I am Juan Garcia. Mr. Garcia or Sr. Garcia to lots. Sgt. Garcia to a few. And just plain Garcia, to most others.
Oddly enough, I am just Juan to almost nobody. I am a husband, a father, a son, a brother. A teacher, a soldier,
a firefighter, a cook. I am a Compton born kid who spent much of my youth in Homedale, ID. I like old stuff.
Rusty stuff. Stuff that is different. The kind of stuff that you will find at the Thursday night auction in
Caldwell or at an estate sale liquidating the house of some man that lived a long happy life. Worn western
shirts with pearl snaps and single needle threading. An old globe that has a few dents from all the falls in its
past. They are treasures waiting to be discovered. . . hopefully by me. But …show more content…
Seriously, why are people so in love with it? It tastes like spicy. . . I don’t know, dirt?
It might be that I grew up in a Mexican household and didn’t really have the opportunity to go and eat out in
fancy restaurants when I was younger. It might be that I got absolutely sick of the smell of curry during my
first deployment to the Middle East. The entire staff that worked the DFAC (cafeteria) smell liked curry. They
ate it all the time. On everything. It was everywhere. But, it might very well just be that curry truly tastes bad.
I mean, I have pretty good taste in things and am rarely wrong. So, it might just be everyone else. Like the
emperor wears no clothes. No one actually likes it, but they are afraid of what others will think if they say it out
loud. Well, here it is. Curry taste gross. You shouldn’t even try it. Cause then you might like something that
tastes gross. Yuck.
And I know that this will ruffle some feathers, but I will never own a cat. Cause they’re gross and pee on stuff
and have ringworm and then there’s that whole old cat lady thing and whatnot. I will never paint my toe
Oddly enough, I am just Juan to almost nobody. I am a husband, a father, a son, a brother. A teacher, a soldier,
a firefighter, a cook. I am a Compton born kid who spent much of my youth in Homedale, ID. I like old stuff.
Rusty stuff. Stuff that is different. The kind of stuff that you will find at the Thursday night auction in
Caldwell or at an estate sale liquidating the house of some man that lived a long happy life. Worn western
shirts with pearl snaps and single needle threading. An old globe that has a few dents from all the falls in its
past. They are treasures waiting to be discovered. . . hopefully by me. But …show more content…
Seriously, why are people so in love with it? It tastes like spicy. . . I don’t know, dirt?
It might be that I grew up in a Mexican household and didn’t really have the opportunity to go and eat out in
fancy restaurants when I was younger. It might be that I got absolutely sick of the smell of curry during my
first deployment to the Middle East. The entire staff that worked the DFAC (cafeteria) smell liked curry. They
ate it all the time. On everything. It was everywhere. But, it might very well just be that curry truly tastes bad.
I mean, I have pretty good taste in things and am rarely wrong. So, it might just be everyone else. Like the
emperor wears no clothes. No one actually likes it, but they are afraid of what others will think if they say it out
loud. Well, here it is. Curry taste gross. You shouldn’t even try it. Cause then you might like something that
tastes gross. Yuck.
And I know that this will ruffle some feathers, but I will never own a cat. Cause they’re gross and pee on stuff
and have ringworm and then there’s that whole old cat lady thing and whatnot. I will never paint my toe