dimanche, mars 29, 2009

modern love: in a charmed life, a road less traveled

There are days when I feel so happy that it oozes from every pore in my body. I literally radiate it, and the optimist in me wants nothing more than to experience this bliss for the rest of my life.

The cautious optimist in me sometimes dwells on what my life would be like if fate (or a drunk running a red light) shattered that happiness. Because I've endured one Krakatoa in my life, I hope that the dark days in my life are not merely dormant, but forever in my past. I realize that it's not productive to spend time in the dark recesses of my imagination, so I usually don't. Then I stumble on an essay like this one that reminds me that no matter how awful circumstances can be, when there's love, there's hope.
Modern Love: In a Charmed Life, a Road Less Traveled
Published: March 6, 2009

MY wife and I were in a motel in Roanoke, Va., on our way home from three months at the Hershey Medical Center in Pennsylvania, where she had been convalescing after being crippled in a car accident. It was our first night away from the skill and comfort of the nurses we had come to depend on, and so far, so good.

Then we woke up and smelled something. It smelled like a bowel movement. I lifted up the sheets. It was a bowel movement, and it was in our bed.

We knew we had a lot to learn, but we had no idea how much.

Hearing the word paraplegic had made us focus on the big thing, the fact that Linda could no longer walk. Less anticipated were the smaller humiliations and inconveniences, like bowel movements in bed or on the way to a party, sores that came out of nowhere and took months or years to heal, and inaccessible restroom stalls that caused Linda to have to catheterize herself in the public area where people were washing their hands and talking.

And on it went, the list of indignities. She couldn’t watch “Good Morning America” if the remote fell off the bed when she reached for her glasses. She wet the seat on airplanes and in friends’ cars. She could no longer feel sexual intercourse (and the powerful muscle spasms in her legs threatened to crush anyone who tried).

But we’ve learned, and adapted. Now we know the places with good handicapped-access bathrooms (Starbucks), which airline makes things easiest (Southwest), which cities have smooth curb cuts (San Francisco), and which movie theaters don’t make us sit four feet from the screen.

Anyone who is in love is living a charmed life, especially if you’ve been in love for many years, through good times and bad. I have been crazy about Linda since the first time I saw her. We always felt we could handle any challenge because we were facing it together. This time we knew we had the will, but the demands were so exhausting, the changes so pervasive, that sometimes we wondered how we would cope.

This incredibly capable woman who loved to hike mountains, ride waves, and run marathons, who had cleared our sizable backyard of eight-foot-high brambles and helped me move all our furniture into three houses, suddenly couldn’t do any of those things, ever again.

Not long after getting home from the hospital, when we were having dinner by candlelight at our kitchen table, she burst into tears. “I don’t know if I can do this for the rest of my life,” she said.

All I could say was, “We’ll do it together.”

We began to think of what we could do to replace playing tennis, walking on the beach, working in the garden. Since Linda loves the ocean, a friend found a specially designed beach chair made of PVC tubing with wide inflated tires that allow it to be pushed across the sand. It’s yellow and white with a big red umbrella.

The first time I saw Linda sitting atop those tubes and under the red umbrella, I told her she looked like Ronald McDonald’s homecoming queen.

She laughed like crazy, then repeated it to everyone she knew.

A few summers later, one of our three sons suggested that he and I get on either side of the chair, slide Linda off, carry her into the ocean and drop her just beyond the waves so she could float calmly behind the crashing breakers.

At first we put her in a life preserver, but she tipped over and couldn’t right herself. So we took it off, and to our surprise she bobbed peacefully, looking once again like every other person lolling in the sea on a summer day.

You know those great old stores on Newbury Street in Boston with five or six steps up to each one? At first we could get up only about three of those a day. Now we can do every single store, one right after the other, all day long. My arms and my back are stronger — so are Linda’s — and there’s a rhythm to our teamwork that’s become second nature to us.

We take many more drives now, preferably in our convertible, looking for pretty roads and funky hamburger places, especially ’50s-style drive-ins where they bring the food to our car. Before the car even moves an inch, though, Linda has to put on her seat belt, because even a semi-sudden stop at low speed will whap her face against the dashboard as if she’s a spring-loaded bobblehead. She has no stomach muscles. Her body works only from the chest up.

