American Soup

Grandpa

2008-05-21T14:37:00.005-04:00

I included this in my grandfather's remembrance booklet:

The best way to celebrate one's life is by sharing memories. The following are memories I have of Grandpa, and things I learned from him along the way.

1) In America, we drive Fords.
2) Grey New Balance 991 Running Shoes are the best.
3) You've reached a new level of "male greatness" when your living room is in the garage.
4) It's ok to shape your hamburgers like chocolate donut holes.
5) When organizing the Fourth of July golf shot competition, the "intrinsic value" of the prizes are inverseley proportional to the place they are awarded. (However, it is difficult to argue the intangible value of duct tape).
6) There is nothing unfunny about winning a prize that you gave Grandpa the previous Christmas.
7) When you get a bargain, shout it from the rooftops.
8) I think everyone secretly wants a blue tractor.
9) Moving things from Point A to Point B to Point A is perfectly acceptable when you own a blue tractor.
10) When life hands you lemons, make 6 children.. (Grandpa's army leader told his entire platoon that they would never have children because of exposure to a detonated atomic bomb).
11) Put in a hard days work.
12) Inflation is real. Until about 1998, Grandpa would generously give out his "Merry X-mas" envelope, and say "don't spend it all in one place!" However, in time, this transitioned to "Well, maybe you can buy a tank of gas.."
13) The annual summer "fill up on Grandpa" at Joneseys gas station is something I will do for my grandchildren.
14) The merits of Scotch.
15) The demerits of the Yankees.
16) Why hire a latino pool boy when you can do it yourself.
17) Find the coolest girl you know and marry her.
18) Family comes first.

I miss you, Grandpa.

What's worse that getting a tetanus booster shot when you're 12 years old???

2007-11-23T15:09:00.000-05:00

Getting one when you're 26 and being crippled by it.

I hadn't been to a doctor in approximately too many years, and I figured since I now have insurance, I might as well be tested for acute molluscom contagiousum and bird flu.

The first question he asked was "when was the last time you had a tenanus shot?" Putting on my most apt clueless countenance, I responded with "4th grade?? ish". That got the ball rolling to the point that he jabbed the needle in my arm and injected me with the tetanus fighting goodness. This did not hurt.

What I didn't expect was having no discernable use of my right arm for the following 36 hours (to date) and for what I presume, until Columbus Day.

Lifting my arm is an epic feat of grit and determination, and I am fairly confident I would lose to a fully matured 5 year old girl in an arm wrestling match. (not that I have arm wrestling matches with grade school girls.. often).

Ever had one of those days?

2007-07-21T14:29:00.000-04:00

You get woken up by an earthquake, you're late for work, your boss is pissed at you and then you go to the bathroom and your underpants are on backwards..

Well, that was yesterday for me. Inexplicable, really.

At 4:45am on Friday, July 20, I experienced an earthquake for the first time. 4.2 Magnitude; rather benign in the scheme of things, but slightly unnerving nonetheless. I woke up to my bed- which is on a wheeled bedframe- rolling back and forth about 10 inches. For illustrative purposes, imagine you're on a stretcher with probably sand-papery sheets and an unmarked individual is pushing you back and forth at a medium pace whispering sweet trembling noises into your ear.

My alarm clock was not due to go off until 6:56am (I only wake up to palindromes), however at 4:46am I was wide awake wondering if I was going to be the first person ever to achieve heart failure from a tremor under 4.5.

Not for lack of effort, I couldn't get back to sleep for the life of me.. Until 6:40am, when I fell into that really deep sleep that happens after you've been lying awake for hours and finally give up on actually trying to sleep. Predictably, 6:56am rolled around, and I was comatose. After exerting all inner-strenth to raise my arm and reset the alarm to 7:27, I steadied myself for 31 more minutes of deep sleep and weird dreams.. Which clearly didn't come, as I started thinking about falling asleep.

So, at 7:05 I stumbled down the hall and got in the shower where an Edge Shave Gel (33% more) canister fall on my foot from a perch high enough to hurt badly.

Then I dressed myself with my recently purchased some Nautica boxer briefs, which unorthodoxly have the tag in the front. finished dressing, got to work late, didn't get a project reviewed in time to insert into the booklet that is going out to the visiting east coast porfolio manager.. for shame. And finally, had a moment to myself at the urinal, and when I was looking for the "door" of my undergarments, I instead found no "door".

Long story short, Earthquakes freak me out, I'm not a great sleeper and I'm accustomed to the tag in the back.

