IN NOVEMBER, Ms. Le bron, called your humble servant to request that I pick Sonia Fonseca's computer, (another single woman in the comptrollers entourage from the Bronx) in the office at 42nd St. and Third Ave. Since I understood that I was no messenger, but an 'Information Specialist', I refused at the beginning. In the middle of the argument, wisely, I decided that not agreeing would be interpreted as insubordination by this yellow
belly bitch and went to pick up the computer.
I had to walk a couple of miles with two laptops. The intention was to leave Ms. Fonseca without her working tool. The excuse was that Pete needed it. When I inquired as to
what I was supposed to do with it, the scum bag responds that I did not matter to er. At the end of the day, I returned the computer to its owner.
The following morning, the bitch called again to inquire about the computer. I replied what is above, and this pasty fatty worm Ms. Le Bron, stated that she had not told me to do that.
Days later, the same, called Rhona Lattanzi, an auditor at her home, to do her dirty
job. Rhona told me that she would take the laptop from Pete as a favor but was not interested in getting involved in Le bron personal affairs.
This issue apparently without any relevance in the surface, has some roots. Ms. Lb,
had many hostile dialogues with Sonia Fonseca and Elba Castro, both 'special assistants to the comptroller', all three of them political appointees.
I was in the middle, and never understood. But here is another example. When Elba Castro, not a Rhodes Scholar if you ask me left the office to study for some masters degree that luckily for her was done in coop fashion, Ms. Fonseca became sort of my supervisor by sudden death.
This is the scheme of Lb to get my check signed. I would sign the time card, send it to
the 42nd St. office, have Ms. Fonseca sign it and then sended to Albany. Ms Lb was so stupid that H.Carl McCall, had to be an accessory to keep such lame, incompetent assistant, single, so close to him. After some squabble reason prevailed and things
went back to what they were. Bob Griffin the Chief Auditor would sign them and that was that..But revenge came fast. Now every request for time off would have to be faxed to Albany. Just because had some women beef with Elba Castro.
As a result of the laptop pick up mentioned earlier things started to change. Ivan Hernandez another character raised, where else? In the Bronx, who had been assigned to work with yours truly regarding press releases, refused constantly to
respond to my emails. These messages had to be sent seven days prior to any event,
however, she waited for five days to inquire if this or that had been done.
Now that I think of it. This makes no sense. Really. But is true. I have never met
such incompetent people in my life. All of them whities, negroes, and New Yorkers,
of the pr persuassion.. One anecdote will suffice. If one grows up in such a city with
so many Hebbes and their cultural, culinary influences in any direction in the many boroughs one would expect certain things to be known but no..
Check this out. We went to a famous kosher restaurant in Queens not far from the
Court. We ordered...Ivan the fool did not know kosher from tripe and after
ordering pastrami on rye, requested SWISS CHEESE... The waitress was kind enough
to define/explain to this NY City citizen, that kosher separates meat from eggs from
cheese and that is that. The end.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
ll or Part Two if not fond of Roman Numerals
I REMEMBER that while at work with CJA, or Criminal Justice Agency in Manhattan, a cuasi private/public agency into interviewing riff raff and others to leave jail without paying bail, one had to keep a record and on top
of the page one wrote the page number ...What was my surprise when discovering that fellow college graduates from mostly negro islands in the Caribbean and those from the Bronx and other counties did not now that lV
is four and so on... Jaha bilingual laugh...
BUT KEEPING our promise to provide fun info as those black and white old series as The Phampton and others here we go. If you forgot where you were go back quickly, I have not.
I remember that due to the lack of work in Manhattan, the lesbian, I mean
the Tomboy, Carmen Le Bron, called a meeting in Albany. Miss Le Bron, ,
Brian Bayfield, also a negro, Henry and others were present. When attempting to figure out the lack of work , it was claimed by the lilly and not so lilly white trailer rubbish material in Albany, that is was fear of documents getting lost in the trip from office to office.
of the page one wrote the page number ...What was my surprise when discovering that fellow college graduates from mostly negro islands in the Caribbean and those from the Bronx and other counties did not now that lV
is four and so on... Jaha bilingual laugh...
BUT KEEPING our promise to provide fun info as those black and white old series as The Phampton and others here we go. If you forgot where you were go back quickly, I have not.
I remember that due to the lack of work in Manhattan, the lesbian, I mean
the Tomboy, Carmen Le Bron, called a meeting in Albany. Miss Le Bron, ,
Brian Bayfield, also a negro, Henry and others were present. When attempting to figure out the lack of work , it was claimed by the lilly and not so lilly white trailer rubbish material in Albany, that is was fear of documents getting lost in the trip from office to office.
HANGING OUT WITH H. CARL MCCALL AND THE NEW YORK STATE COMPTROLLERS DOMAIN
THINGS WERE so so today. until the chinaman called about his refund. This caused me some anxiety, but at the end all was fine.
