Hi everybody. Or just you, person who is reading this. This blog entry is specially for you, just so you know. (don't tell everybody else).
So, Mexico, yeah. What's happening here? Well, it was Mexican Independence Day a couple weeks ago . . . it's one of the biggest, craziest happenings of the year in Mexico, especially here in the capitol. Approximately 8 million people gather in the city's center square, the Zocalo, for the "grito" (which translates as "the yell," or something like that.). The president Felipe Calderón comes out on the balcony of the big government headquarters there and yells (so it's not just a clever name) "¡Viva México!" and "¡Viva la Republica!" and "¡Tacos for all!" Everything except that last one. I wish though. Mmmm tacos.
Actually, tacos are quite the conundrum here in Mexico City. Your pitiful, arrogantly misinformed American version of tacos, with crunchy yellow shells or white flour tortillas, ground beef and lettuce and yellow cheese . . . it has no representation here. Tacos are pretty much exclusively served on corn tortillas, and can have a very wide variety of things put into them. Not excluding birds, dustbusters, and country ham. That's where the quandary begins. There are SO SO SO many streetside taco vendors. I mean, on the way to the subway from my house, i pass a row of about 10-15 taco booths. Some are also making ham sandwiches, soup, frying a big cauldron of pork, stirring it with a huge wooden fork like the grandma doing the laundry in the old Willy Wonka movie.
That's just the thing though. In USA, a streetside vendor, while very scarce, probably has the bomb homemade deliciousness. I fondly recall my Tamale Cart near the King Soopers in Golden, and many random Elk and Buffalo Jerky stops up Clear Creek or down in the SW of the state.
Thing is, those streetside vendors here in Mexico . . . ugh, you don't want to know how they are making that food, where they've been keeping that meat, what they're touching in succession. Seriously, it's like, a huge opaque bucket full of random meats, just sitting getting attacked by flys, open, next to this booth slangin' tacos. And they've got trays of some seriously gross looking shit that you can watch people eat in awestruck disgust. Weird black meatballs, porkfat in green sauce with hardboiled egg . . . yummy. One of my bosses, Paco, an extremely nice short mexican guy, got Salmonella from eating tacos just down the road from the office, spent 4 days in the hospital. And he's from here.
But, what's a guy to do? Tacos are not getting any less delicious, and I'm not getting any less antsy in my pantsy to eat me some. You just have to pick your taco providers carefully. There are little hole-in-the-wall restaurants that are more or less exclusively taco joints. At least they have a refridgerator in the restaurant, good lord. My friend Carina tried to take me to a market down the street from work to eat grody street tacos 3 DAYS before my female compatriot Elizabeth was coming to visit. What a hobag. Ovary punching to follow.
So to answer your question of what I personally did for the Mexican Independence celebration, the answer is nothing. I stayed in Condesa, made a little dinner, relaxed with a tequila bandera i personally made myself, and did not hit up the festivities. Why am I such a boner-in-the-mud, you ask? Well, the prior weekend I had a relatively rough go of it, some things happened that I had never been party to before, and it honestly shook me, pretty bad. I won't go into details here, many of you may have received phone calls from me that night, anybody else, feel free to email me to get the full scoop. It was not pleasant, and thus I stayed nice and safe on the night when everybody gets hammacher-schlemmered and drives around and shoots guns in the air from their car windows.
So yeah, Elizabeth did end up coming, we had a fabulous time, I think I have her mostly convinced to come and stay with me after she graduates in December. It's just kind of a toss up over whether we should try to get her a Visa (I still don't have MINE) or just let it ride, try to get her like a part-time job, get a dog, who knows. All I'm concerned with is getting her here and keeping her safe and happy with me during our ex-pat tenure (in this country, anyway. it certainly won't be the last.).
I am basically just used to my Sally McScreamsalot neighbor girl, as you may have read about in the last post. Which is good, because I invariably see her mom in the building elevator 10x more than i see anyone else, so if I was being an a-hole about it, that would probably be way more uncomfortable than it already is.
Ho man, did you read the new Harry Potter yet? I had a friend (internet friend) send me their copy to borrow and read from the US, I just had to reimburse her for postage. Best $9.00 Elizabeth ever spent on me, I tell you what. Although I was disappointingly done in like 2.5 days. Much like college, i should have dragged it out longer.
So, I guess that's about it, I've got couches and chairs in my house now, still no table to speak of (for eating at and such). There's the Pub Trivia tonight at the local english-speaking bar, The Black Horse. The last pub quiz they had was won by yours truly and a couple friends, the prize was a bottle of jack daniel's, on the spot, which we promptly emptied with the help of the hosts and a couple other friends. Not bad, i'm not sure if i'll play this evening though. Since the US Dollar plunged into what the French call le shitter this week, I have been trying to avoid spending or taking out money until it goes back up. taking 3000 pesos out of the bank last week cost me about $240 bucks, this week it's $280. Stupid George Bush. Worst person ever. I hope that guy bangs the ungodly fuck out of one of his shins on his presidential coffee table. Assface.
Well, I certainly can't end this post on such a negative note, so let me ruminate about what to leave you with . . . I have an herb garden growing in my house, I have peppermint (hierbabuena), rosemary (romero), oregano (oregano - look how you already know so much spanish!) and basil (albahaca). Also I think i'm going to build myself a coffee table out of a piece of glass and some old books. I got some good suggestions from friends like Ryan, Carrie, and Krista, but unfortunately i wasn't able to bring my table saw and t-square on the plane ride down with me, so i won't be able to utilize the designs you sent. The attention was appreciated though.
I'm still planning on definitely coming home for Christmas, and perhaps trying to squeeze in Thanksgiving if at all possible, so please start reserving Golden City IPA 5-gals and sexy transgender strippers post-haste. I appreciate that.
Okay, that's good, hope everybody has a very spectacular fall ahead of them. Be in touch, email me and i can give you my address so you can send me pictures, letters, and gift certificates to American establishments which I will clearly never be able to use before the expiration date. That's what I'd do, anyway.
So, who's coming to visit??????
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Monday, September 3, 2007
Metro-Sexual
Welcome back everyone, thanks for checking in on me.
I know you hang on every word I type in this thing, so allow me just pre-emptively clear up the title of this post; I have not become in anysuch fashion a so-called "metrosexual." I don't have a short mohawk and tight jeans and a form-fitting tank top with some big skull montage picture that covers 80% of the front. No, no, quite the opposite, I'm just as I ever was. The title is a play on words, you'll get it later.
