Two Mexican midget wrestlers apparently found murdered in their D.F. hotel

From Wrestling Observer:

"--Brothers Roberto and Alejandro Mejia, who wrestled as La Parkita (I think
the original from AAA 15 years ago, not the one on AAA in recent years) and
Espectro II, were both found dead near Arena Coliseo yesterday in a hotel
room. The police believe they went to Room 52 of Hotel Moderno with two
prostitutes at 6 p.m. Sunday night. The manager went to the room on Monday
when they hadn't checked out, nobody answered the door, and when they opened
the door to clean the room, both bodies were found in bed and were dead.
The belief is they were drugged and robbed by the prostitutes, as none of
their belongings were found. Both were 35. They are both younger brothers
of the original Espectrito, who was the superstar mini with Mascara Sagrada
from the early days of AAA. La Parkita had wrestled in the U.S. with
CHIKARA."

The book is standing there tapping its foot and looking at its watch, so I’ll make this quick.

Flew up on Friday. Arrived, checked in to my hotel, then walked around the city a little before heading out to visit the Czar of Noir Eddie Muller, who had graciously agreed to host a birthday shindig for me in his tool shed. Now I know that sounds either kinky or scary or both, except that said shed has been converted to a gorgeous retro Tiki bar. Good friends, good fun and cool cats plus chocolate cake, leopard fezzes and a coconut bra all added up to a helluva 40th. Pix (in case you missed them) here.

The next day I had more chocolate cake for breakfast (hey, it was my birthday, dammit) at Bittersweet Cafe with CDV, the lovely, bootylicious borggrrl and her new (to me anyway) fella. Neither of us remembered to take pictures, but I will say that she looked especially glowy and beautiful and seems so much happier now.

After that CDV and I picked up tjcrowley and got an amazing literary / true crime tour of San Francisco that included locations relevant to Dashiell Hammett, Fatty Arbuckle and the Zodiac Killer. We also visited the San Francisco Columbarium which is home to the ashes of Harvey Milk and still has spaces available if you’re in the market for a final resting place. Of course we had to stop in for lunch at my favorite Cambodian restaurant, Angkor Borei. I ate light, just the spinach leaf appetizer and the cold Cambodian noodles, because I knew what was coming later.

After finishing our tour with a round of umbrella drinks at The Tonga Room, we headed back to the hotel to doll up for dinner at Gary Danko.

Danko was unquestionably excellent, but not particularly innovative or unusual. Everything was very fresh and high quality, but the flavor pairings were all pretty standard and obvious. The tasting menu looked particularly safe and boring, steak and chocolate soufflé and that sort of thing, so we ordered 5 courses off the regular menu. We were very happy with everything we had, but there was nothing that really took chances flavorwise the way they do at Providence here in LA or Jean George in NYC. I guess most people prefer food that isn't too weird or out there so I'm probably in the minority, but if I’m gonna have a 200 dollar meal, I want something unique that I couldn’t possibly do at home, not just a really good steak. That being said, it was still delicious. I was also charmed by the tray of teeny tiny desserts. Dime-sized tarts. Postage stamp brownies. And the take away banana breakfast cake they gave me at the end was perfect the next morning when I had to get up way too early to make a morning flight home.

All in all, it was a great way to celebrate the start of my cougar years.

I'll eventually get around to the b-day recap but first, I'm now the proud owner of a “smart device.” Don’t call it a phone, dammit, it’s a device! Sadly, it’s not an iPhone, because my old phone simply couldn’t wait to crap out until my contract with my current provider was up. It’s a Palm Centro, not my first choice, but affordable. It does have the full qwerty keyboard and seems to work just fine for my limited needs.

Yet another item on the endless list of things that remind me every day that I won’t be talking to Edith anymore, her cell phone number is now officially gone, lost and inaccessible in the old dead phone.

Anyone else who’s alive and wants me to have their number should give me a call on the new device. Yes, Ella Fitzgerald’s version of Mack the Knife is still my ringtone. Some things never change.

...photos here.

Check out this beautiful song Jane wrote for Edith Speed, our friend who killed herself a week ago.



Jane's my hero. She was much closer to Edith than I was, and she's writing through the pain and making it mean something while I'm still stuck here at my desk, full of concrete.

