County

 

I'm a medical resident at County Hospital.

I live on an island off the coast of Miami. To get to work each day I have to drive across a long bridge that connects the island and the mainland.  It's usually dark when I leave home. Everything begins early at County Hospital. Do you know why?

Please tell me.

When I drive in I like to listen to Haitian music on the radio. It's very melodic and gentle to the ear. It relaxes me. But then again, as with all things Haitian, it carries with it a certain element of mystery and voodoo.

As I drove in this morning I looked across the water. Off in the distance I could see a full moon hanging over County Hospital. Its reflection rippled on the bay water.

I shuddered.

 

We had a good take down last night in the ER.

He was about thirty and big. He had been sleeping when the meals had been passed out but now he was wide awake and he was hungry.

The nurses were busy and they told him he'd get fed at dinner time.

The guy was an idiot. He started accusing the nurses of eating his meal. I was writing some orders in a chart about five feet from the guy doing my best to ignore him. I heard a nurse tell the guy to stay on his stretcher but he was moving.

A couple of security guards appeared out of nowhere.

The guy stood up and there was that moment when the security guards placed their hands on him..

The guy went at them with his teeth. He bit square on one of the guard’s arms and all mayhem broke loose. They tried to hold him but the guy was crazy and his head was moving so fast. He bit and bit and bit.

The ER was packed so I played a supportive role in that I made sure there was a big desk between me and the action.

Fifteen minutes later the ER was back to its usual tempo like nothing had happened.

The guy was now among the disappeared.

I saw one nurse giving a report to a police officer. That was about it. I went back to the chart to finish my order. There was a wicked string of blood droplets across the order sheet. That took me back a moment.

I looked over and saw a nurse rinsing his hand off in the sink. There was blood going down the drain.

I looked down on the floor and saw several pools of blood. I heard one person say, "Shit, he'll be back on the street in 2 hours." Then another say, "Maybe not, assaulting a security guard in a hospital is a felony."

I didn't know that.

Something to remember.

About then I heard the ER attending talking. "That patient over there is holding his chest." he said, "I hate that."

I had finished writing my orders and I would have enjoyed a few moments with my eyes closed but the attending was looking at me. He handed me a yellow flow sheet. "Here's your new patient."

"The guy holding his chest?" I asked.

"No, this is a little different."

I checked out the vital signs on the chart and they were OK. I went to meet the guy. He was an older Hispanic male and he only spoke Spanish so I called for the Spanish interpreter.

While I was waiting for the interpreter, I checked out the patient's medical history.

Schizophrenia, paranoid type. Alcohol dependence. Non-compliant with his antipsychotic meds. His last hospitalization was last month. Apparently he had walked up to a car and punched out the driver accusing him of being in the mafia.

Okey.

The Spanish interpreter showed up and we walked over to the patient.

Through the interpreter I asked the guy why he had come to the ER. He started talking in Spanish.

The interpreter said. "He has an infection on his testicles"

The guy continued in Spanish.

"He says he went to a doctor and the doctor gave him some cream to apply to his testicles."

I heard the guy say, "Mucho! Mucho! Crema!"

"He says he applied a lot of cream to his testicles but it hasn't helped."

"He says the sores have gotten worse and that it smells very bad."

The patient and the interpreter talked back and forth in Spanish but I did hear the guy say, "Terrible!" in English.

"He says it smells terrible."

For a moment I just looked at the interpreter.

"Doctor, I am glad I am the interpreter." said the interpreter.

Okey.

We went on with the interview. The big question was this:

"Sir, this problem has been going on for a while. What is it that brought you to the emergency room TONIGHT?"

"He says his legs hurt. They've been hurting for about a week and today he just figured he should come to the hospital."

The interpreter left and I started my exam. His lungs were clear thank you Jesus. Heart sounded good. In general he was filthy but his abdomen was benign which almost made me weep for joy.

I figured I'd jump on down to the legs and postpone the inevitable.

I lifted up the covers to look at his legs and was surprised to see that he didn't have any feet.

Both legs ended cleanly at the ankles in what appeared to be well healed post-amputation stumps.

Luckily the interpreter was still nearby so I grabbed him and through him asked the guy how he had lost his feet.

"Circulation problems."