I remember the day we had to tell her that. She was in the I.C.U., tubes all over, machines and screens whirring and blinking, traces of dried blood in her gnarled hair. The doctor and I stood on either side of her bed.

“Linda,” he said, “this accident you were in was a rough one.”

“I can tell,” she said, her words warped by the breathing tube.

“At the moment your legs do not move.”

She looked at him. “Will they?”

“I doubt it.”

Her eyes shifted over to me. I squeezed her hand gently.

After the doctor left, tears filled her eyes. “It was all too perfect,” she said, “wasn’t it?”

And it did seem that way. It always had.

My first glimpse of her was through the screen door of her house; I’d gone there to see her brother. She was 21, and I was 22. She looked adorable in her orange dress, and I thought, “If that girl will have anything to do with me, that’s it.”

We married soon after.

We settled in Nashville, where I was an aspiring songwriter. A decade later we were able to buy a summer house on a harbor in Rhode Island. That’s where we were going when the accident happened. We had been traveling in two cars when something went wrong with mine and we stopped in Knoxville at a repair shop. Linda was wearing a blue and white seersucker dress as she and our youngest son, Mac, who was 15, walked to her car. It was the last time I would ever see her walk. As they pulled away, she called out, “See you in a few hours!” and blew a kiss.

I blew one back.

We planned to meet up later at a motel in Allentown.

Have you ever come upon a traffic jam on the Interstate and looked for an exit to try your luck on the back roads? That’s what I did the night of Linda’s accident. I drove right by my family without even knowing it. I bet I wasn’t more than 100 feet away.

It was late. I was impatient. Traffic was stopped in both directions. Finally I managed to move to the shoulder and scoot along to an exit, where I found an empty frontage road running parallel to the highway.

Barely onto it, I saw a cluster of blinking blue lights in the distance. Wow, what happened? I wondered if Linda and Mac were already at the motel, or if they were also stuck in this jam. Then I thought: Could they be in that accident? But wait — of course not. They were way ahead.

A while later I stopped at a diner, where I found a pay phone and dialed the motel. When I asked for the Martine room, the desk clerk said, “There’s someone on the other line calling for Martine, too.”


“Someone from the hospital in Hershey.”

“Can you connect me?”

“No, but they gave me their number.”

I hung up and redialed, my face hot. The woman who answered identified herself as the hospital chaplain. She said my family had been in an accident.

“Are they all right?”

She put the doctor on, who told me that my son was O.K. My wife, however, was a different story.

I listened as he described her condition, then asked, “Can she think?”

“Yes. Her brain is fine.”

And that’s when I knew we could do it, long before I had any idea what “it” was.

Now, 15 years later, we do know.

We know that most people — strangers, anywhere — will knock themselves out to help us if we explain what we need. We know to say “Yes” to nearly everything because there is probably a way to do it. We know there is happiness available every day, most of it requiring more effort than money. And effort seems like a small price to pay for a day at the beach, a trip to New York or for dinner up eight steps to a friend’s home.

A few months after the accident, Linda started driving again. Her car has hand controls. She thinks nothing of driving to visit her father two hours away by herself. She has rolled three marathons — yes, a full 26-plus miles in a racing wheelchair.

And now, so long since that fateful night, looking across the dinner table at my wife, or seeing her across the room at a party, the hopeless crush I have on her is as wonderfully out of control as when I first saw her more than four decades ago through the screen door. I still get excited after work when I pull in the driveway and know that I’ll soon get to see the sexy, beautiful, very funny person I live with. And, later on, snuggle up to her in bed.

We’ve rolled up and down the hills of Tuscany, squeezed into pubs in Ireland, explored narrow streets in Paris and Rome, gone to Red Sox games, had coffee in the sunshine in San Francisco, Portland, Chicago and Miami. And we’ve learned that alongside great loss we can still have a great life. We want it so badly, and we love it so much.

