several cars in various stages of disassembly are parked in front, blocking the view. To the left of the gate stands a brick-red engine hoist, so you know this guy does more than tune engines. Hanging on the wall behind and to the right of the engine hoist is a white robot made of, among other things, a crankshaft and a couple of shock absorbers. A gray robot with yellow shock absorber legs stands in front of the white one.

A close look at the gate shows that much of the decoration consists of spark plugs welded together and painted white. Hermilo has spelled out his name using them, and in the image above, the arched sign over the gate spelling mecanico is also made of spark plugs.



How many other auto parts are identifiable? I see valves, connecting rods, timing chains, valve springs, universal joint crosses, assorted gears, bearings, bushings and clutch plates. Perhaps you can identify others.

This guy rebuilds engines and transmissions—serious mechanical work. Many mechanics up north never see some of these parts in day-to-day work. They buy engines and transmissions that have been rebuilt in specialized factories and simply swap out the entire unit. Not so at Taller Tovar. Got a rod knock? Hermilo will get right down into the guts of your engine and replace the rod bearing, and the connecting rod and crankshaft if need be. And while he's at it, he'll swap out your rings and ream your ridges. Makes you feel kind of good, doesn't it? Almost no U. S. mechanic will do that today, although many of us did when we were teenagers, mostly for the fun of it.

He's an artist, too. He creates a garden wall using old car junk.

To the right of the gate, the word mecanico is again spelled out, this time with shock absorbers. The numerals of his address (19a) are formed of spark plugs, below which hangs another white robot.



Auto shops usually look hard, greasy and... well... mechanical. Hermilo softens his place up with some plants. A cactus grows out of a terra-cotta pot, another out of a planter made from a couple of old tires. A group of leafy plans grows in those universal Mexican containers—cut-off plastic soft drink bottles.

Looks like sometimes, business is a little slow at Hermilo Tovar's place. He found a lot of free time to spruce his taller up. What he achieved is a darn sight more interesting than some Shell station ¿No?