An attending once told me that patients can have as many medical problems as they want.

Above the stumps both legs were swollen and angry red. I felt them and they were warm. I pressed with my thumb to assess for edema and the guy got bug eyed and yelled. "ARRRGGGG!!!"

I backed up with visions of a motorist being punched out.

The guy said something angry in Spanish. I let him cool down for a second and then said.

"OK, down with the pants." I motioned and he started to pull down his drawers.

He had described his testicles pretty well. I got my pen light out and made a quick assessment and then walked ten feet away and started breathing again.

Good God.

I told him to pull his pants back up and I went to the attending to present the patient.

This is a 65 year old Hispanic male with a past medical history significant for schizophrenia, peripheral vascular disease and bilateral foot amputation.

"Yah," said the attending, "He's been here before. Now and then he gets up and walks around on his stumps. It scares everyone."

I had visions of him striding headlong across a parking lot to confront the Mafia.

Here's the beauty of the ER. The rash on his balls was being dealt with already by an outside physician so we weren't going to do anything about that tonight. Thank you Jesus. He can go back and get more crema. The red swollen legs were cellulites vs DVT. I gave him two grams of Rocephin and ordered an ultrasound and looked up at the clock. It was 7:00 am and I sign out at 7:30 am so I had things to do.

I wrote discharge orders on the two asthma patients I was treating. I checked an x-ray on a guy with abdominal pain and wrote his discharge. Then I presented my other cases to the incoming attending and I was going home.

To get out of the ER I had to walk through the holding area. The County ER holding area is a sight to behold. There are about 30 stretchers with patients lying on them waiting to be seen. Some of the patients are moaning, some are sleeping, and some are just lying there bored. The wait in the holding area can be up to 24 hours depending.

I had to squeeze by one of the stretchers to get through.

"Excuse me" I said.

"Doc, Doc, I'm in pain. Bullet wound." I looked at the guy. I swear he looked like he had just stepped out of “Pirates from the Caribbean”.

"Mmmm.." I said, "Well, I gotta go.."

I looked up at the exit door and made a beeline.

 

Miami 2007

Chicken for Chicken Curry

This afternoon I felt the desire to make chicken curry for my dinner.  I asked my wife if we had any chicken and she said no. 

“Go to the store across from Nanay.” She said.

I knew the place.  It was a little sari sari store.  Smaller than ours.

“They sell chicken there?” I asked incredulously.

She assured me they did.  So I headed off, down Reconie street.

The sari sari store she sent me to was really tiny.  And cute.  Little more than the window to the house with a few vegetables sitting on a counter out front.  It was raining a bit and I stooped to get under the awning.  I stood there in front of the store window waiting.

"Crystal May!"  From behind me across the street I heard my sister-in-law call out a name.  The owner’s name I presumed.  My sister-in-law must have seen me waiting.  And yes, in a moment a little old lady appeared at the window.

Crystal May.

“Do you have Manok?” I asked her.  Manok is chicken in Tagalog.  One of the few words I know.

She squinted her eyes at me, for a second, and then said, “It’s frozen.”

“That’s OK, " I said, "I just want to get a piece.”  and patted my thigh like just a piece.

She gave me a lop-sided grin, “You want the leg?” she asked and laughed wryly.

“Yah,” I said smiling.

She disappeared for a moment and then returned with a frozen half chicken.

I looked at it.  It was a little more than what I had wanted but whatever, “That’s great.” I said.

“You want me to cut it?”  she asked.

“Sure, that would be perfect.” I answered.

She pulled out a meat clever from somewhere and tried to cut the bird with it, but the meat was frozen solid.  After a couple of tries she put the clever down and disappeared. 

Then she returned with a full-on black machete.

“Good God” I thought.

She took a big swing with the machete.  And Whack!  The chicken was in two pieces.

“Wow,” I said, in amazement.

She weighted the chicken quarter and said to me, “70 pesos.”

I gave her the 70 pesos and she handed me the chicken.

Dinner was looking good.

 

Calbayog City  2022

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Buche y Lengua

Buche y Lengua

I work in a medical building on the corner of Wilshire and Alvarado Streets in downtown Los Angeles.  I love the area.  It is very Mexican and the streets are alive with people.

And street vendors.

