D.F. / D.C.

Whew. Back from Mexico City. It was a grand time, friends old and new. The trip nearly ended before it began when I did a flying body flop off some playground ride just off the Zocalo. It's more than a week later, my ass still looks like a plum, but in general, I'm okay.

Aside from the natural and alcohol induced high of a lucha libre match, the highligt of the trip was a Sunday floating down the canals of Xochimilco, drinking bottles of Victoria, eating corn, tacos, or whatever was being offered by the myriad vendors who steered their vessels next to ours. Mariachis, xylophone players, islands of decrepit dolls. Good times.

Back in D.C., however, I'm dizzy, nauseated, and have been able to little else but sleep and tear through Fletch novels. Next time, I think I'll take the safe route and skip the ice.

Oh wait. One other thing I've managed to do is to put some serious legwork into finding the perfect seersucker suit. The guy from J. Press made an offhand remark suggesting that I cut my hair, the Bolivian lady at Burberry offred me a job, even though I didn't like their pleated model. In the end, I think I'll be going with a Brooks Brothers model sold by a kind gentleman who says 'seersucker' with a super sloppy slur.

-Jason

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sent wirelessly via blackberry