LA Naquititita

I've finally come out of my Cazadores-induced coma and I'm back with a vengeance!

I just couldn't wait to share this nacada with you.

From Amandititita, the chaparra chilanga who brought us the jam Metrosexual, here's another soon-to-be classic entry in the Anar-Cumbia genre.

I present to you Odio A Mi Jefe.



Mad props to LA Messicana's sister, LA Virgen de Guadalupe, for sharing this with me earlier today.

I hope this makes you laugh and dance and perhaps makes you want to invest in some CutCo.

Speaking of which, there's nothing I love more than machetes, except putazos. Hablando de eso, do you know who Librado Andrade is? If you don't, I'll tell you. I'm an expert on him, clearly, as I just heard about him and saw him fight for the first time ever about 72 hours ago. He's the Cro-Magnon Hombre of the boxing world and he got the crap kicked out of him in like 8 seconds on Friday.

(Photo courtesy of google image search. Also, the photo is not from Saturday's fight, but he really does look like that always.)

He hails from Guanajuato (ajua!), has a brother, Enrique, who is also a boxer, and he currently resides in GuadaLaHabra.  And...he has a terrible boxing record.  Now, I'm not gonna lie to you.  Chances are I'm not going to be writing about any other boxers on this blog, with the exception of maybe Julio César Chávez, if the occasion arises.  The truth is that I'm not a boxing fan, not because I oppose violence, but because I can't stand that stupid Oscar De La Hoya and his stupid smug face.

But that's for another post.  Maybe.

Hasta mañana.

Aztecas: Un Imperio Recordado

Nahuatl 101
Lesson #1
The Thanksgiving Edition

I don't speak fluent Nahuatl.
I don't even speak conversational  Nahuatl.

However, I know someone who does, which obviously, makes me qualified to give classes on this beautiful indigenous language.  She's my facebook friend and high school classmate Rocio, who speaks some version of it with her Nahua grandma, who is from Quiensabedonde, México y no habla español.  If I needed to, I could run my lesson plans by her, but I'm pretty sure I'm right about what I'm about to say, so I refuse to factcheck.

Guajolote is Mexican Spanish for turkey cock.

Guajolote viene de la palabra huehxōlōtl.  Other non-naco and non-Nahuatl terms for guajolote include the lesser Aztec-y sounding pavo and chompipe, which allegedly is used in Mexico and Central America.  I've never used chompipe and I asked my Salvi and Nica neighbors, and they don't use this term, therefore I rebuke it.  There are other words used in other Latin American countries for turkey, pero...que te importa? Come torta con tu hermana la gordota.

Did you know our pre-Columbian ancestors rarely ate guajolote? We ate other words that end in -ote.  And -ole.  And -ate. And -ale. Por ejemplo, we mostly ate corn-based food such as tortillas, tamales, atole, pozole or straight up elotes, as well as frijoles, chocolate, chiles, jicama, camotes, aguacates, yucca, jitomates, calabasas, nopales and limones.  It's like nothing's changed.  Almost.  Los Aztecas weren't big on carne asadas, but they were real big on eating spirulina algae.  Yummy...?  I'm sure it's good for you, as was everything else the Aztecs praised, but I prefer the agave plant and what it has to offer.  But I'm pretty sure you already knew that.

This concludes today's lesson on Nahuatl and Mexica culture.

I leave you with this image of the greatest guajolote azteca I could find.

(Photo courtesy of Flickr Image Search.)

Thanks be to Huitzilopochtli for inspiring this lady to wear gold lamé hot pants and matching midriff  in honor of her Mexica roots.

Japi Sansguibin.

Hasta mañana.

Arte Libre

LA Naca has been suffering from la cruda for a few days.

In the midst of the recuperation process, late Sunday night, my fresa-pocho neighbor with a creepy laugh decided to knock on my door to tell me he just came back from DF. I was about ready to kill him for disturbing me at such a late hour, when he gave me a present.


So I forgave him for knocking on my door at 12:30 because he gave me this glittered luchador on a wood block, which I consider high art, purchased from a DF tianguis.  And you know LA Naca loves a good tianguis.

That being said, I don't forgive him for calling me at 2:30am asking if I knew of any available prostitutes.

True story.

Hasta mañana.

Fashion Fridays, III

Well, here it is. My third post about naco fashions. Since this is clearly a longstanding tradition, I thought it high time to stir the pot. Today, I bring you a customizable naco design available at Zazzle.

