Ahh, Mexico...

The other day on the way home from work our cab kept stalling. Then, in the middle of the busy street Reforma, the cab driver got out of his car, popped the hood, tinkered around a bit, hopped back inside and took off. All the while, Scott pondered his existence.


As usual, I went to meet the consultants at El Globo for breakfast and to catch a ride to work from Pepe the bodyguard. Only unusually, there was a team of advertisers in pink terrycloth robes and turquoise towels on their heads holding a sign for feminine hygiene towelettes. I took my sample and a photo as well.


Then, Andy from Chicago (who by the way, scored 99% at the expert level of Rock Band) wanted to check out the British pub called "Beckett's." Well, 6 liters of micro-brew and 3 Mexican cover bands later, we realized there wasn't anything British about it, except for when the hipster band harmonized the Beatles. That's Wade on the right, the bourgeois Portlander.