15 more minutes of Fame

In the midst of writing this blog, I got a call from a lady, named Maya, wanting to know when she could come over and take my photo for The Guardian. Recently, I wrote a piece about how I threw away half a million pounds and went to die in Morocco, and submitted it to their “experience” editor, who selects one piece every week for The Guardian Saturday magazine. After a lot of questions to verify the truth of my tale, she accepted the piece, and the next thing I know, they are sending their Mexican photographer all the way from Mexico City, by plane, to Oaxaca, and thence to Huitzo, where I live right now (for another couple of weeks anyway), to snap a photo of yours truly. All this when I could have simply sent them a few digi photos, and saved them the hundreds of dollars they are spending on all this rigmarole. Instead I get to do my hair and feel like David Bowie for a day. Hopefully, the piece will rustle up a little attention from the afore-mentioned and ever-elusive (if not sneeringly indifferent) WORLD, anyway.