For the record, I didn't create the assortment of nacowear available online. I just wholeheartedly support it all.


By the way, I would never say that I'm not naco, but I do love the idea of being culturally folkloric. But the more I think about it, when I think of Mexican culture and folklore, I think of big colorful dresses and mariachis. That being said, here's real LA Naca mariachiwear at it's finest.


Y eso que ni soy de Jalisco.

Hasta mañana.

Puerco y Paletas

I love Big Sticks.

I love Sidewalk Sundaes.

I love paletas de cajeta.

I love raspados.

I pretty much love every type of áhiscrin available from the paletero that walks up and down my block.

The only thing I don't love that he sells are those stupid chicharrones made of flour and shaped like wheels. Call me creysi, but I like pork products. They're amazing. Tocino, carnitas, chuletas, costillitas, chicharrones. I love it all. Pork rinds are the only chicharrones that simultaneously melt on your tongue and cut up the roof of your mouth. It's a modern Mexican marvel.

Speaking of men bringing me food...I was in the K-town barrio of NacoLAndia recently, when this beauty, the West Coast Ice Cream truck, driven by a pelón, stopped in front of me, where it just begged to be photographed.

I mean, come on. Apart from the West Side Locos tagging on my local 7-Eleven walls, that's got to be the most impressive use of spray paint and ghetto art skills I've seen in a long time. Además, me quedé con las ganas de un paletón.

As with every subject, I have a story. Here's my ice cream story.

On a family trip to the motherland in our combi, I must have been about 5 years old, my grandpa pulled over and got out to buy the van full of grandkids and assorted relatives some ice cream. My favorite to this day is agua de limón. I remember sitting in the backwards facing seat, swinging my legs with excitement as I was handed a single scoop of electric green helado in a little plastic cup and a tiny white plastic spoon. I was about two or three delicious baby spoonfuls in when the unthinkable happened.

A. FLY. LANDED. ON. MY. ICE. CREAM.

Well, you can guess what happened next. I threw my head back, pigtails swirling back and forth across my face as I proceeded to scream at the top of my lungs like the exagerada that I am to this day. Fearing the dreaded fly, I tossed my ice cream cup into the air, where it then flipped upside down and landed directly on Tia Bertha's big toe. Then SHE started screaming! It's not MY fault she was wearing open-toed chanclas! It was supposed to be a good day, but that mentada mosca had to ruin my ice cream AND made the entire family mad at me for causing a scene and wasting food.

I think of that story every time I have agua de limón helado, which is not as often as I would like. It's not that it's not easy to come by in NacoLAndia as it is in the motherland, but rather, I'm still scarred from that day.

That's why I always keep bolis in my freezer. I wouldn't be LA Naca if I didn't. It's not the same as an helado, but it'll do.

Hasta mañana.

El Mejor Vino Es El Tequila

I'm not an alcoholic. I just drink a lot.

My drink of choice: Tequila.

Fact: nacos have a tendency of calling tequila vino. I really don't know why. We know it's not actually wine, don't we? Besides, nacos are not a wine drinking people, outside of misa. It's a mystery.

Anyway, back to tequila. Añejo, reposado, blanco--lo que sea. I love it all. Straight up. Like the Paula Abdul song with all the tap dancing, but better.

However, I hate tequila with salt.

And get this. I REALLY hate tequila with salt and limes.

I'm also not a big fan of frou-frou drinks like Midori Sour or Sex on the Beach (unless it's the real deal). They get you fat, not drunk.

So, cantineros del mundo, listen well: LA Naca doesn't want any vegetation or umbrellas floating in them dranks. Me oyen? Keep those orange slices out of my beer. Don't float a cherry in my cosmo because I'm a naca and would never order such a gabacho drink. And like I said, no lemons or limes or citrus of any kind with my tequilita shots. I go to bars to drink, not eat.

Now, as for being an odiadora la exploradora del tequila con sal y limón, that's not to say that I don't love salt and limes. I do! I just happen to love tequila on it's own so much more. In fact, I keep lemon-lime flavored salt with me at all times. It's called Lucas Salt and it's the most naco seasoning ever. And I love it.


Nacos all across the world look at this product and think, "Damn, that's what I'm talking about!" But since we're nacos, we say, "Ay caray! Pos mira no más!"

