going to cuzco tomorrow, then machu pichu. so i´ll be out of range for 5 days... give or take.
saving the llamas,
T
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Hernan Drives a Mercedes Benz Part 2
so writing down my journeys in a smooth chronology is not currently working. instead, i have bullet points from my notebook:
1. Street dogs are better behaved in Putre than in Arica
2. I went for a long walk around a lagoon near Parinacota and, straying slightly from the path, was told by some local birds to please retreat. I was pretty sure I was about to suffer a big pecking
3. What am I supposed to do if I come across a puma?
4. Today I got a little grumpy over paying 3,000 pesos for a bus. So did Marce. It´s $6, I should really put it in perspective. Aparently some gringo were recently charged 5 times that price for the same bus. Note: two of the most important words in Spanish when travelling are caro (expensive) and barato(cheap). mention a little bit of bastante caro (too expensive) and get haggling!
5. On our last evening in Putre, quite by chance we met a fascinating man named Rosamel - the first guy that I´ve met in Chile that I could definitely say was, most likely, probably, gay. In 1973 (the year of Pinochet´s coup) Rosamel´s father was killed by the junta for his leftist politics. Rosamel´s family, based in Marce´s hometown of Rancagua, were and are reasonably well known and Rosamel, sympathetic to his father´s cause, was sent (along with 70 other potentially leftist people) to the remote altiplano town of Putre. By our calculations he would have been between 16 and 20 years old. Pinochet did not always kill people, sometimes he just exiled them.
When the junta was over many years later, everyone of the 70 exiles in Putre returned to their hometowns, with the exception of Rosamel. He stayed and started Resaurant Rosamel (good consomme, excellent pollo and aroce), as well as becoming a local tour guide. We owe Rosamel a lot for his travel advice, and his recommendation of a town in Bolivia, near La Paz, called Coioco. Apparently very cheap and very few gringos.
6. If you see a puma, stare him in the eyes and don´t move. You basically have to put on your best staunch Dr Dre face and want for that big guy to back down (and, potentially, think you´re a tree).
7. After Putre we met a run of helpful local folk, all of them Aymara - Maximo, Alberta and Señora Francisca. Maximo sells llama and alpaca wool clothes and rugs in front of the CONAF (local forestry admin) on Lago Chungara. We were told you cannot travel to these places by ourselves, that we must use a tour company, but this is completely silly. You just catch a bus through the park, get off where you want and ask around for a place to stay. These altiplano pueblos are used to putting up spare backpackers and, as long as you speak some Spanish and are friendly and generous with your (attempted) conversation, it´s a great way to see the park.
Anyway, back to Maximo (who was, of course, very Minimo sized). He did beautiful work, learning the uniue weaving techniques of the Aymara off his mother-in-law. before his little table next to the CONAF, Maximo worked at the casino in the nearby bustling Arica. one day, on a trip into the altiplano (he is Aymara, but never lived in the altiplano) he met his wife-to-be and his whole life changed. He was going to show us his house and workshop but then agreed to give two lobster-coloured Belgians (who were there to climb the active volcano, about 6500+ metres, but had to cancel their plans fro ´health reasons´) a ride to Parinacota, which was also our destination for the night so we tagged along. It was on the last turn in Parinacota that the urge to spew arrived. Maximo charged the Belgians 4 times us much for the lift to Parinacota. Learn Spanish gringos! oh yeah, i saw some flamingos too.
8. I have a bright green alpaca hoodie. it has little alpacas on it.
9. I flagged down Hernan. we had walked the 4kms from Parinacota to Ruta 11 in an hour (at altitude, with packs, this feels like a lot longer), seeing some cool local fauna (it´s like a giant rabbit, mixed with a possum). when we got to Ruta 11 we thought it was probably better for Marce to attempt to flag down trucks or buses, seeing as I am clearly a gringo and she is clearly latin (though no Chileans think, at first, that she is Chilean). Marce attempted to wave down 4 trucks before she said I should have a go. No, I said, fearing rejection (ha). A large double-trailer big rig crested the hill and, experimentally, I stuck out my thumb and, miraculously, Hernan stopped! More on Hernan next time...