At sunset, as we sit on the deck of our house in Rhode Island in our side-by-side chairs — mine Adirondack-style, hers on wheels — we look across the water at Fishers Island and think we are as lucky as two people can be.

We don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or who will live how long. But we were young together. We struggled to make a life. We raised three great sons. We’ve each been the caregiver and the cared-for, and I suspect that we each have a little more of both in our future.

We are two, but we are one. And I love those numbers.

Layng Martine Jr. is a songwriter in Nashville.

samedi, mars 28, 2009

the axis of evil supper club goes to uruguay

(Not literally.)

Last night, Leo and I hosted Ash, Holly, Bucky, Ophira, and Maria for an asadito. In the process, we discussed being put in the crappy line at Israel's border crossing, dealing with the Syrian and Jordanian border crossings, how many camels Holly was worth in Egypt, bombings in Lebanon and Israel, why the brown person always gets singled out at the Mexico-US border crossing, me (allegedly) attempting to have Leo deported, sibling rivalry, pregnancy, the scary things in our food chain, when Beagles fly, the relative social tolerance for women who cluster in the center of Kinsey's scale (as opposed to the social pressures for men to end up on the extreme ends of Kinsey's scale), the sexualization of women, Holly and Bucky's impending nuptuals, the difference between church cleavage and WOW cleavage, Prop 8, the Patriot Act, being strip-searched at PHX, executive compensation, how San Diego schools aren't laying off any teachers despite the current budget crisis, the fact that Holly finished the bottle of Chardonnay solo, and many other topics that currently escape me.

Today, I informed Leo that I'm re-forming the Axis of Evil Supper Club. That's because I can't think of a better way to spend three hours than eating great home-cooked food and discussing foreign policy, sexuality, dogs, travel, and social norms (for starters) with good friends whose intellect, experience, and humor leave me feeling stimulated and incredibly satisfied.


Assorted cheeses (Manchego, Drunken Goat, etc.)
Chianti salami
Tobin James Rock-and-Roll Syrah, Purple Moon Chardonnay, Newcastle Brown Ale

Choripanes (Argentine chorizo on fresh bolillos with chimichurri)
Entraña (skirt steak)
Organic, locally-grown CSA salad with red butter lettuce, radishes, tomatoes, red bell pepper, and green onion in a white balsamic vinaigrette

Twice-dipped chocolate strawberries with vanilla ice cream
Dried figs with pecans and agave nectar
EOS Novella Muscat Canelli


lundi, mars 16, 2009

tramp stamp barbie

I've officially seen it all.

At 50, Barbie's shaking things up. First, there was the awesome cougar Barbie parody. Then, I saw this picture, and thought "there's no way that Mattel would greenlight that -- it must be a parody," but some (undoubtedly now-unemployed) marketing hack did greenlight the Totally Stylin' Tattoo Barbie, complete with a heart-shaped "Ken" license plate. In China, she's getting anime eyes, a rounder face, and a softer (whatever that means) complexion.
TOYS: At 50 years old, Barbie gets tattoos -- and a megastore in China
By Tiffany Hsu and Don Lee
March 6, 2009
Reporting from Shanghai and Los Angeles -- Barbie turns 50 this month, and to shake off a midlife crisis she's getting tattooed and opening the doors to her first megastore in China.

The developments are causing a stir on two continents, not bad for a plaything whose global cachet has been sagging of late.

We begin in Southern California, where, just in time for spring, Mattel Inc. has released Totally Stylin' Tattoos Barbie. The doll comes with a set of more than 40 tiny tattoo stickers that can be placed on her body. Also included is a faux tattoo gun with wash-off tats that kids can use to ink themselves.

A spokeswoman for the El Segundo toy maker said it was a great way for youngsters to be creative with their pint-sized gal pal. But some parents are horrified by this body-art Barbie, labeling her the "tramp stamp" queen of playtime.

On her parenting blog, Telling It Like It Is, Texas mother Lin Burress sarcastically predicted that "Totally Pierced Barbie" would be the next to roll off the assembly line. Readers commenting on the blog chimed in with their own fictional "Divorce Barbie," who would take possession of Ken's accessories.

