cerveza en mano

Ojala que la luna pueda salir sin ti ojala que la tierra no te bese los pasos...

dosidos.

Despues de leer todos los segundos que me habia perdido de ti no he podido dejar de comulgar entre los espirales de la musica. Tantos dias y tantos kilometros han hecho que desentienda el universo que habiamos inventado. Ultimamente mi cuerpo se ha convertido en una jaula de mi alma que de vez en cuando se abre y me permite sonhar... suenho que de nuevo encuentro la comunion entre la eternidad y lo necesario; suenho con tantos verbos contorneandome y guardandomelos, porque soy una ninha buena. Suenho con flores salvajes y amarillas preparando mi sentencia. Nos juntara la realidad? Espero que no. Me convertiria en criminal en defensa propia. Lloraria de la impotencia. ... todos los gritos serian sincretizados en un yo!!! te imaginas cuan desequilibradas estan mis raices que no me alcanzarian moleculas para respirar? por que yo solo buscaria tu aire para despues darme cuenta del infierno que me espera. Te habia dicho todo? todo empezaba con un "te" y luego sentia una conexion mental que agitaba mis pupilas... Y de la nada ya sabia que tu sabias... me pregunto si hasta ahora lo sabes. Voy a cerrar mis ojos.

a la 1:45 de la manhana antes de dormir y despues de lidiar con la insensatez de quienes derraman dinero en los casinos.

no he desperdiciado ni un recuerdo porque todos los tengo escondidos; en un rayo de arco iris.
No puedo dejar de buscarte, porque te leo desesperadamente. Y sinceramente no tiene sentido: Las escaleras geograficas ya perdieron sentido con los anhos y las culebras ya se aduenharon de este juego. Sientate en algun rincon y comentame las ultimas aventuras de Hugo chavez que algo tendran que ver con el Peru. Cuentame, porque estoy ciega y perdida, porque un Van Gogh ya no significa ternura y un girasol ya no cree en nadie. Haz que deje de llover para encontrar mis pulseras de colores.

The Gold coin Saloon

Another Friday night in Central City/Black Hawk. The area gets ready to receive hundreds of people in search for the money, in search for the gold; just like the old Wild West- times. If you come from Denver and take Highway 6 all the way uphill, it would be a good idea to be prepared for the 8040 feet above sea level and car sickness. The highway is not exactly straightforward. It more or less goes like a snake: lots of curves next to the river and in between the mountains. Very dangerous on snow. The first casino town the highway crosses is Black Hawk: massive new brick buildings with five to twelve levels for parking, neon lights, flat screens the size of a garage door, 2x point’s deals on slot machines, more neon lights, people smoking in the streets, $5.99 lobster deals, franchises everywhere… A small piece of Las Vegas in Colorado. However, Black Hawk is not the main destination of the day, luckily. All those franchises and corporations are more of the same old thing. One mile up higher from Black Hawk, there’s an imaginary line that separates dramatically “Las Vegas” from the real Wild West. On the other side of this line, there are six casinos, family owned. Colorful Victorian homes along the roads with baroque details: this is “Central City”. Here is where I’m going to stay to tell this story.
In Central city, the main street is still surrounded by the brick buildings from the old mining times. The silence of the streets makes it feel like a ghost town; as if the miners were still walking around smoking, gambling and trying to take some lady in a corset to bed. Lamp posts line the streets and some casinos display mannequins dressed up in corsets and vintage outfits. There is silence, yes. But the atmosphere is not quiet: there are too many lights here and there and few people are walking fast, crossing the streets from casino to casino; and most of them have a cigarette in the hand. As I said, people here are in search for gold, and the casinos are evidence of it. I walk inside of one of them, “Easy Street Casino”, and the silence of the street disappears. Again the neon lights, under the yellow light of a Victorian chandelier, noise of coins cashed out from the slot machines, a man yelling loud: “Yeah!” and his wife clapping hands (he might have hit a jackpot), the “ding-ding-ding” of the machines, people drinking, the staff smiling, the cocktail waitress with a tray full of Coronas, Budweiser, mixed drinks and… coffee (?!). “If I get alcohol for free in casinos there’s no way I order coffee,” I think to myself.
After exploring the place I start to realize that some gamblers look more or less like zombies in front of the slots: sometimes they look excitedly focused on their slots for several minutes and sometimes they turn their heads somewhere and space off, but their fingers keep pushing bottoms as if they were programmed.
The noise and the lights become more and more overwhelming. I need some mental rest so I finally decide to go to the bar.
I must say that the entrance to the bar looks very dark compared to the casino area. I go because I’m curious, because I have been told that that bar is one of the oldest ones in Colorado, and because is the only bar in Central City/Black Hawk that does not have anything related to slot machines. Besides, the girl that did my hair last week, Candace, is the bartender in that bar. She said that she makes good drinks, so here I go.
The place smells like old wood. The walls are covered with some 50’s or 40’s green wallpaper, that kind of wallpaper that displays pictures of flowers and golden dashes. There’s vintage wall art all over the bar and three deer heads. As a joke, somebody had attached a “buck” on one of the deer’s nose with a thumbtack, and as I look high on the walls to see those “two bucks”, I reach the ceiling with my eyes: a layer of dollar bills, maybe a thousand of them; you can hardly see the ceiling. “Hey, darling!” I hear a loud voice breaking this small contemplative moment. “Hi, Candace” I say. At the top of the bar there’s a wooden sign that says:

Jack Brown
-Service without a smile-
“How ironic,” I think as I sit down in front of the bartender who has a big smile on her face
-“I thought it was service without a smile, Candace”.
-“Ha-ha! That sign was here since Jack was a bartender in the 60’s. He never smiled; but he loved his job so much, he requested to be buried underneath the bar. His ghost gives me a hard time sometimes, but when he does, I dance like this…”

Candace does a goofy dance jumping and shaking her hands and ends it with a big laugh. She is matching this place, definitely. She’s wearing an old times corset with a big low cut so anybody can see her bra straining to cover her big chest.
-“I like your uniform” I say.
-“Dude! I’m going to make some money tonight!” she says, as she adjustes the corset so that anybody can have a better view of her breast. She puts some humor into it.
“The locals are coming tonight, you’ll get to know them…What do you want to drink?”
-Ehm… I’m still thinking
-I make the best Martinis in town… do you want to try some?
I don’t know about martinis since I am not the biggest fan of vodka or gin but after a little bit of bartender flaring and some fancy moves, I say: “Sure”. She starts flirting with the bottles: she grabs a bottle of cheap vodka and throws it in the air, catches it, pours some in the drink shaker… she keeps adding more liquids into this compunction, shakes the shaking glass and finally pours some into a martini glass. “Coffee martini, try it, you will love it” I take a sip and feel like there is an alcohol orgasm introduced into my mouth. Sweet, bitter, coffee; “Oh god, Candace, this is yummy”. I sip on my drink and turn my head to see more and suddenly, there it is: a Jukebox. I walk towards it and take a look at the selection: Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, “Harley Davidson songs”, “Songs for the road”… As the songs are free of charge, I play “On the road again” and some Santana; and when I’m done setting up what I want, three guys come inside of the bar through the old swing doors and I almost feel like they are cowboys ready for the action.
I assume they are some of the locals since they talk about things going on in town. Candace interrupts them saying: “Guys, I want to introduce all of you to Mayra. She just moved here a month ago with her husband”. All of them say “hi” politely while Candace serves them a shot of Jack to each one and a bottle of Bud. A Fat girl comes out from the casino, a local as well, she goes towards the jukebox and plays this song that goes more or less like this: “You don’t have to call me darling, darling… don’t ever even call me by my name…” Country. Everybody in the bar know that song and they all sing it loudly. I am still curious about the dollar bills on the ceiling so after this song I asked her: “What’s up with the dollars in the ceiling?” She goes: “It’s an old mining custom. In the mining times, in the paycheck days, each miner used to stick a dollar bill on the ceiling and any time one of them died; they took all the money down and would give it to the family of the dead miner”. Then the fat girl says: “Nowadays we use the money to throw a party. There’s free alcohol; you get invited if you stick a dollar in the ceiling”. Jimmy Buffet’s “Margaritaville” is now playing. A gambler comes into the bar and orders a Corona, Candace grabs a lime, throws it in the air and catches it with her left boob, grabs the bottle of beer; “Do you want a lime in your Corona?” she asks. He says yes with the head and immediately she proceeds to locate the bottle in between her two peaches and with a smart movement on her chest she makes the lime fall perfectly into the bottle. “Here you go, honey”. Seems like everybody in the bar already know this trick but still enjoy it.
I keep thinking about the dollars in the ceiling and the miners. I tell Candace that I want to do it, I want to stick a dollar bill on the ceiling. She gives me my tools: a thumbtack and a quarter, she shows me how to wrap everything together, and tells me that I just have to throw it towards the ceiling. It seems like it’s impossible to do, but I really want to give it a shot. So there I go: I try to find a good spot, relax my arm, throw it and Bam! Got it stuck on the first shot. Candace goes: “Right on dude! Let’s make you a shot, all right everybody! Shot time!” Again, there she goes again mixing and shaking; one, two, three, four and five shot glasses over the bar that she fills artistically. Right after we were cheering each other and before taking that shot, her loud voice interrupts us all: “Hey wait! If the midgets did the YMCA, would it be considered lower case?” Everybody laughs for some seconds and then we take the shot. “It’s called “Adios Motherfucker”, it’s my signature shot” she says, always loudly, talking to everyone. That shot was too sweet that I get ready to say adios.
Suddenly, before I leave this place, the jukebox plays the next song: “the locomotion”, some sort of disco song that puts Candace at the top of the bar dancing with a hula hoop. She dances on the top of the bar during the whole entire song.
I finish my martini and observe Candace entertaining the whole crowd by herself and now she’s behind the bar again. I tip her because according to me, she’s a damn good bartender in a damn nice bar. I leave the bar thinking that certainly that’s the only bar in the area without gambling and big crowds involved. A small island to breathe and to forget the life for a bit. And to drink. Just like in the Wild West times. Cheers.

jingle all the way

Feliz navidad!!
mi navidad no fue la mas traducional, los papas de Ryan vinieron, fuimos al restaurante que queda cerca de mi casa, tomamos apple cider (sabor refresco de manzana con canela), fui a trabajar, mis papas me llamaron a la medianoche peruana mientras yo le estaba sirviendo un whisky a un fulano que siempre va al casino, llegue a mi casa a las 3 am, me desperte a las 9 am, vinieron los papas de Ryan, abrimos los regalos, fuimos a almorzar al casino mas grande alrededor y de nuevo a trabajar: como ne-gra. Aparentemente el dia 25 de diciembre es el dia mas popular del anho en los casinos



y aparentemente los clientes ludopatas consideran como tradicion navidenha llevar a la familia a apostar y a los mas pequenhos, a jugar... no con los regalos de papa noel, pero con las makinas para ninhos que hay en el zotano del casino.



La navidad que conosco no es tan diferente de la americana, pero tienen sus diferencias...

1. La mayoria de Americanos celebra navidad, pero no a medianoche. Quienes son cristianos van a misa y cenan pavo en familia. En Peru, celebramos a medianoche.

2. La gente en USA decora mucho mas que en Peru: pinos, ornamentos, coronas de navidad, cantidad de luces en las fachadas, renos, gigantescos papanoeles inflables, botas en las paredes, flores navidenhas, la gente masivas cantidades de tarjetas navidenhas por correo (real, no electronico) PERO, la mayoria (no todos) no le dan mucha bola al nacimiento mientras que en Peru, me acuerdo que mi familia y la familia de mis amigos hasta disenhaban una montanha del tamanho de la pared para adornar el nacimiento.

3. Los villancicos no son tan clasicos aqui, en Peru la mayoria de personas hasta ahora ponen el cassette de villancicos noche de paz, tamborillero, vamos a belen, etc... ah! aqui hasta las radios de rock pasan villancicos

4. los regalos en Peru se abren en nochebuena, en USA se abren al siguiente dia porque Santa Claus deja los regalos en las casas mientras todos duermen.


el dia 25, Ryan y yo intercambiamos con su familia, sus papas son cristianos asi que ellos fueron a misa mientras yo trabajaba y la mama de Ryan compro una torta de cumpleanhos... para cantarle happy birthday a Jesus.



Nacimiento del tamanho de la pared en Peru

En fin, Mi familia me dijo que me iban a mandar un video de todos cantando villancicos, esperare! :)

Carta de Simone de Beauvoir a Jean Paul Sartre

Querido pequeño ser:
Quiero contarle algo extremadamente placentero e inesperado que me pasó: hace tres días me acosté con el pequeño Bost. Naturalmente fui yo quien lo propuso, el deseo era de ambos y durante el día manteníamos serias conversaciones mientras que las noches se hacían intolerablemente pesadas. Una noche lluviosa, en una granja de Tignes, estábamos tumbados de espaldas a diez centímetros uno del otro y nos estuvimos observando más de una hora, alargando con diversos pretextos el momento de ir a dormir.

Al final me puse a reír tontamente mirándolo y él me dijo: “¿De que se ríe?”.
Y le contesté: “Me estaba preguntando qué cara pondría si le propusiera acostarse conmigo”.
Y replicó: “Yo estaba pensando que usted pensaba que tenía ganas de besarla y no me atrevía”.
Remoloneamos aún un cuarto de hora más antes de que se atreviera a besarme. Le sorprendió muchísimo que le dijera que siempre había sentido muchísima ternura por él y anoche acabó por confesarme que hacía tiempo que me amaba. Le he tomado mucho cariño. Estamos pasando unos días idílicos y unas noches apasionadas. Me parece una cosa preciosa e intensa, pero es leve y tiene un lugar muy determinado en mi vida: la feliz consecuencia de una relación que siempre me había sido grata. Hasta la vista querido pequeño ser; el sábado estaré en el andén y si no estoy en el andén estaré en la cantina. Tengo ganas de pasar unas interminables semanas a solas contigo.
Te beso tiernamente,
tu Castor.



me encanta, me encanta, me encanta


una de las cartas de Sartre a Simone dice:

"Cómo la amo a usted, querida mía. Hoy daría un dedo por verla a usted cinco minutos y decirla que la amo. Hasta pronto, amor mío. Le amo a usted apasionadamente y hoy siento esto fuerte y dolorosamente. Escríbame todos los días".

Me pone de buen humor de vez en cuando leer las cartas de pensadores..., particularmente Beauvoir y Sartre, me gusta pensar en la intensidad de su relacion. Supuestamente el amor entre ellos era el necesario y los demas eran contingentes, o esa era la regla entre ellos. En fin,
Feliz Navidad

El mercado

Mientras Ryan cocina, aprovecho para reportarme desde evergreen, Colorado (la foto es de nuestro depa en central city, CO). En la foto hay un par de plantas.... Ryan y yo tratamos de producir nuestros propios tomates y pimientos el anho pasado, casi con exito!! pero ni bien nos mudamos a evergreen, los venados se comieron toda nuestra produccion... si! venados!! en evergreen se pasean como si nada.. mas adelante mostrare las fotos.... me siento misma blancanieves cuando me despierto, veo mi ventana y hay como 20 venados o renos alrededor tomando sol.

Pero si, es una tendencia que va creciendo en los yunaites... la gente empieza a darse cuenta de que los alimentos que venden en walmart y todas las grandes cadenas de supermercados son (aparte de caros) producidos con cantidad de quimicos, asi que (generalmente para muchos norteamericanos) es mejor comprar productos organicos (mas caros)... generalmente estos se venden en los llamados "farmers market" de gente que produce sus propios productos...




asi que... este es "mercado" aqui en los USA... la foto fue tomada en Berkeley, California justo durante el desfile "mardigrass" (vease ultima foto).


derrepente el siguiente verano intentaremos vender comida exotica en el mercado.
y por si acaso: En estos momentos ryan esta cocinando con productos organicos...