10. On our night in Parinacota, I got very paranoid because of mild dehydration. For about 3 agonising hours I hallucinated about giant bottles of cold water arriving at our door. Wide-smiling friends delivering them, half-strange half-recollected faces denying me as I imagined crawling from door to door, each of them lying to me that they had no water, each of them being cursed to their graves by my dry mouth. Finally at 2:40 am I ventured outside with my empty bottle for a tap. The tempurature drops dramatically in the altiplano, so I put on most of my clothes - polyprop underwear, jeans, alpaca hoodie, two pairs of socks, wind-proof jacket, wooly hat - and went out into the moonlit pueblo. Being paranoid, I thought I might be ravaged by one of the wolf-dogs I had seen earlier.
I found one tap that had seemingly just deposited a stream of water that ran all the way to the town square. It was now dry. Eventually I found the town bathroom (100 pesos per use please) and filled up my bottle from the tap. I went back to our room and boiled the water. 400mls of hot metalic water at 3:15am and I was all fine, paranoia gone.
The next morning Señora Francisca, whose house (not really a house, as you would imagine it) we were staying in said that the town water came from a local river and was co`mpletely clean. If she had told me that at 2:40am, I would have probably taken her for a spy sent by foreign agents... a very small, red-skinned spy in a lovely silk jacket embroidered with roses... but a spy nonetheless.
11. Most of the truckers on Ruta 11 drive Volvos. Hernan prefers his Mercedes-Benz.
next time - more on Arica, Peru and Ruta 11
1. Street dogs are better behaved in Putre than in Arica
2. I went for a long walk around a lagoon near Parinacota and, straying slightly from the path, was told by some local birds to please retreat. I was pretty sure I was about to suffer a big pecking
3. What am I supposed to do if I come across a puma?
4. Today I got a little grumpy over paying 3,000 pesos for a bus. So did Marce. It´s $6, I should really put it in perspective. Aparently some gringo were recently charged 5 times that price for the same bus. Note: two of the most important words in Spanish when travelling are caro (expensive) and barato(cheap). mention a little bit of bastante caro (too expensive) and get haggling!
5. On our last evening in Putre, quite by chance we met a fascinating man named Rosamel - the first guy that I´ve met in Chile that I could definitely say was, most likely, probably, gay. In 1973 (the year of Pinochet´s coup) Rosamel´s father was killed by the junta for his leftist politics. Rosamel´s family, based in Marce´s hometown of Rancagua, were and are reasonably well known and Rosamel, sympathetic to his father´s cause, was sent (along with 70 other potentially leftist people) to the remote altiplano town of Putre. By our calculations he would have been between 16 and 20 years old. Pinochet did not always kill people, sometimes he just exiled them.
When the junta was over many years later, everyone of the 70 exiles in Putre returned to their hometowns, with the exception of Rosamel. He stayed and started Resaurant Rosamel (good consomme, excellent pollo and aroce), as well as becoming a local tour guide. We owe Rosamel a lot for his travel advice, and his recommendation of a town in Bolivia, near La Paz, called Coioco. Apparently very cheap and very few gringos.
6. If you see a puma, stare him in the eyes and don´t move. You basically have to put on your best staunch Dr Dre face and want for that big guy to back down (and, potentially, think you´re a tree).
7. After Putre we met a run of helpful local folk, all of them Aymara - Maximo, Alberta and Señora Francisca. Maximo sells llama and alpaca wool clothes and rugs in front of the CONAF (local forestry admin) on Lago Chungara. We were told you cannot travel to these places by ourselves, that we must use a tour company, but this is completely silly. You just catch a bus through the park, get off where you want and ask around for a place to stay. These altiplano pueblos are used to putting up spare backpackers and, as long as you speak some Spanish and are friendly and generous with your (attempted) conversation, it´s a great way to see the park.
