I love you, I really really do. I mean, you know. Insofar as it is possible to love a country that can't really love you back. But for what it's worth, I enjoy spending time with you, I plan on encouraging other people I meet in life to come down and visit you, and while I wouldn't mind if you had slightly fewer mosquitos and a more reliable, less risky form of public transit, for the most part I think you are just dandy, especially the parts of you that are volcanoes, beaches, lakes, and friendly people. Therefore, I want you to know that what I'm about to say to you comes from love, and I hope you can accept in in the spirit of constructive criticism.
So this is what I want to say to you: What in the sweet name of all that is holy are you doing with your radio stations? Why, when there are literally millions and millions of really good songs out there in the world, many of them from this very country, would you choose to play Phil Collins' "Another Day in Paradise" approximately 67 times a day? I hate that song, as does every self-respecting citizen of the world, and if I have to listen to it one more time on the bus or in a taxi, or blaring from my neighbor's yard, I might become homicidal. I really think you ought to reconsider your musical choices.
Nicaragua, I want you also to talk to the librarians at the historical archive for me, ok? Could you just sort of tap them on the shoulder, whisper in their ear, or something? Just let them know, in very kind terms, that it's extraordinarily hard to read official reports of any stripe without falling asleep. Having pop radio on in the background doesn't help, especially when I have to work that extra little bit harder to read it in Spanish, only to have "I wanna beeeee just as close as... the Hoooolllllly Ghost is... I wanna lay you dooowwwwwn in a bed of roses," running through my mind. I mean, it's a library, right? Aren't libraries, of all places, supposed to be just a little bit quieter than, say, a local street fair?
I mean, there I sit, reading things like "En el año 1980, planeamos a brindar servicios de salud a los pueblos más lejanos de Nicaragua," but what I'm really thinking (humming), is, "Just call me angel... of the morning, angel..." Can you understand the difficulties this causes me? In my doctoral thesis I cannot write that in 1985, Minister of Health Lea Guido resigned her position, at which point the government appointed to the same position a woman named "Cracklin' rose, you're a store-bought woman, but you make me sing like a guitar hummin'." And it might raise eyebrows if I were to report that in 1987 the government recognized the excellent work of the new Minister of Health in the areas of maternal-infant health by proclaiming, "Once... twice... three times a laaaaaddyyyyyyyy." I recognize that the librarians are quite bored, and in between polishing their nails, applying scented lotion to their arms, checking their reflection in the mirror 30 times, and walking around on impossibly high heels in various lurid colors, they need a little distraction from the mundane nature of their work. I really really do understand. But couldn't they play good music? Just once in a while?
Please, Nicaragua. Help me out here.