Jeff Resnick, the hebrew, political appointee dropped by to make his personal phone calls in our office. This bald, over fed, good for nothing,
has angered the accountants and auditors accross the hall for his habit
of listening to radio talk shows loudly. That is one reason. The other carries a lot of weight, this meat ball is making over 55 thousand bucks.
That is over ten more than CPA's and accountants in the State Comptrollers Office in Manhattan and career employees on top of that.
This fat jerk is here for political favors, or as a prize if you may. Probably collecting campaign funds for this negro Comptroller, whose wife ruined his carefully rehearsed career in banking. The wife was accused and found guilty of embezzlement. She took a couple of millions and remodeled her apartment property of HUNTERS COLLEGE or other institution in that league. The decoration was more proper for a queen than an administrator for a educational institution.
Before some fanatic of the politically correct language usage crowd, jumps, lets clarify the use of negro. In Spanish that is our word for blacks. In USA, the afrocentric fanatics coinned African American thinking not very wisely that it is a better noun for them. However fellows that I respect and
have read, such as Stanley Crouch, a jazz writer and critic, established clearly that such term 'African American' is not really useful. IT takes away from the ethnic scheme, Negros from the rest of the AMERICAN continent and erases Negroes from AFRICA. There.
Following with the original story, it is a little long. We may have to offer
it as a series...Nancy Cruz called to say hi. Our sources have informed that
Carmen Le Bron, the tom boy, another single woman in Mr. H. Carl entourage, was involved in a law suit for unjustified firing of an employee.
If you look at the spelling, the last name was reshaped to seem less hispanic. That inferiority complex that some of our prislanders show
in different fashion but not part of this story now.
THIS yellow belly CARMEN LE Bron was a lowly educated riff raff, certainly from the Bronx and part of Mr. H, personal assistants. My contact with the bitch, if I may was receiving her phone calls from ALBANY, to inquire about another single one, but with a child, ELBA CASTRO, also from the Bronx.
Miss Castro was never in the office, a practice of most political appointtes in Mr. H's domain. Since Miss Castro, (who miraculously), later became an ATTORNEY, was into free wheeling, without following Le Bron's commands the later thought that I will offer information to help
her cut the head of her Bronx constituent. The Tomboy thought that I was hiding something. The truth is that I did not know her whereabouts.
Her tone was abrasive, and in ultimatum mode generally. In those days
I was not connected to the computer system, yet, the bitch sent me emails
knowing that I would not be able to respond.
The names are not fictional. The years 1995-1996. The address 270 Broadway. As anything written here, true. Not embellished at all.
Until next. It is getting fun.
Jeff Resnick, the hebrew, political appointee dropped by to make his personal phone calls in our office. This bald, over fed, good for nothing,
has angered the accountants and auditors accross the hall for his habit
of listening to radio talk shows loudly. That is one reason. The other carries a lot of weight, this meat ball is making over 55 thousand bucks.
That is over ten more than CPA's and accountants in the State Comptrollers Office in Manhattan and career employees on top of that.
This fat jerk is here for political favors, or as a prize if you may. Probably collecting campaign funds for this negro Comptroller, whose wife ruined his carefully rehearsed career in banking. The wife was accused and found guilty of embezzlement. She took a couple of millions and remodeled her apartment property of HUNTERS COLLEGE or other institution in that league. The decoration was more proper for a queen than an administrator for a educational institution.
Before some fanatic of the politically correct language usage crowd, jumps, lets clarify the use of negro. In Spanish that is our word for blacks. In USA, the afrocentric fanatics coinned African American thinking not very wisely that it is a better noun for them. However fellows that I respect and
have read, such as Stanley Crouch, a jazz writer and critic, established clearly that such term 'African American' is not really useful. IT takes away from the ethnic scheme, Negros from the rest of the AMERICAN continent and erases Negroes from AFRICA. There.
Following with the original story, it is a little long. We may have to offer
it as a series...Nancy Cruz called to say hi. Our sources have informed that
Carmen Le Bron, the tom boy, another single woman in Mr. H. Carl entourage, was involved in a law suit for unjustified firing of an employee.
If you look at the spelling, the last name was reshaped to seem less hispanic. That inferiority complex that some of our prislanders show
in different fashion but not part of this story now.
THIS yellow belly CARMEN LE Bron was a lowly educated riff raff, certainly from the Bronx and part of Mr. H, personal assistants. My contact with the bitch, if I may was receiving her phone calls from ALBANY, to inquire about another single one, but with a child, ELBA CASTRO, also from the Bronx.
Miss Castro was never in the office, a practice of most political appointtes in Mr. H's domain. Since Miss Castro, (who miraculously), later became an ATTORNEY, was into free wheeling, without following Le Bron's commands the later thought that I will offer information to help
her cut the head of her Bronx constituent. The Tomboy thought that I was hiding something. The truth is that I did not know her whereabouts.
Her tone was abrasive, and in ultimatum mode generally. In those days
I was not connected to the computer system, yet, the bitch sent me emails
knowing that I would not be able to respond.
The names are not fictional. The years 1995-1996. The address 270 Broadway. As anything written here, true. Not embellished at all.
