This is voice-to-text transcription and may contain misleading spelling errors.
Photos are later digital files placed here for decoration unless otherwise noted.
[Author’s note 2025: this is on the back pages of a notebook found in the shed. I’m going to presume this must have happened in South America because I’m quoting numbers here that reflect a fantastic exchange rate. I’ve tried several businesses and South America this describes part of what it is like. Any sign of affluence attracts hookers. I seem to have drawn a pap to explain to people were I flew from because the nearest Airport to where I lived at the time was not SeaTac, it was Vancouver International.]
What a strange business climate. Nobody seems to be able to do or understand anything more than the simplest tasks. And yet they’ll try to turn it into a major operation mindless of your time, in the hope that the longer they take, the more you’ll pay. That strange no-nAmerican concept of time. Yet one cannot help but pfeling it is and nothing but a trick a ploy, as in hardly a cultural thing because you see the bosses beat on slackards who try this on each other. With every second person selling wristwatches they just have to know what time it is . . . (They will always deny knowing what time it is, pretending the concept is foreign to them.
And the hookers. Don’t get me wrong about this, but they know [have learned] light or white skin spells business. It would seem to be the only occupation opened to divorced women in a society where divorce is growing frequent. Divorce may be illegal [nowadays in Venzuela] but don't make it right. Anyway I attract them by the hundreds. All fat, all old, all divorced. All wanting $80.00 American. And I wouldn 't give a divorcee the time of day. Oh, and when I say fat, I mean a proportionately heavy butt. I can't stand it even if the rest is gorgeous.
Trash for sale. If it's trash that won’t move anywhere else in the world, somebody is hawking it in this town. Typical are electronic gadgets, stuff like alarm clock canopeners. You’d like an English magazine? Try last year’s Popular Mechanics for $7.00 U.S. Ever wonder what happened all those stone-washed jeans that never caught a few years ago?
Even the advertising has an uncomfortable undercurrent. They've obviously perfected at blonde hair dye that works, rather than that brownish-red (called "rubio".) My question is if you try to look White, dress White, and act White, what good is if you can't speak English?
As I linger over my coffee, that tune "Fat Bottomed Girls" keeps coming to mind. There’s one common, almost universal feature. The girls from 14 to 20 their mothers will that you touch them, after that they can’t give away.
[Author’s note 2025: For the record, I still don't hang out with divorcees 30 years later. And I would remind the reader I don't do hookers, but they are kind of like American politics in the 2020s. No matter where you go or what you do it hits you from all sides. Kind of like flies in the desert. I would also stress that my attitude to divorcees means relationahips. I deal with divorcees all the time, I just don't marry them. I'm inflexible on that, if they will lie about that, they will lie about anything.]
Here’s the theater where I didn’t get to see a movie that had just come out in America before I left. I forget the movie but when I walked into the theater it was already playing. So I tried to ask the staff what time the movie started again so I could watch it from the beginning . Alas the entire staff, and my Spanish isn’t that bad, could not understand what I wanted. They thought it was the same to walk in halfway through the movie watch the ending and then wait for it to start again to watch the beginning. Since the whole bunch of them couldn’t be that stupid, this must be the way the locals watch movies. sometimes