Ikea: Where the world goes for cheap crap.

2007-05-27T20:37:00.000-04:00

Why does everything "Swedish" have to be so damn good??? Seriously; Volvos, Meatballs, Supermodels, Fish (the red ones are the best), tempurpedic sleep systems...

And now I have to begrudgingly admit; Ikea.

I had heard many things about Ikea, but I had never been to this monstrosity of a store before. So, from my pre-conceived notions I knew that Ikea had cornered the market on cheap, poor quality furniture for college students and poor young professionals.

And after my first visit, I don't think I was off by much. There is no other way to describe Ikea's products as inexpensive, flimsy, not assembled, breakable, not all together unattractive, not real wood, yet useful and a good substitute until you can afford real furnishing or buy a house.

I feel as though Ikea is the "My First Sony" of home decor. Just as those red electronic consumer products provided children a conduit to real/adult walkmans, tape recorders and portable singing machines, Ikea is the diaper training to furniture shopping (only without the urination).

Speaking of, my trip to Ikea started with a mad sprint to the bathroom to take a piss. Upon saddling up to the Urinal, unzipping, dislodging and starting the flow, I was immediately startled (and dismayed) by the fact that the urinal surface was angled so that my pee splattered directly off the porcelain and back onto my pants. Guys- you know what I'm talking about. Girls- imagine you're 12 inches away from a brick wall and you pull the trigger of a super-soaker 3000x.. You're gonna get wet.

Here is a timeline of my trip to Ikea that I only wanted to take 15 minutes:

7:04PM- Enter.
7:05PM- Inadvertently pee on self.
7:07PM- Get lost.
7:10PM- Realize they have a path with signs directing you around the show room. I follow the yellow brick road.
7:12PM- Check out rugs. Unbuyable.
7:20PM- Pick out Curtain Rods. (Have I mentioned how extreme of a life I lead?)
7:30PM- Start looking at bureaus and bedside tables. (The edge is what I live on)
8:15PM- Still looking, I stumble across a food court in the store. I order the swedish meatball dinner & Mac 'n Cheese.
8:45PM- Relish in the fact that I just ate 15 meatballs for $3.
8:50PM- Return to show room. Pick out the damn matching bureau and nightstand.
8:51PM- Realize I have to go to the warehouse on the other side of the world to pick up my items. I do this.
9:15PM- Check out. load it into my car and drive home.
9:45PM- Assembly is quickly halted since I only picked up 2 of the 3 boxes I was supposed to pick up.

The next few weeks consist of: me losing the receipt in a move, them telling me I can't get the other box without the receipt, me asking them what do they expect me to do with half of an inexpensive, flimsy, not assembled, breakable, not all together unattractive, not real wood, yet useful bureau, them telling me I'm an idiot, me telling them to fuck off, them going back and recreating my receipt, me going to customer service, dealing with some choice invalids at returns, and after 1.5 hours of waiting get my piece of shit bureau.

Again, I love swedish meatballs.

Premature Balding

2007-05-27T20:34:00.001-04:00

I work in an office. I have to wear dress socks. They are really tight. They are starting to cause my leg hair underneath my socks to thin. Eventually, I assume, that if I stay on this course, I will be bald from my shin down.

Yet another reason to travel and wear flip-flops.

ps. I take solace in the fact that I have a full head of hair and don't have to wear a swimcap everyday.

Words to live by..

2007-05-27T20:32:00.001-04:00

A few days ago I heard this on the radio for the first time in about 7 years. I am sure you've read or heard these lyrics before, but if you haven't, I recommend giving the link below a spin. I love these words of wisdom.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwVVpwBKUp0&mode=related&search=

King Arthur's a pansy compared to these folks

2007-05-27T18:40:00.000-04:00

I got off the BART (San Francisco's subway) the other night and I was walking to my car to drive home-

Before the parking lot came into view, I heard several violently sharp noises, as if someone was hitting a hard object with a 2X4..

And sure enough, when I rounded the corner, the parking lot was full of people dressed up as medieval knights having sword fights with wooden swords, which I can only presume were originally 2X4's.

I had to chuckled to myself. Here I was, tired, and somewhat beat down from a long day at work, and then I wander upon 40 adults dressed up to the nines (medievally, of course) re-enacting a knights tale underneath the freeway in Oakland. And no camera's were rolling. Apparently, this is a weekly event on Thursday nights after 8pm.

Needless to say, this put a smile on my face. Double needless to say, I went directly to my local blacksmith (Todd), and asked him to whip me up some good 14th century armory with snazzy buckles.

There's nothing like getting medieval on someone.

Non-stop service from Hartford, CT to Amsterdam.. WTF!

2007-05-27T18:31:00.000-04:00

travel deals on: http://matadortravel.com/fresh

First of all, this is utterly ridiculous. And awesome at the same time. This is of discernible interest to me because I went to college in Hartford, CT and when I was living there, the Hartford Airport offered service to approximately 2.5 airports: Baltimore, Cincinnati and sometimes Newark. Talk about a vacation to die for. (eg: an above average likelihood of being shot).

Lets be serious for a second- Do you remember your college schedule? I do. The last three years of college I only took classes Tuesday thru Thursday with exquisitely drunk 4-day weekends in between. If this deal was around back in my heyday, I would have gone to Amsterdam on a tri-weekly basis*.

*This is entirely untrue, seeing as though I was a broke mo' fo' in college like most other students. BUT, lets suspend our disbelief for arguments sake, and imagine there are rich kids who attend small private liberal arts schools in New England and could afford such extravagance.. (A crazy thought, I know.)

That would have been such a cool-ass weekend trip to take during college. And I don't even like smoking pot, windmills or hookers. Just to take a long weekend to Holland from some derelict American city with no redeemable qualities like Hartford, CT is reason enough to hop on a 6 hour flight for me! That, and being locked in a room with unlimited beer at the Heineken Brewery for 1 hour after the brewery tour. Pure wonderment.

The countdown has begun..

2007-03-17T13:33:00.000-04:00

T-minus 2 days until I start my new job. When I start on Monday, it will mark the end of my 418 day vacation between real employment. A feat I am extremely proud of. It has been the best year of my life, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. (possible exception: someone professionally cleaning my room (and front car seat) in the next 24 hours).

I remember when I was looking for jobs out of college, I told myself: "I've had a lot of fun for the last 21 years, so it's time to suck it up and work 80-100 hour weeks for 5 years, have no discernible life and set myself up for a decent existence down the road.."

Boy, was that the dumbest thing my brain has ever produced. 4 years removed from graduation, and I am no where near where I thought I would be. And I love it. Sure, I am settling back into a decent and safe career, but no matter how much I get into my work, quality of life will always be priority #1. (At least until I have kids, then it will become priority #32 behind such things as; potty training, ass wiping, gerber food shipments, my wife's tolerance for juvenile behavior/humor, etc.)

While I embark on a new job and a little more stability in my life after 1+ years of living on couches, floors, nappy hostel mattresses, single beds, king beds, in tents, on buses, on planes, in cars, and everywhere in between, I will never stop craving surprises, unpredictabilities, new challenges and blue powerade. Never!

It has been one hell of a ride thus far, and the thing I look most forward to, is not knowing where life is going to take me. (Although I must admit, it is somewhat depressing knowing that I will never be a professional baseball player or child chess prodigy).

Real World Praha

2007-03-06T09:36:00.001-05:00

This is the true story:

Of four non-strangers, 25 years in age (actually, the geriatric "casey" cat is 26), not-picked to live in an apartment, but living in an apartment nonetheless, not-picked to not-work together, and have their lives taped (confessional style in the bathroom on the low-flow toilet with a digital camera on a 4-inch tripod). To find out what happens when Kev and Casey (hosts in prague) start being polite again, (because the friend-o-meter is rising like a yeast infection) and continue being real with imported pals Frank and Stu. The Real World.

Ok, I just took the liberty of kicking my own ass for altering the sanctity of the Real World intro. I also just kissed my wallet sized photo of Wes and Johanna because it's a day of the week. (News flash to Catherine Zeta-Z and John Cusack -and later Julia Roberts: there's a new America's Sweethearts in town.)

I flew in to Prague, Czech Republic on Saturday, and I am very pleased to be here. There a 97% chance that this is one of the top 10 weekends of 2007!!

Kevin is a friend of mine from college and Casey is his fried from high school. Casey may not admit to this immediately, but we are BEST friends already. Frank is my skinny friend from college, and flew in from Virginia.

To report on the abode Kev and Casey are staying in, it is a lovely post-modern ski lodge on the 4th floor of a art-deco architectural marvel. I don't know what deco means. The refrigerator actually heats things up, so we have put all articles that we want to keep cold on the window ledge. Fingers crosses- we haven't lost anything yet.

The toilets have a very thin "seat" which poses a threat of falling in to the bowl if you have a waist of 30 inches or less. Which obviously means Kev, Casey and I are taking shifts monitoring Franks bathroom visits. Don't want to lose him.