So I'm all moved into my new apartment on calle Iztaccihuatl, please note that the address given in my last blog post is simply a dummy house number, please email me if you would like my actual address to send me something. I'm currently accepting letters, postcards, pictures, locks of hair, cash, checks, and pizza. They don't have good pizza here.
I've so far got a bed, and, yeah that's it as far as furniture in the apartment. I've got some couches on order, custom made, but they're still 2 or 3 weeks out. I'm really struggling on what to do for a dining table and coffee table, furniture stores' are damn expensive . . . I feel like I could just go to some café and say, "listen dummy, I've got a cool $1500 pesos here that says you could do to part with a table and four chairs. Nobody eats here anyway, face it." Then it would just be getting them back to my house . . . always a struggle. I moved a microwave and a cabinet to my house in a taxi last week, that was a fun adventure.
And I feel like i could just make a coffee table out of something . . . . but what? If anybody has made a kooky-yet-functional coffee table out of everyday items, mail me. If it involves severed heads, I'm going to be very upset.
So I've just been lying in bed reading a lot, no TV in the apartment to speak of. I eat dinner on my living room floor. I still need to buy plates and bowls, i finally got my refridgerator installed, now just to fill it and have stuff to eat out of. Apparently there's some market in the centro where you can buy plates and silverware and all that for cheap, I just need to find someone to drive me there. D'oh.
So now that I'm paying my own rent at my place, I've been saving money in other areas of life. Notably transportation: in my early times here, i was dropping $5-6 bucks (50-60 pesos) each way to/from work in a sitio taxi (the kind you call on the phone that don't rob you), as well as being at their mercy insofar as availability (sorry, there are no taxis now, call back in 5 minutes . . . 6 times in a row) and traffic are concerned. Now I'm hip on taking the Metro, aka the subway. Is it safe, you ask? Well, I mean, not really I guess, but I've taken it everyday for about a month and never had a problem. No pocket-picking, no harassmanship, no armed robbery, none of that. The real kicker: it's 2 pesos each way. Total of $0.40 cents per day expended getting to and from work. That's a weekly savings of a cool $48 bucks, right there.
However, with the savings, there are other non-monetary expenditures that are incurred. Like, oh man, have you ever been body-pressed on all sides by Mexican strangers? To the point that you are unwittingly sharing serious body heat from fat guys and old ladies on either side of you, completely unable to move whilst sweating profusely? No? And this is what you're calling a "life" that you're having? Psshhh.
Yeah, that happens on the subway about every third day on my connecting train south to Coyoacán. It gets wicked crowded on the platform waiting and when it shows up, it's like an old-fashioned Slayer moshpit to get into the thing. Problem is, once you're all squashed in there, the fun is over, and you have to stand like that for 6 stops until you get to work. (Note: I've never been in a Slayer moshpit, nor do I know if it is considered "old-fashioned")
And that's another thing i don't get, i've got my sleeves rolled, up, top button undone, holding my coat on my arm, and I'm sweating like a Colombian. Those damn sweaty Colombians. But then, all the fuckin' Mexicans around me are sporting like, Starter jackets, sweaters, overcoats . . . looking cool as cucumbers. It must be cultural. And it makes me want to get culture-kicky.
So yeah, way more hot body-on-body contact on the metro than I would like. Is it worth it? I don't know, probably. My sexy custom leather couches say so. Or they will, in 2-3 weeks, anyhow. Frown.
I bought a big Colorado flag to hang in my room, gotta represent. For the main room I've 2/3 completed a project of paintings i've put myself to, watercolors, 36 paintings in rows and columns of 6 to hang together on one of the walls in my main room. It's going to be awesome when I finish, I'll take a picture. Still need to buy a cable so i can connect my digicam to the computer, though.
Meanwhile I've designated my extra bedroom to being a pillows-for-furniture groovy chill-out room. I've got a cool Indian tapestry hanging on the ceiling, a funky lamp and some candles, my sweet baby Elizabeth got me a matching set of tea cups, and I'm going to get my custom furniture guy to make me like 8 big 1 meter square pillows for it. Then, if I can just get the lady 3 floors down to keep her window shut so that her handicapped daughter's repeated yells of "Seeeeeeeee yaaaaah . . . . DING!" don't interrupt the tranquility, it'll be all set.
That wasn't a joke, by the way. There literally is a handicapped girl 3 floors down whose window looks onto my side of the building who for hours on end yells "Seeeeeee, yaaah, DING" with slight variations every few minutes. It is maddening, but you simultaneously have to feel bad for them, I've talked to the lady who's daughter it is, and she's nice enough, I can only imagine what it must be like to actually live in their house, considering it drives me nuts from 3 floors away. She does pretty much never keep that damn window shut though. Lousy old bag.
So that's it. Tacos are still delicious, I still haven't done my dry cleaning, and life is good. See ya. DING
--Lee
I know you hang on every word I type in this thing, so allow me just pre-emptively clear up the title of this post; I have not become in anysuch fashion a so-called "metrosexual." I don't have a short mohawk and tight jeans and a form-fitting tank top with some big skull montage picture that covers 80% of the front. No, no, quite the opposite, I'm just as I ever was. The title is a play on words, you'll get it later.
So I'm all moved into my new apartment on calle Iztaccihuatl, please note that the address given in my last blog post is simply a dummy house number, please email me if you would like my actual address to send me something. I'm currently accepting letters, postcards, pictures, locks of hair, cash, checks, and pizza. They don't have good pizza here.
I've so far got a bed, and, yeah that's it as far as furniture in the apartment. I've got some couches on order, custom made, but they're still 2 or 3 weeks out. I'm really struggling on what to do for a dining table and coffee table, furniture stores' are damn expensive . . . I feel like I could just go to some café and say, "listen dummy, I've got a cool $1500 pesos here that says you could do to part with a table and four chairs. Nobody eats here anyway, face it." Then it would just be getting them back to my house . . . always a struggle. I moved a microwave and a cabinet to my house in a taxi last week, that was a fun adventure.
And I feel like i could just make a coffee table out of something . . . . but what? If anybody has made a kooky-yet-functional coffee table out of everyday items, mail me. If it involves severed heads, I'm going to be very upset.
So I've just been lying in bed reading a lot, no TV in the apartment to speak of. I eat dinner on my living room floor. I still need to buy plates and bowls, i finally got my refridgerator installed, now just to fill it and have stuff to eat out of. Apparently there's some market in the centro where you can buy plates and silverware and all that for cheap, I just need to find someone to drive me there. D'oh.
