A Week in the Life of Gustavo

"Seems to think that if he fails to write, la migra will find him."--OC Weekly More merriment available at ronmaydon@yahoo.com

domingo, setembro 14, 2003

Big Brother...

Church was fab as always, even if I continue to chant my prayers in Spanish during the English-language mass. I feel I'm slacking off at work, yet I'm gettin four articles published this week, and at least four next week. If the American slacker was like me, we'd be living in Pluto 'bout now.

Sometimes I wish I knew who was reading this infernal blog. As it is, I can only get a tease through this tracker. Talking to people, I have a general idea of what address belongs to whom--for example, my computer is labelled pool1104.cvx4-bradley.dialup.earthlink.net There are a couple of people I recognize but some recurring ones I cannot seem to pin down--for example, someone from the Miracle Center reads the blog daily even though I don't know anyone who works there.


Such an obnoxious approach works in outing people. I once called someone out at Chastity emailed me to confess it was her. Now I know a cool person!

But the nicer thing is to ask. I'll ask instead.

Going to a concert later on tonight with the Fabulous G Sisters and the Raunchy Protestant. At the show shall be Go Betty Go, Los Abandoned, Las 15 Letras, and El Chivo Expiatorio. Fun times--plus, I get paid $440! Who says austerity packages don't work?

And a quick email from the Coloradian Brit, the only person who actually reads my damn articles:

Great Bronson piece! Don't know aboot the phrase "opiated thugs" though.

Ceviche is the hottest word in London restaurants right now. You can't walk
down the bloody street without getting hit by an old menu flying out the
window to make way for some new chef's amazing French Fusion/neo-Japanese
sushi twist on ceviche! But I guess I get papercuts on my heid for living
so close to Jamie Bloody Oliver's resto.

Fuck that shite. Hook me up with some Peruvian. Not sure how an orange-y
sweet potato is going to give huge contrast anything like a B&W photo by
Mssr. Adams but whatevs.

My response...

Opiated thugs, man...the guys in the films look like zombies, eyes glazed over. At least to me--then again, I don't even know what opium does to ya.

How the hell did ceviche end up in London? Should I even be asking the question? And yes--the sourness of the ceviche stands in sharp contrast to the sweet, sweet potato. Ever see an Adams photo? Of course you have. The man knew how to use his sharp blacks and whites, and that's exactly how the Peruvian ceviche plays out.

Enough for now. My pockets hurt.