
Latin Grammy-winning producer | Talent Manager | Creative & Marketing Director for leading music projects. @lassomusica | @walterkolme
México, D.F
Joined March 2010
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“An artist doesn’t complain. The game is rigged, the odds are stacked against you, deal with it. Sure, you can be frustrated, but complaining about it just aligns you with the whiners who are not artists, and you don't want to be dragged down into the hole they're in.”
Lefsetz.
César Andrés Elster Falcón Díaz Sarmiento retweeted
Duncan Trussell recorded this conversation with his mother while she was facing terminal cancer.
What you’re hearing isn’t scripted. It isn’t performed. It’s a son sitting with his dying mother trying to hold onto every word before the words run out.
And she, the one facing the end, is the one doing the comforting.
That is what makes these conversations so extraordinary. Not the wisdom itself, as profound as it is. But who it’s coming from. A woman who had every reason to be consumed by her own fear choosing instead to spend what little time remained helping her son understand how to live without her.
These recordings became the heart of The Midnight Gospel. And I always go back to watch it again.
They remain some of the most honest conversations about death, love and what it means to be human ever put on screen…
Kinda true.
I need to make a very PUBLIC announcement on behalf of younger GenXers and older Millennials.
If you see someone in their 40s or 50s who seems a little boring now, I need you to understand something...
We already got it in.
Like...GOT. IT. IN.
We are not sitting home on a Friday night because we never knew how to have fun.
We are sitting home on a Friday night because we have seen enough.
We went to parties in houses that should have been condemned and were almost certainly owned by the local drug dealer.
We saw police lights and RAN and not across a nice, flat field.
INTO THE WOODS.
Do you understand the athleticism required to hurdle uprooted tree roots in platform shoes while simultaneously trying to keep your low-rise jeans from sliding completely off your ass?
And somehow...we never spilled the Zima. We never spilled the Boone’s Farm.
That was TALENT.
We slept on floors in strange houses because the designated driver either never showed up or, in a shocking turn of events, was drunker than everybody else.
There was no Uber, Life360 or Find My Friends.
There was just somebody named Mike saying, “I know a shortcut.”
And we FOLLOWED MIKE.
We closed down bars and then decided the night was still young, so we drove to Atlantic City, where we somehow managed to get drunk, sober up, get drunk again, sober up again and then get drunk a THIRD TIME before breakfast.
And according to our parents? We were at Michelle’s house.
Eating pizza and watching movies.
Michelle’s mother unknowingly covered for approximately 17 people every weekend. If there even was a Michelle.
We drank things called Purple Passion, Mad Dog 20/20 and whatever somebody mixed inside a giant plastic garbage can. Nobody asked what was in it. You grabbed a red Solo cup and trusted the process.
We went to clubs until the lights came on. Do you know the psychological damage of seeing a nightclub with the LIGHTS ON? Nothing good happens after those lights come on.
We danced for four straight hours in shoes that permanently altered the structure of our feet.
We made entire plans without cell phones...no texts, dropped pins or group chats...just an extremely questionable sense of direction.
We rode in cars with 11 people when the vehicle legally seated five. Someone was always sitting on someone. Someone was always in the hatchback.
And there was always one friend yelling, “DUCK!” when we passed a cop.
So yes...now we like being home.
We like sweatpants.
We like cancelling plans.
We like saying, “That sounds fun!” with absolutely no intention of attending.
We like restaurants at 5:30 because we can get a good table.
We like being home by 8:17.
And if someone texts at 9:30 PM and says, “What are you doing?”
Sleeping...we are sleeping.
Because this is not boring my friends...this is retirement.
We already played, partied and danced on the bar.
We already ran from the cops through a wooded area dressed like a Spice Girl.
We have stories that cannot be posted because there are still people with careers, marriages and reputations to protect. And thank GOD there were no camera phones.
So kids, when you look at your Gen X and older Millennial parents sitting peacefully on the couch watching Dateline at 8 PM and think:
“God, you guys are boring.”
Sweetheart...oh sweetheart.
You are looking at retired legends.
Put some respect on our names. We're probably the reason Life360 was invented.
xoxoxo (posted from someone else on FakeBook) 🤣 #genx #oldandtired
César Andrés Elster Falcón Díaz Sarmiento retweeted
If you bothered to film yourself crying then it can’t be that bad.
César Andrés Elster Falcón Díaz Sarmiento retweeted
On March 11, 889, a 22-year-old Japanese emperor wrote in his diary about a new black cat he had recently acquired…
“On the 6th Day of the 2nd Month of the First Year of the Kampo era. Taking a moment of my free time, I wish to express my joy of the cat. It arrived by boat as a gift to the late Emperor, received from the hands of Minamoto no Kuwashi.
The color of the fur is peerless. None could find the words to describe it, although one said it was reminiscent of the deepest ink. It has an air about it, similar to Kanno. Its length is 5 sun, and its height is 6 sun. I affixed a bow about its neck, but it did not remain for long.
In rebellion, it narrows its eyes and extends its needles. It shows its back.
When it lies down, it curls in a circle like a coin. You cannot see its feet. It's as if it were circular Bi disk. When it stands, its cry expresses profound loneliness, like a black dragon floating above the clouds.
By nature, it likes to stalk birds. It lowers its head and works its tail. It can extend its spine to raise its height by at least 2 sun. Its color allows it to disappear at night.
I am convinced it is superior to all other cats.”
César Andrés Elster Falcón Díaz Sarmiento retweeted
Necesitaba compartir esto con vosotros. Es algo que me estaba comiendo por dentro y no me lo quería guardar.
César Andrés Elster Falcón Díaz Sarmiento retweeted
Are you even a cat parent if your cat doesn't try to gaslight you daily into thinking they haven't eaten.
César Andrés Elster Falcón Díaz Sarmiento retweeted
You could be having the biggest break down of your life and your cat is like yo crack open that wet food for me, beloved.
César Andrés Elster Falcón Díaz Sarmiento retweeted
the World Cup is destroying the film watch side of my life right now
César Andrés Elster Falcón Díaz Sarmiento retweeted
"You let your cat in your bed" I'd let my cat borrow my car
César Andrés Elster Falcón Díaz Sarmiento retweeted
Sorry about the mean things i said when i was right
César Andrés Elster Falcón Díaz Sarmiento retweeted
EL MEJOR JUGADOR DE TODOS LOS TIEMPOS. MÁS DE 20 AÑOS EN LA ÉLITE DEL FÚTBOL MUNDIAL. NO HUBO NADIE MÁS GRANDE. NO HABRÁ NADIE MÁS GRANDE. LEGENDARIO, GIGANTESCO, ETERNO.
‼️ RÉCORD HISTÓRICO ‼️
Con su hat-trick ante Argelia, Lionel Messi 🇦🇷 llega a 16 goles en TODA la historia de la Copa del Mundo e IGUALA a Miroslav Klose 🇩🇪 como MÁXIMO goleador histórico del torneo.
🇦🇷 LIONEL MESSI: 16
🇩🇪 Miroslav Klose: 16
🇧🇷 Ronaldo Nazário: 15
🇩🇪 Gerd Müller: 14
🇫🇷 Kylian Mbappé: 14
🇫🇷 Just Fontaine: 13
🇧🇷 Pelé: 12