So now that I'm paying my own rent at my place, I've been saving money in other areas of life. Notably transportation: in my early times here, i was dropping $5-6 bucks (50-60 pesos) each way to/from work in a sitio taxi (the kind you call on the phone that don't rob you), as well as being at their mercy insofar as availability (sorry, there are no taxis now, call back in 5 minutes . . . 6 times in a row) and traffic are concerned. Now I'm hip on taking the Metro, aka the subway. Is it safe, you ask? Well, I mean, not really I guess, but I've taken it everyday for about a month and never had a problem. No pocket-picking, no harassmanship, no armed robbery, none of that. The real kicker: it's 2 pesos each way. Total of $0.40 cents per day expended getting to and from work. That's a weekly savings of a cool $48 bucks, right there.
However, with the savings, there are other non-monetary expenditures that are incurred. Like, oh man, have you ever been body-pressed on all sides by Mexican strangers? To the point that you are unwittingly sharing serious body heat from fat guys and old ladies on either side of you, completely unable to move whilst sweating profusely? No? And this is what you're calling a "life" that you're having? Psshhh.
Yeah, that happens on the subway about every third day on my connecting train south to Coyoacán. It gets wicked crowded on the platform waiting and when it shows up, it's like an old-fashioned Slayer moshpit to get into the thing. Problem is, once you're all squashed in there, the fun is over, and you have to stand like that for 6 stops until you get to work. (Note: I've never been in a Slayer moshpit, nor do I know if it is considered "old-fashioned")
And that's another thing i don't get, i've got my sleeves rolled, up, top button undone, holding my coat on my arm, and I'm sweating like a Colombian. Those damn sweaty Colombians. But then, all the fuckin' Mexicans around me are sporting like, Starter jackets, sweaters, overcoats . . . looking cool as cucumbers. It must be cultural. And it makes me want to get culture-kicky.
So yeah, way more hot body-on-body contact on the metro than I would like. Is it worth it? I don't know, probably. My sexy custom leather couches say so. Or they will, in 2-3 weeks, anyhow. Frown.
I bought a big Colorado flag to hang in my room, gotta represent. For the main room I've 2/3 completed a project of paintings i've put myself to, watercolors, 36 paintings in rows and columns of 6 to hang together on one of the walls in my main room. It's going to be awesome when I finish, I'll take a picture. Still need to buy a cable so i can connect my digicam to the computer, though.
Meanwhile I've designated my extra bedroom to being a pillows-for-furniture groovy chill-out room. I've got a cool Indian tapestry hanging on the ceiling, a funky lamp and some candles, my sweet baby Elizabeth got me a matching set of tea cups, and I'm going to get my custom furniture guy to make me like 8 big 1 meter square pillows for it. Then, if I can just get the lady 3 floors down to keep her window shut so that her handicapped daughter's repeated yells of "Seeeeeeeee yaaaaah . . . . DING!" don't interrupt the tranquility, it'll be all set.
That wasn't a joke, by the way. There literally is a handicapped girl 3 floors down whose window looks onto my side of the building who for hours on end yells "Seeeeeee, yaaah, DING" with slight variations every few minutes. It is maddening, but you simultaneously have to feel bad for them, I've talked to the lady who's daughter it is, and she's nice enough, I can only imagine what it must be like to actually live in their house, considering it drives me nuts from 3 floors away. She does pretty much never keep that damn window shut though. Lousy old bag.
So that's it. Tacos are still delicious, I still haven't done my dry cleaning, and life is good. See ya. DING
--Lee
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
It's to see what'll happen . . . .
Hello friends,
Thanks for stopping by. It has been a while since my last bloggery, but alas, I sometimes come in here and start to write things and it just comes out as random bitching and boring "what-Lee-had-for-lunch" stories, so I abort.
I'm pro-choice when it comes to blogs. If you don't want to post that entry, go ahead and vacuum it out of the internet's bloody vagina.
Too much?
Yeah, well, This blog is not for minors. Or majors. Unless you're like, a criminal psychology major. Then nothing fazes you. Just like Actor on Popular Murder Investigation Show. He's so hunky. Those bastard writers on PMIS don't give him enough dark steamy locker-room scenes, though.
I digress. Life in Mexico is just as dreamy as ever. Breathe in the smog, choke on the chile, run from the rain. It's a wild ride. Indeed it is the rainy season here, it pours down for at least an hour or two pretty much every day, never really gets above 80 when it's sunny. It's nice compared to the stories I've been hearing from the Denver contingent, about it being 90+ all day and night. That probably sucks. [Muntz] Ha-Ha! [/Muntz]
Trying to tell people here what my name is, like for restaurant reservations, radio taxis, local sales calls . . . is some kind of ridiculous joke. I'm pretty much resigned to the fact that I'm Luis Sander. I've considered just starting to use my old Spanish-class nickname, "Emilio," but I never have the gall to outright tell someone that's what my name is.
So I say "Lee Saunders"
And they say "Luis Sander?"
And i say "*sigh* . . . . Sí . . . Luis Sander."
So if someone calls you telling you you need to send money to bail Luis Sander out of jail or something, help a brother out.
Luis would really appreciate that.
In lighter news, I have just recently put a deposit down on an apartment for myself here, which is exciting. I have been living up until now in a furnished suite-type place, they clean everyday, make my bed, it has dishes and toilet paper provided, etc. On the company's tab. So that honeymoon is now over, I'm moving to my own place, still in Colonia Condesa (I'm far too white and scared to move to a different Colonia) but kind of on the east-ish side. I'm only a block from the gorgeous and fabulously intricate Parque México, which is nice, it's a very tree-filled part of the neighborhood. I'm on the 6th floor with a fantastic patio view overlooking the park and part of the city out that direction, so it's very cool.
Cost of living in that sense is about the same here as it would be in the US, despite popular (ignorant) opinion that anyone with a normal professional job like mine would be "living like a king" down here. I'm shelling out $9,000 pesos a month for the next year for this puppy, so I hope you will come and visit me and stay there a night. Soon as I buy some furniture this option will be much more viable.
I made sure to move to a street that I could be sure that neither my parents nor my friends nor God himself, in his noodly-appendaged glory, could pronounce, just for good measure.
Say there Lee, I've heard you're all settled in your new place, and I think that it's just tops. Give me your address so I can send you a letter and some photos of me tending the gardens, won't you?
Certainly, Madame Bontroix, it's Ixtaccihuatl number 123, dept 105, Colonia Condesa, Mexico DF
Gracious me, whatever was that address?
^^That is generally what my conversations sound like, fyi.^^
See the title of this blog post for pronunciation. Its-tuh-see-wat-ull. Or maybe just its-tah-see-wat. I'm actually not too sure myself. You should have heard me making the calls to the owners to find out more information:
Um yes, hi, I'm looking for an apartment and I saw this number on a building on calle Itstacheetl? Istaucatlah? Ixtuhwachichi? Itchywatchband? Kajagoogoo?
