I’ve been called a metiche many times, by including but not limited to my mother, my lover and probably my worst enemy (if such a person should exist). I can’t help it, though some would say I could, I love getting all up into other people’s business. I’d like to think that its not for gossip’s sake so much as I just love stories. And when its happening all around you, its like HBO in 24 hour HD on only the finest greens. What’s so wrong with that? And now we have, or have had, this ever pulsating web of other people’s dirtiest, grimiest, most trantastic laundry that they air themselves and still its not quite as exciting as pulling information from someone right in front of you with just a warm smile. Sometimes on blogger you have to fish around a little before you follow, and even when you do, you don’t always necessarily go back for new posts right away. A blog has to be the one reeling you in, once the fishing is done. Well I dare say I almost feign to blush, but I have found a blog that has me hooked. And its about me.
Ok not me. But someone with the same name. My name. Our name I guess. But the name, that’s the true story I’m after, for the purposes of this blog anyway. And right there in Montevideo, Uruguay, a story is being told little by little, post by post, of someone named Dugaldo. And I’d swear the myth of hell itself would have frozen over if I wasn’t consumed by it with my foot shaking the whole read through. The Uruguayan colloquialisms posed some obstacle, but from what I could decifer, this character sent the author of the blog, a letter of complaint, which the author proceeded to post on his blog. How could I not be hooked?
So I did it again. I meddled. I commented, simply asking who this unrelenting namesake was and left it at that. And after a short, late night adventure with my boyfriend I fell asleep and dreamt in recycled poetry and when I woke up I saw the fruits of my meddling in the form of an anonymous challenge to post my i.d. card on the other guy’s blog to prove my identity as a true Dugaldo.
Its like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole. Even as a little kid watering the animals for my dad, telling stories to myself and an audience of bovine, I couldn’t have imagined running into my Latin American namesake and being challenged over some virtual matrix of information. So sci-fi. Back then I was hung up on vampires and mermaids. Yeah I probably could have made this up, but I didn’t. And you know what, maybe this isn’t that great of a story. I might just be lost in my own head again. I often am. And perhaps this guy will never bite, and I wont get my sweet little scoop. But I know that one day when I walk the streets of Montevideo, and I will, when I look into the eyes of strangers I will be lost in every one of their stories, wondering which one of them is Dugaldo.