Burress, a 46-year-old mother of six, said she was fed up with companies pushing racy fare to kids to make a profit.

"It's just one more thing being added to the pile of junk, like push-up bras and Bratz dolls, being marketed to these ridiculously young kids," she said. "These so-called toys just create a sense of rebellion."

This isn't the first time Barbie has had some eyebrow-raising accessories. The Butterfly Art Barbie from 1999 had a permanent tattoo on her stomach. In 2002, Mattel released a pregnant doll -- not Barbie but her friend, Midge -- replete with an infant that could be removed from her midsection. Consumer outcry chased the product off shelves.

Mattel said the new tattooed Barbie, priced online at about $20 and up, was selling better than expected. There are no plans to discontinue the doll.

Meanwhile, Mattel this weekend will unveil the House of Barbie in Shanghai.

The six-story retail emporium is the brand's first stand-alone store in China. It's a multimillion-dollar bet that its 11 1/2 -inch plastic toy will appeal to Shanghai's material girls, even in this horrible economy.

"There's no reason why in five to 10 years, China shouldn't be the biggest market in the world for us," said Richard Dickson, Barbie's general manager, sitting on a lattice boudoir bench on the store's fourth floor, where girls can design their own dolls.

The store also contains a salon where moms and daughters can get facials and manicures. There's a restaurant and bar. Naturally it offers thousands of Barbie products, from branded chocolate bars that cost a buck or two to an adult-sized Vera Wang-designed wedding dress for $10,000.

Mattel is one of many Western retailers flocking to China to tap its growing middle class. Apple Inc. and Adidas opened their China superstores in Beijing before the Olympics last summer. Walt Disney Co., Warner Bros. and others have beefed up their investments, even as piracy and tougher local competition have cut into their business.

At the moment, Asia accounts for less than 5% of Barbie's global sales. The doll has been showing its age in recent years; Barbie sales worldwide were off 9% in 2008, hurt by the recession and competition from rivals.

Whether China can give Barbie new life remains to be seen. Mattel's recently opened store in Buenos Aires has been drawing crowds. But there are plenty of doubters who point out that you need only go into a Chinese home. You won't find many girls playing with dolls, let alone dolls with blond hair and blue eyes.

Dickson concedes that China's slowing economy will be a challenge, but to appeal to local sensibilities, Mattel has come up with a Shanghai Barbie -- with bigger eyes, a rounder face and a softer complexion. The price: about $36. The doll has no tattoos.

lundi, mars 09, 2009

zoo chimp stockpiles weapons

H: Call me the Great Santino.
L: A chimpanzee that stockpiles weapons. If this doesn't convince those GOP wackos that evolution exists, I give up.

As I read this article today at work, I completely lost it. I was laughing so hard that I was crying at David's desk. And by "crying," I mean that there were tears streaming down my face and I looked like Alice Cooper. David was also giggling and his face rapidly went from red to purple.

Fave lines in the article: "he could be a genius" and "he rarely hit visitors because of his poor aim, and no one was seriously injured in the cases when he did." Someone needs to tell the Onion, stat.
Health & Science | Study: Zoo Chimp Planned Weapons Stockpile
by The Associated Press

NPR.org, March 9, 2009 · A canny chimpanzee who calmly collected a stash of rocks and then hurled them at zoo visitors in fits of rage has confirmed that apes can plan ahead just like humans, a Swedish study said Monday.

Santino the chimpanzee's anti-social behavior stunned both visitors and keepers at the Furuvik Zoo, but fascinated researchers because his behavior was so carefully prepared.

According to a report in the journal Current Biology, the 31-year-old alpha male started building his weapons cache in the morning before the zoo opened, collecting rocks and knocking out disks from concrete boulders inside his enclosure. He waited until around midday before he unleashed a "hailstorm" of rocks against visitors, the study said.

"These observations convincingly show that our fellow apes do consider the future in a very complex way," said the author of the report, Lund University Ph.D. student Mathias Osvath. "It implies that they have a highly developed consciousness, including lifelike mental simulations of potential events."