Until next. It is getting fun.
Friday, April 10, 2009
BLOG HARASSMENT AND THE STALKER
WHEN I STARTED the siamese twin of this one over 24 months ago, the intention was to denounce and criticize. The inspiration were Alberto Areces Mallea (aka Aveces Marea) and Gabriela Ocampo. Cuban and Mexican olmeca, respectively. These two expatriates were the intellectual authors of the destruction of twelve acres of land
in Trujillo Alto to construct Parque Donha Ines with the following accomplices: Fundacion Luis Munhoz Marin, Lic. Roberto Jose Martinez Ramirez, Departamento de Recursos Naturales, Carmen Santiago USDA, Padre Fernando Pico, and Municipio de Trujillo Alto.
Without getting deep in the story already in endemismotrasnochado, the intention is to denounce, period. Later I became aware that if the fools pretending to save our environment, ecology, nature, patrimony turn the other way with this type of information and evidence (yet to be published), the scam is evident. Everyjuan seems to be benefiting from the various pork government barrels for this or that. On one hand.
ON the other, most of the funds from the private sector came from Banco Popular and Doral, food for thought.
Does money laundering comes to mind? Lets open the books! How much money
for the DI Park has the FLMM taken for itself? What is the cost of the park for each
silly endemic tree, $10,000, $20,000?
At any rate, not being a one track mind, I noticed that the " Green Industry", in Puerto Rico was/is more green regarding the USA dollars than nature and vegetation.
I started sending my resume to some of the companies doing landscaping with internet access.
Some were American Lawn, Peannock Garden, Gramas Lindas, Margo Farms and many others that once in a while appeared in the printed news media. I could write at length what I think based on observation about all these scam artists, but will concentrate in the one who has been harassing and stalking both blogs out of boredom.
I have baptized him YEYO MALANGUIYAUTIA. His apparent real last names Gonzalez Bauza, alleged agronomist and working for Gramas Lindas. How was this poor bored soul become interested in this obscure blog that not many read except in Mexico, Spain, Australia, Dominican Republic, Chile, India, USA, Argentina, and Puerto Rico USA?
Very simple. I sent a link of my blog, at the address at the end of this article, suggesting the change of the picture advertising their site. The photograph
shows grass leaves cut with a dull blade. After that, Mr. malanguiyautia started
bombarding the comment section. Something not always bad, except that he thinks too much of himself, his credentials, uses as the name of some fictional character, a Patriarch, does all I do better, much better according to his comments.
Except one thing, an essential one, creating a fresh output or not so fresh ideas when
writing. He writes better, has better pictures, is more deep, however his lame blog
a bizarro endemismo has four entries, has been visited twelve times.
All the above mentioned virtues are the ones I lack or pretend to have. Believe it or not.
I was a little annoyed at the frequent, long diatribes, more than once since my blogs are not personal. All people doing landscaping in Puerto Rico suck, I have stated
it at least on eighty articles... How can YEYO believe for a moment that is personal? ll. I attack, denounce, stupidity, lack of aesthetics, poor workmanship, destruction of the environment, tree mutilation and excessive planting without knowledge and ripping off the customer, the populace.
If one feels alluded, anyone, go to court and start a difamation suit. Cut the crap already. If I say, anything that I believe certain, prove it wrong in the adequate forum. One relevant issue is that from the beginning, Mr. Malanguiyautia, the stalker wrote as an owner of a company, not just a reader. That is why I have taken the time now after ten months of almost daily harassment to respond.
Why? Very simple. If I write that yeyo malanguiyautia is a jerk, which he seems to be,
must be, considering the stalking, he could have sent a picture of some installation done properly. But my dear fans, remember the stalking started after a suggestion to
change the stupid GRAMAS LINDAS picture. I got tired of the game. Here is their address, everyone mentioned today. Inquiries are welcome. Until then..
gramaslindas.com
yamir@gramaslindas.com
fundacion luis munhoz marin
flmm.org
in Trujillo Alto to construct Parque Donha Ines with the following accomplices: Fundacion Luis Munhoz Marin, Lic. Roberto Jose Martinez Ramirez, Departamento de Recursos Naturales, Carmen Santiago USDA, Padre Fernando Pico, and Municipio de Trujillo Alto.
Without getting deep in the story already in endemismotrasnochado, the intention is to denounce, period. Later I became aware that if the fools pretending to save our environment, ecology, nature, patrimony turn the other way with this type of information and evidence (yet to be published), the scam is evident. Everyjuan seems to be benefiting from the various pork government barrels for this or that. On one hand.
ON the other, most of the funds from the private sector came from Banco Popular and Doral, food for thought.
Does money laundering comes to mind? Lets open the books! How much money
for the DI Park has the FLMM taken for itself? What is the cost of the park for each
silly endemic tree, $10,000, $20,000?
At any rate, not being a one track mind, I noticed that the " Green Industry", in Puerto Rico was/is more green regarding the USA dollars than nature and vegetation.