Tonight is Edith’s memorial. After a week of being way too hard on myself about all this, I’ve realized that I really need to stop trying to being a fucking tough guy and cut myself some slack (something I’ve never been very good at.) I also realize that I will need to cut other people slack as well, that not everyone grieves the same way and none of us are really thinking straight right now.

Today, I plan to fuck completely off. Read Shell Scott novels. (Thanks Vince!) Watch old movies. Play fetch with Butch. 

Then tonight I’m going to visit Edith and Damon’s house, the Pirate House, where I celebrated my birthday last year. I’ll bring all my best memories of this amazing, inspiring woman to share with all my other old friends. I won’t bother to wear any eye make up.

Thanks, Faustketeers, for all the responses, emails and other moral support. I also wanted to say thanks for the birthday gifts that continue to arrive. Every little bit of cheer really does help.

My friend Edith Speed decided to end her life yesterday. She was a breast cancer survivor, a strong, beautiful Domina and a warm, supportive and generous friend for over fifteen years. She was there for me during a very hard time in my life and I can’t stop thinking I should have done more to be there for her. But deadlines and bullshit and daily life gets in the way, and then before you know it it's too fucking late.

It seems impossible to believe that she is really gone.

This cracks me up.

Just scored a vintage tortoiseshell bakelite box purse like the one pictured in my previous entry for 20 bucks! Happy birthday to me.

Now anyone want to buy me this matching straight razor?

It’s June, Faustketeers, the Royal Birthday Month, so visit my wish list and act accordingly.

I’ve already received two desperately needed but not-really-what-I-wanted birthday gifts. The first is an extension on my deadline. In all seriousness, this latest book has been the toughest yet for me. It’s been painfully slow going from day one, and I’m still nowhere near where I want to be. I was hoping to take a breather in June and enjoy some much needed downtime, but that’s just not gonna be possible. So the grind continues…

The other questionable but necessary gift is another day-job project. Because, you know, rent and all that. So instead of a nice relaxing Birthday Month, I get to work double shifts for the next two weeks.

Send chocolate. And bakelite.

Noisy neighbors are butchering my legit word count, so here’s a short irrelevant post that has nothing to do with writing.

Since I dyed my hair a dark, minky brown (incidentally the only hair color I’ve never had before) I’ve become obsessed with vintage tortoiseshell bakelite.

Behold, my current lust object:



In addition to box purses, I’ve also been ogling bangle bracelets, pins, combs, compacts and sunglasses.

Remember, the Royal Birthday Month begins tomorrow.

When my Vietnamese manicurist recommended Vinh Loi Tofu Factory, I was intrigued. I’m not a vegan, but I was sold when she said that Chef Kevin Tran makes his own fresh tofu and soy milk on the premises every day. Anyone who thinks tofu has no flavor has never had it fresh.

I talked Eric Stone into taking the ride out to the Valley to check it out and man, was it ever worth it.

We both had rice noodle soup, Bun Bo Hue for Eric and the House Special for me. It's hard to say which was better as they were both astoundingly rich and complex. His was a little more sour and sharply flavored whereas mine was thicker with an almost creamy peanut base. Chef Tran isn’t shy with the heat either and when you say “very spicy” he believes you.

Also amazing were the “chicken” nuggets with “french fries.” Everything on the plate was made from tofu. The tofu fries were light and pillowy but a bit bland and unremarkable. The nuggets, on the other hand, were just incredible. The texture was exactly like white meat chicken and the favor addictive. This would make an excellent gateway vegan dish for skeptical carnivores.

Even though we were both stuffed, we still had to try the dessert, a warm, soft, barely set tofu custard flavored with pandan leaf. It came with ginger syrup and coconut milk on the side, the perfect creamy, comforting follow up to our spicy meal.

We both brought home some fresh plain tofu and some of Chef Tran’s special shitake mushroom tofu. I also got some pandan soymilk for my pop. All this insanely good food cost us just over twenty bucks each.

Photos here.

I’m finally up and running again, working on a borrowed G5 hotrod that runs like a dream. Everything should be peachy, but somehow I managed to tweak my shoulder while hooking it up this morning. Not lugging the massive steel tower around, but moving books to make space so the monitor cord could reach the powerstrip. I picked up my copy of Staring Miss Barbara Stanwyck, (admittedly a pretty large book, but not more than two or three pounds) and got this sudden zing in my shoulder, a sharp, stabbing pain that made it momentarily difficult to breathe. This is the same shoulder that I screwed up while boxing a while back, but it hadn’t been giving me any trouble for over a week.

I took a ton of ibuprofen and made myself lie down for an hour. It’s better now but still pretty cranky. Thursday is normally back and biceps day at the gym, but I’ll be giving it a pass today. Which is probably for the best, considering the late start.

Looks like I’m in for another day filled with minor but unavoidable wordcount-devouring hassles. I feel like the real world is standing next to my desk like a bored, fidgety kid, tugging on my sleeve every time I get into a writing groove.

Thanks for the suggestions re: iMac. Unfortunately, the machine is about 3 years old, no longer under warranty, and there is simply no extra money for repairs of any kind right now. However, a MacDaddy friend of mine has graciously agreed to poke around under the hood in his spare time and see if it’s salvageable. He’s also agreed to give me a loaner to work on in the meantime, but needs a day to transfer all my data. So for now, I’m stuck in Old Laptop City.

You’ve always wanted my Money Shot on your tits, and now you can have it! Not to mention all the other gorgeous Hard Case cover t-shirts that are now available, just in time for the upcoming Royal Birthday Month!

Question for Mac Macks: My iMac screen suddenly has tiny, tightly spaced vertical red pinstripes. Not just one or two lines but wall to wall all across the whole screen. White and lighter colored areas are not affected but darker colors, especially black are now migraine-inducing. There is a very thin normal black frame around the very edge.

HELP! I can't work like this. Anyone have any suggestions as to what might have caused this and more importantly, how to fix it? I'm really hoping the answer isn't "Take it in to the shop" because I'm broke from Butch's surgery and can't spare even one day off working.

It’s been a hell of a week, but in the midst of it all, I feel like I’ve had a small but critical breakthrough on the new book. Not a plot issue so much as a character issue and because of it I feel like I have a better understanding of this book’s emotional heart. That realization also planted some interesting seeds for the book after this one. Of course, I need to finish this one first…

Just to catch up my LJ peeps who don’t follow me on Twitter (@faustfatale) my Boston Terrier Butch had a lump removed on Tuesday. The biopsy revealed that it is a grade 2 mast cell tumor. Grade 2 means “moderately malignant.”

Mast cell tumors are a fairly common form of skin cancer and Boston Terriers are one of the breeds most likely to get them. It’s apparently very treatable and not often fatal so long as I’m super vigilant about getting any tumors removed as soon as I notice them. The vet says that he got “clean but close margins” on the one that he removed on Tuesday but I need to watch the site very carefully for any sign of regrowth.

In addition, I also plan to look into various herbal, holistic and alternative options that will help support his immune system and reduce or eliminate the skin allergies that are related to mast cell production.

On a lighter note, I saw on one of the info sites about mast cell tumors that one of the signs that a dog is experiencing post-op pain is “tragic facial expression.” This made me laugh, because that pretty much describes Butch all the time.

Exhibit A: my user pic.

Then take a look at this photo of Butch at Lamill about a year ago.



There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him here, other than not being given any table scraps. He’s just being his usual mopey emo self, selling his unbearable suffering like it was the Brooklyn Bridge.

I’m the one with the real tragic facial expression when I look in my wallet after the surgery. Ouch!

Meanwhile, I don’t have time for moping around. It looks like I may be getting a little wiggle room on my deadline, but that doesn’t mean I can slack off for a second. So, back to work for my tragic ass. I need to earn more dough to make sure the vet doesn’t send a couple of Dobermans to bite off my thumbs.

On my way to drop Butch off at the vet this morning, I saw an image of a woman in a green corset on a city bus. It’s apparently the new ad campaign promoting the television show Weeds.

Click here and tell me, what’s wrong with this picture?

Her corset is on upside-down.

Clearly the stylist was smoking some of the eponymous flora when he/she dressed the actress for this shoot.

Assistant: Dude, are you sure that’s on right?

Stylist: (sucking and holding huge bong hit) Whatever.