Yeah, it's fun. But yeah, so i'm going to be getting some sexy leather couches, a nice big bed, some tables . . . maybe some funky paintings . . . you know . . . your average furninshings. Maybe some dishes. This paragraph pretty much sums up the excitement and raw energy that comprises the world of the Blog.
Other than that, I've just been coming to work in my little coat-and-tie, trying to sell billboards to people. Had a couple little successes recently, can't complain. Got my Ipod all loaded up finally, many thanks to Austin L. of Providence, RI for hooking up 141 fantastic albums for me to chew on. I finally got around to probando those, some great stuff. I recommend any of you pick up the album "The Sunset Tree" by the Mountain Goats if you're feeling like cooling off, or the album "Bring it Back" by Mates of State if you're feeling like heating up. For those with more tepid-temperate tastes, there's always the radio, you lamewad vanilla fartsack.
Also, I officially heart the NPR podcast of "Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me!" If you're not into this, you should be. It's so awesome.
My sweet darling wonderful Elizabeth is coming to see me this weekend. I feel a bit like a soldier who hasn't seen his woman after being bivouacked for 3 years. Granted we've only been apart 3 months and have talked on the vast majority of days, but hey. Give a guy a chance to use the word "bivouacked," will ya?
So anyhow, things are looking up. Still no pictures, I need to buy a new digicam, officially. I think the batteries on mine were made by a high-school physics class using copper wire and lime juice concentrate. Also i don't think i even have the cord to connect it to the computer. I'll work on that.
Bye to all, hope you are all having fun out there. Drop me an email to leemsaundersATgmail or a comment here and let me know about it!
--Lee
Thanks for stopping by. It has been a while since my last bloggery, but alas, I sometimes come in here and start to write things and it just comes out as random bitching and boring "what-Lee-had-for-lunch" stories, so I abort.
I'm pro-choice when it comes to blogs. If you don't want to post that entry, go ahead and vacuum it out of the internet's bloody vagina.
Too much?
Yeah, well, This blog is not for minors. Or majors. Unless you're like, a criminal psychology major. Then nothing fazes you. Just like Actor on Popular Murder Investigation Show. He's so hunky. Those bastard writers on PMIS don't give him enough dark steamy locker-room scenes, though.
I digress. Life in Mexico is just as dreamy as ever. Breathe in the smog, choke on the chile, run from the rain. It's a wild ride. Indeed it is the rainy season here, it pours down for at least an hour or two pretty much every day, never really gets above 80 when it's sunny. It's nice compared to the stories I've been hearing from the Denver contingent, about it being 90+ all day and night. That probably sucks. [Muntz] Ha-Ha! [/Muntz]
Trying to tell people here what my name is, like for restaurant reservations, radio taxis, local sales calls . . . is some kind of ridiculous joke. I'm pretty much resigned to the fact that I'm Luis Sander. I've considered just starting to use my old Spanish-class nickname, "Emilio," but I never have the gall to outright tell someone that's what my name is.
So I say "Lee Saunders"
And they say "Luis Sander?"
And i say "*sigh* . . . . Sí . . . Luis Sander."
So if someone calls you telling you you need to send money to bail Luis Sander out of jail or something, help a brother out.
Luis would really appreciate that.
In lighter news, I have just recently put a deposit down on an apartment for myself here, which is exciting. I have been living up until now in a furnished suite-type place, they clean everyday, make my bed, it has dishes and toilet paper provided, etc. On the company's tab. So that honeymoon is now over, I'm moving to my own place, still in Colonia Condesa (I'm far too white and scared to move to a different Colonia) but kind of on the east-ish side. I'm only a block from the gorgeous and fabulously intricate Parque México, which is nice, it's a very tree-filled part of the neighborhood. I'm on the 6th floor with a fantastic patio view overlooking the park and part of the city out that direction, so it's very cool.
Cost of living in that sense is about the same here as it would be in the US, despite popular (ignorant) opinion that anyone with a normal professional job like mine would be "living like a king" down here. I'm shelling out $9,000 pesos a month for the next year for this puppy, so I hope you will come and visit me and stay there a night. Soon as I buy some furniture this option will be much more viable.
I made sure to move to a street that I could be sure that neither my parents nor my friends nor God himself, in his noodly-appendaged glory, could pronounce, just for good measure.
Say there Lee, I've heard you're all settled in your new place, and I think that it's just tops. Give me your address so I can send you a letter and some photos of me tending the gardens, won't you?
Certainly, Madame Bontroix, it's Ixtaccihuatl number 123, dept 105, Colonia Condesa, Mexico DF
Gracious me, whatever was that address?
^^That is generally what my conversations sound like, fyi.^^
See the title of this blog post for pronunciation. Its-tuh-see-wat-ull. Or maybe just its-tah-see-wat. I'm actually not too sure myself. You should have heard me making the calls to the owners to find out more information:
Um yes, hi, I'm looking for an apartment and I saw this number on a building on calle Itstacheetl? Istaucatlah? Ixtuhwachichi? Itchywatchband? Kajagoogoo?
Yeah, it's fun. But yeah, so i'm going to be getting some sexy leather couches, a nice big bed, some tables . . . maybe some funky paintings . . . you know . . . your average furninshings. Maybe some dishes. This paragraph pretty much sums up the excitement and raw energy that comprises the world of the Blog.
Other than that, I've just been coming to work in my little coat-and-tie, trying to sell billboards to people. Had a couple little successes recently, can't complain. Got my Ipod all loaded up finally, many thanks to Austin L. of Providence, RI for hooking up 141 fantastic albums for me to chew on. I finally got around to probando those, some great stuff. I recommend any of you pick up the album "The Sunset Tree" by the Mountain Goats if you're feeling like cooling off, or the album "Bring it Back" by Mates of State if you're feeling like heating up. For those with more tepid-temperate tastes, there's always the radio, you lamewad vanilla fartsack.
Also, I officially heart the NPR podcast of "Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me!" If you're not into this, you should be. It's so awesome.
My sweet darling wonderful Elizabeth is coming to see me this weekend. I feel a bit like a soldier who hasn't seen his woman after being bivouacked for 3 years. Granted we've only been apart 3 months and have talked on the vast majority of days, but hey. Give a guy a chance to use the word "bivouacked," will ya?
So anyhow, things are looking up. Still no pictures, I need to buy a new digicam, officially. I think the batteries on mine were made by a high-school physics class using copper wire and lime juice concentrate. Also i don't think i even have the cord to connect it to the computer. I'll work on that.
