Hello world, especially Friends!

I’ve been watching Shogun, the Miniseries that Began All Miniseries. It is wonderful. There is a handsome pirate (“I’m *not* a pirate! I only steal from the *enemy*!), a number of fascinating Samurai (Omi-san is *so* butch), and the Prettiest Priest in the World.

Plus, a likeable female character! Go, Mariko!

I especially like the way the audience is drawn into learning Japanese with Richard Chamberlain. Every step above fangirl Japanese is a giant step for fankind. I think that there will simple have to be Anjinn-san/Father Alvito slash or I just may cry. (Makes note to Google).

I made the huge and horrible mistake of missing last Wednesday’s Angel, and am off now to remedy it via a buddy’s tape. I hate when the tape ends before I’m ready for it to be full.

This whole waiting-for-the-climax of Buffy is making me slightly mad. I have avoided spoilers, but every so often one of my friends gasps and says, “Oh, poor Spike!” or “Oh, poor Willow!”, or “Oh my goodness, Buffy!”, etc. I think I may have to go live in the hills.

You people are wonderful, giving me recs and stories and fb, pretty pictures and sharing your lives. Thanks muchly.

::exit stage left::
So, Y tu Mama Tambien was on my mind and

Every time Tenoch sees pigs, he smells salt water and hates his life.

The pigs are not to blame, usually they smell like themselves and their foul pens and sometimes the leftover slops of poorly cooked beans and rice, rotting lettuce and mud. He sees them often, travelling to win the votes of his people, convincing them that he is their hero. Many of his people still live close to their food, watch it run and clean its shit off of their shoes only intermittently.

Tenoch has a pretty, green-eyed wife who does not like pigs, salt water, or anything from Tenoch’s past. She says only kind things about the peasants.

He likes his wife very much.

Today they are meeting with the press, and there are lights flashing as his black American car pulls up to the tire plant which still smokes. The pigs are not in the tire plant; they were running across the road as Tenoch’s driver screeched to a stop two miles away. All the people who work in the factory look poor enough to live with pigs. His wife is clearly not pleased with the situation.

One of the reporters is small, and dark, and thin in the tautly muscled way that makes Tenoch check his wife to see if she is watching him. He smiles his very famous smile at the young man, who grins but whose eyes are merely brown. The tire plant reeks horribly, but Tenoch learned years ago how to smile through disgust and to be happy to see anyone who has a camera.

They are now on television, and Tenoch puts aside memories of pigs and the smiles of reporters and everything but the current situation at the plant and the plight of the workers. He makes statements that he practiced in front of a mirror, and he gestures with great firmness.

In the bustle of leaving the scene of what will be one of his great triumphs, he finds his fingers clutching a small slip of paper with numbers on it. His very kind wife will not find it, for which he is grateful. He doesn’t mind brown eyes, in the dark.
.

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