October. The temperature drops below 100 for a few days here and there and weeknights sing.
Entries on Thursdays
"Yellow" from the 1966 Ken Nordine album Colors.
Qué bravas son las solteras. Dir. Tulio Demicheli. 1975
Her enthusiasm is immeasurable and I’m only guessing when I say her energy can be weighed in grams, but I will always be indebted to this song for teaching me how to say in Spanish my heart is beating so fast, which has come in handy.
It's been almost a month since the May Odyssey Storytelling event and I'm still cracking up when I think about Drew Cronyn's story of finding life (and vocal) direction in an important book, Vene Aguirre revealing the identity of her true father to her dad, and other stories about faking it.
How effortlessly we forget the Spanish word for sprouts.
A falta de dinero, las canciones de Juan Gabriel me inspiraban a grabar casetes con canciones de la Hora de los Novios de Radio 14 que luego regalaba. Mi primer crush lo tuve en la secundaria y grabé un mix que empezaba con Me Gustas Mucho. Preparé todo para el momento de entregárselo, la grabadora, las 6 pilas de 9 volts, una tarjeta hecha a mano en forma de corazón, el segundo receso antes de la clase de Ciencias Sociales, pero no lo hice. Me quedé con este y con muchos casetes que nunca entregué.
This one is touching me in all of those electric spots that have never stopped arcing.
How effortlessly we forget the Spanish word for conversation pit.
We're in Mexico City, in the notorious Roma neighborhood, trying not very hard to not stand out while trying not to look like we're trying too hard to fit in. You know how it goes.
It's even gayer here than we thought it would be so if we come back, next time we'll be sure to do lots of push ups first so our chests will be ready and perhaps we'll also work on a time machine so our skin looks younger.
But we won't go for protein shakes and cigarettes after the gym. Which seems to be a popular workout routine here.
Some good news is that for the first time in my travels in another country I seem to have worn shoes that nobody looks down on. I have been wearing Converse sneakers for years, but this visit lots of other grown men are wearing them too, so nobody cares. I'm invisible.
While we're at dinner eating one of my favorite Mexican foods — Argentinian food — a fashionably dressed man in a geometrically patterned black-and-white shirt who seems to have 1985 on a speed dial app he keeps checking sits down at the table next to ours, blocking Hiram's view of another man wearing a sweater on his shoulders. Hiram confides he's always thought the sweater tied around the shoulders is a silly look, but when seated at the dinner table? And when it's 76 degrees out? It's really upsetting him. I have long known about the Mexico City Brideshead Revisted cosplay enthusiasts, but the strong feeling it provokes in Hiram is something I have never known about him.
Lots of things can bubble to the surface when couples travel together. It's healthy, you know?
Anyhow, we want to thank the man from 1985 for helping us enjoy our dinner with his line of sight prophylaxis but suddenly it dawns on us: What if he is Information Society and just wants some privacy? If so, we should probably respect that.
So we do.