Anyway, back to Maximo (who was, of course, very Minimo sized). He did beautiful work, learning the uniue weaving techniques of the Aymara off his mother-in-law. before his little table next to the CONAF, Maximo worked at the casino in the nearby bustling Arica. one day, on a trip into the altiplano (he is Aymara, but never lived in the altiplano) he met his wife-to-be and his whole life changed. He was going to show us his house and workshop but then agreed to give two lobster-coloured Belgians (who were there to climb the active volcano, about 6500+ metres, but had to cancel their plans fro ´health reasons´) a ride to Parinacota, which was also our destination for the night so we tagged along. It was on the last turn in Parinacota that the urge to spew arrived. Maximo charged the Belgians 4 times us much for the lift to Parinacota. Learn Spanish gringos! oh yeah, i saw some flamingos too.
8. I have a bright green alpaca hoodie. it has little alpacas on it.
9. I flagged down Hernan. we had walked the 4kms from Parinacota to Ruta 11 in an hour (at altitude, with packs, this feels like a lot longer), seeing some cool local fauna (it´s like a giant rabbit, mixed with a possum). when we got to Ruta 11 we thought it was probably better for Marce to attempt to flag down trucks or buses, seeing as I am clearly a gringo and she is clearly latin (though no Chileans think, at first, that she is Chilean). Marce attempted to wave down 4 trucks before she said I should have a go. No, I said, fearing rejection (ha). A large double-trailer big rig crested the hill and, experimentally, I stuck out my thumb and, miraculously, Hernan stopped! More on Hernan next time...
10. On our night in Parinacota, I got very paranoid because of mild dehydration. For about 3 agonising hours I hallucinated about giant bottles of cold water arriving at our door. Wide-smiling friends delivering them, half-strange half-recollected faces denying me as I imagined crawling from door to door, each of them lying to me that they had no water, each of them being cursed to their graves by my dry mouth. Finally at 2:40 am I ventured outside with my empty bottle for a tap. The tempurature drops dramatically in the altiplano, so I put on most of my clothes - polyprop underwear, jeans, alpaca hoodie, two pairs of socks, wind-proof jacket, wooly hat - and went out into the moonlit pueblo. Being paranoid, I thought I might be ravaged by one of the wolf-dogs I had seen earlier.
I found one tap that had seemingly just deposited a stream of water that ran all the way to the town square. It was now dry. Eventually I found the town bathroom (100 pesos per use please) and filled up my bottle from the tap. I went back to our room and boiled the water. 400mls of hot metalic water at 3:15am and I was all fine, paranoia gone.
The next morning Señora Francisca, whose house (not really a house, as you would imagine it) we were staying in said that the town water came from a local river and was co`mpletely clean. If she had told me that at 2:40am, I would have probably taken her for a spy sent by foreign agents... a very small, red-skinned spy in a lovely silk jacket embroidered with roses... but a spy nonetheless.
11. Most of the truckers on Ruta 11 drive Volvos. Hernan prefers his Mercedes-Benz.
next time - more on Arica, Peru and Ruta 11
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Hernan drives a Mercedes Benz
well I wish I could load up some photos but this is a pretty uncomplicated internet kiosk in Arica. outside schoolkids yell at each other, the occasional stray dog wanders in... suffice to say I have taken approximately 400 photos so far, most of them in the altiplano and pre-altiplano from which we have just returned. Parque Nacional Lauca, Region 1, Chile. Arica to Putre, Putre to Lago Chungara, Lago Chungara to Parinacota, Parinacota back to Arica.
to get the bus from Arica to Putre we had to get up very early and catch a taxi out of town. the place was nearly the dodgiest place I had yet set foot in my life, but the bus looked very nice. we got on and almost straight away I fell asleep, listening to the sounds to Animal Collective´s 'Feels' album (so far no other music reccomneds itself as well as this album). having just arrived back via the benevolence of Hernan the truck driver (more on that later), I am kind of glad Marce and I were both asleep. the road - known more accurately as Ruta 11 - climbs approximately 4000 metres in the space of 2 hours. not only does it go up, it does so through many precarious turns that verge on drops of a few hundred metres. according to Hernan 12 American tourists died on that road last year when their bus driver fell asleep (it happens). the road is not only remarkable for it's hieght but also for a few other features I'll probably mention later. one that springs to mind are the flower-adorned little houses that mark the roadside very frequently. they are about the size of a dog house fitted to a Jack Russell and are topped by a cross inscribed with the name of the person who died.
