All noteworthy

We were ready to test ourselves in the first tropical depression to pass. So then Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, died. He was the crossover artist of my childhood, that little imp five years younger than me who wowed the world with his musical prowess.
Because of news of the British Final Tour, there had been some discussion about Jacko with my friend, handyman, and beading consultant. Even in a country where paleness of color is fostered with umbrellas, covering babies until they look smothered, Michael Jackson's obsession with cirurgia plastico was seen as leading to his doom.
My purchases last week in Cancun included broccoli and white cheddar cheese. The idea was to stow the cheese for hurricanes and steam and freeze the broccoli, after using some in salads. Instead, we made broccoli relleno, wedges of cheese stuffed among the branches of the broccoli, dipped in eggwash and flour, and friend like a chile relleno. Topped with canned turkey gravy with added mushrooms. On the side, a pancake of more grated cheese mixed with the flour and eggwash and fried. Red salsa, Melinda, as an accent.
"Maybe it started with pain after the facial surgeries." Instantly King of Rock to King of Pop comparisons were made. No one really bought the vitaglio story. Ah ah. At the end of a weekend of reports, the reaction in the autopsy suite to all the scarring that could be seen without makeup.
But no, Deepak Chopra said it went further. Seeking and seeking. Oblivion it seemed. But somehow, it seems from preliminary reports, he left a healthy looking corpse.
During this tragic passing, I was still feeling ill and eating for two, or three. The doctor laughed about it last week. It's synthetic cortizone, a lot of the dreaded side effects are gone: The mood swings, temper, rounding of the face, water retention. They haven't dinged the appetite. Dr Yupit says any weight gain will go quickly.
So as CBS and CNN en Espanol dissected Michael Jackson's death, I was under the influence of weather and not doing much of consequence, except for eating like the King of Rock might have in a tropical depression.

Dog gone cold!

It was so cold yesterday that my friend Gail and I decided just to visit here at the house and eat. She bought good looking steaks at the Super, but they were tough even after marinating. Tasty though. Free range grass fed cattle! Think heart healthy.
And as an Obama volunteer who had tickets to an Inaugural ball, she picked up souvenirs for me! I read both commemorative editions of the Washington Post last night and nearly slept with my posteri zed official Inauguration t-shirt. No, it doesn't mention Twitter, but I found an image on Flickr that did!
It's another brisk one today. At 6:30am, it is 57 degrees with a high of 70 forecast for the day. So we go into Zina Beach Mode. Villa Vera to protect us from the winds!
Gail bought me TWO gift bathing suits. I like the brown one best. It's a hottie!
So we sat around and talked about the campaign and Inauguration. PH Terry emailed a huge photo of the Inaugration and Gail could pick out where she was, but HALF the people were also wearing white hats. No fair!
So what to do before it gets warm enough for Villa Vera? I think I'll throw myself on the heating pad and then have mushroom ravioli for breakfast. Or cold corn flakes. But on to the heating pad!

Doggie Dog, not Snoop

This afternoon, I talked with Mr Hodge, my Third World coach, now from Ohio, originally from Liberia. He wondered how I felt about hurricane preparation since I grew up in a paradise, one that trained me for Isla, I like to say, even for hokey parades.
It's all good, Mr Hodge. I told him about Skype and how he could call family in Liberia with it. Or his sister in Norway. He'll check into it.
Jose is coming back tomorrow to do more deep cleaning. He us also using his time here to improve his English and is amused that I call Lora, doggie dog. The only other he ever heard of was Snoop Doggie Dog. He listened to the explanation of the diminuitive and similar examples. Then, to work.
Yesterday, he cleaned the bodega and fridge and transferred all the stuff from the apartments back to the fridge.
He fired up the generator and took Lora, twice, to get gasoline. Then we dropped off laundry and got rosticeria chicken and took carrot juice to Amelia.
We were no sooner done eating than the Maya plant lady came and drew a crowd to the front of the house. As a young man who rents a room in Centro, he was a bit amazed by life in the colonia. He rather liked it, being from the puebla next to the town wher you catch the Holbox ferry.
He played a bit with Lora before leaving. And I went to Federico's to collect a couple kilos of copied documents before my immigration lawyer called to ask if we could switch the appointment to this afternoon. I said I preferred Monday and he seemed to as well. Then, I tried to get Lora to come in for the night.
She had to be tricked. After a half hour of coaxing, I got in the golf cart while keeping the leash hidden. She jumped right in, I hooked her up, and in we went!
This morning, Lora floja went for a run. But she kept stopping to sit. It wasn't even hot yet when we stopped to see Rubi and her master. They played. A dog a day, another playmate for Lora, still waiting for her vet with the doggie chews.