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Inside Don Pablo’s Don Pablo sat hunched on a leather topped stool, pouring over the Pennysaver. He didn’t look up. I moved through the restaurant/Mexican grocery, making a point of making noise. I stomped my feet with each step. I hummed the Ride of the Valkyeries, accompanying myself on the box-of-rice shaker instrument. I popped open some Jarritos Guava Sodas, stuck the tops to my soles and tapped a John Bubbles routine, playing with the traditional eight bar phrase, syncopating my percussive heel stomps in fitting tribute to the master. But it was not until I waved my hand wildly about, inches from his face, all the while shouting “Hello! Hola! Speaka the English?” that Don Pablo raised his head, unfolding with an audible rasp the paper folds of his neck. And when finally he looked at me, face to face, man to Don Pablo, I gasped in astonishment at the strangeness of his ancient Mexican eyes.

The next few episodes will be shortish because I’m working like hell on the Soccergirl book. I love you!

Are you a true believer?

Shout outs, show notes, ephemera:

– Nominate Soccergirl, Incorporated a People’s Choice Podcast Award today!!

– Ryan’s list pf places he’s visiting: Beijing, Lhasa, Xi’an, Chongqing, Shanghai, Guilin, and Hong Kong

– Vote at Podcastalley guys! Remember about how I’ll show you mine!

This entry was posted on Sunday, July 15th, 2007 at 2:10 pm and is filed under Podcast, brutha. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.