An image of a box of colored pencils on a black background. A hand holds one of the pencils near the middle.
An image of a box of colored pencils on a black background. A hand holds one of the pencils near the middle.
Photo by Neven Krcmarek on Unsplash

I visualized my goals and sent them into the Universe and was bitten in the ass for my troubles.

I missed the point, once again.

Last night, as rumors of a third lockdown in France are making rounds in the voices of passersby talking into their AirPods, I was waxing depressive at my best friend and free therapist on the other side of the pond.

It’s always the same complaint too. I’m surprised she hasn’t told me to go take a non-specific walk down a dubiously lengthy pier while staring at my phone. …

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

For the past two years, I’ve been working on a novel, a graphic novel, and a pop album. Not at the same time, but I jump between them as the inspiration hits me.

I started by stressing myself out over not working on any of these projects daily. Guilt turned into anxiety, and it affected my work, personal relationships, and my ability to enjoy a dessert without feeling like a failure.

You know, like depression does.

After some trial and error and a visit to a local shrink, I’ve started working more or less regularly on these projects. More importantly…

Photo by Ali Yahya on Unsplash

When I was a kid, I “borrowed” a voice recorder my grandpa had. This one still needed a full-sized cassette tape to work, and about 4 AA batteries. I used to tell stories and do “interviews”.

It was big and clunky and I think it died when I dropped it after climbing to the rooftop of the house.

After that, I graduated to a brand new state of the art recorder that accepted mini-cassette tapes. I kept it in the glove compartment of my car. …

Photo by Makarios Tang on Unsplash

“All his life has he looked away…to the future, to the horizon. Never his mind on where he was. Hmm? What he was doing.” — Yoda. The Empire Strikes Back.

I dragged Yoda a while back with a hot take on how “Do or do not” was not the best advice in the world. And while I do stand by it, I have to give the Devil his due. Because I’ve recently had to come to terms with several facts. …

Photo by Tim Arterbury on Unsplash

My first comic was a violent, over the top, derivative piece starring a super jacked anthropomorphic rabbit. The design itself was a bad copy of a “super badass” cartoon rabbit I had stamped on a T-shirt. I inflated the muscles, not really caring much about proper anatomy, and wrote stories in which he would bust open the skulls of ninjas everywhere. I must have been around 12 at the time.

I must confess the idea was not an original thought of mine. My best friend at the time did it first, and I jumped on his bandwagon.

I did it…

Photo by Mike Giles on Unsplash

The late 90s and early 00s were very good to me. My best friend found an Internet radio where he could listen to Casey Kasem’s Top 40. Getting pure, undistilled American music recommendations in Latin America in the 90s was a huge feat in and of itself. I remember calling into local radio shows to ask for Tonic’s “If You Could Only See,” even though I owned the CD, just to have DJs tell me that it wasn’t “that kind of show.”

What kind of show would that be then, Juan Fernando? What kind?

We had a small but rather…

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The Football Striker Theory

*Please note that throughout this article we refer to football as football. Handegg is an entirely different sport, and we’re not talking about that one.

I suck at football. It’s taken me years to admit it to myself, cause you want to be good at it, you know? Nobody admires the kid who learned how to cross-stitch before they learned how to kick a ball (which I did).

I still played it though. God, I wanted to be good. I started off as a goalkeeper in 4th grade, mostly cause I liked the acrobatics they got…

Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash

It’s habit forming like cigarettes. Or Zumba.

When my writer friends told me they were about to embark on the 500-word per day challenge for January, my first thought was “Wait we’re gonna have a WhatsApp Group chat? I don’t care who I have to kill, let me in.”

Group chats make me feel like I belong. My dog loves me very much, and I belong to him, but he sucks at the whole opposable thumbs thing. And I like my phone going “Ding!”.

I either have a problem or several.

I started on January 5th. On January 16 I…

The Alexander III bridge and the Seine. Photo by Léonard Cotte on Unsplash

If there’s no river, leave.

I was talking to a friend this morning about how much it sucks to live in [hometown] and how much better it would be to live in [big ass capital city].

I can’t disagree with her. I have a strong connection with my hometown, mostly stemming from the fact that I lived there for 35 years before fucking off. But I never felt like I belonged there. I always felt weird.

Case in point: I was never a big salsa dancer. As a teen in Ecuador, this was tantamount to social suicide. The kid who…

Photo by Gary Bendig on Unsplash

The adventures of Wan Solo

My parents tried really hard to prevent me from getting hooked on video games, man.

They really did.

Nevertheless, they bought me an original NES back in 1989. The one that came bundled with the Mario Bros./Duck Hunt deal, and two controllers. I remember they wrapped a small box in gift paper, and I was convinced that that was my new Nintendo system, and I nagged and annoyed my parents with my “guess” for days. Until Dad dropped the box on the floor and said “See? It isn’t”.

That remains the funniest thing I’ve ever…

Jack Uzcategui

“In 2014, a few years before the war, Jack moved to Paris to write and drink wine. He died during the invasion when he refused to leave Paris without his dog.”

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