Sunday, December 27, 2015

The Fat Ones Are All Aliens

You see them all over these days.

A lot of them are tall, but wide. Wide is the key. And pasty, as in pasty-white.

Nominally they are either tourists or resident gringos. Either way, they come from outside.

And if you were wondering what is the difference, sir, between tourist gringos and resident gringos, it is that resident gringos don't go home quite so soon. It takes a while to grind through the gloss of glittery newness and for the grit to build up in their shorts.

Then they go home.

After they've given up and decided to blame their despair and fatigue on the place and not on the crabbed and seeping, infected nature of their own expectations.

Which feels like grit in their shorts.

Because it's a place. Here. Here is a place with skies and clouds and sunrises and sunsets and dirt in the streets and stinks and noises like any other place at all and it isn't paradise, not even a little. What it is isn't bad.

That is to say it (here) is Not all that bad for just another place, mostly because it's different from what I'm used to. And there's no snow. And lunch is cheap.

My first thought on arriving was grubby, which was also in my head as I was leaving six months later. Grubby describes it, but is too small a word to cover everything. Me, for example — I fit in there too. You could describe me as grubby, and who would argue? Who?

It's all in your head, after all, and if your head is pointy or flat or spherical or covered in spikes, well I'm certainly not going to come over to get acquainted, even if it is to set you straight.

And besides, I don't care. You don't interest me, not even a tiny amount. I have my own problems to hack at without adding you to the list. You are from outside anyway. Way outside. Outside my circle of giving a flying duck. No — I don't care about you or what you think or where you came from or how much grit you carry in your underpants.

You are as much an alien to me as to the people who were born here and have then lived here forever. You are only strange meat hanging on another odd carcass.

Three heads? You actually have three heads? And you expect what kind of reaction from me? An award? Congratulations? A little gold star? What?

Go away. I'm bored.

By you, of you, with you, at you, and all the rest. I've seen you, all of you, all my life. You are my people. You are my relatives. I know you and I don't care. I'm working on other things now, so come and go as you will and leave me to work at my own work.

Which is mostly trying to pass for someone who isn't totally crazy or stupid or inept, and also who is trying to just enjoy the sunshine.

That's about all I can handle, and if I can keep two of my three heads hidden from view, then mostly I'm still having fun. On my third try at this. Here. At this here.

Saturday, December 19, 2015

It Follows

It happened yesterday. Again.

I got an email from a car dealership in Durham, North Carolina. They want to help me by selling me a Cadillac.

Are Cadillacs still made? I don't know. I don't care.

Either way, I don't want any, and especially not from Brand X Auto-Kompanions & Boutique SpamHaus.

What? I should simply click the unsubscribe link at the bottom of the email? That thing down there? Way at the bottom? The thing that says "unsubscribe" but is only plain text?

Well, you gotta splain me how, that one. It might as well be mud smeared on a barn. It don't do nothin, mate.

Actually, I got a plan, a while back. Here's how it went.

I found out that Yahoo Mail has an option to block emails from specific senders, and when I started getting koochy-koo come-ons from this outfit I put their email address in there with the others.

Luckily, a year and a half back when I was looking around for a car, I did all of my searching and contacting via Yahoo, which is my throwaway email address, so now most spam comes in through Yahoo but the spammers don't know my real email address. Which is good.

But not good enough. I still get pissed. And especially this time, because somehow this last email came in right through the blocker and hit my inbox with a clunk.


There are moments when it sucks. All too many moments.

So I just wrote back saying "Go fuck yourself." And checked my list of blocked addresses.

Let's hope it works next time.

Meanwhile, there's another thing I've learned. No matter where you go, there are some things you can't get away from, not even by moving to another continent.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

As If I Even Needed To Mention It!

Post-pre, that's me!

Been there, done that too!

With Christmas rapidly approaching, maybe now is a good time to get your head screwed. On tight, and then brace yourself for the tidal wave of tinsel with some down-home, gluten-free Hypno Thera Pee.™

So being both a Certified Past Life Regressionist and a Certified Plant Walker, maybe I can help you get centered at the Center Of All Centers Of Things here in beautiful Cuenca. And up your good chlorophyll count too.

Hey — Bekki Huffnpuf here, at your service, nearly breathless with excitement.

I will be in town next week only so this is your chance. Normally $999.99, now only $899.99 because you've probably taken this course already, remember? No? Well, we'll get you properly lubed up and then once again pull you out of that long dark tube you keep finding yourself in, and then you will!

First some regression and then a bunch of (hopefully fun!) anti-regression. When you hear the loud Pop! you know your rebirth has been consummated.

Payment due in advance. Cash only, please. Bring a cat if you like.

Some things we will cover:

  • A variety of techniques.
  • How to chart aural flux and understand colorful diagrams.
  • Various theories.
  • When not to conduct a past-life session. (I.e., like during thunderstorms.)
  • How to ask nonleading nonquestions and other stuff.
  • What's for lunch?
  • Discerning fantasy from reality. (Just kidding!!!)
  • Dealing with memories of being an animal. (Adults only, 'K?)
  • Ethics of fleecing.
  • Powerful techniques useful for things.
  • Past-life revue. (Fun!!! And we provide the costumes!!!)

This will be an unusual combination of no-fault shamanism. And later we'll play the unconsciousness game to unwind.

I was previously well known in various parts and will have outstanding testimonials standing right outside, both clients and former pets.

Besides that, I'm a Certified Blogger, also trained in other things, and a Certified Web Master (1997), and Certified Clinical Shih-Doo Makeup Smearer, just in from the coast. Don't miss this! I'm the colorful one.

Class starts bright and early Monday at 2 p.m. Sharp(ish)! Or maybe Tuesday if I sleep late.