I started sending my resume to some of the companies doing landscaping with internet access.
Some were American Lawn, Peannock Garden, Gramas Lindas, Margo Farms and many others that once in a while appeared in the printed news media. I could write at length what I think based on observation about all these scam artists, but will concentrate in the one who has been harassing and stalking both blogs out of boredom.
I have baptized him YEYO MALANGUIYAUTIA. His apparent real last names Gonzalez Bauza, alleged agronomist and working for Gramas Lindas. How was this poor bored soul become interested in this obscure blog that not many read except in Mexico, Spain, Australia, Dominican Republic, Chile, India, USA, Argentina, and Puerto Rico USA?
Very simple. I sent a link of my blog, at the address at the end of this article, suggesting the change of the picture advertising their site. The photograph
shows grass leaves cut with a dull blade. After that, Mr. malanguiyautia started
bombarding the comment section. Something not always bad, except that he thinks too much of himself, his credentials, uses as the name of some fictional character, a Patriarch, does all I do better, much better according to his comments.
Except one thing, an essential one, creating a fresh output or not so fresh ideas when
writing. He writes better, has better pictures, is more deep, however his lame blog
a bizarro endemismo has four entries, has been visited twelve times.
All the above mentioned virtues are the ones I lack or pretend to have. Believe it or not.
I was a little annoyed at the frequent, long diatribes, more than once since my blogs are not personal. All people doing landscaping in Puerto Rico suck, I have stated
it at least on eighty articles... How can YEYO believe for a moment that is personal? ll. I attack, denounce, stupidity, lack of aesthetics, poor workmanship, destruction of the environment, tree mutilation and excessive planting without knowledge and ripping off the customer, the populace.
If one feels alluded, anyone, go to court and start a difamation suit. Cut the crap already. If I say, anything that I believe certain, prove it wrong in the adequate forum. One relevant issue is that from the beginning, Mr. Malanguiyautia, the stalker wrote as an owner of a company, not just a reader. That is why I have taken the time now after ten months of almost daily harassment to respond.
Why? Very simple. If I write that yeyo malanguiyautia is a jerk, which he seems to be,
must be, considering the stalking, he could have sent a picture of some installation done properly. But my dear fans, remember the stalking started after a suggestion to
change the stupid GRAMAS LINDAS picture. I got tired of the game. Here is their address, everyone mentioned today. Inquiries are welcome. Until then..
gramaslindas.com
yamir@gramaslindas.com
fundacion luis munhoz marin
flmm.org
Monday, April 6, 2009
REPORTING FROM THORNES MARKET NORTHAMPTON MA
IT IS 4PM. It find myself at Thornes, the amount of populace, particularly lesbians is overwhelming. Today I woke up in excellent spirits. I went with Michal for a stroll in the
dear streets of Northamton. I bought a long playing. Mingus, "Immortal Sessions 1959". I
saw Julia who said hi, Gelpi the alcoholic Smith College professor whom I evaded, and Maura, to whom was given an unfriendly gesture.
I feel weird, perhaps for the fasting. The populace continues moving restless. A strange looking dude has sat in the opposite chair. Has told me that he wants to watch a Martin Luther King,
movie, but I was not being shown. I take a look at the flyer, is on the 14. As I told him, decides to return the flyer where he founded it. I better go all these crowding asphyxiates me.
9 January
I took M to work. Went home and listened to some records. Today I received some: Wagner,
Strauss, and Dvorak. I sent some letters to Gary Dibble, Luisa and Carmen Z. I have felt weird again. Today while observing some photographs from Carmen R, Karen Moreno, Luisa and Martha Jean Deveber I felt some intense guilt feeling.
Guilty because things did not work out as they may have, as in those moments of frustration I would have preferred them to develop. I forget that shit happens and I can not change what has become a remote distant past. Today at work I noticed the new schedule. Now I will have to sleep by myself. This will create some difficulties. M fills my mornings of contentness and offers me some tea or coffee or breakfast. This new journal is a pain in the ass. The pages are too wide. On the radio some jazz without head or feet. I am going to read.
12:55 AM
Next day. I was difficult to fall asleep. After returning from work I was awaken by the noise
of the little bastards upstairs. I encounter the Polish folks, Marge and Stanley. He smokes
italian cigarettes that stunk the whole house. His wife with dirty hair and greasy. When I think of their child, Jim it makes me uneasy. A guy 6' 5", carrying 350 pounds of weight.
Great difficulty to sleep at work, one never knows what to expect from these piggies. AT
4:30 AM, I placed the sheet and pillow in the porch and later at six, when getting ready to
go back home the first was by the car and the other in the driveway. The wind had blown them.
10 Monday
The telephone woke me up. An interview, which has made the day more promising. M
was unable to sleep last night and is feeling cranky. I dreamt that I had some carnal exchanges with a cousin and memories of a good friend from my days in Germany returned.
Some carnal exchange with arrivals last night.
The red conga drum is almost ready. I see what I can do to fix the blue one. I think I will buy some bond to fix the edges today.
