You wouldn't know it for the looks alone, but there's two layers of fine dust deposited on the riding metal. First, there's the offering of the volcano, abrasive, harsh, firmly determined, recently cooled ; then atop there's the offering of the ocean, dissimulating, fine, overwhelmingly enveloping, readily airborne. They'll both get washed off jointly, together, in the same water, by naked dollies on high heels if I so feel like, or any other way I please ; but yet, for now, a captured light of a meanwhile disappearing star there they sit, and lord it all : two dusts, of dusk and dawn disconsolate.
We went to Poasi and bought all their strawberriesii. The day before we had bought all the coconuts down by the beach, and yesterday we bought all the French wine in town. I intend to continue the buy all spree for the forseable future -- and if my activity contributes to your not having nice things, well... all the fucking better, I say! Because fuck you, that's why!
I've seen the funniest thing at some point in Europe : on the tiny balcony of an economy flat in an economy building somewhere in a regrettable ruin of what once had perhaps been a country, a very sad dog sat dejectedly next to a very large atrocity in garish plastic, pointedly eating up most of the available space. It looked like it had been meant to be a dog house, though the dog very evidently didn't think so at all ; it further looked like it had been the "sacrifice" some schmuck inside had made in token for "his love" of the dog, perhaps at odds with his "his love" of something else. That dog'd better be grateful for such sacrificin', feel me, fam ?
The dog, needless to say, was neither grateful nor to any degree impressed by the impossible insanity of his "owner" ; because the dog wants the following thing, out of a dog fun zone : a fucking pile. A pile, that he can climb atop of. That's what a dog wants. You may add some flowers in the distance if you're going for the dogzone Olympics, he won't begrudge you the attempt.
Here in Costa Rica dogs have the best possible life dogs could ever have, because the people aren't smart enough to be irretrievably stupid.
I could, at this juncture, recount the story of the old, well beaten up yet remarkably upbeat hooker who will doubtless long remember me, like a myst, like a wonder, like a miracle from afar. But I'm not going to, principally because... guess what : the lives of women are ahistorical.
The (as far as I know only, in any case principal) importer of fine things in this country calls itself French Paradox, for some reason. They've one counter left (a coupla locations meanwhile closed) manned by one girly who had the intelligence to understand her placeiii in the world : when she offered the ubiquitous mascarillas I told her to mind her own business, which she proceeded to, forthwith. It's true that I had to bark it at her, as it didn't carry on the first pass ; but this is still substantially better showing than say the people at La Paz Waterfall and Peace Lodge Gardens, who had to (apologetically, but nevertheless) refund their evidently only cien income for the day upon their inability to adjust their mask-wearing policies (in the sense of, throwing any and all such nonsense out). How they intend to stay in business following "the government" for signal instead of me is anyone's guess ; but then again time has a way of solving these problems on the quiet ; and always has.
Meanwhile I've still not worn the plebeian trappings yetiv ; nor will I. More importantly -- nor do I patronize places that fail to bend to my will in this (as any other) matter. It's a very simple "either corruption or starvation -- pick one" dilemma I am enjoyably forcing upon the world, and have ; and forever will. It's working admirably well for me so far (like it always has) ; but I suppose giving thanks where thanks are due I must admit the marauding idiots are really doing all they can to make my job easy, my victories resounding yet easily purchased... it's like bringing butter to a knife fight, seriously now. Thanks, morons!
Meat on the hook : short & long pig arrayed for my sampling pleasure.
The best friends, having the best time any best friends could ever have!
Aforementioned girly, sweating profusely if discretely, spent a good fifteen minutes slicing (very thinly!) prime pastrami while feeding us treats to keep us from getting bored (she didn't want one herself, "she has the mask on, see"). The result, immortalized here because I suspect it might've been the first one she's ever made.
In the end, what are we even doing here, besides giving unexpectant girlies first time swirlies ? Hm ?
- One of the three main volcanoes here. [↩]
- Costa Rica being a major producer of all sorts and manner of best-in-the-world agricultural jewels, it naturally merits something quite akin the French DOC ; nevertheless being a relatively young country populated by loving but unsophisticated folk, it didn't naturally evolve the notion just yet (and being on the list of designated victims, the pantsuits haven't force-exported the concept "yet", of course, of course). Still, something quite in that vein is slowly developping in its own time, in its own way : there's no way to express in the common vulgate that indeed the beach coconuts we get are by a credible margin the best coconuts (in this country whose worst coconuts are still miles better than anything your local frufru hipster fooderia offers), but there's coinages like say "cafe pura de altura" denoting the (locally) self-obvious concept that the only coffee worth drinking's grown above rather than below ; and even Fresas de Poas, which is what we're talking about.
They're pretty good ; though honestly I prefer the original, meanwhile defunct Capsuni de Satu-Mare. [↩]
- Perhaps more precisely said, the place of her ethical system, the totality of her notions on what other people should be doing.
Do you find there's anything more profoundly insulting to the pantsuit worldview than the plain and firm statement of the fundamental, irreparable irrelevancy of their ethical considerations ? I know of no surer solvent of the head cockroaches they carry through the world at their own expense besides the repeated, unadorned, forceful confrontation of the simple fact that "no, meat, your shoulds have no power whatsoever". [↩]
- In furtherance of the previously stated universal challenge : you are eating in restaurants, trading in shops, etcetera etcetera in outright defiance of the nanny state's notion as to how you should be dressed for it, openly, vocally and pointedly. Just like me. Yes ?