I have so many childhood memories of running out into the street to greet La Cucaracha, the roach coach, as it would roll by our street. You knew it was in the neighborhood when you heard the carhorn play the first five notes of it's namesake. Little nacos came out of the woodwork to buy these or any of the other fine Lucas products. (I'll discuss other favorites in the future. One at a time.) We would just lick a spot on our hands, pour Lucas Salt on it and repeat until hypertension set in.


As I look at my little green bottle, I wonder to myself... What does "Sprinkle at 2% on snacks" mean?

Lastly, I found this instructional clip that proves once and for all that tequila can solve all your problems.

OK, that might have been a stretch, but I still love that scene.

Off to throw back several shots of vino.

Hasta mañana.

La Novela Más Naca

I hate novelas.

Or at least that's what I tell people, including myself. But the truth is, I love some of them and can't stand most. The same applies to people.

Today's post is about the most pocha novela of them all: Ugly Betty.

Betty Suarez is ALLEGEDLY a first generation Mexican-American living in Queens with her retired father, her hairstylist sister and her teen nephew. She's going on her fourth year working at a fashion magazine, and as of this season, the biggest chisme is that she's outgrown her bangs, updated her glasses and taken a weedwhacker to her eyebrows.

Here's the cast lowdown.

• el papá es cubano
• la hermana es boricua/irlandesa
• el sobrino es boricua/italiano
• la mentada Betty es hondureña/pocha

Ninguno de esos burros son Mexicanos! But whatevs. That's not my beef. What really gets my goat is that two seasons ago, they all had to go to Guadalajara because Betty's dad was deported, and they all went there to save him or some babosadas like that.

I thought that ABC had decided to do the old stand-by sitcom revival plot of actually taking the family to Disney World like in Growing Pains or to Hawaii like in Full House. Or maybe have them spend the summer at the Malibu Sands Beach Club like in Saved by the Bell. But man was I wrong.

You know how they portrayed the second largest city in the greatest country in the world? As a pinche desierto. Dirt roads, chickens and nopales everywhere... It looked like Frontierland, but without the strollers. Now, while the rest of Jalisco might look like that, Guadalajara is a huge metropolitan city! (It's ALMOST as beautiful as NacoLAndia, but it's not oceanside, which is where we win.) It made me so disheartened to see my favorite jarocha con mucha pechonalidad Salma Hayek, the Executive Producer, give her approval to portray the city like such a cliché of a Mexican village.

I shake my head in sadness. And then I shake my head in sadness again because I love to watch every episode of Ugly Betty on Hulu and I not-so-secretly want her pinche poncho.

That's right. After all that badmouthing, I love that damned show, despite its fraudulence.

That being said, I really think my main reason for loving it so much is because I miss watching La Fea Más Bella. THAT show was the jam! That show reunited families like no other! Nacos from all over were sitting down with their friends, cousins, moms, siblings, spouses and most importantly, con sus abuelas to watch that masterpiece of a show.

Hasta mis tias se apuraban a rezar el rosario durante las posadas pa' prender la tele después de darles el bienvenido a los peregrinos y durante los comerciales compartían la canasta de naranjas y cacahuates. Oye, de veras, no miento.

Oh, 2006, how I miss you. I also loved Betty la Fea, but that'll be a different post altogether. I could say that Angélica Vale's hairy upper lip steals the show. I could also say that it doesn't get any better than having José José and Angélica María play the parents. But let's keep it real. I have two words for you:

Don Fernando.

Jaime.
Pinche.
Camil.

LA Naca still babas over that sexy egipcio-chilango. Ese guey es tan chulo! Y sabes que? I would dance this banda with him anytime.

It could happen! You never know!

So, in honor of Ugly Lety, I give you these highlights from LA Naca's most beloved novela.

Hasta mañana.

Las Mañanitas

In honor of LA Doctora's treinta, I dedicate this jam to her, porque la quiero un chingo.



Although, I really should've dedicated this jam instead, since I know it's her favorite.

Apio verde.

Te debo tus nalgadas.

Hasta mañana.

Fashion Fridays, II

Andre Ethier Martinez: the world's most perfect man. Nevermind the fact that he speaks Spanish like the Phoenix pocho that he is. I don't care. He's beautiful and talented and he loves pozole and he's catholic. Nada más importa.