3PM. Went shopping with M. I got the bond in my last attempt to save the blue one. The smell, color, mix, everything brought great memories from childhood. My father an autorepairman, was into his thing while I was watching close by.
This was years after the tin epoch. Then this soft metal bars were used to repair dents in auto
bodies. The gasoline bronze torche was lit, making a
sound that for a child, was pretty much like listening to a dragon exhaling flames.
The invention of bond, reduced the time required for repairs but contrary to tin, it cracked and was affected by corrosion after some time and weather exposure. Tin craftsmen into auto repairs where real artists. Their work was everlasting . To become a master, you had to practice for many years. The last time I watched my dad, working such technique was during the sixties. Shortly before he had two heart strokes. I was 15.
While I write this listening to Cesarea Evora, from Cape Verde, I wonder what is the the point of life. Living for what? To impregnate women, have families, following rules, doing what is expected from our parents? Society?
BACK TO THE STUDIO
Its one twenty am. It rains as in the tropics. ( All those years exiled I missed that sound so dearly! Not the people, not at all, just the topography, geography, the environment. Half
a life in USA..) I tried to open the storm window to get a better sound of the rain drops, without luck. However paying some attention it sounds better. Today I took M to work.
Later did some weight lifting. Between one routine and other I sanded the border of the blue
drum. It is almost perfect.
I will check to see if I can buy a leather head to mount it or fix the broken rim.
Time to go..until next. We are in the eighties or so..Northampton MA, capital of the lesbian
scene in the north east coast of USA.
Co
dear streets of Northamton. I bought a long playing. Mingus, "Immortal Sessions 1959". I
saw Julia who said hi, Gelpi the alcoholic Smith College professor whom I evaded, and Maura, to whom was given an unfriendly gesture.
I feel weird, perhaps for the fasting. The populace continues moving restless. A strange looking dude has sat in the opposite chair. Has told me that he wants to watch a Martin Luther King,
movie, but I was not being shown. I take a look at the flyer, is on the 14. As I told him, decides to return the flyer where he founded it. I better go all these crowding asphyxiates me.
9 January
I took M to work. Went home and listened to some records. Today I received some: Wagner,
Strauss, and Dvorak. I sent some letters to Gary Dibble, Luisa and Carmen Z. I have felt weird again. Today while observing some photographs from Carmen R, Karen Moreno, Luisa and Martha Jean Deveber I felt some intense guilt feeling.
Guilty because things did not work out as they may have, as in those moments of frustration I would have preferred them to develop. I forget that shit happens and I can not change what has become a remote distant past. Today at work I noticed the new schedule. Now I will have to sleep by myself. This will create some difficulties. M fills my mornings of contentness and offers me some tea or coffee or breakfast. This new journal is a pain in the ass. The pages are too wide. On the radio some jazz without head or feet. I am going to read.
12:55 AM
Next day. I was difficult to fall asleep. After returning from work I was awaken by the noise
of the little bastards upstairs. I encounter the Polish folks, Marge and Stanley. He smokes
italian cigarettes that stunk the whole house. His wife with dirty hair and greasy. When I think of their child, Jim it makes me uneasy. A guy 6' 5", carrying 350 pounds of weight.
Great difficulty to sleep at work, one never knows what to expect from these piggies. AT
4:30 AM, I placed the sheet and pillow in the porch and later at six, when getting ready to
go back home the first was by the car and the other in the driveway. The wind had blown them.
10 Monday
The telephone woke me up. An interview, which has made the day more promising. M
was unable to sleep last night and is feeling cranky. I dreamt that I had some carnal exchanges with a cousin and memories of a good friend from my days in Germany returned.
Some carnal exchange with arrivals last night.
The red conga drum is almost ready. I see what I can do to fix the blue one. I think I will buy some bond to fix the edges today.
3PM. Went shopping with M. I got the bond in my last attempt to save the blue one. The smell, color, mix, everything brought great memories from childhood. My father an autorepairman, was into his thing while I was watching close by.
This was years after the tin epoch. Then this soft metal bars were used to repair dents in auto
bodies. The gasoline bronze torche was lit, making a
sound that for a child, was pretty much like listening to a dragon exhaling flames.
The invention of bond, reduced the time required for repairs but contrary to tin, it cracked and was affected by corrosion after some time and weather exposure. Tin craftsmen into auto repairs where real artists. Their work was everlasting . To become a master, you had to practice for many years. The last time I watched my dad, working such technique was during the sixties. Shortly before he had two heart strokes. I was 15.
While I write this listening to Cesarea Evora, from Cape Verde, I wonder what is the the point of life. Living for what? To impregnate women, have families, following rules, doing what is expected from our parents? Society?
BACK TO THE STUDIO
Its one twenty am. It rains as in the tropics. ( All those years exiled I missed that sound so dearly! Not the people, not at all, just the topography, geography, the environment. Half
a life in USA..) I tried to open the storm window to get a better sound of the rain drops, without luck. However paying some attention it sounds better. Today I took M to work.
