Saturday morning cartoons

Lost in the desert watching Saturday morning cartoons for the first time in years. The fact that ninja turtles is still on blows my mind.
Somehow, the animation looks horrible compared to how it used to be in the 90s.
Apparently, the turtles are now living in the year 2105. How exciting for them.
Most of the rest of the channels have on computer animation cartoons, which also look very poorly done.
I remember when the first two computer animated Saturday morning cartoons came on TV. "Bump in the Night" and "Reboot". It was so unreal. I remember thinking that it took them days to put together each show. I watched them on principle.

Sonic the Hedgehog cartoons are also still on, just upgraded for the modern day. I wonder if TV will ever be able to recapture the grittyness of the 90s. That time in history where we were still testing the waters and pushing the barriers of censorship. We took it pretty far, in the end, until the great progressive movement that began in the 60s lost its steam somehow, and the conservativism that would define the early 21st century finally pushed back.


Was this post really about Saturday morning cartoons?

Box

Away with the wind. And the desert I am in. Again.
How does this keep happening? And whats the use of spending time chasing a dream that isnt as real as it seems?

So much for that. Its windy as shit and the dust is blowing around like some kind of dry monsoon. I am exhausted and hungry and bored and trapped inside this little room that is shrinking with every step. You can only hump a rock for so long, until you realize that you are humping a rock. But by then it is too late, and you feel uninspired and ashamed.

But not me. I enjoy humping rocks. I do it daily. Sometimes twice on tuesdays.

This post has been unhelpful in expressing what I am trying to say, so I will try again tomorrow.

Zero hour.

Another musty hotel. Another smoky room that smells like sex and shame and degredation.

Oregon

Living on my aunt's horse farm across the street from where they filmed twilight was one of the strangest experiences anyone could ever have.

I slept alone in the basement, always heading to bed at about 5 a.m. with a head full of beer and xanax.

It was musty, and I had to swat bugs away from the walls around the bedposts each night as I lay down.

Worse yet, everyone else got up just after dawn and opened the kennel for the 11 Russian Wolf Hounds that would run around through the 5-acre property and peer through the basement window at me as I slept inside.

The nights were cold, and the whole house was heated by a small fireplace that burned woodchips.

My only friend was a jet-black Feral cat nicknamed Darwin, who would creep into the basement at night and squawk at me to pet it.

Get your kicks on route 66

Northwest US is a trip that is not to be fucked with. Especially Oregon.

I can remember arriving at the LAX airport, vaguely. It was about 9 a.m. and I was already thirsty for a drink. Johnny Walker Black Label, on the rocks.

When I arrived to the Route 66 bar and grill inside the airport, the bartender was hunched over the bar with his face against the counter.

At first I thought he might have passed out, but soon I saw that he was snorting lines of cocaine and talking quickly to himself.
I grabbed a shotglass from the other side of the counter and slid it across the counter, striking him on the head.

He jumped and squealed, then calmed down.
"What can I get you?" he asked.
"Black Label," I said.

"Isnt it a little early to be drinking," he asked with a smile.
"Finish your fucking powder and fix the drink," I yelled, then turned to face the TV.

Some kind of college football recap. Boring stuff, but thats all that was on.
Maybe, I thought, there was another way.

La Jaiba Loca

Exhausted. Been all over the city today and it's only 12:30. I am hungry so I stopped by la jaiba loca, Queretaro's greatest restaurant.
There was almost no one in there that early, except for me and some old fisherman sitting and sipping a brew in the corner.

I walked into the fishy establishment and took a seat.

But that is not an interesting story...
Well, just a few more hours until I am on the bus to Mexico City. I hope the meal they are serving is good.
You never know. Most likely a sandwich and a soda. But I can live with that.

I am chomping at the bit here. There is no farewell dinner. No big send-off. Just a box of Saladitas and a dream. Maybe one last beer before the road?
No. Stay sober. Enjoy the final hours here. Once you are on the bus, you are free to move about the country.

Drink this Mojito-flavored 7-Up. That ought to raise your spirits. Sometimes a great notion.