Osvath's findings were based on his own observations of Santino and interviews with three senior caretakers who had followed the chimpanzee's behavior for 10 years at the zoo in Furuvik, about 93 miles north of Stockholm.

Seemingly at ease with his position as leader of the group, Santino didn't attack the other chimpanzees, Osvath told The Associated Press. The attacks were only directed at humans viewing the apes across the moat surrounding the island compound where they were held.

However, he rarely hit visitors because of his poor aim, and no one was seriously injured in the cases when he did, Osvath said.

The observations confirmed the result of a staged laboratory experiment reported in 2006 by scientists at the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Leipzig, Germany. In that case, orangutans and bonobos were able to figure out which tool would work in an effort to retrieve grapes, and were able to remember to bring that tool along hours later.

"Every time you can combine experimental and observational data and you get a consistent result, that is very powerful," said an author of the 2006 study, Joseph Call. "This is an important observation."

He noted that there are big individual differences among chimpanzees, so the observation might not mean all chimpanzees are capable of the same planning.

"It could be that he is a genius. Only more research will tell. On the other hand, our research showed the same in orangutans and bonobos, so he is not alone," Call said.

Osvath said the chimpanzee had also been observed tapping on concrete boulders in the park to identify weak parts and then knocking out a piece. If it was too big for throwing, he broke it into smaller pieces, before adding them to his arsenal.

"It is very special that he first realizes that he can make these and then plans on how to use them," Osvath said. "This is more complex than what has been showed before."

The fact that the ape stayed calm while preparing his weapons but used them when he was extremely agitated proves that the planning behavior was not based on an immediate emotional drive, Osvath said.

For a while, zookeepers tried locking Santino up in the morning so he couldn't collect ammunition for his assaults, but he remained aggressive. They ultimately decided to castrate him last autumn, but will have to wait until the summer to see if that helps. The chimpanzees are only kept outdoors between April and October, and Santino's special behavior usually occurs in June and July.

"It is normal behavior for alpha males to want to influence their surroundings ... It is extremely frustrating for him that there are people out of his reach who are pointing at him and laughing," Osvath said. "It cannot be good to be so furious all the time."

In Connecticut last month, a 200-pound pet chimpanzee once seen in TV commercials mauled a woman trying to help its owner lure it inside and cornered a police officer in his cruiser before the officer shot and killed it, authorities said

The owner has speculated that the chimp was trying to protect her and attacked the woman because she had changed her hairstyle, was driving a different car and was holding a stuffed toy in front of her face to get the chimp's attention.

lundi, mars 02, 2009

el cuarteto de nos

El Cuarteto de Nos is in heavy rotation chez H&L. They're a band that Leo "discovered" a few years after his cousin Javier recommended them.
Cuarteto is the oldest active Uruguayan band and has gained praise by transcending local culture through universal themes and engaging everyday pathos in a humorous light.
Here are some of our favorite songs ...

Ya No Sé Qué Hacer Conmigo
Ya tuve que ir obligado a misa, ya toque en el piano "Para Elisa"
ya aprendí a falsear mi sonrisa, ya caminé por la cornisa.
Ya cambié de lugar mi cama, ya hice comedia ya hice drama
fui concreto y me fui por las ramas, ya me hice el bueno y tuve mala fama.

Ya fui ético, y fui errático, ya fui escéptico y fui fanático
ya fui abúlico, fui metódico, ya fui impúdico y fui caótico.
Ya leí Arthur Conan Doyle, ya me pasé de nafta a gas oil.
Ya leí a Bretón y a Moliere, ya dormí en colchon y en somier.
Ya me cambié el pelo de color, ya estuve en contra y estuve a favor
lo que me daba placer ahora me da dolor, ya estuve al otro lado del mostrador.

Y oigo una voz que dice sin razón
"Vos siempre cambiando, ya no cambiás más"
y yo estoy cada vez más igual
Ya no se que hacer conmigo.

Ya me ahogué en un vaso de agua , ya planté café en Nicaragua
ya me fui a probar suerte a USA, ya jugué a la ruleta rusa.
Ya creí en los marcianos, ya fui ovo lacto vegetariano.
Sano, fui quieto y fui gitano, ya estuve tranqui y estuve hasta las manos.
Hice el curso de mitología pero de mi los dioses se reían.
orfebrería lo salvé raspando y ritmología aqui la estoy aplicando.