Later did some weight lifting. Between one routine and other I sanded the border of the blue
drum. It is almost perfect.
I will check to see if I can buy a leather head to mount it or fix the broken rim.
Time to go..until next. We are in the eighties or so..Northampton MA, capital of the lesbian
scene in the north east coast of USA.
Co
Saturday, March 14, 2009
MOCK INTERVIEW WITH JUAN DAVID HERNANDEZ A LIVING LEGEND AMONG CITIZENS IN EL PAIS DE CAGUAS
WE MET in the sixties when he started a hobby as a bass player with other fellows that I have forgotten.. They used to rehearse in the beautiful porch of their rented house on
Georgetti St. Later, Juan David became a fine acoustic guitar player and singer, as time went by. Had two sisters. One had a child from Virgilio Colon, a former elementary school class mate, who later did a masters in Philosophy, in where else? Germany. The last time I saw/chat with Virgilio, at the UPR campus in Rio Stones, he was
bitching about the stupidity of his college students, unable to abstract, as so well expressed ten years before, by former teacher with political pedigree Felix Cordova Diaz, who had expressed with same words such handicap of Puertorican nationals.
Juan David was a chubby fellow with powerful voice, weird/quick sense of humor. He used to bring me home that chitty newspaper CLARIDAD, religiously, and I paid and enjoyed it.
Particularly the graphic artists Lorenzo Homar, Tufinho, and many others involved
in the struggle for independence, against the Vietnam War, Nixon, CIA and such during that decade or twenty years.. It does not matter now. The staff of CLARIDAD ARE A BUNCH of JERKS from top to bottom, disconnected from our issue: ENVIRONMENT/ECOLOGY.
Later in college, we spent some times together, mostly at lunch. It was some puerorican
restaurant, in a corner street in the beautiful city of Cayey, where we both graduated. Tomasa del Carmen Vazquez, the judge, was then our classmate and friend. At any rate, once while having lunch, Juan David who had somewhat of an apetite, ordered some desert for gluttons. It is vanilla ' i scream' jaha bilingual laugh, with flan or top or the other way around.
Which reminds me, in English there are 3 ways to say one thing: inside out, backwards and upside down.. In Spanish we use "al verres" or ' al reves,' you pick. This is one of the few situations in which my native beats English.
Back to the studio, since Juan ordered the mentioned dessert, everyone around the table requested a nip, including Raulo Singala, whose mother was the worst Spanish teacher I ever had. His brothers became dentists and about him there is nothing I know. The solution? Juan performed some act similar to listening to a Hebbe
speaking that language from his throat.. A substance rather better not to be described now covered
the icecream/flan, that no one felt like sharing.
Hey what about the mock interview? Hollers, screams, figuratively, imaginatively some dark, obscure fans...
JUAN DAVID: I have read most of your hundred posts in endemismotrasnochado, what the hell is your intention?
KEYBOARD OPERATOR: Not much. I believe it is my responsibility to denounce and be critical. My teachers in elementary school, my parents, priests, other relatives were critical of yours truly.
It is a skill taught with fists, bitter, cruel words that many people go through in their childhood, life without realizing it. I was fortunate. I am able to focus and use the skill in the
blogosphere.
JUAN DAVID: I see. It is sort of a revenge against society, for the unjust pain inflicted?
KEYBOARD OPERATOR: To be honest, as anyone could be facing such an inquiry, I do not
give a flying fart about society, their leaders, or any authority. That was another collateral
skill from the brutality of the criticism. I am here. I have survived without any danger to myself or to others, except perhaps, my tendency to be brainy when others succumb to sentimentality, nationalism, clannish puerorican behavior.
JUAN DAVID: Changing quickly the subject, do you remember the infinitely brief moments
when we got together to play Cuban sones and sing rather sober?
KEYBOARD OPERATOR: Well Juan, before I get there let me tell you that during the last two decades I have taken the time and effort to visit you at your office in CITY HALL, every time I had the chance. You fucking ass hole never had the interest/courtesy/reciprocal attitude to send an email. Does that help you get a drift?
JUAN DAVID: Sure. That is my nature, indifference.
KEYBOARD OPERATOR: Fine Juan, we all carry our cross. But before I get there, I remember you married an ugly witch, with the exact same features of Olive Oil, Popeyes girlfriend, remember her?
JUANDAVID: Sure I impregnated her sometimes, we got divorced and she became a lawyer.
KEYBOARDOPERATOR: BACK TO THE FUTURE, well JUAN, I do remember playing the bongos when I was a little rough, and the conga drums in my backyard in SAVARONA.
I probably had some drinks of beer while you refused. But I tell you one thing, you really
had the talent with the singing/the guitar, and I miss those times that will never return,
since you are unable to send an email.
At any rate, could you end this interview with your opinion as the HISTORIOGRAPHER OF
EL PAIS DE CAGUAS, about this humble blog, endemismotrasnochado?