Today's Fashion Friday entry will be in honor of Andresito and Matt Kemp winning the Silver Slugger Awards, but also of Kemp and Orlando Hudson, lucky #13, winning the Golden Glove Awards the day before. It's a good week to be Matt Kemp. He's a beautiful man, too. I'm not gonna lie. But since he's not half yaqui naco, my heart won't stray.

Congratulations, all you sexy men, for your well deserved awards. I got another award to give you if you'd like. Just let me know.

ARRIBA LOS DOYERS, CABRONES!

And lastly, in addition to yesterday's reference to el gran maestro Art Laboe, LA Doctora forwarded me this article on him in the NacoLAndia Times from earlier this week.

Hasta mañana.

¿Por Qué Tengo Tanto Pegue Con Los Pelones?

LA Naca hearts pelones and pelones heart LA Naca. It's true. Don't get me wrong, I would never buy apparel from PepBoys (porque solamente compro ropa de Los Callejones), but, I'd be lying if I said I didn't own a pair of Dickies overalls purchased at Costco in 1997.

I also can scan a club and tell you EXACTLY which Shar Pei-necked pelon is gonna come ask me to dance at some point in the evening. Sometimes, it's a gift, but oftentimes, it's a curse.

Here is an example of two very handsome men enjoying a day at the beach. Are they in swim trunks? No. Are they in Speedos? Gracias a Dios que no. Are they even wearing chanclas?? NO! Why not? Because they're pelones. Whether they're at the beach, your sister's church wedding, or at Whittier Narrows having a carne asada, they sport bald heads, long socks and my favorite...capris.

(photo courtesy of flickr search)

There's just something about cholo culture that is so intriguing and nostalgic to me, and that's without even being a member of the Raider Nation or 18th Street. Por ejemplo, I just saw a sky blue ext/white int '64 Impala riding past, and it made me miss the days when I used to roll in '62 Impalas and '75 Caprices all throughout NacoLAndia while listening to the baby-making music known as Art Laboe's Dedicated to You Vol. 3 on the Alpine tape deck.

But, let's keep it real. I didn't own those cars. I just was lucky enough to get lucky in them. For the most part, we nacos roll on one type of vehicle: the MTA bus. Trust me when I say nacos don't have the greatest taste in cars, if we are ever lucky enough to own one.

Several years ago, I had a 13 year-old Pontiac Grand Am handed down to me. After owning it for a month, the transmission started to fail and the reverse gear was temperamental, causing me to manually push my way out of parking lots and driveways several times a day until I finally gave up and donated it for the tax write-off, which was worth more than the car. Why did I Flintstone my way out of parking lots for 2 years? Por NACA.

But I'm not the only one. Oh, no. Cars painted with just primer: nacos. Cars with multi-colored doors from different types of cars: nacos. Any (barely) working Datsuns, Yugos or Chevettes: nacos. Cars covered in La Selección stickers: nacos. Trocas with Durango license plates: nacos.

And then one day, I saw the ultimate, most nacorrific vehicle I'd ever seen in my life. This is the spitting image of Tio Roge's car that he owned back when he was a coyote--I mean--when he worked at a printing press.


Though slightly blurry, you can still clearly make out that it is a troca with a camper shell. The tailgate was removed/fell off and replaced with a piece of plywood. If that wasn't cool enough, I guess the owner decided to spray paint the car's make across the back of the vehicle, in case there was any question as to which manufacturer was responsible for this catastrophic carcancha rollin' east down 6th.

Behold its glory.

Off to dream of good times had in '82 Caddies, again.

Hasta mañana.

Paso Las Horas Vaciando Botellas...¿Y Que?

Sometimes, the only answer is alcohol. And by sometimes, I mean most times. But some people (i.e. mi jefa) frown upon drinking while on the job.

So, I guess I'll just dream about 6pm and the never-ending supply of tequila I keep on hand in my car. You think I'm kidding. But I wouldn't be LA Naca if I didn't keep a business going out of my car's trunk.

What business could I possibly be running, you ask? Am I selling chafa G'n'R t-shirts? Pirata DVDs and CDs? Plastic jackets? No. My business is called La Cajuela Cantina. I think that answers any and all questions.

My business is small, but it's been around for years. You have two options: chelas o palomas.

Chelas available are usually either Negra Modelo, Pacifico, Tecate or Corona. Those are the only ones I drink, so those are the only ones I supply. No tomo milerlái ni bóguaiser, so don't ask.

