Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Facebook status update
When it's going to snow, the streets should be coated not only with salt, but with pepper too. Never good to have one without the other.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Facebook status update
When things started getting heated at the board meeting, I violently popped the collar of my dress shirt, and my "crew" cupped their hands over their moufs and said "ooooohhh" while pointing at the opposing professionals.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
"I like my sugar with coffee and cream"
That's a line from the Beastie Boys' song, "Intergalactic," off of their album Hello Nasty. And that line reminds me of something that happened earlier today.
As I often do, I went out for a late morning walk across Arch Street and down through the concourse and food court of the Comcast Center, which connects underground to Suburban Station. And like many train stations, there are plenty of places to go for a quick meal or a snack. Or in my case, for my morning coffee.
So I get to Dunkin Donuts and step up to place my order with the young woman standing behind the register. I say, "medium coffee, with sugar, no cream." So she turns to an older man who is standing right, and I mean right, next to her, and she says, "medium coffee, with sugar, little cream." So I speak up and say, "No, no: no cream, just sugar." But behind the counter and out of my line of sight, the guy must've poured some cream into a cup, because the girl says to him, "no cream." So the guy tosses the cup in his hand and grabs a new, second cup and begins to pour out some coffee. But I say right then, jokingly, as if to reaffirm what the girl has said: "just sugar, no cream, no coffee." As soon as I say that, the guy begins to move as if he will pour out the contents of this second cup and then grab a third, new cup. But I say, "no, no, I'm just joking, I want coffee with my sugar." And both the girl and the guy look at me stone-faced, clearly not understanding what the heck I was talking about, probably being accustomed to customers either tired or rushed to catch a train, and not really used to any attempt at humor, especially the hard-to-detect, dry-and-sarcastic kind.
Needless to say, I got back to the office with my coffee. It had just the right amount of sugar. And no cream.
As I often do, I went out for a late morning walk across Arch Street and down through the concourse and food court of the Comcast Center, which connects underground to Suburban Station. And like many train stations, there are plenty of places to go for a quick meal or a snack. Or in my case, for my morning coffee.
So I get to Dunkin Donuts and step up to place my order with the young woman standing behind the register. I say, "medium coffee, with sugar, no cream." So she turns to an older man who is standing right, and I mean right, next to her, and she says, "medium coffee, with sugar, little cream." So I speak up and say, "No, no: no cream, just sugar." But behind the counter and out of my line of sight, the guy must've poured some cream into a cup, because the girl says to him, "no cream." So the guy tosses the cup in his hand and grabs a new, second cup and begins to pour out some coffee. But I say right then, jokingly, as if to reaffirm what the girl has said: "just sugar, no cream, no coffee." As soon as I say that, the guy begins to move as if he will pour out the contents of this second cup and then grab a third, new cup. But I say, "no, no, I'm just joking, I want coffee with my sugar." And both the girl and the guy look at me stone-faced, clearly not understanding what the heck I was talking about, probably being accustomed to customers either tired or rushed to catch a train, and not really used to any attempt at humor, especially the hard-to-detect, dry-and-sarcastic kind.
Needless to say, I got back to the office with my coffee. It had just the right amount of sugar. And no cream.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Need Change?
I was walking down Walnut Street earlier today. On the southern side of the 1400 block (between Broad and 15th Streets) and between Lush and the Bank of America ATM, there was a group of three modern-day hobos, i.e. train-hoppers, the color of brown from head to toe: clothes, skin, hair, and all. I'm not saying that they were of African descent; no, by all outward appearances, they were almost certainly of European descent. I'm merely saying that they were totally brown, kinda like Pigpen from The Peanuts.
Well, of these three hobos, the one sitting in the middle was young and healthy-looking. He was holding a sign that read: "I'm like Obama. I want change." Pretty good pun, huh? I got a good laugh from that one.
Well, of these three hobos, the one sitting in the middle was young and healthy-looking. He was holding a sign that read: "I'm like Obama. I want change." Pretty good pun, huh? I got a good laugh from that one.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Gutentag!
Traveling somewhere without knowing the language can be frustrating. But it can also be quite comical.
This morning, after getting out of bed and getting dressed, I went downstairs to see who was around and to see if I could have a bite to eat for breakfast. I went into the kitchen to clean out the glass that I had used last night. I noticed that there was a pot of coffee brewing. After a minute, a man who I had not yet met came into the kitchen. Later I found out that he is the father of Roland's younger brother. What I did find out right away was that his English was only slightly better than my German. And so began a morning filled with lots of hand gestures, pointing, thumbs-up's, and awkward chuckling at misperceived and misunderstood jokes.
Since Roland is working until mid-afternoon, I'll have some time to go exploring. In a short while, I'll take a walk down the street to downtown Essen. So I can expect some more language-based comedy. After breakfast, though, I asked Michael (Roland's younger brother's father) if there was a German-English dictionary around the house; we found one, which I'll certainly be carrying with me on my walk soon.
So I'm feeling refreshed now. I was in bed and asleep by 10pm last night (I couldn't help thinking that it was 4pm back in tha Illadelph at that time). I woke up this morning probably somewhere around 7am, and eventually got out of bed at 8am. I'm hoping that this was enough to re-wire my Circadian rhythm and ward-off any further effects of jet lag. Based on all expectations, the trip to and throughout Egypt will require a good deal of endurance; a solid rest is the foundation for all of what is to come.
Roland and I leave Essen for the Cologne airport later this afternoon, probably around 3 or 4pm. Our flight for Cairo departs at 8:10pm and we'll arrive in Cairo at 1:25am. As I mentioned in my last post, we'll take the first bus out of the city en route to Marsa Matruh, a seaport on the Mediterranean. As such, my next post will very likely be written from Egypt.
