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Any tale that begins with, "I met an older Mexican guy at a park...and..." will definitely end in weirdness. My Saturday was no exception as I was cleaning out my van and an older Mexican man asked what my moped was. I gave him the tale of my 1974 Vespa Ciao that I bought in a basket in California and restored and tried to give away or sell and then fixed and took to Mexico and rode around with leaking piston slap to teach English to Palapa kids and then took across the country in my van etc etc...but, I said, I'm really looking for an apartment. Oh, he knows a guy renting an apartment. So I get in his van and off we go...

We hadn't even made the first set of lights before mutual masturbation was discussed; He propositioned and I declined. But we reached the apartment and it is a spacious 3 room affair with separate entry and private bath and stove and microwave and refrigerator and parking spot and an old age home 20 feet away with a brand new Yamaha Baby Grand Piano collecting dust near aged folk in quiet disrepair...and the room is a ridiculously 1997 price of $85 a week..including utilities. What's the catch? The owner has absolutely no short term memory and a few minutes into our interview he asked me, "Do you have a big dick?"

Ah, the world and its strange ways and wonderful diversity. Oggy may be on a roll but there is no topping strangeness in my life.

I dodge the advances of the 82 year old man with no memory because I really want the room. I change the topic from my genitals and ask, "Do you have a piano?" and of course he rolls out a German affair that is untuned and maybe his deceased Swedish wife taught piano because there are stickers of the notes on the keys of the third octave. I play "Traumerei" by Robert Schumann which is almost a joke in this case because it means "Youth" and I'm surrounded by two old Mexican queers who are one cracked sidewalk away from the hospital room.
It's complicated because the owner thinks he already rented the room but can't remember. And then he asks me if I've already paid for it. Then he asks me if my dick is big. I say it's about average and lately I don't pay much attention to it. Can he see it? Not right now, I tease. But, the piano is there and I'm loaded with cash so I think that I don't really care if I have to service this old man in the bathroom to have a place to stay. But that's a worst case scenario so I pay and move in and he immediately asks me what my name is and if I have paid yet. No internet but the bed is soft and there are no oil trucks parked 5 feet from my face...so it's real nice in my opinion. Then the man brings me a bag with peanut butter and soup and 3 packs of Mexican stick matches that happen to have the brand name of the exact image I want to engrave on the neck of my dream guitar. Fickle Fortuna has spun a strange circle of events to land me here with these matches...


It's also the name of a special person and the Buddhist term for illusion so it's a good choice.