Macho time.

We celebrate today.  We celebrate a great semi-American, Hector “Macho” Camacho.

We do not mourn Machismo today; last week was for mourning. Last week we mourned his passing, when he was whacked while sitting in a car that had an open baggie of cocaine in it in this upscale neighborhood

in Puerto Rico (“Pware-toe Reek-oh” or “P.R. man, P.R.”).

We must not mourn our loss. Today we celebrate the life of Machismo:  the teenage serial shoplifter, sublime practitioner of the “sweet science,” drug abuser, cutting edge fashion pioneer, popularizer of the jheri curl,

doting father of four sons, only one of whom he was arrested for abusing,

devoted boyfriend of Gloria Fernandez, here wearing traditional mourning white at Machismo’s funeral,

and of Cynthia Castillo, here wearing traditional mourning fuchsia and baseball cap.

Let us celebrate today the esprit with which Machismo infected so many, how it moved Cynthia to kiss his corpse on the lips,

how that moved Gloria and Machismo’s sisters to, impromptu, engage Cynthia in the sweet science.

At the funeral.

As we behold the pale horses draw Machismo’s Puerto Rican flag-draped coffin through the streets of East Harlem

let us remember that Gerald Ford wanted to make Puerto Rico the 51st state.