Ya probé, ya fumé, ya tomé, ya dejé, ya firmé, ya viajé, ya pegé.
Ya sufrí, ya eludí, ya huí, ya asumí, ya me fuí, ya volví, ya fingí, ya mentí.
Y entre tantas falsedades muchas de mis mentiras ya son verdades
hice fácil adversidades, y me compliqué en las nimiedades.

Y oigo una voz que dice con razón
"Vos siempre cambiando, ya no cambiás más"
y yo estoy cada vez más igual
Ya no se que hacer conmigo.

Ya me hice un lifting me puse un piercing, fui a ver al Dream Team y no hubo feeling
me tatué al Che en una nalga, arriba de mami para que no se salga.
Ya me reí y me importó un bledo de cosas y gente que ahora me dan miedo.
Ayuné por causas al pedo, ya me empaché con pollo al spiedo.

Ya fui psicólogo, fui al teólogo, fui al astrólogo, fui al enólogo
ya fui alcoholico y fui lambeta, ya fui anonimo y ya hice dieta.
Ya lancé piedras y escupitajos, al lugar donde ahora trabajo
y mi legajo cuenta a destajo, que me porté bien y que armé relajo.

Y oigo una voz que dice sin razón
"Vos siempre cambiando, ya no cambiás más"
y yo estoy cada vez más igual
Ya no se que hacer conmigo. (bis)
Nada Es Gratis En La Vida (Note: Not a music video, it's a series of Argentine photos laced with social commentary and futbol, but the song quality is pretty decent.)
Mamá compró y se le rompió
El forro del que naci yo
La plata no pudo juntar
Y el embarazo cancelar

Ella invirtió en mi educación
Pero con una condición
Porque le tuve que jurar
Que de vieja no la iba a internar

Dificil de creer
Dificil de explicar
Dijo un troyano ojo con un griego que trae regalos
Sea con dinero o no
Siempre se paga un favor
Y si veo que algo es facil
Yo dudo enseguida

Pague antes o despues
La cuenta va a aparecer
Y esta claro de que nada es gratis en la vida

Papá pago una mina en un bar
Cuando me llevo a debutar
Y por curarme se endeudó
De la peste que me contagió

Sí sí ya se
Esperma done
Pero pobrecito el destinatario
Yo tengo alzheimer hereditario

Y como el jefe comento
Despues que mi sueldo aumento
Si la limosna es de cuatía
Hasta el santo desconfía

Sea con dinero o no
Siempre se paga un favor
Y si veo que algo es facil
Yo dudo enseguida

Pague antes o despues
La cuenta va a aparecer
Y esta claro de que nada es gratis en la vida

Si sera asi que lo jodi
Al diablo cuando le vendi
Mi alma que no vale un billete
Se la canjee por un clarete

Ni honorario ni voluntario
Soy un sicario y cobro salario
Y no pidan solidaridad
Que yo no hago caridad

No es gratis mi salud
Ni gratis sera mi ataud
Si es que no pide su tajada
Es que no vale nada

Sea con dinero o no
Siempre se paga un favor
Y si veo que algo es facil
Yo dudo enseguida

Pague antes o despues
La cuenta va a aparecer
Y esta claro de que nada es gratis en la vida

... nada es gratis en la vida
... nada es gratis en la vida
... nada es gratis en la vida
... nada es gratis en la vida
Hoy Estoy Raro
Hoy estoy raro, y no entiendo por qué,
Si nada extraño me tuvo a maltraer.
Hoy estoy raro, no sé lo que hacer.

Será que hoy me puse a recordar
los días de mi infancia cuando siempre estaba mal
hijo único de la casualidad
mi padre era hippie y mi madre era punk

Ah, capaz...fue por esa niñera
que para que no llorara ponía en mi mamadera
valium, y salio un día con sus amigos
y volvió con esa manga de drogados,
y acelerados, en un rito satánico
después de torturar a mi hamster cocinaron.
Fue un infierno, me lo hicieron probar.
¡Y no era tierno!

