The Mitochondria Guy vs. La Virgen de Guadalupe (Gomez Escobedo)

My good friend Jay Winebrenner works at a froufy bar in NW Portland, where lots of rich people go, and they serve non-vegetarian items such as octopus. As a result, he meets lots of people I would never have occassion to, such as the man who sold him a mint condition baby-blue Mercedes for $300 because had too many of them, and the Mitochondria Guy.
Supposedly, the Mitochondria Guy is up for a prestigious science prize, he being the premiere researcher of mitochondria on the West Coast. Jay first said the prize was the Nobel, but then he waffled, leading me to believe he did not know what the hell he was talking about. However, any man who is known primarily as Mitochondria Guy deserves at least some sort of compensation. Last week, Jay invited me to the Mitochondria Guy’s party celebrating the prize. Today, he went to the party without me. It was the only thing I’d been looking forward to for weeks–I’ve been hyperventilating with anticipation, wondering, “What is the Prize?”
Jay called me, after the party. He said everything was “dark wood,” there was an actual, 18th Century harpsichord, and it was attended by lots of scientists from the Ukraine. And he still didn’t find out if the prize is indeed Nobel. I am devastated on all accounts. However, if this hadn’t occurred, I would never have discovered that my two new favorite words are: “mitochondria,” and “harpsichord.”
I don’t really celebrate Xmas, despite being raised by the staunchest of Mexican Catholic families (I am going to hell because I haven’t had any kids yet, FYI), but over the break from work and this weblog I managed to: take up a new hobby (origami), cut animal shapes into cardstock, write long, effusive handwritten letters to lost and future boyfriends, glue photos of my face to cards for my 12 aunts and uncles (see what I mean about not procreating), watch a bad documentary about John Zorn, agonize over my top 10 lists (which I will post here soon, detailing the agony, but Come One, Come All, Haters!!), write 0 emails, read 28378239 books on feminism and music, read three more pages into the wonderful Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem, see my friend/ex-co-worker Katia Dunn who now works at WBEZ Chicago, learn about all the children being left behind thanks to Bush’s “No Child Left Behind” policy (Katia’s beat), try to jog in the pouring rain except not jog in the pouring rain, dance for 5 hours straight to an all-house set by Jammotron, and do two loads of laundry in 35 minutes.
Sorry about the personal nature of this post, but I haven’t talked to anyone in about four days. We’ll get back to our regularly scheduled analysis of Kelis, Nas, and the cast of Brown Sugar (and the actual identity of the Mitochondria Guy) as soon as I reintegrate myself into society.
Happy winter celebration time to all, and good will to humanity.