Y para terminar este cuentecito, les envio a mis primos y a mis amigos en Costa Rica un gran saludo muy tico: PURA VIDA, MAE!!! Ustedes estan conmigo como siempre, les llevo una parte de ustedes en mi corazon con cada pasito pa'delante!
This morning, after getting out of bed and getting dressed, I went downstairs to see who was around and to see if I could have a bite to eat for breakfast. I went into the kitchen to clean out the glass that I had used last night. I noticed that there was a pot of coffee brewing. After a minute, a man who I had not yet met came into the kitchen. Later I found out that he is the father of Roland's younger brother. What I did find out right away was that his English was only slightly better than my German. And so began a morning filled with lots of hand gestures, pointing, thumbs-up's, and awkward chuckling at misperceived and misunderstood jokes.
Since Roland is working until mid-afternoon, I'll have some time to go exploring. In a short while, I'll take a walk down the street to downtown Essen. So I can expect some more language-based comedy. After breakfast, though, I asked Michael (Roland's younger brother's father) if there was a German-English dictionary around the house; we found one, which I'll certainly be carrying with me on my walk soon.
So I'm feeling refreshed now. I was in bed and asleep by 10pm last night (I couldn't help thinking that it was 4pm back in tha Illadelph at that time). I woke up this morning probably somewhere around 7am, and eventually got out of bed at 8am. I'm hoping that this was enough to re-wire my Circadian rhythm and ward-off any further effects of jet lag. Based on all expectations, the trip to and throughout Egypt will require a good deal of endurance; a solid rest is the foundation for all of what is to come.
Roland and I leave Essen for the Cologne airport later this afternoon, probably around 3 or 4pm. Our flight for Cairo departs at 8:10pm and we'll arrive in Cairo at 1:25am. As I mentioned in my last post, we'll take the first bus out of the city en route to Marsa Matruh, a seaport on the Mediterranean. As such, my next post will very likely be written from Egypt.
Y para terminar este cuentecito, les envio a mis primos y a mis amigos en Costa Rica un gran saludo muy tico: PURA VIDA, MAE!!! Ustedes estan conmigo como siempre, les llevo una parte de ustedes en mi corazon con cada pasito pa'delante!
Monday, May 7, 2007
No subject [email to Paul]
yo, i got ur text msg. i still have 3 days left, so let's not count our chickens until we're eating the chicken fingers. so how was sat night? i couldn't hear the voicemail too well, but i figure it was good shit when i heard girls squealing. you'll have to tell me about it when we talk later this wk, prob wed night when i'm done. thanks for all ur support, it seriously means a lot to me, and some of ur msgs even helped me through some tough days. alright, back to the final stretch....
Saturday, April 12, 2003
Medford, New Jersey -- night
Tomorrow is Mita's birthday, but we celebrated it tonight. Mita, Jessica, and I just got back from dinner at El Azteca on Rt. 73 in Mt. Laurel; I paid the bill. The food was pretty good and I used the opportunity to speak Spanish.
As I write this, I'm leaning on my left elbow while listening to a radio program on Temple University Public Radio, 90.1 FM, which runs every Saturday night from 9pm to 12 midnight. The program is all latin music, mostly salsa.
This past week at work I was supposed to do workshops at halfway houses around the city each evening on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Since the trainings each evening were scheduled from 6pm to 7pm, Richard invited me to live with him for the week. The two experiences, at the halfway houses and with Richard, were interesting.
I'll start first by reflecting on my visits to the halfway houses. On Tuesday evening, I led a training to a group of four ex-prisoners at 15th and Cecil B. Moore, right by Temple University. It was my first training, and definitely a test of my knowledge of family law, after just returning from four months away. I was fairly informal in the presentation, but still presented the information quite clearly. I talked to the ex-prisoners using their first names. And of course, whenever I got the chance, I threw in a funny remark or comment to keep things light. At the end of the presentation, I spoke for a few minutes with Gilbert Coleman, from the Mayor's Office of Community Services. We had a nice conversation, and as I found out the next day from his colleague, he was impressed by my presentation.
Unfortunately, though, the next two evenings were not as rewarding. Each of the next two evenings, not one ex-prisoner showed up. It ended up being nearly a complete waste of time. On Wednesday evening, the only redeeming event was listening to one of the wardens at the halfway house speak his opinion (which he stressed was from the "old school"), and then the ride I got from Shareef El-Amin and our conversation from 407 North 8th Street to the intersection of Broad and Erie.
Since I had gotten a ride, I arrived earlier than expected and had to wait for Richard to arrive. While I was sitting on a cement ledge, I noticed a black woman approaching me from behind. Quite abruptly, she says to me without any sort of introduction: "We will call you Fernandez." Of course she was all by herself. So it was very apparent that she was either a mental health patient or a drug abuser. In that area, and based on her appearance, it was probably the latter. I acknowledged her by saying that I liked the name. But she just kept on walking, even while continuing her public conversation. Just a couple minutes later, Richard pulled up in his black Cadillac.
Thursday night was not much better. I went to the halfway house at 1221 Bainbridge Street. When I got there, I got into a basic, but good conversation with an ex-prisoner while waiting for the guy from the Mayor's Office to show up. The guy was 41 years old, and seemed to have finally gotten his head on straight. He cared a lot for his kid, and says his only addiction was to buying clothes. I hope that is the truth, not only for his sake but also for his kid's sake. When the guy from the Mayor's Office arrived, there were no prisoners there that had interest in a legal presentation. For the second night in a row, I did not present anything. The extent of my involvement was responding to a couple of hypothetical scenarios presented by another assistant from the Mayor's Office. So, all in all, it was a disappointing experience and a lost challenge.
A somewhat bright spot, though, was staying with Richard for the week. Although I was exhausted every night, we did spend solid time together out of the office. Surprisingly though, we did not have any long or deep conversations. So in that aspect too, this past week fell short of what it could have been. Those things happen though, so no sweat.
I believe I'm starting to realize a re-orientation, a re-direction, in my professional interests. I have certain goals which I am seriously considering. I will save this for my next entry, though, since I am feeling very tired. Corey and I hit the town last night, so I think I used all my reserves then. Well, I hope to write again tomorrow. We shall see.
As I write this, I'm leaning on my left elbow while listening to a radio program on Temple University Public Radio, 90.1 FM, which runs every Saturday night from 9pm to 12 midnight. The program is all latin music, mostly salsa.
This past week at work I was supposed to do workshops at halfway houses around the city each evening on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Since the trainings each evening were scheduled from 6pm to 7pm, Richard invited me to live with him for the week. The two experiences, at the halfway houses and with Richard, were interesting.
I'll start first by reflecting on my visits to the halfway houses. On Tuesday evening, I led a training to a group of four ex-prisoners at 15th and Cecil B. Moore, right by Temple University. It was my first training, and definitely a test of my knowledge of family law, after just returning from four months away. I was fairly informal in the presentation, but still presented the information quite clearly. I talked to the ex-prisoners using their first names. And of course, whenever I got the chance, I threw in a funny remark or comment to keep things light. At the end of the presentation, I spoke for a few minutes with Gilbert Coleman, from the Mayor's Office of Community Services. We had a nice conversation, and as I found out the next day from his colleague, he was impressed by my presentation.
Unfortunately, though, the next two evenings were not as rewarding. Each of the next two evenings, not one ex-prisoner showed up. It ended up being nearly a complete waste of time. On Wednesday evening, the only redeeming event was listening to one of the wardens at the halfway house speak his opinion (which he stressed was from the "old school"), and then the ride I got from Shareef El-Amin and our conversation from 407 North 8th Street to the intersection of Broad and Erie.
Since I had gotten a ride, I arrived earlier than expected and had to wait for Richard to arrive. While I was sitting on a cement ledge, I noticed a black woman approaching me from behind. Quite abruptly, she says to me without any sort of introduction: "We will call you Fernandez." Of course she was all by herself. So it was very apparent that she was either a mental health patient or a drug abuser. In that area, and based on her appearance, it was probably the latter. I acknowledged her by saying that I liked the name. But she just kept on walking, even while continuing her public conversation. Just a couple minutes later, Richard pulled up in his black Cadillac.
Thursday night was not much better. I went to the halfway house at 1221 Bainbridge Street. When I got there, I got into a basic, but good conversation with an ex-prisoner while waiting for the guy from the Mayor's Office to show up. The guy was 41 years old, and seemed to have finally gotten his head on straight. He cared a lot for his kid, and says his only addiction was to buying clothes. I hope that is the truth, not only for his sake but also for his kid's sake. When the guy from the Mayor's Office arrived, there were no prisoners there that had interest in a legal presentation. For the second night in a row, I did not present anything. The extent of my involvement was responding to a couple of hypothetical scenarios presented by another assistant from the Mayor's Office. So, all in all, it was a disappointing experience and a lost challenge.
A somewhat bright spot, though, was staying with Richard for the week. Although I was exhausted every night, we did spend solid time together out of the office. Surprisingly though, we did not have any long or deep conversations. So in that aspect too, this past week fell short of what it could have been. Those things happen though, so no sweat.
I believe I'm starting to realize a re-orientation, a re-direction, in my professional interests. I have certain goals which I am seriously considering. I will save this for my next entry, though, since I am feeling very tired. Corey and I hit the town last night, so I think I used all my reserves then. Well, I hope to write again tomorrow. We shall see.
Wednesday, March 5, 2003
Leon, Nicaragua -- afternoon
I'm sitting in la Casa de Cultura in Leon. I figured I would take this opportunity to sit down and write for a bit.
Earlier today, I went to el Museo Ruben Dario. But I needed some time to leave the hostel. The reason is my very upset stomach. Apparently, Montezuma must have had a cousin living in Managua who also wants to take revenge on anyone with European blood. I won't dare leave the city until I'm feeling solid again.
So going along with that theme, I arrived at el Museo Ruben Dario after eating a breakfast of pinto and eggs with toast at a local cafetin. Also, to replace lost fluids, I drank two glasses of orange juice and a glass of water. I really took my time eating since my stomach was hurting a bit.
As soon as I arrived at el Museo, I went straight to the bathroom, where I remained seated for many minutes. When I was just about ready to leave, I realized that there was no toilet paper. Hence I realized I was in a (quickly becoming) sticky situation. So I pulled my pants up only part-way, and I peeked out of the stall. There was a table of three high school girls about 25 meters away, but they didn't seem to notice me. So I ran out of the men's stall, and into the women's stall, thinking it would surely have toilet paper. Of course it didn't. So I ran back to the men's stall to look into the wastebasket. That nearly made me puke since every last paper was already used. So I decided quickly to run across an open area of about seven meters to a table with a handkerchief on it.
As a brief aside, I must say that I've relocated to a table at el Hotel el Convento since la Casa de Cultura was closing for siesta. This place is very impressive, but I'll explain later.
So back to my sticky situation. I carried the handkerchief back to the stall, where I used it vigorously. Then, I pulled up my pants to walk back across to get a clean dish-towel, which I brought back to the stall to finish the job thoroughly.
Hence, I toured el Museo, which wasn't really large at all. Although I very much respect the work of Dario, the only highlight was wiping my ass with a dish-towel.
From there, I walked to a local restaurant to drink two bottles of water at the bar. I figured I could use some re-hydration. Then, I walked to la Casa de Cultura, which I only toured for about half an hour to forty-five minutes before sitting down to write. Of the folklore that they covered there, I was interested to read the legend of los duendes, the dwarves. It is said that los duendes come to villages between the hours of 8am and 9am to steal away unsupervised, unbaptised children, whereafter they take them into the mountains to convert them into dwarves. The dwarves are invisible to adults, and can be seen only by children and mutes.
Right now, I'm seated in the outdoor section of the restaurant of Hotel El Convento, a luxurious colonial complex made up of four sides with a lush, green courtyard in the middle, lined by palm trees. I'm watching several medium black birds in the fountain in the center, using it as a birdbath. And I drink a pineapple juice drink that will certainly be over-priced. The inner section of the restaurant is enclosed, and therefore air-conditioned, I'm sure. There are several extravagant chandeliers interspersed along the ceiling, among thick wooden support beams. I'm totally out of place here, wearing the same clothes, including a stained, cut-off white tshirt, for at least three days now. My malodorous, unshaven appearance must clash quite brilliantly with the antiseptic, upper-class surrounding. Perhaps one might say it is sacrilegious too, as I see an immense religious shrine on the other side of the large lounge area. I'm even surprised the security guard even let me in here, because in addition to my somewhat ruffian appearance, I'm blatantly carrying a silver switchblade in my front left pocket. I may be going too far in saying that his revolutionary character, and my revolutionary (or at least brazenly proletarian) appearance, are what permitted my entrance.
Nevertheless, I sip my pineapple juice in as much a refined, aristocratic manner as possible. This, in going along with the smooth piano tunes from the stereo, reminiscent of a lethargic Sunday afternoon in a department store. But - unrelated I'm sure - my stomach and intestines are feeling much better now. Perhaps I won't be held prisoner in Leon by my own bodily functions.
So, after this, I may look for a spot to eat lunch. Then, I'll return to la Casa de Cultura for a brief visit only to photograph a painting. I already photographed the painting of former U.S. President Ronald Reagan seated on the shoulders of an indigenous campesina, Reagan with a slight grin and a rifle resting across his lap.
From there, I will likely begin my tour of several churchs and cathedrals. Since Latin American churchs face the west, I can get better photographs in the late afternoon hours. The rest of the evening will be up in the air, but a trip to the supermarket to buy soap for a nice, long shower is definitely on the agenda.
I'll stop writing now to focus more attention on the pineapple drink and the beautiful courtyard.
Earlier today, I went to el Museo Ruben Dario. But I needed some time to leave the hostel. The reason is my very upset stomach. Apparently, Montezuma must have had a cousin living in Managua who also wants to take revenge on anyone with European blood. I won't dare leave the city until I'm feeling solid again.
So going along with that theme, I arrived at el Museo Ruben Dario after eating a breakfast of pinto and eggs with toast at a local cafetin. Also, to replace lost fluids, I drank two glasses of orange juice and a glass of water. I really took my time eating since my stomach was hurting a bit.
As soon as I arrived at el Museo, I went straight to the bathroom, where I remained seated for many minutes. When I was just about ready to leave, I realized that there was no toilet paper. Hence I realized I was in a (quickly becoming) sticky situation. So I pulled my pants up only part-way, and I peeked out of the stall. There was a table of three high school girls about 25 meters away, but they didn't seem to notice me. So I ran out of the men's stall, and into the women's stall, thinking it would surely have toilet paper. Of course it didn't. So I ran back to the men's stall to look into the wastebasket. That nearly made me puke since every last paper was already used. So I decided quickly to run across an open area of about seven meters to a table with a handkerchief on it.
As a brief aside, I must say that I've relocated to a table at el Hotel el Convento since la Casa de Cultura was closing for siesta. This place is very impressive, but I'll explain later.
So back to my sticky situation. I carried the handkerchief back to the stall, where I used it vigorously. Then, I pulled up my pants to walk back across to get a clean dish-towel, which I brought back to the stall to finish the job thoroughly.
Hence, I toured el Museo, which wasn't really large at all. Although I very much respect the work of Dario, the only highlight was wiping my ass with a dish-towel.
From there, I walked to a local restaurant to drink two bottles of water at the bar. I figured I could use some re-hydration. Then, I walked to la Casa de Cultura, which I only toured for about half an hour to forty-five minutes before sitting down to write. Of the folklore that they covered there, I was interested to read the legend of los duendes, the dwarves. It is said that los duendes come to villages between the hours of 8am and 9am to steal away unsupervised, unbaptised children, whereafter they take them into the mountains to convert them into dwarves. The dwarves are invisible to adults, and can be seen only by children and mutes.
Right now, I'm seated in the outdoor section of the restaurant of Hotel El Convento, a luxurious colonial complex made up of four sides with a lush, green courtyard in the middle, lined by palm trees. I'm watching several medium black birds in the fountain in the center, using it as a birdbath. And I drink a pineapple juice drink that will certainly be over-priced. The inner section of the restaurant is enclosed, and therefore air-conditioned, I'm sure. There are several extravagant chandeliers interspersed along the ceiling, among thick wooden support beams. I'm totally out of place here, wearing the same clothes, including a stained, cut-off white tshirt, for at least three days now. My malodorous, unshaven appearance must clash quite brilliantly with the antiseptic, upper-class surrounding. Perhaps one might say it is sacrilegious too, as I see an immense religious shrine on the other side of the large lounge area. I'm even surprised the security guard even let me in here, because in addition to my somewhat ruffian appearance, I'm blatantly carrying a silver switchblade in my front left pocket. I may be going too far in saying that his revolutionary character, and my revolutionary (or at least brazenly proletarian) appearance, are what permitted my entrance.
Nevertheless, I sip my pineapple juice in as much a refined, aristocratic manner as possible. This, in going along with the smooth piano tunes from the stereo, reminiscent of a lethargic Sunday afternoon in a department store. But - unrelated I'm sure - my stomach and intestines are feeling much better now. Perhaps I won't be held prisoner in Leon by my own bodily functions.
So, after this, I may look for a spot to eat lunch. Then, I'll return to la Casa de Cultura for a brief visit only to photograph a painting. I already photographed the painting of former U.S. President Ronald Reagan seated on the shoulders of an indigenous campesina, Reagan with a slight grin and a rifle resting across his lap.
From there, I will likely begin my tour of several churchs and cathedrals. Since Latin American churchs face the west, I can get better photographs in the late afternoon hours. The rest of the evening will be up in the air, but a trip to the supermarket to buy soap for a nice, long shower is definitely on the agenda.
I'll stop writing now to focus more attention on the pineapple drink and the beautiful courtyard.
Tuesday, March 4, 2003
Managua, Nicaragua -- morning
I'll be leaving Managua for Leon in just a couple of hours.
I have been received very well at Lili's house, but I just can't stand it. Sleeping in a hammock is uncomfortable, but trying to sleep with large buses and trucks speeding by at all hours of the night is very difficult. Also, hearing a baby crying for most of the day and night is annoying. And waking up to evangelists preaching as if it were the end of the world gives one a feeling of wanting to destroy the radio. And to top it all off, Managua is so dirty and disorderly that there is no appeal to remain.
And so, I hit the road to go to Leon, a city which is much nicer as I recall. Since I still haven't received an email from Ronald (after checking email yesterday afternoon), I will stay in Leon for a couple of days, then head south to Masaya and Granada before heading back to Costa Rica to meet up with a girl who contacted me for guidance and companionship. Tentatively, I'll meet her in Monteverde in a week from today, next Tuesday.
Before closing this entry, I have to comment on the subject of not sleeping. In Liberia, during the fiestas civicas, la Diana walks through all the streets at five in the morning, accompanied by a band playing loud music, and fireworks set off from the parque central. For me, at least, it was impossible to sleep through that ruckus. Well, the time has come to get myself ready to leave.
I have been received very well at Lili's house, but I just can't stand it. Sleeping in a hammock is uncomfortable, but trying to sleep with large buses and trucks speeding by at all hours of the night is very difficult. Also, hearing a baby crying for most of the day and night is annoying. And waking up to evangelists preaching as if it were the end of the world gives one a feeling of wanting to destroy the radio. And to top it all off, Managua is so dirty and disorderly that there is no appeal to remain.
And so, I hit the road to go to Leon, a city which is much nicer as I recall. Since I still haven't received an email from Ronald (after checking email yesterday afternoon), I will stay in Leon for a couple of days, then head south to Masaya and Granada before heading back to Costa Rica to meet up with a girl who contacted me for guidance and companionship. Tentatively, I'll meet her in Monteverde in a week from today, next Tuesday.
Before closing this entry, I have to comment on the subject of not sleeping. In Liberia, during the fiestas civicas, la Diana walks through all the streets at five in the morning, accompanied by a band playing loud music, and fireworks set off from the parque central. For me, at least, it was impossible to sleep through that ruckus. Well, the time has come to get myself ready to leave.
Monday, March 3, 2003
Managua, Nicaragua -- afternoon
I'm not sure how long I'm going to stay here in Nicaragua. I can say that I don't like the vibe I'm feeling here in Managua. For now, I'm laying low, after arriving here by micro-bus from Penas Blancas at about noon-time. I got to Lilli's house at about 1pm, only to find out that she's still in Costa Rica, and probably not expected here any time soon.
Fortunately, her family has been very nice and accommodating. I stayed here last night and will very likely sleep here tonight. However, sleep here is difficult since I sleep in a hammock, and their home is located on a main thoroughfare, where buses go speeding by at all hours of the day and night. Also, the heat here is oppressive. Luckily there is a breeze today. If not for that, I'd be sweating like a pig.
I must say that I have just experienced my second disappointment; the first being Ronald not showing up in Liberia, and now the second being Lilli not being here in Managua. Right now, I have only two tasks to perform. First, I need to get to an internet cafe to see if Ronald replied to my message. Depending on what I've received, my decision may be effected. Second, I need to go to a bank to convert my next traveller's check into cordobas. Even if I leave Nicaragua soon, I can change the cordobas into colones. I think unless I get an email from Ronald saying that he's coming to Managua on such-and-such a date, I will leave tomorrow morning for Leon to pass a couple of days. From there, I'll pass through Managua and head south to Masaya and Granada for a couple of days before heading back to Costa Rica by next weekend. But, if I receive notice from Ronald that he's coming to Managua, then I may wait here for his arrival to go east to Rama, Bluefields, and Corn Island.
The thing is, it's really a bitch here since there is no water here during the whole day. The water only comes at one or two or three in the morning, at which time Lili's mother collects water in buckets for the next day. Due to the scarcity of water, I haven't showered, used the toilet, or even washed my face. The only thing I have done is washed my hands. I really have to get out of here.
The conditions here in Nicaragua are quite deplorable. It is no stretch of the imagination to believe that this is the second poorest country in the western hemisphere. The people here seem to turn in two directions as a response. First, younger males turn to crime. I have been warned by Costa Ricans and Nicaraguans of the gangs of Nicaraguan thugs, especially in Managua. Also, walking in the Barrio La Fuente, here in Managua, Lili's parents have pointed out thieves and gangsters.
Lilli's father disapproved of my tattoo, thinking it may have symbolized some kind of gang affiliation. I explained in no uncertain terms that my tattoo is something good, something that I am proud of since it represents a part of my heritage. I explained that it is not my fault if it is misinterpreted by others.
The second response here to the difficult living conditions is to turn to religion. Lili's parents are hardcore evangelists, and they took me to their service last night. The experience was interesting to say the least. The service took place at a warehouse-type room just a few blocks away. And the atmosphere was very animated. Every minute or so, the speaker would ask: "Vive o no vive?!" and the crowd would answer emphatically: "Vive!!!"
Early in the service, I had to write my name and city of origin on a piece of paper, so I wrote "Tay Fallas - de Filadelfia." A few minutes later, one of the many speakers welcomed me and asked me to stand up. Everyone was clapping, so I stood up clapping too, and turned around to wave to the crowd behind me. Then I bowed in the form of a namaste to the speaker, and I sat down.
Toward the end of the service, after the pastor spoke (claiming that no one can change their own character; only God can do that), Lili's father got up to deliver a very excited speech, saying that God was in the room with us. Most everyone had their eyes closed and were waving their hands in the air. Several women were crying throughout the excitement. Also, during the pastor's sermon, a young man remained prostrate, in the position of a Muslim praying toward Mecca.
Also, throughout the entire service, many songs were sung, during which everyone clapped and even shook maraccas. This was in accompaniment to the three-man band on stage: a bass guitarist, a keyboardist, and a drummer. The musical aspect of the service was very fun and entertaining. However, in general, the service had a cult-type feeling.
At one point during the excitement when everyone had their eyes closed and were shaking and crying, I made eye-contact with a young girl. She started laughing as if she realized the folly and false drama of the whole service; I couldn't help laughing myself after that.
Unfortunately, many people place all of their hope in the return of Jesus; they apparently have no hope for a better life due to the leadership of the government, or any other living mortals. That seems logical after the pathetic collapse of the Sandinista revolution of 1979. So far, this brief experience in Managua seems to presnet a certain level of lawlessness and disorder. The feeling is quite disconcerting and unnerving. For this very feeling, I want to be on my way very soon. I can foresee that I will be relieved to cross the border back into Costa Rica.
Today is Monday, March 3. I leave for the United States on Sunday, March 30. It's a shame that I look forward to fast-forwarding to my return to Costa Rica, and even then to my return to the United States. Nevertheless, this is my present feeling. As always though, I remain a slave to time.
Fortunately, her family has been very nice and accommodating. I stayed here last night and will very likely sleep here tonight. However, sleep here is difficult since I sleep in a hammock, and their home is located on a main thoroughfare, where buses go speeding by at all hours of the day and night. Also, the heat here is oppressive. Luckily there is a breeze today. If not for that, I'd be sweating like a pig.
I must say that I have just experienced my second disappointment; the first being Ronald not showing up in Liberia, and now the second being Lilli not being here in Managua. Right now, I have only two tasks to perform. First, I need to get to an internet cafe to see if Ronald replied to my message. Depending on what I've received, my decision may be effected. Second, I need to go to a bank to convert my next traveller's check into cordobas. Even if I leave Nicaragua soon, I can change the cordobas into colones. I think unless I get an email from Ronald saying that he's coming to Managua on such-and-such a date, I will leave tomorrow morning for Leon to pass a couple of days. From there, I'll pass through Managua and head south to Masaya and Granada for a couple of days before heading back to Costa Rica by next weekend. But, if I receive notice from Ronald that he's coming to Managua, then I may wait here for his arrival to go east to Rama, Bluefields, and Corn Island.
The thing is, it's really a bitch here since there is no water here during the whole day. The water only comes at one or two or three in the morning, at which time Lili's mother collects water in buckets for the next day. Due to the scarcity of water, I haven't showered, used the toilet, or even washed my face. The only thing I have done is washed my hands. I really have to get out of here.
The conditions here in Nicaragua are quite deplorable. It is no stretch of the imagination to believe that this is the second poorest country in the western hemisphere. The people here seem to turn in two directions as a response. First, younger males turn to crime. I have been warned by Costa Ricans and Nicaraguans of the gangs of Nicaraguan thugs, especially in Managua. Also, walking in the Barrio La Fuente, here in Managua, Lili's parents have pointed out thieves and gangsters.
Lilli's father disapproved of my tattoo, thinking it may have symbolized some kind of gang affiliation. I explained in no uncertain terms that my tattoo is something good, something that I am proud of since it represents a part of my heritage. I explained that it is not my fault if it is misinterpreted by others.
The second response here to the difficult living conditions is to turn to religion. Lili's parents are hardcore evangelists, and they took me to their service last night. The experience was interesting to say the least. The service took place at a warehouse-type room just a few blocks away. And the atmosphere was very animated. Every minute or so, the speaker would ask: "Vive o no vive?!" and the crowd would answer emphatically: "Vive!!!"
Early in the service, I had to write my name and city of origin on a piece of paper, so I wrote "Tay Fallas - de Filadelfia." A few minutes later, one of the many speakers welcomed me and asked me to stand up. Everyone was clapping, so I stood up clapping too, and turned around to wave to the crowd behind me. Then I bowed in the form of a namaste to the speaker, and I sat down.
Toward the end of the service, after the pastor spoke (claiming that no one can change their own character; only God can do that), Lili's father got up to deliver a very excited speech, saying that God was in the room with us. Most everyone had their eyes closed and were waving their hands in the air. Several women were crying throughout the excitement. Also, during the pastor's sermon, a young man remained prostrate, in the position of a Muslim praying toward Mecca.
Also, throughout the entire service, many songs were sung, during which everyone clapped and even shook maraccas. This was in accompaniment to the three-man band on stage: a bass guitarist, a keyboardist, and a drummer. The musical aspect of the service was very fun and entertaining. However, in general, the service had a cult-type feeling.
At one point during the excitement when everyone had their eyes closed and were shaking and crying, I made eye-contact with a young girl. She started laughing as if she realized the folly and false drama of the whole service; I couldn't help laughing myself after that.
Unfortunately, many people place all of their hope in the return of Jesus; they apparently have no hope for a better life due to the leadership of the government, or any other living mortals. That seems logical after the pathetic collapse of the Sandinista revolution of 1979. So far, this brief experience in Managua seems to presnet a certain level of lawlessness and disorder. The feeling is quite disconcerting and unnerving. For this very feeling, I want to be on my way very soon. I can foresee that I will be relieved to cross the border back into Costa Rica.
Today is Monday, March 3. I leave for the United States on Sunday, March 30. It's a shame that I look forward to fast-forwarding to my return to Costa Rica, and even then to my return to the United States. Nevertheless, this is my present feeling. As always though, I remain a slave to time.
Thursday, February 20, 2003
Manzanillo, Costa Rica -- evening
So I ended up staying here in Manzanillo with a guy who writes under the pen name of j. guevara, and his wife, Michelle, who runs a hamburger/lemonade shack at the bottom of the hill on the roadside of the shore-line dirt road.
Up here at the top of the hill they live in an open-air rancho with a thatch roof. There are also two thatch-roofed ranchos for guests; they cabinas are all-inclusive, meaning that they're feeding me too (and damn good food at that).
J has travelled all around the world, claiming to have travelled the length of the Himalayas, and hence also claiming to speak three dialects of Nepalese. He does some interesting reading, and so he has some interesting, nearly outlandish in some cases, viewpoints on a whole range of topics. He is fervently anti-Christian fundamentalist. He believes the bible is just another book, some of which may be fact or based in fact, and much of which is just a plagiarism of other previous religions or mythologies. He is a stated feminist, claiming that women have been "getting the shaft" for many years, ever since the bible was written and there was a division of labor between the two genders.
Politically speaking, (and in the realm of current events), his views are a bit radical to the point of being nearly foolish. However, he does raise some striking points on occasion. He believes the apparently impending war against Iraq is part of a geopolitical chess manuever, a "pincer movement" to trap Iran between the recently conquered Afghanistan to the east, Turkey to the north, and soon-to-be Iraq to the west. Only time will tell if his suspicions are well-founded.
He also believes the Columbia shuttle tragedy appears to be too much of a coincidence: an Israeli man and a Hindu woman aboard, both enemies of Muslim extremists; and the explosion took place over "Bush's backyard," Texas. He believes it was a message of sorts.
As far-fetched as some of his viewpoints may be, I did write down a recommended reading list. At the very least, it will open my mind to different points-of-view, and likely stimulate my thinking to new, wider horizons.
Now, as to what I did today, I did just a little work here to earn a free lunch. I used a machete to cut up a fallen banana tree into smaller pieces to toss down the hill. Then, I dug a small hole to serve as a compost ditch.
To cool myself off, I headed down to the ocean, where I went snorkeling for the first time ever. I was there for over an hour, and it was absolutely great. I saw several different types of fish: a tiny, bright blue one; a larger yellow-and-black, vertically striped one; a small, thin camouflage (with green and brown spots) one; and a large, flat gray one, among others. It was fascinating. By the time I reached shore again, I realized I had done a large loop and had covered a surprisingly good deal of ground (or sea, to be more appropriate).
I came back to eat a delicious hamburger and cantaloupe cubes, along with lemonade, cooked and served by Michelle at the shack down below. After paging through an issue of The Economist (I would like to subscribe when I return to Philly), I came up to the deck looking out over the Pacific to read a chapter of Lord Jim. Afterwards, I went back into the ocean to swim, float, and relax, until just before the sunset, when I came back up the hill to take a couple of photos.
And now here I am writing in the journal in the meantime before dinner is served. Before I put it off any longer (and while I have the time), I should go over a few quick stories from Puntarenas.
One of my afternoons there, I decided to hop into the ocean to cool off. While there I soon noticed three guys near me in the waves, but one looked peculiarly out of sorts. At first I thought he was mentally challenged, but then realized quickly that he was simply piss-drunk. His two friends had brought him into the ocean to shock him back to a greater degree of sobriety. The purpose seemed to be failing, though, since waves were smacking the drunk-ass right in his face. Furthermore, he couldn't remain standing still without the support of one or both of his friends.
A few minutes later, when he was on the beach, his friends let him walk on his own. He was carrying one sandal in each hand. Suddenly he dropped one sandal, and I saw what was coming. He bent over to try to pick it up, but instead went reeling out-of-control in a totally reckless manner; he landed face-first in the sand. During and after this whole scene, I was laughing hysterically amongst the waves.
Another episode which was pretty amusing was right after I had boarded the ferry in Puntarenas to go to Paquera. I, along with a sizeable crowd, was standing at the back of the ferry while it was being disconnected from the mooring on the dock. As the ferry slowly began drifting away from the dock, a young woman came running with her bag up the dock. Her two friends had just boarded and were yelling at her, urging her to run faster. At the last moment, she leaped from the dock and just barely landed on the lower deck of the ferry. At that instant, the whole crowd burst out in a combinations of applause and laughter. The whole scene was absolutely riotous; again, I laughed pretty good from that one.
