Buenos Dias lasts until about 10 in the morning. It seems that Buenos Dias begins and ends when the roosters say so. Then comes Buenas Tardes. Buenas Tardes sticks around longer than you think it should. There really isn’t a time limit on Buenas Tardes, but typically around dark is when Buenas Noches gets fired up. Though there are sure to be some that might not begin using Buenas Noches until around midnight.
That is why I stick to Buena-uh-huh. It can work anytime anywhere. To ensure its effect, it should be confidently mumbled . [Hold that Thought] If it’s 8am and clearly a Buenos Dias moment, as an elderly man or woman is coming my way, then of course I greet them with a proper Buenos Dias. But 19 out of other 20 times that I become aligned with the need to personally salute another, it’s Buena-uh-huh out of this guy.
it was a young girl. she was a wearing a red tank. couldn’t see her from the waste down because she was on the other side of a waste high, unfinished cement wall. she was standing on the dirt street in the hot sun. i was on my computer with the fan on medium.
i had been down this path a million times prior. at least a couple hundred. i knew she had food. i knew about what it would be. she would call them quesadillas even though you and me would know them as taquitos. beads of sweat had taken over her pre-adolecent face.
she asked for a very small sum of money. i handed her twice that much. i could see it in her eyes that she was happy and loving. i could tell by her garments that she was doing her very best. for a brief two minutes, i felt that she and i meant the world to each other.
the wi-fi went sour, i had less than one half hour
time trialed to The Cafecito, ordered the veggie burrito
mopped up all the sweat, logged onto the internet
with 45 seconds to spare, i leaned back in my chair
a ghost town was around, spanish was the sound
60 seconds on the clock, I should have done a mock
but then i heard His voice, the Mighty Allahs choice:
Do Not Go White, Do Not Be Dumb,
Be Sure To Draft The Speedy Muslim!
We have been taught in The States, when choosing to buy anything perishable, to grab from the back. Least I have. Need some milk—grab the one towards the back. Same holds true for yogurts, eggs, tofu, etc.. Like I said, perishable items. US supermarkets and the like receive new shipments of whatever, and strategically shelf them so that they save on spoilage by making the most likely to spoil product most handily available to the idiot end user. Example: Today is Friday The 13th. Safeway has just received a shipment of previously frozen eggs laid by hens that have been eating their own shit for years. The eggs are supposedly good until Friday the 27th. The eggs that are front and center expire on Wednesday the 18th. Joe CattleCall Homeowner buys those ones because somehow he wasn’t taught any differently. He goes home, and a week later he makes a big ol’ six egg omelette. It tastes great and nothing bad happens. Au Contrair Mon Frere!
I’ve been coming to Puerto Escondido for years. I’ve come to learn a lot of things about nothing. They call it trivia in the US. Then they make a game out of it, and several people make a ton of money off it, and millions of people waste a lot of their time playing it. Where was I going with this? Oh, learning lots of things about nothing. So here it’s different when it comes to choosing your perishables. If you choose your Milk from ‘Five Milks Back’, that Milk is sour, and if you go home and pour some all over your Frosted Flakes, it’s going to make you sicker than a dog. That’s why you choose the one in front. Just like if you buy cookies or chips from any of the thousands of “Room Temperature Tiendas” that line every road in Mexico, it’s the cookies in front that are the fresh ones. The ones in back have been there forEVER. For years I would always pull from the back, and consequently never got a fresh bag of Lords. Those would be Spanish Oreos.
Reader: What’s Your Point Guy?
Writer: Not Quite Sure Guy!
He showed me his teeth. The ones in the jar. The ones he pulled.
I observed them real closely. I asked if it hurt. The ones he pulled.
I went home that night and smiled extra wide in the mirror, admiring how nicely my teeth had aged. I wondered whether, when I became an old(er) man, if I would be the guy that walked the Bridge which connected the Crown that was hiding in the Root Canal, OR was I going to be the dude that just yanked the fuckers out when I couldn’t take it any longer. I thought about the tooth fairy and how that might affect her bottom line. I thought about how many years removed it might well have been since I had gone to the dentist, had that dentist not been the commissioner of my fantasy football league. I thought about the insurance companies skimming the top, middle, and bottom. I thought about how long I would have to bare the pain before the tooth would be rotten enough to where it could be wiggled free with a pair of needle-nosed pliers. And of course I thought about why we call them pairs of pliers OR pairs of scissors, when we really only mean one pair. There, I did it again.
I removed my sunglasses out of respect for what I was about to hear. I didn’t want to take them off, but did it anyway. The middle aged man was about to tell me that when he died, he wanted to me to guard his 360 gig hard drive. I gave him that look. He was serious. I was thinking about the title to this blog. He told me it was going to contain compiled information that could possibly change the course of our universe before the course of the universe becomes unchangeable. I gave him that look. He was dead serious. I asked him to give me a little more info. He told me that he has been compiling very important information, much of which can be found on the internet,(if you knew where, and dared to look) and much of the information is conclusive evidence that he has personally documented based on his compulsive compiling Efforts. “much of it is in video form,” he said.
Obviously, my next question was, “What am I supposed to do with this hard drive, and what am I supposed to do with this hard drive when it is MY turn to die?” He wanted me to guard it with my life, and that if I was still alive in 2060, which we both determined was easily possible, [and no sooner], I should bring it to either Jon Stewart or his predecessor. “But Aaron, this is very crucial information that needs to be shared with as many human beings as possible.”—“And you want Jon Stewart to have this information…Why him?”—“I’m akin to his delivery. He will be able to make perfect humor of the certain demise that will be plaguing and crippling our species,” the middle aged man replied. I just sat there jaw open. The grey haired man offered up some Kirkland Mixed Nuts. I spotted a pecan, and made that my first nut. I began to think about climate controlled hiding spots.
I’m cracking. I’ve cracked. Things began getting dicey around the new year. Mid January brought some hope that it was just a bluesy blip. By early February, I was regularly playing handball with my own shit. All hell broke loose by the middle of February. I’d say that is right about when the straw hit the camels fan.
I am in desperate need of some homogenization. White on white. $5 milkshakes. Hot showers. Cold rain. Cameras on 41st Ave. Shoes & Socks. Jackie Greene. Sierra Nevada on tap. Loyal teammates. Family & friends. Cuz everything and everybody here is wayyy too Down to Earth, and I simply can’t take it any longer.
The full moon remained full for about a week. Maybe even ten days. I just threw my hands up. Nothing I could do. I was just a moon puppet Everything I touched short circuited. Big Time Trouble. Way Gnarly. I wasn’t to the point of howling or biting someones throat. None of that ghost and goblin lore either. It was elemental and elementary. A one-two punch. Sometimes three. It was bigger than the here and now. It was all consuming. The people, places, and things that were appearing out of thin air, and/or being placed within my tender and conscious reach, were just out of this fucking world.