Bye to all, hope you are all having fun out there. Drop me an email to leemsaundersATgmail or a comment here and let me know about it!
--Lee
Monday, July 2, 2007
Try to catch me White and Nerdy
Hello patrons,
Thanks for stopping by to read about me. Nothing too exciting has happened, but maybe as I start to write, something fun will re-occur to me. Here goes nothing.
So I did end up going to the pyramids at Teotihuacan the other weekend, i have pictures on my camera, but i haven't gotten up the gusto to bring my camera in to work and plug it into my computer here. I don't exactly sit in an office, not a lot of privacy for non-work-related computer goings-on. But, imagine me in front of some busted looking pyramids, with a bunch of Mexicans all around. You got the gist.
So that was cool, then that night I ended up going with my friend Carina and the whole crew (mostly her immediate and non-immediate family) went back to their spot in Itztapalapa (which i think is Spanish for "wonderland of garbage-eating dogs and houses built out of old tires and soda cans," it's a colloquial translation) to attend the birthday party of Carina's uncle or somesuch. Naturally I was the only "guero" (read: whitey) there, and since we had been in Teotihuacan all day, i was still rocking the shorts. Turns out they don't sell shorts in Mexico City. So, nobody has them. Except whitey.
So man, this birthday party, her uncle, whose b-day it is, introduces himself and asks what i want to drink, i say i'll just have whatever my friend here is having, Miguel, Carina's boyfriend. Well, he's having a brandy and coke. That sounds fine. But, alas, it doesn't sound so fine to Mr. Uncle.
"Que, no te gusta el tequila?" (wha, you don like-a the tequila?)
"Oh . . . pues, sí, me gusta el tequila" (um, oh, um sure, of course i like tequila)
Of course I like tequila, pal. I thought perhaps this was just a cultural inquiry, wondering if someone as gangly and un-Mexican as I could enjoy the fruit of the mexican, um, cactus . . . thing . . . or however they make tequila.
Alas, this was no cultural inquiry, guy comes back with Miguel's refreshing-looking brandy and coke, and my shot of tequila and a lime. Ah, just what the doctor ordered after a day in the sun. A shot of room temperature tequila. And of course, he hawked over me until i had finished it, and promptly got me another. Ah, just what the doctor ordered after a shot of warm tequila after a long day in the sun before dinner, another shot of tequila. Mexican doctors apparently are really shitty at knowing what to order.
So, yeah, eventually i switched to "palomas", a cocktail that is tequila and squirt soda, actually pretty tasty. But man, at this point, Johnny Uncle now is demanding to know whether i know how to dance. Well, sure I know how to dance. I mean, i went to junior high. I can "shout". I can "jump around". Hell, I can slowly revolve to "On Bended Knee" all night, pops. Bring it.
Yeah, well, he meant like, dancing with a partner, where you have the one hand up and the one hand on the hip, and it's like two steps here, one backward there, some spinning action, little bit of toe-tappin, maybe some light bravado . . . yeah i don't know how to do that. Maybe if I had let old Gary drag me into that swing-dancing fad she was so big on . . . but i'm pretty sure i thought that was really ghey at the time. Which ain't helping me now. Naturally, lonely single Aunt somethin'orother wants to teach me to dance. Except not really, she just wants me to dance with her, and then look at me disappointedly when I suck. Great.
Turns out they eventually put on some other kind of music, cumbia or duranguese or something, which is more of a quick-stomp kind of dance. Well, i apparently excelled at this one. Lonely Horny Aunt was quick to grab me out of my chair and get me dancing with her, and this time no looks of remorse were inspired. Other random aunt got up and phsyically advised me to keep my hands behind my back for this type of dance. I guess that's the way you do it. So yeah, dancing like this takes a lot of energy, and I'm running on tequila fumes, sand and a big june bug i swallowed on the ride home at this point. The machine is clearly sending out the DO NOT WANT call, yet Sally Auntsalot is having nothing to do with it. I sit down between songs, she is back to grab me as the next one starts up. Holy bad sausage, it was rough. Luckily they hired a live mariachi band to play, and they showed up and the other kind of dancing took hold again, and even their 90 some odd year old grandma at this point had given me a dancin' chance, and quickly regretted it. So i got some rest. All in all, it was a great party. Great like a carbonite hangover is great. "I can't see!" "ya-to, ya-to."
So, yeah, beyond that, I've been hanging out low-pro in Condesa, walking around looking at possible places to rent when the time comes for me to get out in my own place on my own dime, which is around August 20-ish. I'll very most likely be staying in La Condesa, there are plenty of places for rent, and the safety and quality of restaurants/bars/closeness-to-work are mighty fine.
I also went to Puerto Vallarta two weekends ago, my parents Laurel and Steve helped get me invited to join them on the Pepsi Center corporate sponsor thank-you trip, which was awesome. Really awesome considering I did very little sponsoring of the Pepsi Center this year. It was great to see the folks and some other CO people, chat in English and such.
The first night i had a few beers on the beach at the welcome dinner after watching the USA win at soccer over Canada in the Gold Cup. I ended up at the hotel bar next to a smug bald guy who proceded to grill me about my love for America, and when i didn't gush patriotism, proceded to grill me with "you had an opportunity, the opportunity of a lifetime, and you blew it" for about 2 hours. Guy kept saying how fantastic my abilities in Spanish and English were, and how I was a really smart kid, which he would immediately counter with "you talk too f*cking much, you need to learn when to shut the f*ck up" and such. I eventually tried to figure out what said "opportunity" was that i "blew," only to eventually get him to mention that he used to be in the military or something, and that I should go to Peru to be an "operative" for America, or something like that. He mostly just yelled at me and made numerous drunken futile attempts to re-light his cigar. I hope that guy dies in a fire.
Then the next morning we went a-swinging in the jungle, sliding on crazy rope-swing things on this "canopy tour." That was a trip, they hook you up with the full climbing-gear harness, and then there's a whole team of guys that travels with you from little plastic platform at the top of the trees to other platforms, they hook your harness to the rope and you just slide across, like hundreds of feet at a time, about a hundred feet of the ground. It was awesome. It ended with a free-rapell, which was new to me. All in all, very enjoyable. The "free" part didn't hurt either.
Basically the rest of my weekend consisted of drinking in the pool, walking the beach, eating seafood, and going to nightclubs downtown Puerto Vallarta. Turns out, even if you speak fantastic conversational, formal, and slang spanish, Mexican girls still don't want to dance with your big white ass, even if you are the only guy coming up to their group of 8 girls, even if you play the cool glance-re-glance game, even if you blablablablabla, and you make them laugh, doesn't matter. You are a big gringo and you will be dancing alone this evening. So yeah, massive strike-outs were involved there. Quite humbling. All i wanted was someone to dance with. I figured "psshh, the American girls, ha! I speak Spanish, I live in Mexico, i'm gonna go find a Mexican lady to dance with!" Oh, ho, yeah. Not so much.