but anyway, first time through, i slept through all that. i was tired. very tired. there hasn't been a day yet when we haven't walked at least 3 hours, usually with luggage.
we arrived in Putre quite early and, wisely, shopped around for accomodation. there was the Pachamacha (i think), which looked far too nice for the pueblo it was situated in. Putre is essentially the gateway town to Parque Nacional Lauca, one of the top spots for getting up close with flamingos, alpacas, llamas, approximately 2,000 species of bird, and some very big volcanoes. Putre itself is not quite a pueblito, not quite a town. it has a bank, a church (built in 1670, imagine that!), a post shop, two internet cafes that were never open (really not the right name for them), and many mixed-media houses. wooden windows, mud walls, corrugated iron roof. I should also mention Putre is about 4,200 metres above sea level, meaning it is altitude sickness territory (or 'Puna' as the locals call it).
we arrived there just in time to see a rehersal for an upcoming pan-pueblo procession. a group called 'Rey Jesu' were walking up the main street and into the church, swinging clackers shaped like bibles on sticks and followed by a band on zampona and drums, most of them in baggy jeans and clearly the coolest kids in town. we followed the procession into the church and, luck us, got to hear a sermon.
funnily enough the sermon was much in line with my expectations. the altiplano and pre-altiplano, much like neighbouring Bolivia, are almost 100% Catholic, but you wouldn't know it to look at their churches. the walls are adorned with dozens of beautiful dolls, representing everyone from local patron virgins to Jesus and his Mum. in the words of Marce, the Catholics in her home town would think the whole thing positivly pagan. also, the sermon did not open with a prayer but with a short speech about how the preist had heard rumours that he had been renting out church property and keeping the proceeds. he wanted to make it clear to everyone, including us tourists, that he had only lent a few matresses to some local people in need and had not received them back. he had not sold them, so now everyone knew.
we stayed a while longer. still no prayers.
not that i'm knocking it. it was fantastic.
it was about this time, after we had chosen to stay at the cheapest joint in town (the Hostal Cali, US$6 a night, with rooms that my Lonely Planet described as being 'similar to interrogation chambers'... as if!), that Marce developed a small case of altitiude sickness. essentially local advice is that your first day in the altiplano stick to water cracker and coca tea... the change in pressure gives most people at least a little headache, and almost everyone a lot of gas. I was mostly fine, but I have to admit walking down a street 15 houses long was enough to bring on a bit of dizziness. go to the altiplano, see the sights, walk around like an old man.
uf, time to go. much much more to report. will add the stuff i skpped this time (emos everywhere! tim gets picked out at a vareity show! grocery shopping at a produce market!) and continue the story of my trip to the altiplano.
nos vemos.
T
to get the bus from Arica to Putre we had to get up very early and catch a taxi out of town. the place was nearly the dodgiest place I had yet set foot in my life, but the bus looked very nice. we got on and almost straight away I fell asleep, listening to the sounds to Animal Collective´s 'Feels' album (so far no other music reccomneds itself as well as this album). having just arrived back via the benevolence of Hernan the truck driver (more on that later), I am kind of glad Marce and I were both asleep. the road - known more accurately as Ruta 11 - climbs approximately 4000 metres in the space of 2 hours. not only does it go up, it does so through many precarious turns that verge on drops of a few hundred metres. according to Hernan 12 American tourists died on that road last year when their bus driver fell asleep (it happens). the road is not only remarkable for it's hieght but also for a few other features I'll probably mention later. one that springs to mind are the flower-adorned little houses that mark the roadside very frequently. they are about the size of a dog house fitted to a Jack Russell and are topped by a cross inscribed with the name of the person who died.