Prague is such a cool city. Without actually knowing where the movie was filmed, this the city surroundings make me feel like Jason in the Bourne Identity and/or Supremacy. (Only without any discernible self-defense skills, an attractive women running around with me or a bullet wound in my back). Although, I suppose there I still have 3 more days here.. so there's still time.

I haven't really done much here. Prague is the perfect city to just walk around and get lost in. And to be frank, it's impossible not to get lost with the layout of their streets. It appears their urban planner was a drunk teenager using an etch-a-sketch blindfolded and listening to Nirvana.

Strolling the cobblestone streets, chilling by the river and viewing the Baroque architecture is a pleasurable way to spend an afternoon. So too, is sitting in a pub or my friends dope apartment a few blocks away from the Charles Bridge.

It's good to be here. I know approximately 1 Czech word and it is Jaromir Jagr.

Someone peed in my car during rideshare on the Bay Bridge. newsworthy..?

2007-02-26T19:10:00.001-05:00

I wrote this to the SF chronic February 26, 2007 A.D.

Subject: Newsworthy?

To Whom it may Concern:

Just wanted to make someone aware that at approximately 9:05AM today, while driving three people (picked up in the Berkeley rideshare on College Ave/Claremont Ave) over the Bay Bridge to Downtown SF, the man sitting shotgun pulled out a plastic bag and started fiddling with his pants zipper to pull out his penis to pee in the bag. I put the brakes on this action immediately, stating forcefully "What the F%&K are you doing!! Are you serious! You are a grown man! Hold it!. WTF!!".

Here's what followed:

Man: "...But I really have to go"
Me: "I don't give a $hit! You knew this trip would take 35 minutes. Any human can hold it for 10 minutes beyond the point where they don't thing they can hold it anymore!"
Man: "Ok, I'll hold it... but I really have to go..."
Me: (Looking back at the two back seat passengers for support on my stance..)
Them: (Hiding behind their newspapers; terrified)..

(To back up, this was the first day I ever participated in casual carpool, and I did so because I was late for a job interview and need to buzz through traffic. In hindsight, this was a poor decision.)

We had just passed the Treasure Island Tunnel and were still in heavy traffic, about 5-10 minutes from Downtown SF. I was steaming. But what can you say or do?? I contemplated stopping the car and throwing him out on the bridge, but realized he would be run over or fall off the bridge, and I subsequently would be charged with involuntary manslaughter, so I nixed that plan. (If you disagree with this point, look at how dumb our nation's legal system has become).

After pleading with the man to hold it (and thinking he would, because after all; he's an adult human), and after about 2-3 minutes of groaning from the man, he went
quiet.

This was disheartening, as his silence meant the groaning had stopped, and his groaning stopping meant he pissed his pants. And him pissing his pants more disturbingly, meant he pissed my cloth passenger side seat...

(There's little I could have done to prevent this. Once you commit to casual carpool, you can't pre-screen passengers that quickly at a pick up spot. You pick up the first two or three passengers and go. The man looked respectable. Certainly wasn't homeless, but he CLEARLY had problems).

When I got to the city (Fremont St.), I pulled over and screamed at him and demanded he pay for my detailing. He said no, and pointed out that I agreed to drive him and he thanked me for the ride..

What do you do in that situation? My friends said I should have called the cops.. I was livid, but I wasn't going to do that because I would have wasted time waiting for a police report, only to serve no purpose other than a funny story for the guys to re-tell at the station with no further recourse. Plus, I would have missed my interview. (FYI: I was in utter shock when I got to my interview and told the interviewer that I would not be able to answer any questions or speak in full sentences until he understood what I had just gone through. He was happy I told him).

Long story short, this type of $hit happens to me all the time. I just never thought it would get to the point that someone I was kind enough to give a ride to would thank me by emptying his bladder on my front seat.

Fondly,

Stuart

My first Start-Up Mixer event.. Nerd Alert!

2007-02-23T19:57:00.000-05:00

A few nights ago I went to the SF Beta event in San Francisco. What does "SF Beta" mean you might ask?? Well, from what I gather, it is just an excuse to cram 150-200 mostly computer nerds into one room and have them get cyber hard-ons while explaining their start-up websites to one another. It really was spectacular. There was enough Ram pulsating through that room to sink one of the smaller Peloponnesian islands.

