Secrets, secrets are no fun...

So, for any of you out there paying attention, I called the guy. He seemed nice enough and told me he would look for a contact to get me some materials. He also said I could drop by his studio any weekday after work. I'm thinking tomorrow. I gave him my email so he could send me contact info, but I haven't heard from him. I assume that my pronunciation of the Spanish alphabet is lacking in its conformity and quality.

I went back to that shop, though. I ended up picking up two vinyls that have got me beyond excited for when I get home to my turntable: Eric Clapton, MTV Unplugged; and Bobby McFerrin's single, Don't Worry, Be Happy. You know you're jealous. Hell, I'm jealous.

In other news, two of my aunts popped in for a visit this weekend. It was 1.5 days full of food, drink, and way too much walking. It was a lot of fun and really good to see family for the first time in 8 months.

And now, I've got a gripe. Without getting into details, I'll say that I am beyond perturbed by the recent realization that Spanish people can get away with talking about things they don't want me to understand simply by plainly speaking in low voices in my presence, and I simply can't make out what they're saying. What's worse is that at least a couple of them have figured this out as well. I'm as angry as a little kid whose parents insist on spelling things out to be surreptitious. Playing on someone's ignorance like that is beyond demeaning.