So yeah, I'm back in Mexico City now, back hard at work trying to sell some billboards. Let me know if you want one. Rates are rock-bottom. Yeah. Still not too sure about this whole "sales" gig. Pretty much an awful idea for how to act/work. But, it has brought me to a new country, doing new things, so, can't complain that much .
I'll post those pictures sometime soon. Hope you are all rocking, possibly also rolling.
--Lee
Thanks for stopping by to read about me. Nothing too exciting has happened, but maybe as I start to write, something fun will re-occur to me. Here goes nothing.
So I did end up going to the pyramids at Teotihuacan the other weekend, i have pictures on my camera, but i haven't gotten up the gusto to bring my camera in to work and plug it into my computer here. I don't exactly sit in an office, not a lot of privacy for non-work-related computer goings-on. But, imagine me in front of some busted looking pyramids, with a bunch of Mexicans all around. You got the gist.
So that was cool, then that night I ended up going with my friend Carina and the whole crew (mostly her immediate and non-immediate family) went back to their spot in Itztapalapa (which i think is Spanish for "wonderland of garbage-eating dogs and houses built out of old tires and soda cans," it's a colloquial translation) to attend the birthday party of Carina's uncle or somesuch. Naturally I was the only "guero" (read: whitey) there, and since we had been in Teotihuacan all day, i was still rocking the shorts. Turns out they don't sell shorts in Mexico City. So, nobody has them. Except whitey.
So man, this birthday party, her uncle, whose b-day it is, introduces himself and asks what i want to drink, i say i'll just have whatever my friend here is having, Miguel, Carina's boyfriend. Well, he's having a brandy and coke. That sounds fine. But, alas, it doesn't sound so fine to Mr. Uncle.
"Que, no te gusta el tequila?" (wha, you don like-a the tequila?)
"Oh . . . pues, sí, me gusta el tequila" (um, oh, um sure, of course i like tequila)
Of course I like tequila, pal. I thought perhaps this was just a cultural inquiry, wondering if someone as gangly and un-Mexican as I could enjoy the fruit of the mexican, um, cactus . . . thing . . . or however they make tequila.
Alas, this was no cultural inquiry, guy comes back with Miguel's refreshing-looking brandy and coke, and my shot of tequila and a lime. Ah, just what the doctor ordered after a day in the sun. A shot of room temperature tequila. And of course, he hawked over me until i had finished it, and promptly got me another. Ah, just what the doctor ordered after a shot of warm tequila after a long day in the sun before dinner, another shot of tequila. Mexican doctors apparently are really shitty at knowing what to order.
So, yeah, eventually i switched to "palomas", a cocktail that is tequila and squirt soda, actually pretty tasty. But man, at this point, Johnny Uncle now is demanding to know whether i know how to dance. Well, sure I know how to dance. I mean, i went to junior high. I can "shout". I can "jump around". Hell, I can slowly revolve to "On Bended Knee" all night, pops. Bring it.
Yeah, well, he meant like, dancing with a partner, where you have the one hand up and the one hand on the hip, and it's like two steps here, one backward there, some spinning action, little bit of toe-tappin, maybe some light bravado . . . yeah i don't know how to do that. Maybe if I had let old Gary drag me into that swing-dancing fad she was so big on . . . but i'm pretty sure i thought that was really ghey at the time. Which ain't helping me now. Naturally, lonely single Aunt somethin'orother wants to teach me to dance. Except not really, she just wants me to dance with her, and then look at me disappointedly when I suck. Great.
Turns out they eventually put on some other kind of music, cumbia or duranguese or something, which is more of a quick-stomp kind of dance. Well, i apparently excelled at this one. Lonely Horny Aunt was quick to grab me out of my chair and get me dancing with her, and this time no looks of remorse were inspired. Other random aunt got up and phsyically advised me to keep my hands behind my back for this type of dance. I guess that's the way you do it. So yeah, dancing like this takes a lot of energy, and I'm running on tequila fumes, sand and a big june bug i swallowed on the ride home at this point. The machine is clearly sending out the DO NOT WANT call, yet Sally Auntsalot is having nothing to do with it. I sit down between songs, she is back to grab me as the next one starts up. Holy bad sausage, it was rough. Luckily they hired a live mariachi band to play, and they showed up and the other kind of dancing took hold again, and even their 90 some odd year old grandma at this point had given me a dancin' chance, and quickly regretted it. So i got some rest. All in all, it was a great party. Great like a carbonite hangover is great. "I can't see!" "ya-to, ya-to."
So, yeah, beyond that, I've been hanging out low-pro in Condesa, walking around looking at possible places to rent when the time comes for me to get out in my own place on my own dime, which is around August 20-ish. I'll very most likely be staying in La Condesa, there are plenty of places for rent, and the safety and quality of restaurants/bars/closeness-to-work are mighty fine.
I also went to Puerto Vallarta two weekends ago, my parents Laurel and Steve helped get me invited to join them on the Pepsi Center corporate sponsor thank-you trip, which was awesome. Really awesome considering I did very little sponsoring of the Pepsi Center this year. It was great to see the folks and some other CO people, chat in English and such.
The first night i had a few beers on the beach at the welcome dinner after watching the USA win at soccer over Canada in the Gold Cup. I ended up at the hotel bar next to a smug bald guy who proceded to grill me about my love for America, and when i didn't gush patriotism, proceded to grill me with "you had an opportunity, the opportunity of a lifetime, and you blew it" for about 2 hours. Guy kept saying how fantastic my abilities in Spanish and English were, and how I was a really smart kid, which he would immediately counter with "you talk too f*cking much, you need to learn when to shut the f*ck up" and such. I eventually tried to figure out what said "opportunity" was that i "blew," only to eventually get him to mention that he used to be in the military or something, and that I should go to Peru to be an "operative" for America, or something like that. He mostly just yelled at me and made numerous drunken futile attempts to re-light his cigar. I hope that guy dies in a fire.
Then the next morning we went a-swinging in the jungle, sliding on crazy rope-swing things on this "canopy tour." That was a trip, they hook you up with the full climbing-gear harness, and then there's a whole team of guys that travels with you from little plastic platform at the top of the trees to other platforms, they hook your harness to the rope and you just slide across, like hundreds of feet at a time, about a hundred feet of the ground. It was awesome. It ended with a free-rapell, which was new to me. All in all, very enjoyable. The "free" part didn't hurt either.
Basically the rest of my weekend consisted of drinking in the pool, walking the beach, eating seafood, and going to nightclubs downtown Puerto Vallarta. Turns out, even if you speak fantastic conversational, formal, and slang spanish, Mexican girls still don't want to dance with your big white ass, even if you are the only guy coming up to their group of 8 girls, even if you play the cool glance-re-glance game, even if you blablablablabla, and you make them laugh, doesn't matter. You are a big gringo and you will be dancing alone this evening. So yeah, massive strike-outs were involved there. Quite humbling. All i wanted was someone to dance with. I figured "psshh, the American girls, ha! I speak Spanish, I live in Mexico, i'm gonna go find a Mexican lady to dance with!" Oh, ho, yeah. Not so much.
So yeah, I'm back in Mexico City now, back hard at work trying to sell some billboards. Let me know if you want one. Rates are rock-bottom. Yeah. Still not too sure about this whole "sales" gig. Pretty much an awful idea for how to act/work. But, it has brought me to a new country, doing new things, so, can't complain that much .
I'll post those pictures sometime soon. Hope you are all rocking, possibly also rolling.
--Lee
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Let's Talk About Mex, Baby
What an adventure, gang, what an adventure.
This place is nuts. Streets have no regard for bearing in any estimable cardinal direction. Right angles were a completely lost concept on the street-builders of Mexico City. Pythagoras would shit a brick in this place.
As such, I generally travel around having no clue where I am. I ride in taxis and am sure that I am being kidnapped, taken to some remote corner of the city, only to magically arrive at my destination. Most of the taxi drivers just laugh at me when i ask them if they are sure of the route they're taking. Of course they are, silly gringo.
I have been posted up in my apartment in Colonia La Condesa for a few weeks now. I've managed to memorize a walking route to the Superama grocery store and the Parque México a few blocks over. My neighborhood is quaint, mostly consisting of Japanese restaurants and fancy furniture galleries. Like, on every other block. It's pretty hilarious. Sushi down here has cream cheese in everything, though. Not so hot.
The amount of soccer that comes on the tele down here is phenomenal. Did anybody see that craziness in the Denmark - Sweden Euro 2008 Qualifier? Yeah, I pretty much figured you didn't. Americans, so soccer-deprived. Trust me, it was noteworthy. Worthy of a note. Which is what this paragraph serves as, I suppose.
I like to write in parallels. Thenceforth I will relate to you something totally awesome about living in Mexico City, and something that is totally balls.
Awesome: I have a "muchacha" that comes and cleans my house everyday. I'm talking does my laundry, ironing, dishes, sheets, bathroom, trash, the whole mcgarnigle. I pay her 60 pesos, about 6 bucks. A week.
Balls: Indoor plumbing in Mexico only got halfway there. They've got the water-closet, just like home. But, don't even think about sending the paper down with your departed pool patrons. I can't explain to you the melange of odors that a bathroom-wastebasket full of an entire party's poo-shards exudes. I genuinely can't.
I have managed to meet a whole slew of ex-pats in my neighborhood, mostly middle or east-coast Americans and Brits. The guys have invited (read: demanded) that i join their rugby team. Man, i was really hoping that guy was going to say "soccer" after he asked me if i liked to play sports, oh well we have a ________ team. So yeah, since you are all aware of my prowess as a rough & tumble, hard-core, piece-of-iron-like-rocky-in-rocky-IV status, I'll let you know how many guys I make cry whilst flexing my solarplexi and generally crushing. Sigh . . .
That's it for now, pictures coming soon. Headed to the pyramids at Teotihuacan (tay-oh-tee-ooh!-aah! . . . Khan!) this weekend. Photo update next week. Keesses!
--Lee
This place is nuts. Streets have no regard for bearing in any estimable cardinal direction. Right angles were a completely lost concept on the street-builders of Mexico City. Pythagoras would shit a brick in this place.
As such, I generally travel around having no clue where I am. I ride in taxis and am sure that I am being kidnapped, taken to some remote corner of the city, only to magically arrive at my destination. Most of the taxi drivers just laugh at me when i ask them if they are sure of the route they're taking. Of course they are, silly gringo.
I have been posted up in my apartment in Colonia La Condesa for a few weeks now. I've managed to memorize a walking route to the Superama grocery store and the Parque México a few blocks over. My neighborhood is quaint, mostly consisting of Japanese restaurants and fancy furniture galleries. Like, on every other block. It's pretty hilarious. Sushi down here has cream cheese in everything, though. Not so hot.
The amount of soccer that comes on the tele down here is phenomenal. Did anybody see that craziness in the Denmark - Sweden Euro 2008 Qualifier? Yeah, I pretty much figured you didn't. Americans, so soccer-deprived. Trust me, it was noteworthy. Worthy of a note. Which is what this paragraph serves as, I suppose.
I like to write in parallels. Thenceforth I will relate to you something totally awesome about living in Mexico City, and something that is totally balls.
Awesome: I have a "muchacha" that comes and cleans my house everyday. I'm talking does my laundry, ironing, dishes, sheets, bathroom, trash, the whole mcgarnigle. I pay her 60 pesos, about 6 bucks. A week.
Balls: Indoor plumbing in Mexico only got halfway there. They've got the water-closet, just like home. But, don't even think about sending the paper down with your departed pool patrons. I can't explain to you the melange of odors that a bathroom-wastebasket full of an entire party's poo-shards exudes. I genuinely can't.
I have managed to meet a whole slew of ex-pats in my neighborhood, mostly middle or east-coast Americans and Brits. The guys have invited (read: demanded) that i join their rugby team. Man, i was really hoping that guy was going to say "soccer" after he asked me if i liked to play sports, oh well we have a ________ team. So yeah, since you are all aware of my prowess as a rough & tumble, hard-core, piece-of-iron-like-rocky-in-rocky-IV status, I'll let you know how many guys I make cry whilst flexing my solarplexi and generally crushing. Sigh . . .
That's it for now, pictures coming soon. Headed to the pyramids at Teotihuacan (tay-oh-tee-ooh!-aah! . . . Khan!) this weekend. Photo update next week. Keesses!
--Lee
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Estoy Aquí
Hola todos,
Many thank yous to all of my wonderful friends who came out and celebrated my going-away and birthday at my parents' house on Wednesday, and/or at my former local bar on Friday. It was great to see all of you before departing.
I arrived in Mexico City on Sunday night, after a long, tear-filled (from both parties), blowout goodbye with my dearest Elizabeth. I am certainly going to miss her. I traveled not very light, with two 50-pound suitcases containing almost everything i own, my guitar, and a backpack of music and music players, which are currently unmarried, as i have no personal computer. Great buys, that Ipod and external hard drive.