Depende, ahí yo era un jopende,
como dijo mi tío que es un tipo que me entiende:
el que no sufre no aprende,
y ahí me bajó un diente de una patada
y me robó la plata que el ratón dejó bajo mi almohada.
Todos se reían cuando arrastraba la erre.
Mi abuela me pedía que si moría no la entierre
y que subiera más:
"Quizás, quizás, quizás"

Hoy estoy raro, y no entiendo por qué
si nada extraño me tuvo a maltraer
Hoy estoy raro no se lo que hacer.
Sentarme a esperar, que se me pase y chau

Y ta, capaz, fue que quede marcado
por ser hijo de padres divorciados.
¡Qué tarado!, no lo había pensado,
pero si fuera así todos seriamos traumados.

Y yo a media luz, ponía un blues
y la abuela a Jesús le pedía que Gardel
no fuera de Toulousse.
Yo pinchaba con su cruz, los granos de pus
por mi alergia al mousse.

Achus!!! Será que fui a cenar
con la novia de mi padre,
que me invitó pero me hizo lavar las cacerolas,
y al ver que mi hermana desfilaba medio en bolas
me dijo: Mirá, las modelos son todas trolas.

Y se enfurece,
¡justo ella!, que cuando toma se emputece.
Me tuve que rajar cuando después del cuarto vino
me empezó a toquetear
y se rió y le vino...hipo

Y me contó como anticipo
que va a dejar al viejo por el tipo
que le pagó la lipo.
Será por eso que estoy sensible,
la vida es impredecible.

Hoy estoy raro, y no entiendo por qué,
si nada extraño me tuvo a maltraer.
Hoy estoy raro no se lo que hacer.
Sentarme a esperar, que se me pase y chau

Capaz que no le hizo gracia
al de la farmacia
cuando dije que yo defiendo a muerte a la eutanasia.
Decía que si todos se morían se fundía,
y me tiró con un frasco de homeopatía.

O en una de esas,
como decía el peyote estoy mal de la cabeza.
Pero no, el doctor que me curó me juró
que la herida del frascazo en la nuca ya cicatrizó.

Será ese copetín que tomé en el cafetín,
picando un salamín, escuchando led zepellin
o fue esa moza, con pinta de viciosa
que de babosa echó en mi vaso alguna cosa

¡Qué pedazo de guaso!
Si rompió el vaso
cuando mi faso
le quemó el brazo,
y por mi torpeza
dejó el barril gigante de cerveza mal cerrado
y el bar quedó inundado.
Qué acertado,
pensar que yo me quise levantar a la nami
hablando del tsunami,
y baldeando me dijo: "¿Viste? Volvé por donde viniste,
el cielo no existe".

Hoy estoy raro, y no entiendo por qué
si nada extraño me tuvo a maltraer.
Hoy estoy raro no se lo que hacer.
Sentarme a esperar, que se me pase y chau.
Pobre Papá
Papito tiene que ir a trabajar
no quiere
papá no quiere ir
pero tiene que ir igual
papito dice si es lo q papi adora
papito no nació para las 8 horas

Papá no quiere trabajar
pero lo obligan
papito prefiere quedarse panza arriba
papito quiere una vida mas relajada
papá quiere quedarse en casa
y no hacer nada

Pobre papá (Pobre papá)
Pobre papá (Pobre papá)
a él no le gusta trabajar
Pobre papito (pobre papito)
pobrecito papa (Pobre papá)
nunca lo dejan descansar

Papito no quiere trabajar tan seguido
papá preferiría ser un mantenido
papá piensa que un día manda todo al carajo
pero no encara eso porque es mucho trabajo

Pobre papá (Pobre papá)
Pobre papá (Pobre papá)
A él no le gusta trabajar
Pobre papito (pobre papito)
Pobrecito papa (Pobre papá)
nunca lo dejan descansar

Siempre pensé que trabajar
no era moderno
si el trabajo es salud,
que trabajen los enfermos
si el trabajo es salud,
que trabajen los enfermos.