Pedro loved more women than you can count.
And when you think about it, that's about the best exercise
that you can get.
He was incredibly handsome in only that way Mexicanos can be.
And Mexicanas, only a Mexicana can understand
this, or an intuitive gringa.
[LAUGHTER]
I can't explain this to you.
The handsomeness, it comes onto you.
The sexiness, it hits you between the eyes.
And then, the more you contemplate a man like Pedro,
observe his mannerisms, stare into his eyes,
delight in his unique smile and strong arms,
trim waist, and good legs, and watch
how gentle and self-assured he is with people of all ages,
you will understand why Pedro Infante means so much
to me and to the other members of the Pedro Infante Club
de Admiradores Norteamericano Number 256.
[LAUGHTER]
There was only one Pedro Infante, and he was a real man.
And I am very picky about men.
I am not like Graciela Vallejos, La Wirma's prima.
She finds men like driftwood.
You know, she can pick up whenever she wants.
And I'm not like Irma, who's a little too finicky
and rarely goes out on a date.
You know, she doesn't like men most of the time.
They're too this, they're too that, they're too desde.
That is the word that my comadre uses for "you know what,"
"whatever."
You know, he's too whatever.
He's too desde.
She says things like this.
Oh, you know.
Irma, Irma, listen to me.
Tere, uy, listen to me, girl.
Our president-- he's just too desde.
Ah-ha-ha-ha, and what about his wife?
She is too desde about desde.
Ay, and you know, our press, they've just been too desde
about desde and desde.
You know?
If you ask me.
To Irma, men either smell like Lavoris or pollo frito.
They're only interested in a woman's nalgas or chichis.
They can't spell worth a damn, which really bothers her.
She met this CPA at La Tempestad Lounge, Tino's la Tempestad,
where we hang out, our weekend stomping ground.
And he gave her her business card.
Having scribbled his home number, as a child would,
his fingers clawed around the pen
while his other hand held a can of cold Coors.
Ooh-hooh!
You can imagine what he'd be like in bed.
All fingers, and none of them coordinating.
[LAUGHTER]
Hasn't he heard about the Coors boycott?
I never think about things like that.
Things that can make or break a romance,
like if a guy has a nervous tic that
eventually becomes irritating.
Or if he smells too much of aftershave
that masks sour body odor.
Irma notices the way men smoke, or if they don't smoke,
what they say about people who smoke,
or if they don't cross their legs,
or if they do cross their legs, or what they think about people
who cross their legs.
The way they comb their hair if they have hair,
and if they don't have hair, what they think
about themselves without hair.
How they tie their shoelaces if they have shoelaces,
or if they wear sandals, and what their little deditos--
their little toes-- look like within the sandals.
[LAUGHTER]
I don't want to get all philosophical on you, you know?
Just because we're here in the darkness and because we're here
in El Colón and because it's late.
Although, I have to say, dark and late are my best times.
I talk to Teresina Ávila who isn't gastada, apagada,
and jodida.
And I have this dialogue that goes on in my head
all the time.
The other Tere, the dream Tere, she still has sense and hope.
And I keep trying to help her out,
but she won't listen to me.
She's too busy watching the movie of her life unfold
in front of her.
I turn to look at my comadre.
The scene with the watch has really gotten to her.
Pobrecita.
Oy, Irma, pass me the popcorn, I whispered.
What I really mean is wrestle the popcorn away
from your mother.
Nyvia Ester, she always ends up with the popcorn.
And not only that, when we get it back, it's always empty.
And not only that, she makes us go down all the way
to the lobby, to the first floor,
for refills, where you have to wait in line for about half
an hour in front of a bunch of short, horny, married, men--
[LAUGHTER]
--in super tight Wranglers and Western shirts with rimmed BO
circles, and thick, humpy necks like Brahma bulls,
who stand behind you making that noise.
Szzt!
[LAUGHTER]
Szzt!
I am not going to go down.
No, señor, it's not going to be me.
I am not going to get the popcorn refill.
I can tell that Nyvia Ester is getting irritated with a woman
behind us.
She whispers, but not very softly.
(DEEP-VOICED) Silencio, por favor.
And the woman ignores her.
Shht!
She says.
And the woman answers, shht yourself!
You got a problem?
Nyvia Ester says too loudly.
And somebody yells out, Dile que se vaya al Diablo!
Silencio, por Dios!
Somebody else calls out, there's children in the audience.
Watch what you say, cabrona!
[LAUGHTER]
Things are getting very tense.
[LAUGHTER]
An old man, in what was once an official-looking white shirt
and pants, slouches his way up to the aisle.
And he taps Nyvia Ester on the shoulder.
He's the only semblance of an usher
that I have ever seen here.
(CROTCHETY TONE) Señora, por favor.
Sientese, señora!
Nyvia Ester turns around and tells the woman who started it
all, "Vieja--
Everybody is talking at once and singing to the music.
And it's a hot summer night.
And my legs stick to the torn, humid theater seats.
I don't even care anymore that the woman behind us is talking.
In here, nobody watches us and tells us what to feel.