Anyway, the stars are out now. And I'm really hoping that dinner will be ready and served soon. I hope to sleep well tonight because tomorrow I plan on resuming my pedestrian journey to the north at an early hour. I feel that urge to be on the road again.
Up here at the top of the hill they live in an open-air rancho with a thatch roof. There are also two thatch-roofed ranchos for guests; they cabinas are all-inclusive, meaning that they're feeding me too (and damn good food at that).
J has travelled all around the world, claiming to have travelled the length of the Himalayas, and hence also claiming to speak three dialects of Nepalese. He does some interesting reading, and so he has some interesting, nearly outlandish in some cases, viewpoints on a whole range of topics. He is fervently anti-Christian fundamentalist. He believes the bible is just another book, some of which may be fact or based in fact, and much of which is just a plagiarism of other previous religions or mythologies. He is a stated feminist, claiming that women have been "getting the shaft" for many years, ever since the bible was written and there was a division of labor between the two genders.
Politically speaking, (and in the realm of current events), his views are a bit radical to the point of being nearly foolish. However, he does raise some striking points on occasion. He believes the apparently impending war against Iraq is part of a geopolitical chess manuever, a "pincer movement" to trap Iran between the recently conquered Afghanistan to the east, Turkey to the north, and soon-to-be Iraq to the west. Only time will tell if his suspicions are well-founded.
He also believes the Columbia shuttle tragedy appears to be too much of a coincidence: an Israeli man and a Hindu woman aboard, both enemies of Muslim extremists; and the explosion took place over "Bush's backyard," Texas. He believes it was a message of sorts.
As far-fetched as some of his viewpoints may be, I did write down a recommended reading list. At the very least, it will open my mind to different points-of-view, and likely stimulate my thinking to new, wider horizons.
Now, as to what I did today, I did just a little work here to earn a free lunch. I used a machete to cut up a fallen banana tree into smaller pieces to toss down the hill. Then, I dug a small hole to serve as a compost ditch.
To cool myself off, I headed down to the ocean, where I went snorkeling for the first time ever. I was there for over an hour, and it was absolutely great. I saw several different types of fish: a tiny, bright blue one; a larger yellow-and-black, vertically striped one; a small, thin camouflage (with green and brown spots) one; and a large, flat gray one, among others. It was fascinating. By the time I reached shore again, I realized I had done a large loop and had covered a surprisingly good deal of ground (or sea, to be more appropriate).
I came back to eat a delicious hamburger and cantaloupe cubes, along with lemonade, cooked and served by Michelle at the shack down below. After paging through an issue of The Economist (I would like to subscribe when I return to Philly), I came up to the deck looking out over the Pacific to read a chapter of Lord Jim. Afterwards, I went back into the ocean to swim, float, and relax, until just before the sunset, when I came back up the hill to take a couple of photos.
And now here I am writing in the journal in the meantime before dinner is served. Before I put it off any longer (and while I have the time), I should go over a few quick stories from Puntarenas.
One of my afternoons there, I decided to hop into the ocean to cool off. While there I soon noticed three guys near me in the waves, but one looked peculiarly out of sorts. At first I thought he was mentally challenged, but then realized quickly that he was simply piss-drunk. His two friends had brought him into the ocean to shock him back to a greater degree of sobriety. The purpose seemed to be failing, though, since waves were smacking the drunk-ass right in his face. Furthermore, he couldn't remain standing still without the support of one or both of his friends.
A few minutes later, when he was on the beach, his friends let him walk on his own. He was carrying one sandal in each hand. Suddenly he dropped one sandal, and I saw what was coming. He bent over to try to pick it up, but instead went reeling out-of-control in a totally reckless manner; he landed face-first in the sand. During and after this whole scene, I was laughing hysterically amongst the waves.
Another episode which was pretty amusing was right after I had boarded the ferry in Puntarenas to go to Paquera. I, along with a sizeable crowd, was standing at the back of the ferry while it was being disconnected from the mooring on the dock. As the ferry slowly began drifting away from the dock, a young woman came running with her bag up the dock. Her two friends had just boarded and were yelling at her, urging her to run faster. At the last moment, she leaped from the dock and just barely landed on the lower deck of the ferry. At that instant, the whole crowd burst out in a combinations of applause and laughter. The whole scene was absolutely riotous; again, I laughed pretty good from that one.
Anyway, the stars are out now. And I'm really hoping that dinner will be ready and served soon. I hope to sleep well tonight because tomorrow I plan on resuming my pedestrian journey to the north at an early hour. I feel that urge to be on the road again.
Friday, November 15, 2002
[written during a family law unit meeting]
Staying awake must be the goal. Vibrance and vivacity will be the emotions of the day. Despite just a few hours of sleep, we must continue to consciously participate in the world around us. And do so in such a way that our attitude is positive and outgoing. The day is young. Live life to the fullest: every day and every minute of every day. It is important to continue smiling in order to set the ideal example of positivity and vibrance. By writing these thoughts and sentiments down on paper, I can outwardly appear to be engaging myself, while inwardly continuing to utilize my mental capacity. The funniest part of this whole charade is that observers will wonder and ponder what I could possibly be writing. Actually, more likely than not, no one gives a shit. Apathy and social disengagement are wonderful qualities of a personality. If only these qualities could be developed in every person throughout the whole world at the same exact instant. What could then possibly become of the world? Would each human eventually wither away in utter ignorance? And if in fact it did happen, would the world be (at least perceptually) a much better place? If everyone just didn't give a shit. And for that one poor soul observing this worldwide spontaneous mental/emotional stultification, would the event be seen as a complete tragedy or the ultimate comedy? My prediction is that that person would laugh their ass off to the point of choking, and then quickly find a way to commit suicide.
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