November 21: My sister and I drove up to Casa de la Raza in Santa Barbara for Puro Pedo Magazine’s second “bad ass” art show and fundraiser. In total we raised over $2,000 for the Adelante California scholarship foundation. The pieces here are by Raul Herrera (standing) and Votan of Nahui Ohlin (laying down).
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Things I did for the very first-time over the long weekend (starting Wednesday):
I got an email today. It went something like this.
I found your friend’s blog. Now I got a huge crush on said friend!
I smiled and thought of the timeliness of my friend’s email. I’ve been thinking about blog crushes these days.
The blog crush isn’t really about looks, but looks definitely help. Rather, the attraction is centered around a talent for expressing ideas or telling stories. The blog crush is just like an intellectual crush, but it starts online.
I’ve been blogging a while and over the years I’ve had a few blog crushes. They wear off when said blogger begins blogging sporadically or stops all together. Sometimes the crush just wears off as I get to know him better.
My current blog crush is Jay Smooth. I think he’s my first internet “celebrity” blog crush.
Question of the week: Do you have blog crushes? Or have you had a blog crush?
I’ll post something more substantial soon, but first I need some interesting topics. If you have suggestions, leave a comment below or email me.
November 11: I have two bookshelves. They’re full of books I’ve read several times and books I’ve yet to open. Lately I’ve just been checking out books from the library as I have no space for more books and I save some money.
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Each day I describe the accident a few times to family, friends, co-workers, insurance, my doctor, etc.
They ask, “What happened?”
I’ll describe the little I saw. I leave out the sounds (a deafening crash, the popping of airbags, Los Lobos on the CD player, my cell phone ringing, sirens) and smell (something burnt).
“Are you okay?” they’ll asked with genuine concern.
“Yeah,” I’ll say and then sigh. I show them the the marks on my chest and forearms from the seat belt and airbag, respectively. Those scars and bruises are the only sign I was in an accident.
They’ll respond with something like, “well, the important thing is that you’re safe. Your car can be replaced, but you can’t.”
I look okay, but don’t feel that way.
The susto lingers.
Lotería Chicana 