Down the block from where I work a guy sets up a grill and sells tacos.  They are delicious.  He grills several types of meat and heats up corn tortillas.  Alongside his grill he has containers with chopped onions, cilantro, radishes, salsa.  Build your own taco style.  It's great.

The other night after work I stopped by to get my dinner.  There was a bit of a crowd so I took my place in line and waited my turn.  Next to me there was a guy quietly looking down at the meats cooking on the grill.

"Have you eaten here before?" he asked me.  He didn't sound too comfortable about this.

"Yah," I said, "The tacos are delicious."  Then I regretted saying anything.

"Really?" his face brightened, "Which meat do you get?"

I hesitated.  I could see where this was heading but the truth was..

"Buche." I said.

That made him stop.  "Buche?" he asked, "What's buche?"

Damn, I knew he would ask that. 

"I don't know." I confessed.

Dear reader, I'm from the school that says if it taste good don't ask questions.

"You don't kno..."  he said letting the sentence trail off unfinished.  His eyes showed a trace of horror."

"Well," I tried to explain, "It's some kind of cooked meat and it taste great."  He rocked back and forth like he was about to go down.

"Ok, wait." I called out to the taco vendor, "Que is buche?" I asked.

"Buche?" he replied, "Buche es stomach." he explained, "Pig stomach." he clarified.

Ah, that's right.  I turned back to my new friend, "It's stomach." I said with a smile, "Pig stomach."  I added like yummy it's good!  But he was turning green.

"Next!" the taco vendor called out.

My new friend stepped forward and said, "Give me a chicken taco."  Then he looked back at me and said, "I'm just getting a chicken taco."  He grinned sheepishly.

"Hey, that's cool." I replied, "It's all good here.  Try the buche next time.  It's great, really."

A moment later the taco vendor gave my new friend his chicken taco.  He grabbed it and walked over to the side.  In the evening light I saw the silhouette of his head making a rendezvous with the taco.

"Next!"

I stepped forward and ordered two buche tacos.... and one lengua taco.  I know what lengua is.  It's tongue.  Pig tongue.  Hahahaha.  It's good too.

A few moments later I was plowing through a taco when my new friend came up to me with a big grin.  "Hey, these tacos really are good!"  he said.  I guess I had been redeemed.

"I love 'em." I said back and considered saying, "try the lengua next time" but thought better of it.

"See you around." he said and headed off.

"Yah, see ya." I called back and returned to my dinner.

I took a bite from my taco and leaned up against the fence and chewed.  Above me I could see Jupiter in the sky next to the moon.  It was a lovely night.

As I sat there eating my taco I began to imagine the evening as a science fiction story.

In the story I'm a doctor working in downtown Los Angeles in the year 2115.  By 2115 humanity had spread throughout the solar system.  Mars and the moons of Jupiter have large human populations.  String theory has led to the development of tacyon drive systems.  Interstellar flight is a reality.  Several alien races now live with us here on Earth.

We had gone to the stars, so the aliens had come here.  Or, as was the case with the Zarcons, we had brought them here.

It was raining and I had just gotten off work.  In 2115, Los Angeles is drenched in rain.  I was standing under a plastic awning.  A street vendor had set up a large grill and he was grilling meats of various types.  The enclosure was filled with smoke and the smell of cooking meat.  Rain, smoke, cooking meat and the sound of sirens.  Los Angeles 2115.

Standing next to me was a Zarcon.  I could smell the Zarcon as much as see it but I didn't dare think that.  The Zarcon's head was barely as high as the grill but its compound eyes, on their stocks, extended upward over the grill and were looking down at the cooking meat.

It turns out that carbon DNA based life forms are spread throughout the galaxy.  There are silica based life forms as well but the Zarcons are definitely DNA based.  And they love meat.

Standing in back of the Zarcon was its buddy.  I looked at the buddy.  He was a tall blonde haired young man, quietly waiting on the Zarcon.

The blonde haired buddy turned to me and asked, "Have you eaten animal forms here?"

I knew it wasn't the human speaking.  It was the Zarcon talking through the human body.  His buddy.  Mind control.  Zarcons, while in human territory, are allowed to have one buddy, by treaty, so that they can communicate.  It's their right.

The blonde buddy looked at me waiting for a reply.  I looked at the buddy and I did not feel sorry for him because I knew the human that used to be him was no longer there.  Just the flesh.  Now a buddy.  The Zarcon would hear my answer through his buddy's ears.

"Yah, I've eaten here." I said.

"Which one is monkey meat?"  The buddy asked me.

I clenched my teeth and controlled myself.  We all knew about the Zarcons taste for primate meat.  I looked nervously at the Zarcon.  It did not move.

"They don't sell monkey meat here." I said and steadied my voice.  The Zarcon was playing with me.  I wanted to show him I was calm.  "Try the buche," I said, "similar taste."  And then I caught myself and started to worry.

"What is buche?" the buddy asked me while the Zarcon continued to eye the meats.  Rain, smoke, the meat sizzling and distant sirens..

Damn.

"I don't know." I confessed.

I heard clicking sounds from the Zarcon's proboscis.  Zarcon anger.  I broke into a sweat.

"Que es buche?"  I called out to the man behind the grill.

"Buche es stomach." the man at the grill replied without looking up.  "Pig stomach."

I looked back at the blonde buddy and then down at the Zarcon.  The clicking sounds had stopped and I felt relief.

"Is it good?" The buddy asked.

"I like it." I replied.

The blonde buddy stepped forward and said to the vendor, "Give me a bowl of buche."

The meat vendor filled a bowl up with all the remaining buche and handed it to the blonde buddy.

The buddy took the bowl of meat and followed the Zarcon over to the side of the enclosure.  Through the smokey haze I could see the buddy quietly holding the bowl for the Zarcon to feed from.  The Zarcon moved in and extended its proboscis into the pile of meat.  I remembered the images we all saw of the Zarcons in New York with their mind control powers on full blast.

I shuddered.

"Next!"

I stepped forward and told the vendor I'd have chicken.  Whatever.

I got my bowl of chicken and walked over to the other side of the enclosure to eat.

In the sky the clouds were breaking.  I could see Jupiter next to the moon.

We should have stayed on Earth, I thought.  My eyes welled with tears.

Los Angeles   2015

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When I was in my mid 40's

 

When I was in my mid 40's I went through a Punk Rock phase. Don't ask me why.

OK, I'll tell you why. I was dating this crazy 20 year old Chinese punk rock girl. You crazy man, you're thinking. I agree, I agree..

She was into snow boarding too.

We used to go to little punk rock clubs in Los Angeles. She and I would get into the mosh pit and mosh it up.

I know, I know..

The first winter that we were dating we went snow boarding.

Snow boarding looks like a blast right? I rented the board and got all strapped in. I took the lift up to the top of the bunny slope. I launched myself off and went down about 100 feet, gaining speed, and crashed. I remember actually hearing my ankle go POP! as it broke. It hurt extremely badly.

My young Chinese friend came zooming down the slope, doing a couple of cool zigzags, and then came to a beautiful stop right over me.

"Are you OK Cole?" She asked, looking down at me.

The rescue team showed up. I made it back to Los Angeles and the surgeons put metal pins in my ankle. To this day the bells go off when I try to board an airplane.

I was out of commission for the rest of that snow season but when the next season came around I decided to be a bit saner.

"Lee Ping," I said, "This time I think I'm just going to try regular skiing."

"OK, cool." She said.

We returned to the slopes and I rented the skis. I went up the bunny slope again. 100 feet later I crashed and this time I broke my arm. Don't ever let anyone tell you that broken bones don't hurt. They do.

It all happened so quickly. Lee Ping was still on the lift going up to the top of the advanced suicide slope. She later told me that as she was riding up, she looked down, and saw a large crowd of people. Then she realized that crowd was surrounding me.

The surgeons did an external fixation to the bones of my arm. It was God awful. When I woke up from the surgery I found my arm in this mechanical device with metal pins going through my skin and into the bones. I had to wear that for two months.

One of the nurses at the hospital said to me, "Dr. Clark, no more, please." She looked at me with honest concern, "Don't even eat a snow cone, Ok?"

I think the high water mark of my Punk Rock period had to have been when Lee Ping and I went to Lollapalooza.

I should have known it was going to be a bad day. Right off the bat when we got there Green Day was playing and Lee Ping and I started moshing and some little fucker ran up and punched me right in the rib cage. That hurt! I stood there for about 5 minutes holding my ribs and trying to concentrate on just breathing.

But the pain went away and the show moved on. We saw L7, who I still love actually.  And there were more acts and then...

The act we were waiting for was the Beasty Boys. Oh Yah! That was the act Lee Ping and I had come for. We wormed our way to the front of the crowd. If you don't know Lollapalooza, let me tell you, there was a crowd of about 50 bazillion crazy youths there. Close your eyes for a second and imagine. Yah.

Lee Ping and I wormed our way forward and succeeded in getting all the way to the front. Then the Beasty Boys came on and the show started.

And suddenly, the crowd of 50 bazillion surged forward. The Beasty boys didn't try to build up to a climax. From the first note it was a loud and aggressive musical torrent. And Lee Ping and I were in the middle of a crushing mass of sweaty drug crazed teenage hormone driven frenzy.

Here's something I didn't tell you. You see, deep down I'm still a hippie from the sixties. I came to the music festival wearing shorts and sandals. Peace.

I rapidly realized that all the other guys, and girls, were wearing jackboots and my toes started getting stepped on. Stomped on!

Owwww!!!!

Things evolved rapidly. As my feet were getting stomped on, my upper body was being crushed. I tried to hold people off, but my arms started to get weak. And my feet.. Oh God, my toes! I pushed to stay up but my legs started to get tired. I remember my legs beginning to shake.

I started to go down. I realized that once I went to the ground, the entire crowd of 50 bazillion was going to stomp all over me.

I started screaming, "Help! Help! Help! Help!"

I was terrified.

And then about four or five of those big guys grabbed me, picked me up, and threw me over the fence.

Honest.

I flew over the fence and landed on the ground. Kerplunk..

I lay there, on my back, for quite some time, trying to catch my breath. I hurt all over. As I looked upward I saw Lee Ping.

"Are you OK Cole?" She asked, looking down at me.

It wasn't until the next day that I was able to fully assess the damage to my toes. I was amazed to see that most of my toenails were broken. My toenails were broken. That had never happened to me before.

Wurd.

 

Miami 2006

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Rain and Coffee

 

Hello John,

It's absolutely pouring rain this morning.  Not just any rain.  The lord is emptying the bucket right on Calbayog City.  It's pouring.  And surprisingly cold.

Nice weather for a cup of coffee.

I'm sitting here in my little office drinking my morning cup of Joe and enjoying the sound of rain on the tin roof and Delroy Wilson's Super Mix.  Love that record.

"Oh Donna, Donna I love you.  Donna, I need you.  Please say you'll be mine.  Oh Donna, I'll never be untrue."

What a life.

My son wants pancakes.  I told him first let me write this letter.

Last weekend we took a trip to the big city of Tacloban.  Tacloban is a four hour drive south from Calbayog City.  The drive is breathtaking.  Coconut jungles with little villages.  Emerald seas with islands in the distance.  And windy roads.  We hired a van with a driver for the trip.  He loved playing loud music and blasting his horn while he passed trucks on blind turns.  He let me ride shotgun so I had a ring side seat for the excitement.

Tacloban was fun.  It's actually pretty much a city.  When we got there everyone wanted to go to the McDonalds.  There was about fifteen of us with cousins and aunts and uncles and everyone wanted burgers and fries.  I thought fuck that and went off by myself to wander around the city and look at things.  The streets of Filipino cities are crazy.  Filled with tricycles and hordes of people.  Crowded little shops selling everything.  And beautiful women.  Not gonna lie.

I eyed all the street food and landed on a stand selling grilled somethings on a stick.  Yummie.  Hahahaha.

I finished a stick and decided to polish it off with a nice piece of warm banana loaf from the bakery next door.

I asked the young woman behind the counter how much for a piece of the load and she said, "10 pesos."

"10 pesos!!," I exclaimed and then smiled.

10 pesos is about 15 cents.

She laughed and gave me the loaf.

The only problem with Filipino cuisine is they don't understand coffee.  I looked around for a cup of coffee to have with my loaf but none could be found.

So I went back to the McDonalds.  They have coffee for sure.  Some things about American culture are still great.

"This is the last train to Africa my friends.  The last train.  Jump right on.  Let's go have a ball.  I said to jump right on.  Cuz there is fun for all."

Time for pancakes.

Calbayog City  2022

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Playing for your life

 

Me:  New photo from yesterday's walk.

Dan:  There's a few of these I'd like to paint.

Me: Yah, I think about your art when I crop these photos.

Dan: This one for starters.

Me: I went on a long walk outside the city one day and took that pic.

Dan: I like all the greens.

Me: This place is rich with images.

Dan: Nice.

Me: I like the outdoor markets.  The city is filled with them.  Every street is lined with markets.  Many of the homes have little Sari Sari stores.  It's really beautiful.

Dan: Ya Mon all your stuff is fresh.

Me:  I have to be careful though.  The locals don't really like having their pictures taken which is understandable but still I have to sneak in some photos.  By the docks is a fish market that you wouldn't believe.  They sell everything from crabs to fish to snails to squid, octopus anything from the ocean.  Stall after stall after stall along the waterway.  It's amazing and I'm dying to get a picture but I'm too shy to raise my phone when I'm in close enough to take a picture.

Dan: Be careful.  The Philippines seems jolly but there's a sinister underbelly in it.

Me: Yah, I call it "the laughter and the machette"

Dan: Lol

Me: We've had a bit of machette violence here.  I work hard to keep a low profile.

Dan: Tribal battle I assume.  Mostly womanizing.

Me:  And land ownership.  We have a big big family and rivalries go deep.  They're coconut farmers.  99% of the island is coconut jungle.  And every inch of it is divided up.  When people die there are inheritance battles.  My wife comes from a little village deep in the mountains.  About 200 people smack in the jungle.  It's gorgeous but again it's gorgeous with the machete.  

Me:  In the villages they have this thing called "Chop Chop."  If one of the villagers fucks up bad like rapes a woman or causes serious harm to a villager the men get their machetes and "Chop Chop."

Dan:  Jesus.

Me:  I mind my own business. They've all known me for over a decade and I've bred into the family so I'm cool.  But I remain cautious.

Dan:  Don't forget, you de White man.

Me: True.  When I walk through town I make it a point to stand tall, mind my own business, and channel Clint Eastwood.

Dan: Oooooo

Me:  Speak when spoken to style.  And play.... play for your life.

Calbayog  2022

The lovely Cacao fruit

 The lovely Cacao fruit.

Do you know where chocolate comes from?

This, my dear reader is a cacao fruit.  Don't let its simple looks and brown spots fool you.  This is pure gold.

We use a handy butane tank to crack it open.

And look at what's inside!  Those white balls are the fruit.  The outer white covering is edible and delicious.  Not unlike leche fruit but sweeter not so sour.  

The white fruit is nice.  But inside...  Inside the fruity balls are the cacao seeds.  The stuff of legends.  The delicacy for the Aztec king.  The treasure the Spaniards brought back to Europe.  The source of chocolate.  The cacao seed.  Or what we will now refer to as the cacao bean.

My sister-in-law has the beans sitting out in the sun to dry.

continued HERE.

Filipino Wandering

 

Filipino Wandering

 

Hi John and everyone,

 

How are you all? Life here in the Philippines is moving along. Each day is a new day. We wake up with the roosters. After I've had my coffee and after we've gotten our son off to school, my wife opens up the store and I, create another day.

I love going on walks through our little city. Sometimes I have things to do like buy fruit or whatever but usually I just wander around. Aimlessly. Just me. Wandering through this strange and beautiful city so full of mystery. I feel keenly alive. It's amazing.. 

Today I went for a long walk.  I made it all the way to the far side of the city and I kept going out into the countryside.  It was a beautiful day.  Blue skies and a few fluffy clouds. And quiet.  I walked down a country road into the coconut jungle and I kept going.  Just me and the green jungle and the occational car.

"Hi"

I heard a woman's voice from somewhere.

Now John, one of my personal mottos that I always adhered to is that if you hear someone yell "Hey you" do not turn to look at them.  This came to my mind, so I just kept walking.

"Hi" I heard the woman's voice again.

It did not sound unfriendly.  But I kept walking.

Suddenly a young boy came running up to me pointing to where he had come from saying, "My mother..." pointing.

I turned to look and there, standing in the doorway of a nipa hut, was a raven-haired Filipina waving me to come over.  Smiling. Come, she motioned to me, come.

"Hi," she said again and even from the distance her smile was lovely.

Oh my...

Now John, had I been younger and single, knowing me I would have come.  I'm dumb like that and... 

But John, I am neither.  

I smiled back and called out "Thank you" for what reason I don't know but thank you's never hurt.

I turned and continued walking.

The boy urged me again to come but I said "No" with a smile and he seemed to get the hint because he stopped.  And me, I kept walking and didn't look back.

I made it to the end of the road where it hit the coast highway and wandered out onto the rocky shore.  I found myself in what looked like a fishing village with homes on wooden piles and small boats sitting peacefully on the beach.

As I walked by the beach homes I saw an old woman sitting on a porch.   When I got near to her, I kid you not, she held up a glass of whiskey and said laughingly, "Do you want a drink?"

"No thank you," I said "I don't drink" which is one hundred percent true.

 And I kept walking. 

Calbayog, 2022 

Compa Mamba in Miami

artist: Coupe Cloue

album: Live in Paris

label: LPSGMG

Some people claim that the creator's ultimate creation are Haitian woman.  They are correct.

Maybe it has something to do with beautiful African women speaking with French accents, or maybe it's voodoo, but good lord, thank you.

I moved to Miami five years ago for my work.  I love the city.  I live in an apartment on the bay a couple blocks from South Beach.  I must say it is quite nice. The blue ocean, the white sandy beaches and the women sunbathing...what more do you need man.

The work that I moved to Miami for was a temporary position.  It ended after three years and living next to this beautiful ocean I decided to take some time off and chill. 

I'm a record collector and by the time I got to Miami I had amassed a record collection of over 7000 discs.  LPs and singles.  Mainly reggae records but also African records and a trove of 60s selections.  They were all in boxes that filled most of my living room.  

So, to summarize, my day job was over.  I had thousands of records that were worth a bundle. I didn't really feel like getting another job.   What to do?

And that, my dear friends, is how grooVemonzter got started.

Since then I've been selling records on eBay and hanging out at the beach, and it is lovely. 

I have a routine of sorts.  I post my records in the morning and take the ones that sell to the post office.  Other than that, my days were mine.   When business is done, I venture out into Miami to see what comes my way.

A few months ago I was driving down the street in South Beach when I heard the most wonderful music.  It was coming out of the window of the car driving next to me.

When we reached the stop light I looked over and saw that the car was being driven by a lovely Haitian woman.  I figured out that she was Haitian after I spoke to her and heard her accent.

I figured out she was beautiful because I can see.

Being that I am the shy type I called over to her, "Hey, what kind of music is that?" 

She grinned and yelled back, "It's Compa!"

Living in Miami I've heard a lot of Compa on the radio.  This music was different.  It didn't sound anything like the radio Compa.  But in as much as I was in love I called back, "It's nice!"

"Do you want the CD?" She yelled back.

Honest.

I said something like, "Really?"

She started laughing. "Yah," she said, "It's a copy."  And to my surprise I saw her reaching over to eject the CD.

Events unfolded rapidly.  We were sitting in our cars at a stop light in the middle of Miami traffic.  In amazement, I suddenly saw her holding the CD out of her passenger side window.  I tried to grab it, but I couldn't quite reach far enough so I got out of my car.  

About then the light turned green.

She started cracking up.  I ran over to her car and grabbed the CD.  I began hearing horns honking.  She threw her car into gear and gunned it.  I ran back to my car amid cries of anger.  And she was gone.  Lost in traffic.

But the CD was in my car playing.

And that, my dear friends, is how I got the CD pictured above.

It appears to be home made and written on it is "Coupe Cloue Live in Paris" and "L-P-S-G-M-G"

I looked up Coupe Cloue.  Coupe Cloue is a famous Haitian musician.  His band "L'ensemble Select" is well known in Haiti and other parts of the world especially Africa.  Coupe Cloue's Compa is different and unique.  They call it Compa Mamba.

Does anybody know what "L-P-S-G-M-G" stands for?  I haven't the foggiest idea.  

 

Miami 2009

Calbayog City 2023

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