JUANDAVID: OBVIATING the evident rough, really rough edges of your writing, following
grammar rules, and everything in that bag, your blog is cool. Apparently, as far as I know,
the only one with the spheres to cover all that COURT. As irrelevant it may seem, I can tell from my view that eventually this blog could be used as a resource for research.
The environment, ecology, landscape management practices from the customer perspective
the illiterate employee, or the owner enjoying the profits from the destruction of our surroundings. The bored academicians jumping in the bandwagon for protagonic show. The happy plant collector, propagator...Enjoying the beauty, the smell, the growth of the effort.
This blog cover all bases. For further info...
Juan David Hernandez, HISTORIAN el pais de CAGUAS
Willie Miranda, wmiranda@caguas.gov.pr
Josefo Virtual, jvirtual@caguas.gov.pr
Georgetti St. Later, Juan David became a fine acoustic guitar player and singer, as time went by. Had two sisters. One had a child from Virgilio Colon, a former elementary school class mate, who later did a masters in Philosophy, in where else? Germany. The last time I saw/chat with Virgilio, at the UPR campus in Rio Stones, he was
bitching about the stupidity of his college students, unable to abstract, as so well expressed ten years before, by former teacher with political pedigree Felix Cordova Diaz, who had expressed with same words such handicap of Puertorican nationals.
Juan David was a chubby fellow with powerful voice, weird/quick sense of humor. He used to bring me home that chitty newspaper CLARIDAD, religiously, and I paid and enjoyed it.
Particularly the graphic artists Lorenzo Homar, Tufinho, and many others involved
in the struggle for independence, against the Vietnam War, Nixon, CIA and such during that decade or twenty years.. It does not matter now. The staff of CLARIDAD ARE A BUNCH of JERKS from top to bottom, disconnected from our issue: ENVIRONMENT/ECOLOGY.
Later in college, we spent some times together, mostly at lunch. It was some puerorican
restaurant, in a corner street in the beautiful city of Cayey, where we both graduated. Tomasa del Carmen Vazquez, the judge, was then our classmate and friend. At any rate, once while having lunch, Juan David who had somewhat of an apetite, ordered some desert for gluttons. It is vanilla ' i scream' jaha bilingual laugh, with flan or top or the other way around.
Which reminds me, in English there are 3 ways to say one thing: inside out, backwards and upside down.. In Spanish we use "al verres" or ' al reves,' you pick. This is one of the few situations in which my native beats English.
Back to the studio, since Juan ordered the mentioned dessert, everyone around the table requested a nip, including Raulo Singala, whose mother was the worst Spanish teacher I ever had. His brothers became dentists and about him there is nothing I know. The solution? Juan performed some act similar to listening to a Hebbe
speaking that language from his throat.. A substance rather better not to be described now covered
the icecream/flan, that no one felt like sharing.
Hey what about the mock interview? Hollers, screams, figuratively, imaginatively some dark, obscure fans...
JUAN DAVID: I have read most of your hundred posts in endemismotrasnochado, what the hell is your intention?
KEYBOARD OPERATOR: Not much. I believe it is my responsibility to denounce and be critical. My teachers in elementary school, my parents, priests, other relatives were critical of yours truly.
It is a skill taught with fists, bitter, cruel words that many people go through in their childhood, life without realizing it. I was fortunate. I am able to focus and use the skill in the
blogosphere.
JUAN DAVID: I see. It is sort of a revenge against society, for the unjust pain inflicted?
KEYBOARD OPERATOR: To be honest, as anyone could be facing such an inquiry, I do not
give a flying fart about society, their leaders, or any authority. That was another collateral
skill from the brutality of the criticism. I am here. I have survived without any danger to myself or to others, except perhaps, my tendency to be brainy when others succumb to sentimentality, nationalism, clannish puerorican behavior.
JUAN DAVID: Changing quickly the subject, do you remember the infinitely brief moments
when we got together to play Cuban sones and sing rather sober?
KEYBOARD OPERATOR: Well Juan, before I get there let me tell you that during the last two decades I have taken the time and effort to visit you at your office in CITY HALL, every time I had the chance. You fucking ass hole never had the interest/courtesy/reciprocal attitude to send an email. Does that help you get a drift?
JUAN DAVID: Sure. That is my nature, indifference.
KEYBOARD OPERATOR: Fine Juan, we all carry our cross. But before I get there, I remember you married an ugly witch, with the exact same features of Olive Oil, Popeyes girlfriend, remember her?
JUANDAVID: Sure I impregnated her sometimes, we got divorced and she became a lawyer.
KEYBOARDOPERATOR: BACK TO THE FUTURE, well JUAN, I do remember playing the bongos when I was a little rough, and the conga drums in my backyard in SAVARONA.
I probably had some drinks of beer while you refused. But I tell you one thing, you really
had the talent with the singing/the guitar, and I miss those times that will never return,
since you are unable to send an email.
At any rate, could you end this interview with your opinion as the HISTORIOGRAPHER OF
EL PAIS DE CAGUAS, about this humble blog, endemismotrasnochado?
