Houston

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

I just got a google news alert on myself (I have to keep track of what people are saying about me, you know) and I ran across this blurb in the Houston Chronicle. I've got some big problems with this. First of all with my agent for booking this gig. The Edward James Olmos Latino Book and Family Festival! You have to be kidding me. Why the hell would they ever name a book fair after a pockmarked beaner like him?

Then the paper they doesn't even dedicate a paragraph to me in its glorified community calendar. I have to share billing with those bitches Laura Esquivel and Maria Elena Salinas. But to add insult to injury, they mention my first book. Not the new one, not the one that's in hard cover, not the one I'm coming to this Bush-loving hellhole to promote but my first one which you can literally buy used for 1 cent on amazon (plus shipping and handling). Listen chicas, I don't make any "cake" when you buy some used book that you don't know if someone masturbated all over.

Oh well at least I can chat with Deborah Santana and tell her how much I loved her husband's performance of that song from the Motorcycle Diaries at the Oscars a couple of years ago. Che Guevara is so dreamy!

hugs,

not Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez