A born expat author

The first thing I asked Lin Robertson was why he calls himself a born expat. He is an American born in Japan and now living in Mexico. 

He is probably the only published author of fiction I ever met. He explained to me what a Gringo is. 

"Gringos are North Americans."

"But isn't Mexico considered North American country?" I asked thinking of the North American Free Trade Agreement always known as NAFTA, for short. 

"Technically, it's what white Americans are called in Mexico." Lin added that the term used to be derogatory to Caucasians in US. He said he doesn't get offended being referred to as Gringo.

I borrowed two of his books which happened to be available at the San Diego Central Library. I didn't get to read them. Meeting a real author and listening to his narratives in person was more interesting.

 

Sex on the beach at Rosarito

The reentry to the US that took 3 hours of waiting was to me worth the food trip.

I have already eaten a third of the serving when I remembered  to say Grace before meals.
Holy Mary, pray for us!
Kim mentioned about the chocolate clam on our way to Rosarito. I was thinking of our very own chocolate soup. To my delight, the chocolate clam did not even come  close to the color of a coagulated pork or beef hemoglobin that our very own chocolate shoup is made of. The steaming aluminum foil covered  clam was pried open right before my very eye. The clam meat must have been scraped  and chopped before they are put back into the clam for a short grilling. The clam meat was served  rare with salsa and a slice of lime and avocado.  For someone who can't eat shrimps and shellfish at home because of pre existing food allergies in the household, I swear by Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the chocolate clam is really good!

Bloody Mary and Sex on the Beach are about the same price and cheaper than Piña Colada Especial. Bloody Mary sounds so British, it's like listening to Adele sing Rolling in the Deep over and over again.
Of course Sex on the Beach would be nice!

And you don't even have to be at the Seafood Festival at Rosarito Beach Hotel grounds to enjoy Sex on the Beach. All you need is
1.5 oz vodka
0.5 oz peach schnapps
1.5 oz orange or pineapple juice  and
1.5 oz cranberry juice

Octaves on a Concert Violin

"My name is OC and I am an OC. Don't argue with me."

Aside from having OC for his initials,!he tells me he is a real OC with the D. He takes Zoloft, Lexapro, Prozac and occasionally Seroquel. 

I could relate with OC. I could humor him with treats from the pantry. I won him over in a way by calling him Octaves.

"Your name is music to my ears." I told him half seriously.
 

From then on, he would always ask for me or ask if I am working.  He is music personified, indeed. He started playing the violin at five. He was a prodigy.

He came to US from Romania in his teens, or was it Hungary? Life used to be do re mi fa so la ti do in a violin. He performed with a band in Las Vegas. As in every sonata, there's a a do at the beginning and all the notes in between until the music ends with another do. Take it from this shithead who doesn't know anything about music. 

There's Octaves smiling with his violin for a photographer. It is hard to imagine Octaves seeing him  as the OCD that he is now.  It must have been  the strings of the violin that got out of tune, then it snapped!

Mayada, daughter of Iraq

The story chronicles one woman's survival under Saddam Hussein. As I read the account of Mayada 

Anak ng Puto at Dinuguan

"Grade  1 lang ang inabot ko 

No read, no write pa ako

Paano na lang ang buhay ko?"

Karlee wanted coconut juice from Trader Joe's. Before she texted me to pick her up from the Sandberg's residence after a sleep-over, I was ready to enter Orient Valley, a Filipino cuisine place at Carmel Mountain. I aborted the plan to pick her up from the Sandberg's and thought she might want a tall glass of Halo-Halo at Manila Sunset. She declined the tall glass of Halo-Halo and wanted to leave the place. She seemed disappointed about not going to Trader Joe's. Stuck-up snot!

"Isang kahig, isang tuka

Ganyan kaming mga dukha!"

I enjoyed the song more than anything else. In an enclosed area came  the sound of a screaming child  throwing a fit. 

It's the Manila Sunset, alright. A young Filipino girl took my order. She repeated my order in a no-accent English without the suffix "po". 

Puto at dinuguan!

The  steamed rice muffin which is more of my translation of puto is mushy and more of the son of a male prostitute that I thought it was in the first place. 

The vampire soup is good enough for this fucking hand-to-mouth nomad that I would always be.