I got through customs with great ease, and was greeted at Benito Juarez International by my boss, and only American I know here, Scott Newman. Scott is about 10 years older than me, has been here in Mexico for 5, is from Texas, and generally cracks me up ridiculously. He took me out to the center square in Coyoacan, south of the city center, for a birthday dinner.
Dinner was tequila bandera (a shot each of tequila, spiced tomato juice, and lime juice; thus creating the white-red-green of the mexican flag . . . "bandera" means flag), beers, duck tacos, mussels, scallop cebiche, smoked marlin tacos, and chocolate goo birthday cake. Not too shabby for a first meal.
I've found a temporary furnished place to live for the 90 days the company is paying for, it is in the La Condesa neighborhood. It is a very bohemian, young, hip area, lots of foreigners, little baritos, restaurantitos, lots of trees, etc. I'm excited to be there, and hope I will be able to find a place there when it's on my own dime.
The dirty looks from grumpy existing Mexican salespeople are definitely not lacking, but I feel like since I am tackling an area that they altogether cannot (international business with America), it will be just fine.
So far, Mocteczuma has not taken out his dicked-over Aztec aggression on my lower intestinal tract. I suppose it's only a matter of time, though. Maybe it will help me regain my girlish figure.
The eating schedule is really the biggest change I'm having to make so far. Breakfast before work at 9 is usually just fruit, yogurt, toast, etc. And then, somehow lunch got a solid 2-hour pushback, starting at 2 in the afternoon. Tell me who thought up that one. Then you have to go back to work at 3:30 until 7pm. It´s un poco raro, as the fella says.
This is my first genuine blog entry from Mexico, and I am on my work computer, so I can't upload any photos just yet. You'll have to use your imagination. While you're at it, imagine me and Han Solo tag-teaming a six-boobed alien lady. You know you like it. High five, Han.
Rock and roll everyone.
--Lee
Many thank yous to all of my wonderful friends who came out and celebrated my going-away and birthday at my parents' house on Wednesday, and/or at my former local bar on Friday. It was great to see all of you before departing.
I arrived in Mexico City on Sunday night, after a long, tear-filled (from both parties), blowout goodbye with my dearest Elizabeth. I am certainly going to miss her. I traveled not very light, with two 50-pound suitcases containing almost everything i own, my guitar, and a backpack of music and music players, which are currently unmarried, as i have no personal computer. Great buys, that Ipod and external hard drive.
I got through customs with great ease, and was greeted at Benito Juarez International by my boss, and only American I know here, Scott Newman. Scott is about 10 years older than me, has been here in Mexico for 5, is from Texas, and generally cracks me up ridiculously. He took me out to the center square in Coyoacan, south of the city center, for a birthday dinner.
Dinner was tequila bandera (a shot each of tequila, spiced tomato juice, and lime juice; thus creating the white-red-green of the mexican flag . . . "bandera" means flag), beers, duck tacos, mussels, scallop cebiche, smoked marlin tacos, and chocolate goo birthday cake. Not too shabby for a first meal.
I've found a temporary furnished place to live for the 90 days the company is paying for, it is in the La Condesa neighborhood. It is a very bohemian, young, hip area, lots of foreigners, little baritos, restaurantitos, lots of trees, etc. I'm excited to be there, and hope I will be able to find a place there when it's on my own dime.
The dirty looks from grumpy existing Mexican salespeople are definitely not lacking, but I feel like since I am tackling an area that they altogether cannot (international business with America), it will be just fine.
So far, Mocteczuma has not taken out his dicked-over Aztec aggression on my lower intestinal tract. I suppose it's only a matter of time, though. Maybe it will help me regain my girlish figure.
The eating schedule is really the biggest change I'm having to make so far. Breakfast before work at 9 is usually just fruit, yogurt, toast, etc. And then, somehow lunch got a solid 2-hour pushback, starting at 2 in the afternoon. Tell me who thought up that one. Then you have to go back to work at 3:30 until 7pm. It´s un poco raro, as the fella says.
This is my first genuine blog entry from Mexico, and I am on my work computer, so I can't upload any photos just yet. You'll have to use your imagination. While you're at it, imagine me and Han Solo tag-teaming a six-boobed alien lady. You know you like it. High five, Han.
Rock and roll everyone.
--Lee
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
The Final Countdown
Hello,
My name is Lee M. Saunders. I am a 24-year-old white American fellow moving to Mexico, D.F. on May 13, 2007. Mexico City, to the layperson. I have lived in Colorado, USA my entire life, and have decided to publish my experiences in Mexico here on this webpage. Who's excited?
Let's hammer out a few facts about Lee before we begin:
1. I am 6'4", white, with indicriminately colored hair.
2. This is to be my first experience living in another country.
3. My job is selling billboard ad space in Mexico to American advertisers.
4. I speak pretty fantastic book Spanish. Mexican Spanish, not as much.
There are probably more facts that needed to be listed. But I don't want to have this blog turn into more of a "blahg," if you catch my drift. Brevity will hopefully be a virtue that this blog will extol. I'm excited to leave here in about 10 days, I've got many things to take care of before I do. Mostly playing golf.
So, please feel free to check in on this catastrophe (I used to think I was good at the internet . . . ) at will, I'll likely be updating it bi-weekly. I'm having a big party at my folks' house Wednesday May 9 at 6 pm, if anybody would like to attend, drop me an email at leemsaunders@gmail.com.
My name is Lee M. Saunders. I am a 24-year-old white American fellow moving to Mexico, D.F. on May 13, 2007. Mexico City, to the layperson. I have lived in Colorado, USA my entire life, and have decided to publish my experiences in Mexico here on this webpage. Who's excited?
Let's hammer out a few facts about Lee before we begin:
1. I am 6'4", white, with indicriminately colored hair.
2. This is to be my first experience living in another country.
3. My job is selling billboard ad space in Mexico to American advertisers.
4. I speak pretty fantastic book Spanish. Mexican Spanish, not as much.
There are probably more facts that needed to be listed. But I don't want to have this blog turn into more of a "blahg," if you catch my drift. Brevity will hopefully be a virtue that this blog will extol. I'm excited to leave here in about 10 days, I've got many things to take care of before I do. Mostly playing golf.
So, please feel free to check in on this catastrophe (I used to think I was good at the internet . . . ) at will, I'll likely be updating it bi-weekly. I'm having a big party at my folks' house Wednesday May 9 at 6 pm, if anybody would like to attend, drop me an email at leemsaunders@gmail.com.
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