JUANDAVID: OBVIATING the evident rough, really rough edges of your writing, following
grammar rules, and everything in that bag, your blog is cool. Apparently, as far as I know,
the only one with the spheres to cover all that COURT. As irrelevant it may seem, I can tell from my view that eventually this blog could be used as a resource for research.
The environment, ecology, landscape management practices from the customer perspective
the illiterate employee, or the owner enjoying the profits from the destruction of our surroundings. The bored academicians jumping in the bandwagon for protagonic show. The happy plant collector, propagator...Enjoying the beauty, the smell, the growth of the effort.
This blog cover all bases. For further info...
Juan David Hernandez, HISTORIAN el pais de CAGUAS
Willie Miranda, wmiranda@caguas.gov.pr
Josefo Virtual, jvirtual@caguas.gov.pr
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
MEMORIES FROM THE FUTURE
LAST NIGHT OUR HERO went to bed somewhat irritated as usual. Decided to check a confiscated literature review magazine from 1985. CASA LAS AMERICAS, an issue dedicated
to a wonderful, somewhat difficult to follow writer, Julio Cortazar. A strange Argentinian who
made France his country. Strange because apparently everyone loved/liked him. And we know
that Cubans from Havana and Argentinians, well... take some effort to love. I write about men,
the women may be a different story.
At any rate.. Carlos Fuentes told us a story while traveling by train to Moscow, he asked innocently to our hero, Cortazar now, why/how was the piano introduced to jazz. Those who read EL PERSEGUIDOR, may have noticed this author passion, interest, knowledge about the
genre. Any guais, it took the whole night for the Argentinian to explain without getting too technical on the explanation.
Your humble servant thought about it. What a wonderful trip it surely was, listening to someone with a nice personality some wine, guiski, cigarettes, and the clack, clack of the
metallic wheels against the rails.
A good conversation is always appreciated. Unfortunately for the keyboard operator, since
Crispin, that modersucker we thought our friend, has dissapeared. Along with Pito the other
great conversationalist from the old days, that ended in November when the timbiriche mentioned in entradas antiguas was sold.
Me cago en la ostia. NOW there is no one to talk about anything. On this shitty isle everything is everything as in that old Eddie Palmieri or was it his brother Charlie? Tune.
La Justicia is the tittle of the recording a very difficult one to listen. The sound is abrasive,
the lyrics somewhat Young Lord, Felipe Luciano like. I confess I have no warm feelings for
my ethnics growing up in NY, CA, NJ, or any other ghetto in the USA.
They embraced the negro culture as if we were Negroes also. The truth is that we are so mixed color wise, that more often, light people have dark infants with
crispy hair and wide noses. Or the opposite. Not that it matters to me. Women, as long as
they can maintain a conversation about music, drink, smoke, horticulture, literature could
be Norwegian pale or Namibian dark. I am color blind in that conquering field. Well, to be honest, when I was in that bag.
NOW I dedicate my effort, energy, intelligence, (the little I got), to critize creatively,
abrasively. As sand against the rough surface.. Or water against the stone. Time to go.
to a wonderful, somewhat difficult to follow writer, Julio Cortazar. A strange Argentinian who
made France his country. Strange because apparently everyone loved/liked him. And we know
that Cubans from Havana and Argentinians, well... take some effort to love. I write about men,
the women may be a different story.
At any rate.. Carlos Fuentes told us a story while traveling by train to Moscow, he asked innocently to our hero, Cortazar now, why/how was the piano introduced to jazz. Those who read EL PERSEGUIDOR, may have noticed this author passion, interest, knowledge about the
genre. Any guais, it took the whole night for the Argentinian to explain without getting too technical on the explanation.
Your humble servant thought about it. What a wonderful trip it surely was, listening to someone with a nice personality some wine, guiski, cigarettes, and the clack, clack of the
metallic wheels against the rails.
A good conversation is always appreciated. Unfortunately for the keyboard operator, since
Crispin, that modersucker we thought our friend, has dissapeared. Along with Pito the other
great conversationalist from the old days, that ended in November when the timbiriche mentioned in entradas antiguas was sold.
Me cago en la ostia. NOW there is no one to talk about anything. On this shitty isle everything is everything as in that old Eddie Palmieri or was it his brother Charlie? Tune.
La Justicia is the tittle of the recording a very difficult one to listen. The sound is abrasive,
the lyrics somewhat Young Lord, Felipe Luciano like. I confess I have no warm feelings for
my ethnics growing up in NY, CA, NJ, or any other ghetto in the USA.
They embraced the negro culture as if we were Negroes also. The truth is that we are so mixed color wise, that more often, light people have dark infants with
crispy hair and wide noses. Or the opposite. Not that it matters to me. Women, as long as
they can maintain a conversation about music, drink, smoke, horticulture, literature could
be Norwegian pale or Namibian dark. I am color blind in that conquering field. Well, to be honest, when I was in that bag.
NOW I dedicate my effort, energy, intelligence, (the little I got), to critize creatively,
abrasively. As sand against the rough surface.. Or water against the stone. Time to go.
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