Stones in my lungs

Im drinking mate this morning. I remember once, entering Barton Springs I saw a dude (a true dude, in boardshorts and all) who was carrying a thermos and a gourd. Happy to see another mate enthusiast, I said, "ahhh sipping mate are you?!" He said "it's maté dude!" Of course it wasn't, maté means "i killed." It is not something you drink. Goes to show you can't rely on dudes for data. He was so adamant in correcting me. I nearly felt sorry for him. But fuck him, he gave me an eyeful of boardshort that I didn't ask for, and he spurned my friendly greeting.

Drinking mate always reminds me of Argentina. It's a visceral reminder of the smells and cold and faces of that place. I think back to the exhaust choked streets of Salta, 24 hour bus rides through Patagonia, and the bustle and high heels of Buenos Aires. Mate is an institution in Argentina, you can go to any corner of that vast nation and never escape it....then again, why would you want to.

Tonight Im going to see King Kong. I am a Peter Jackson fan, and I trust that this will be a spectacle in the truest sense of the word. I remember being captivated by the original Kong (the '33 version) as a child during my infatuation with giant monster movies (which continues to this day I might add). It was back then that I saw the original Godzilla for the first time and cried my eyes out when he was vaporized by a massive underwater nuclear explosion (fuck you and your ingenuity Raymond Burr).

I always favored Godzilla to Kong, and was quite upset when I purchased King Kong vs. Godzilla at age 7 only to realize I had, of course, bought the american cut of the film, in which, Kong is triumphant. I've still never seen the Japanese cut. Though Kong was not the beast I championed, I still have a soft spot for the giant beast pictures.