Cafe Instantaneo

We got the ropa-dope today. Padre Andres was a no-show. An old fellow was shipped down from Los Angeles, California to give mass today. Apparently, Padre Andres had to do a gig in Queretero this weekend. He made a liar out of me. When mass started and a guy older than the Pope (the Dead One) walked up to the alter, Ink looked at me like I made the whole Padre Andres-and -guitars-and-maracas-and-jokes-in-the-sermon-and-walking-around like-a-game-show- host-story up. Maybe next week Padre Andres will right this wrong and actually show up like he´s paid to do. Enough. If you want to tour, join a rock band, Padre. I gotta face the family. Clerics.

Let´s move on.

We bought a coffee maker. In yet another cultural irony, we find that Mexicans do not generally drink brewed coffee. No, you ask for water for coffee (or milk for coffee if its breakfast time). They bring you a cup of hot water, a spoon, and a jar of instant coffee. I´m not kidding. The coffee aisle in El Supermercado Gigante should be called the Instant Coffee Aisle, ´cause there are dozens of varieties and sizes of instant coffee, but maybe a bag or two of ground coffee. I tried for the few weeks I was alone here, drinking this Imposter of Moca, but Ink won´t have anything to do with it, and I support her. Its just wrong. We´re going to change this country one cup of coffee at of time. Today we bought a coffee maker. !Viva Mexico!

Talea and I watched Elmo this morning. He is still a heck of a little furry guy in Spanish. His character translates well.
You know what´s wierd to watch in Spanish? Liberty Kids. George Washington comes off sinister when he talks Spanish. And ol´man Franklin is just plain corrupt-sounding in Castillian. The show isn´t as patriotic in a foreign language. Los Chavos de la Libertad. Hmmm...

The weather? Same. Mild, sunny, with sprinkles in the afternoon. Don´t ask unless you want to hear that again, and again, and again. We live near a desert, folks, surrounded by mountains. Think Arizona.

Happy belated birthday Aunt Talea.

Los quiero,

Pepino Suave