but anyway, first time through, i slept through all that. i was tired. very tired. there hasn't been a day yet when we haven't walked at least 3 hours, usually with luggage.
we arrived in Putre quite early and, wisely, shopped around for accomodation. there was the Pachamacha (i think), which looked far too nice for the pueblo it was situated in. Putre is essentially the gateway town to Parque Nacional Lauca, one of the top spots for getting up close with flamingos, alpacas, llamas, approximately 2,000 species of bird, and some very big volcanoes. Putre itself is not quite a pueblito, not quite a town. it has a bank, a church (built in 1670, imagine that!), a post shop, two internet cafes that were never open (really not the right name for them), and many mixed-media houses. wooden windows, mud walls, corrugated iron roof. I should also mention Putre is about 4,200 metres above sea level, meaning it is altitude sickness territory (or 'Puna' as the locals call it).
we arrived there just in time to see a rehersal for an upcoming pan-pueblo procession. a group called 'Rey Jesu' were walking up the main street and into the church, swinging clackers shaped like bibles on sticks and followed by a band on zampona and drums, most of them in baggy jeans and clearly the coolest kids in town. we followed the procession into the church and, luck us, got to hear a sermon.
funnily enough the sermon was much in line with my expectations. the altiplano and pre-altiplano, much like neighbouring Bolivia, are almost 100% Catholic, but you wouldn't know it to look at their churches. the walls are adorned with dozens of beautiful dolls, representing everyone from local patron virgins to Jesus and his Mum. in the words of Marce, the Catholics in her home town would think the whole thing positivly pagan. also, the sermon did not open with a prayer but with a short speech about how the preist had heard rumours that he had been renting out church property and keeping the proceeds. he wanted to make it clear to everyone, including us tourists, that he had only lent a few matresses to some local people in need and had not received them back. he had not sold them, so now everyone knew.
we stayed a while longer. still no prayers.
not that i'm knocking it. it was fantastic.
it was about this time, after we had chosen to stay at the cheapest joint in town (the Hostal Cali, US$6 a night, with rooms that my Lonely Planet described as being 'similar to interrogation chambers'... as if!), that Marce developed a small case of altitiude sickness. essentially local advice is that your first day in the altiplano stick to water cracker and coca tea... the change in pressure gives most people at least a little headache, and almost everyone a lot of gas. I was mostly fine, but I have to admit walking down a street 15 houses long was enough to bring on a bit of dizziness. go to the altiplano, see the sights, walk around like an old man.
uf, time to go. much much more to report. will add the stuff i skpped this time (emos everywhere! tim gets picked out at a vareity show! grocery shopping at a produce market!) and continue the story of my trip to the altiplano.
nos vemos.
T
Saturday, November 24, 2007
¡Arica!
Arica is the driest and most bizarre place I have yet seen with my own eyes. A town on the sea where it never rains, overlooked by a giant rock called El Morro - which i climbed this morning. Being here you understand why latin people have siesta - and most shops close at 1 then reopen from 4 to 9 - its because it is too damn hot in the middle of the day. In santiago there was a guy without legs in the middle of the plaza de armas begging in the midday sun... I think part of his plea had to do with "I am out here in the sun, thats got to be worth something".
There really are no clouds in the sky.
All is well generally. I am having a great time which I will tell you about soon - eating with Hare Krishnas, sleeping on the beach, getting sunburnt - but for now it is lunchtime.
This keyboard does not seem to have a comma button.
Love, T.
There really are no clouds in the sky.
All is well generally. I am having a great time which I will tell you about soon - eating with Hare Krishnas, sleeping on the beach, getting sunburnt - but for now it is lunchtime.
This keyboard does not seem to have a comma button.
Love, T.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
santiago day one and two
my first look at the Andes pretty much put any other mountain range to shame.
as did my first visit to a Chilean supermercado. this one was called ´Jumbo´ and had everything from tvs to liquor. I wanted to take photos of the commically sized meat, fish and beer but apparently this was not encouraged; I can imagine many tourists come acros the ´hillarious´ discontinuity between the giant food and the less-than-giant people. Let me just tell you I bought a litre of beer for $1.50, and that was an expensive bottle. mui caro! 
here I am having my dignity slowly taken away from me by a guy in the Plaza de Armas (I look very happy about it). I rocked up and thought myself a fairly okay chess player, watched a game or two and surmised that while I might lose I might also put up a decent resistance. we were about to leave when i foolishly mentioned to Marce it´d be nice to have a game. next thing i know she had a table and a player lined up... the experience was a lot like being in a car crash. not once did I make an attacking, i just fended uselessly at his asualts until I had two pawns and a King remaining...
look at the guy on the right. he is like many of the locals who wanted to see if the gringo was actually a reincarnation of Bobby Fisher.
he was not.
...trying to upload more pics but not currently working...
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
¿donde esta me bolsas?
Arriving in Santiago last night I found that while there were many unusual things present in the airport - Daddy Yankee (google him), giggling immigration officers, a very pleasant high tempurature - however my travelling companions (my bags) had not made the slickly timed transfer at Buenos Aires. They needed more than the ten minutes I got to run from one plane to another.
But nonetheless I arrived, via the Andes (photos soon), and touched down in a balmy Santiago that is, apparently, best seen at night. I forgot what a really big city is like. You drive and you drive and you drive, and you still haven´t covered half of it. It´s a lot like Singapore in that there are high fences on all the apartment buildings and doormen everywhere.
About to head off on our first walk into the city centre. Because my bags have not arrived I am having to borrow some of Rodirigo´s clothes... he´s biger than me, so I look a bit of a clown.
Clown correspondent signing out.
also - this keyboard has an ´ñ´ button! mañana!
But nonetheless I arrived, via the Andes (photos soon), and touched down in a balmy Santiago that is, apparently, best seen at night. I forgot what a really big city is like. You drive and you drive and you drive, and you still haven´t covered half of it. It´s a lot like Singapore in that there are high fences on all the apartment buildings and doormen everywhere.
About to head off on our first walk into the city centre. Because my bags have not arrived I am having to borrow some of Rodirigo´s clothes... he´s biger than me, so I look a bit of a clown.
Clown correspondent signing out.
also - this keyboard has an ´ñ´ button! mañana!
Sunday, November 18, 2007
would you rather?
what a freaking awesome weekend.
hot photos of brand new math & co, coming soon to an internet near you.
I think there are only a few of the handmade eps left. I've been listening to it on the stereo. I'm very pleased. Very.
hot photos of brand new math & co, coming soon to an internet near you.
I think there are only a few of the handmade eps left. I've been listening to it on the stereo. I'm very pleased. Very.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
only one thing at a time
I am at work today, awaiting the onslaught of my last friday in New Zealand for a while. We keep having incredibly strange people come into the shop. People like....
Jerk Number 1: "What do you mean you don't have a technical manual for stage management?"
Jerk Number 2: "This book was written by my son. I was wondering why you don't have a big pile on your table? It's had reviews in the Guardian, the Listener, the Observer... ou should be making an effort to sell it." (It's a paperback on French rugby. Have you thought there might be some relation between your son writing one of the world's most perishable books and your very long distance relationship with reality as it exists for most?)
I felt REALLY sorry for Jony when an old man insisted on asking him how book distribution and publishing works in New Zealand. We love our job, but it brings us in contact with some bizarre thoughts pouring out of assured but deluded people.
Jesus, I leave after the weekend.
Book picks of the day:
1. The Penguin Deluxe version of 'The Portable Dorothy Parker'. Dorothy Parker, with illustrations be SETH ("It's a Good Life If You don't Weaken", look it up).
2. 'The Bad Girl' by Mario Vargas Llosa. His new novel. Read his old ones. The new one has this great bit about how the narrator is in love with a girl who is beautiful and a great dancer, but she's Chilean and "everyone knows about the morality of Chilean girls." Ha.
3. 'Design Like You Give a Damn'. Sustainable architecture for the masses! Yes.
