Who says drinking doesn't pay off? John and I have been invited to an asado (grilled meat party, a barbeque basically) by this older poet fellow who holds court in a bar we frequent, said bar being the one where we were given coca leaves to chew. John spent some time time talking to a big dude of Native descent who made it very clear that he would kill anybody that fucked with us. This wasn't due to any particular awesomeness on our part, I don't think; they guy just had that spoiling for a fight glint in his eye. He also gave us a ride home, which ended with me, in full on jello-mold drunkie mcdrunkerton mode, mush-mouthing some sort of thanks and getting the exact response I deserved - "Yes. Yes. Get out of my car now." Not the first time I've heard it. Anyway, I'm excited about the asado. I'll be sure to bring the camera and regale you all with pictures of delicious grillitude.
In news less dripping with whiskey, we went to see a band called Massacre at the invitation of Moira and Agustin. Moira and Agustin: fun and awesome. Band: also fun and awesome. Thumbs up all around. No pictures to post, as I forgot my camera - that's why they call this blogging, not journalism. Nobody's tried to give me any dogs all week, though I did take a cab in which the cabbie had posted a sign for a Dobermann puppy for sale. Luckily the dog was not physically present, lest I have a Herr Waffles to add to the pile.