monitoring problems and an all-around lack of good sounds

photo courtesy of cdveston

In order to remind ourselves and others in our vicinity that we are not talented, a group of gringoes got together and created the most recent incarnation of a country-disco band, this time called "Leslie, All Up In Your Grill." Although imortalized by the name of the band, Leslie declined to play bass in her clingy, wet, white wife-beater, opting instead to go to Medellin. I consider this a smart move. Anyway, we played some tunes poorly, and drank some cocktails heroicly, and another wednesday passed into history, much like the wednesday when John Wilkes Boothe got himself ejected from the Local 431 Barber's Union, and was subsequently forced to try his hand at acting and anarchy and shooting tall presidents in the noggin.

playa blanca on a three day weekend

There are lotsa three day weekends in october and november in colombia. these are all fine and dandy opportunities to do something less orderly. So la flaca and I made a trip to Rodadero last weekend and spent a couple days at the beach, which was hot and sweaty and not raining, which means a lot given how wet it has been lately.



In Rodadero, I got myself some new groovy sunglasses, some sunscreen and a blue towel. My life is advancing just as it is supposed to I think. Next step, 2.1 children, 1.8 cars, a dog, and a mortgage.

kisses
fpp

Taking Care of Business

THE KING RETURNS, SORT OF



Dateline, October, 27th, Cartagena, Colombia.

A bald, bad-tempered, well-dressed Elvis impersonator and entorage of fellow Barranquilleros arrived at at a post-ish grino event five days before Halloween and made complete asses of themselves.


A couple facts about this night. It was election weekend, which is Ley Seca, which means drinking is illegal across the country. The party wasn't a costume party (I didn't know this when we were leaving). Too much tequilla can make gringoes do stupid shit.



Halfway from Barranquilla and Cartagena, we stopped in pigtown and played guitar and drums for the locals, ate their empanadas and left after being filmed on a gaggle of cell phones.

Pigtown does not have a single working toilet with clean seat, but every fourteen year old girl with two arms has a better cell phone than me.

Anyway, that was the first adventure for the little Elvis get-up that I had made this summer-- thanks, mom-- which was quickly destroyed. The sleeves are still in Cartagena, along with a pair of underwear and an enormous amount of self-respect, somewhere in the old city, I think.



Elvis photo courtesy of Cdveston at flickr