4. 'Best American Comics 2007' edited by Chris Ware. Definatley good reading. Includes not only a part of Art Spiegelman's on-going autobiography but a Gilbert Hernandez comic about a giant-mammoried heart-breaker with a lisp named Fritz.
see you tonight?
Jerk Number 1: "What do you mean you don't have a technical manual for stage management?"
Jerk Number 2: "This book was written by my son. I was wondering why you don't have a big pile on your table? It's had reviews in the Guardian, the Listener, the Observer... ou should be making an effort to sell it." (It's a paperback on French rugby. Have you thought there might be some relation between your son writing one of the world's most perishable books and your very long distance relationship with reality as it exists for most?)
I felt REALLY sorry for Jony when an old man insisted on asking him how book distribution and publishing works in New Zealand. We love our job, but it brings us in contact with some bizarre thoughts pouring out of assured but deluded people.
Jesus, I leave after the weekend.
Book picks of the day:
1. The Penguin Deluxe version of 'The Portable Dorothy Parker'. Dorothy Parker, with illustrations be SETH ("It's a Good Life If You don't Weaken", look it up).
2. 'The Bad Girl' by Mario Vargas Llosa. His new novel. Read his old ones. The new one has this great bit about how the narrator is in love with a girl who is beautiful and a great dancer, but she's Chilean and "everyone knows about the morality of Chilean girls." Ha.
3. 'Design Like You Give a Damn'. Sustainable architecture for the masses! Yes.
4. 'Best American Comics 2007' edited by Chris Ware. Definatley good reading. Includes not only a part of Art Spiegelman's on-going autobiography but a Gilbert Hernandez comic about a giant-mammoried heart-breaker with a lisp named Fritz.
see you tonight?
Friday, November 2, 2007
wanted: nigerian husband to die and leave wife US$40 million.
I was at work when i received a yellow envelope from Australia. It didn't have a paper stamp but a ink stamp, those whacky Australians.
In the envelope were three copies of Moby Morris' new zine 'No Time Wasters', a collection of the want ads he placed in Melbourne mag 'Beat' and some of the choicer replies he received.
FOR SALE: One VHS copy of Steven Seagal's Under Siege taped off TV in 1994 with the ads cut out. Minor tape wear during "cake scene". All offers considered.
WANTED: 4-6 Hours sleep, preferably on a Saturday night. Must be uninterrupted, deep and a good nights rest. Sweet dreams and wet dreams considered. Please - no day dreamers or left handed people. Call if available but don't wake me.
FREE TO A GOOD HOME. Two legged dog, one eye. One torn ear. Motley colouring. Several diseases including 'flesh eating'. Protruding ribs. Blind and friendly. Non-house trained. Constantly howls or barks. Answers to name 'Sugarbum'. Email smokevswater@gmail.com.
ask him for a copy at smokevswater@gmail.com
In the envelope were three copies of Moby Morris' new zine 'No Time Wasters', a collection of the want ads he placed in Melbourne mag 'Beat' and some of the choicer replies he received.
FOR SALE: One VHS copy of Steven Seagal's Under Siege taped off TV in 1994 with the ads cut out. Minor tape wear during "cake scene". All offers considered.
WANTED: 4-6 Hours sleep, preferably on a Saturday night. Must be uninterrupted, deep and a good nights rest. Sweet dreams and wet dreams considered. Please - no day dreamers or left handed people. Call if available but don't wake me.
FREE TO A GOOD HOME. Two legged dog, one eye. One torn ear. Motley colouring. Several diseases including 'flesh eating'. Protruding ribs. Blind and friendly. Non-house trained. Constantly howls or barks. Answers to name 'Sugarbum'. Email smokevswater@gmail.com.
ask him for a copy at smokevswater@gmail.com
Thursday, November 1, 2007
i have commandos
I have commandos, like these ones, but black.
I'd quite like to write a short history about commandos.
I think they make a good present for indy kids. There's nothing about them you can object to. They are shoe qua shoe.
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