Then there's the other drink of choice.

The paloma.

La bebida de los dioses.

I'm thoroughly convinced it was created by my ancestors, los Chichimecas, the original nacos.

If you look it up online, gabachos will claim this is the recipe:

• Ice
• 2 ounces blanco or silver tequila
• 3 ounces freshly squeezed white grapefruit juice
• 1/2 ounce freshly squeezed lime juice
• 1/2 ounce agave nectar
• Sea salt, to rim the glass
• 1 lime wheel, for garnish
• Club soda

No mames! That's too much crap to stock up on at home, let alone carry around in the trunk of your car.

Here's what you really need:

• 1 1.75-litro bottle of Corralejo Tequila Reposado (also known as my Big Blue Bottle)
• 1 bag of ice
• a sleeve of red dixie cups
• 1 or 2 2-litros of Escuert

Optional if you have them readily available:

• un chingo de limones
• una navaja pa' cortar los limones

Final product looks like this (ignore the cheap crap surrounding it):

(Photo courtesy of Google Image Search as my own palomas pictures are surprisingly blurry.)

If that doesn't make you wish for Happy Hour to come sooner, you're dead on the inside.

Feliz Día de Joroba!

Hasta mañana.

Los Escalantes Son Excelentes

Are you legally in this country? Do you have a need for tetracycline? Do you love dressing like circa 1993 Selena? Well, then I have a got a place for you! It's called Alvarado Street and it runs through the heart of NacoLAndia.

I have a love-hate relationship with Alvarado. There is so much to see (trannies) and experience (drogas), and they have great bargains (papeles por 50 pesos), but the traffic makes it practically unbearable. That being said, it's the best way to get to Dodger Stadium from my little patch of Section 8.

This is what welcomes you at the Swap Meet on the corner of Wilshire and Alvarado.



Do not try to adjust your monitor; what you are looking at is real. It is a mural of the legendary Garfield High School math profe, Jaime Escalante, being hugged by EJO dressed as him from the movie Stand and Deliver.

FYI, the real Escalante isn't Mexican, but since he was played by one, we'll allow it on this blog. (Also, don't read the wiki entry unless you want to be depressed.)

And now I have a need to watch Lou Diamond Phillips play a Mexican. Should I go for Angel, the Einestein cholo, Ritchie, the cantante pocho, or Chavez, the indio vaquero? Holy crap. This reads like a list of my exes.

"Did you know that neither the Greeks nor the Romans were capable of using the concept of zero? It was your ancestors, the Mayans, who first contemplated the zero. The absence of value. True story. You burros have math in your blood."

That's deep, EJO, that's deep.

Hasta mañana.

Mi Amigo Me Dió Chorro

My frenemy, Naco Libre, submitted this artwork to go along with today's post. Please enjoy.


I'm not saying I'm putting it up on Threadless any time soon, but if I were, I'd use his tagline for the back:

"Fueron al Chorro y no más esta pinche camisa me trajieron."

OK, for reals this time.

Hasta mañana.

The Runs Regional Park

I'd like to meet the man or woman who named this park and shake their hand.

CMC de la risa.

Thank you San Luis Obispo for providing unintentional giggles to every naco passerby.

Hasta mañana.

¿Conoces el camino a San José?

Aquí ando. Peda en San Pepe.

I left NacoLAndia with LA Doctora Chicana this morning at 6am and drove up the coast. Primero, nos fuimos a misa en Santa Ynez. Después, nos fuimos a misa en Monterey. We also took a field trip to my favorite spot: the men's colony in San Luis Obispo. Tu sabes. Then we came to San Jose, picked up LA Abogada Chicana and headed up to San Pancho to celebrate the end of our long journey y a cantarle sapo verde a LA Doctora Chicana en la colonia de los nacos: La Mision.

Hablando de mi viaje... Ira no mas que maleta tan chida. No se me pongan celosos.

Now that I'm using my old market bag as a suitcase, I don't know what to do with all these cardboard boxes I've been saving for my next trip to Morelia. Si los quieres, pos son tuyos.

Bueno puesn, I've had one too many Tecate caguamas. Time to go mimis.

Hasta mañana.

Fashion Fridays, I

I'm leaving NacoLAndia.

FOREVER.

Yust yoking! It's just for the weekend. I'd say where I'm going but it's a surprise to LA Doctora Chicana for her treintañera.

Anyway...

Bienvenidos al primer Fashion Friday, donde tú haces el fashion!

Today's haute couture are in celebration of this week's very sacred and very Mexi holiday, Dia de los Muertos. As chúntaro as I am, I don't appreciate painting my face with that nasty black and white grease paint, but I do appreciate sugar skulls.



These sexy rhinestone-encrusted calavera slip-ons are from the very paisa Eskechers outlet in Orange County.

*Cuffed jeans thanks to Morrissey's influence on me and my people.




But what's a cute pair of shoes without a matching purse?

Here it is, bishes. This purse is from Dragonfly Clothing Co., but I found it at Aahs while I was looking for Strawberry Shortcake lipgloss. Initially, I bought it for LA Abogada Chicana to use for tianguis shopping, but I loved it so much, I bought one for myself.

*Altars and marigolds sold separately.





For more examples of nacos with a keen sense of style and smooth moves, check out this amazing tutorial.



If that didn't inspire a cemetery picnic, I don't know what will. Thanks again to LA Messicana for her earlier post of this awesomeness.

Hasta mañana*.

*Subject to internet availability on the road.

Orale vs. O Sea

Remember when I started my blog? Yeah, that was cool. I'm already reminiscing. Speaking of reminiscing, pull up a chair. I got a story to tell you, and my stories usually don't have a point and can go on forever.

In 1985, my cousin Jorgito came from DF to stay with us for a year. I was in 3rd grade and he was in 5th. Despite the fact that he is and was a Yankees fan, we did everything together. He taught me how to skateboard and I taught him English. While I suck at skateboarding to this day, his English is still excellent. So, Jorge, you're welcome. Anyway, one of the other awesome things George taught me was DF slang. The term that has influenced me the most is the ultimate compliment of them all: NACO.

We are a diverse people, we Mexicans. Everywhere, nicknames are used to distinguish everything from your family to your neighborhood to your physical downfalls. We insist upon calling you something other than what's on your birth certificate. In my family, we got a Feo, Fuchi, Chato, Trucha, Prieta and Seño. And that's just in one bedroom. Hell, my grandparents had a friend in our small nacolonial village whose name is El Mexicano. That man is 85 years old and none of my family or neighbors know his God-given name. If this sounds all too familiar, chances are you got a cousin Pecos whose real name you don't actually know, either.

But I digress. My two favorite apodos for Mexicans are nacos and their counterparts, fresas.

Here's what nacos and fresas mean to me (and wikipedia):
Naco (fmn. naca) is a pejorative word often used in Mexican Spanish to describe bad-mannered and poorly educated people. Recently, however, the word has been reclaimed by Mexican hipsters, particularly in Mexico City and in other places where the word has been popularized in fashions. A naco is usually associated with lower socio-economic classes, but could also sometimes include the nouveau-riche.


My favorite naco. (Photo courtesy of google image search.)


Fresa (which is Spanish for strawberry) is a slang term often used in Mexico for a cultural stereotype of superficiality to youngsters of whom many come from a high class and educated family.

I wouldn't have thought to use the term pejorative for naco. Also, I would've described the fresa men as heteros in gays clothing. You don't even want to know how I'd describe the chicks. So thanks, wiki!

My favorite!! Fresas! (Photo courtesy of my frenemy Naco Libre.)


When a NAcido COrriente buys a Chivas jersey, un hijo de papi buys a Chanel murse.

If a naco dreams of Cartablanca, a fresa dreams of Cartier.

My favorite difference between these two social classes, hands down, is the speech. For an excellent example of these subcultures side-by-side, please watch this video made by my boyfriend Victor Hernández.




Alright, well, I think these were enough babosadas for one day.

Hasta mañana.

Bienvenidos

NacoLAndia: this is my town.

My name is LA Naca and I'll be your hostess this evening.

I'd like to start this off with something really dramatic, like, "In a world..." so here's my attempt.

Ahem.

Before Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson...

Before Tony and Maria...

there was Romeo and Juliet.

But before all them bitches, there was Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl....

And they loved the Dodgers.

And so do I...

And I'm spent. That's about as dramatic and html-intensive as my first day on the job can get.

So...you're welcome.

Come back soon and let's see where this blog leads us.

Watch your step.

Hasta mañana.