Hi everyone,
Me again. Still not too much to report, but IÂm still having a
wonderful time. People keep asking me if I've been to this museum or
that pyramid, but I haven't done any of that stuff yet. I figure when
somebody comes to visit and they want to see something old and
unpronounceable it will be just as exciting for me. But for now just
figuring the place out is more than enough enjoyment.
Let's see, what to tell youâ.
Have I told you all about the noses of young Mexican males? I don't
think I have and the subject needs to be addressed. It is unbelievable
how many of them have some sort of tape or bandage on their noses.
It's amazing, and I can't figure what it's about. A bunch of them
obviously have had their noses broken, but a lot look like they might
just be wearing those respiratory thingies. And, I swear to God,
some--more than some--look like they've just gotten a nose job. And
more than once I've seen the medical tape wrapped under tip so it is
pulled up at an unnatural angle. I've asked several locals about it
and, while none of them can give me a definite answer, each of those
three possible explanations (rough housing, respiration, and
rhinoplasty) have been offered more than once. My roommate even claims
that young Mexican men often don't like their noses and want to
conceal them. But he's not a very reliable source.
In case youÂre worried that the holes have disappeared, rest assured
they're diggin' em bigger and deeper than before. I'd take another
picture but I'm afraid that would only encourage them. There comes a
point when you can no longer refer to the holes in the street you live
on, must refer instead to the pieces of street that remain in the hole
you live on. It's a real treat on days when there's an event at the
concert hall a block up and the remaining pieces of street in the hole
I live on are packed with teeny boppers waiting to listen to the
latest Johnny CanciÃn.
What else? I'm becoming better and better acquainted with
the Germans. Even as they remain completely unacquainted with long
vowels. I'm now convinced that the French language was born as a
result of a German trying to pronounce Spanish. But they're fun, we go
to bars and stuff.
I'm pretty sure I'm not dating Oscar anymore, but that's
something you're gonna have to ask him yourself.
Also, the Metro is no longer the tunnel of love it once
was. There have been mind-boggling delays for the past two weeks,
which of course means the trains are as packed as can be, compelling
me to look for a more practical phobia.
I've been writing a ton, which is good. Also a friend who
is starting a publishing company wants to publish The Black Crayon,
(Take a bow, Cantara), so I'll have to go back and read it to remove
all the words that don't really mean what I thought they did when I
was 21.
And I've been reading a ton, IN SPANISH! Very exciting.
I've become obsessed with the three- and four-month-old issues of
local magazines that you can buy for cheap at certain street stands. I
sit in my room surrounded by them and, armed with my Spanish
dictionary, try to culture-fy myself. There's a pretty good magazine
about city life that I like to read. And there's a really good
literary magazine based here that I'm into. I can tell it's high
quality because I don't understand a third of the what it says. It's
funny, though, as the sentence structure gets more complex, the words
themselves often get easier because big fifty centavo Latin-derived
words are commonly similar to those in English. Unfortunately, there's
no alternative paper on the SFGuardian/LAWeekly model, which is what I
really want. I didn't realize how spoiled I was in the States.
Instead, they have a paper, I can't remember its name, that always has
on the cover the end result of the grisliest murder of the previous
night. They have the best headlines, too, like ÂNARCOVENGANZA! You
better hope I have a kid before you do, 'cause the next one that comes
into my life will bear this name.
Love jason