Since these are the supposed innovative people changing the world, they have started trends that I hope die very soon. Such as dropping the letter "e" on their titles or company names on their name tags. For instance- and I think we can all blame Flickr.com for this- a person isn't a programmer, but rather a programmr. They are a Directr. They are an Inspectr. When they're mad, they Bickr. After writing several pages of code, they presumably get a bonr. You get the point.

We were getting free drinks, which made all the Web 2.0 nonsense talk considerably better. We also received a free gift bag, which included a pint glass, a coffee mug, a pen and what I though was a highlighter, but turned out to be a screw driver. This was the most exciting part of the night. Other than demo'ing the site "Likebetter.com", which is a website that determines what you like/who you are, after you click on images for a while, and having it tell me that I'm a smoker and I don't drink. Ironically, even though I despise smoking and I had a beer in my hand, he'll probably be a millionaire in few months.

Still a fun event to go to, as the venue was the same venue as the Matadortravel.com launch party in March, and the Managr comped us drinks all night.

FW: I usually do forwards...

2007-02-12T13:09:00.001-05:00

Look for the face in the beans..

This is bizarre - after you find the guy - it's rather obvious. Once you
find him - it's embarrassing, and you think, Why didn't I see him
immediately?

Doctors have concluded that if you find the man in the coffee beans in 3
seconds, your right half of your brain is better developed than most
people. If you find the man between 3 seconds and 1 minute, your right
half of the brain is developed normally. If you find the man between 1
minute and 3 minutes, then the right half of your brain is functioning
slowly and you need to eat more protein. If you have not found the man
after 3 minutes, the advice is to look for more of this type of
exercise to make that part of the brain stronger. Or in layman terms: quit taking drugs.

Ps. I found it in two seconds- Which is probably why I somewhat regularly refer to myself as Einstein's illegitimate love child.

And, yes, the man is really there. Creepy looking, but really there.

Boring + zzz + wet + weird guy in unitard with funny looking guitar = SUPERBOWL

2007-02-05T20:35:00.000-05:00

Is it me or did I just watch the ugliest (and potentially the most boring) football game in Superbowl history??

After the first 7 seconds of the game, I didn't get excited once. Although I must concede, by the third quarter my friends and I were having increasing excitement predicting which member of the Colts secondary would intercept Grossman's next pass.

Granted, the rain certainly played a part. But, I can't really remember one play other than Hester's Kick-Off return, that long Bears' run and about 8 fumbles that got a rise out of people. I'm glad for Peyton. He's a good man, destined for more commercial shoots.

Speaking of, which Ads did people think were the funniest??

My list looks something like this (I am sure I am forgetting a few good ones):

1) Sierra Mist "beard-over" with frayed cut-off jeans shorts and roller skates. Simply Amazing. (Two commercials later, Sierra Mist sabotaged their funniness with the Karate Class Commercial).

2) Chevy's shirtless men dancing around the car (Mostly because of the 1-second shot of the man in tighty whities on a horse.)

3) Bud light: Girl: "The man has an Axe.." Guy "Yea, but he also has Bud Light" Girl: "Hey, what's the axe for??" Man With Axe: " mmm.. Bottle Opener" Guy: "Hop on in"

4) I thought the Career Builder ones were clever.

Anyway, Good for Peyton and the Colts. They deserve it. Too bad for the Bears they didn't have a semi-useful quarterback.

ps. Is anyone else slightly surprised Prince performed in the rain?? For some reason, I imagined he'd bail on the half time show, so not to get wet.

First day of skiing this year... yahoo!

2007-01-31T20:05:00.000-05:00

The first step off the chairlift and down the unloading ramp on the first day of the year is a touch unnerving. Thoughts of: "Did I forgot how to ski?", "I hope I don't break both femurs", or "do these snow pants sufficiently highlight my calves?" might be running through your head. Confidence has been higher.

You buckle your boots. The first 100 or so yards are inevitably flat terrain, but because it is your first day you try to make semi-large arcing turns to warm up, which is just awkward because turning on flats is unnecessary.

You stop at the top of a Blue Square. You're a little tight. You probably didn't stretch. And if you did, it was for 15 seconds. You wonder if your dins are set too high. You wonder how in Gods green earth could so much rust accumulate on your edges. Someone in your ski group probably asked if you ever wear a helmet, and you responded; "No. But I should" (But you never will until you run head first into a native fur while glades skiing). You put down your goggles. The foam is slightly crusted because they just sat in your ski bag for the last 10 months. This doesn't bother you. The people traversing the hill in a snow plow does however.

And then.. you're off. Uneasy at first, but after a few turns it's as though summer never existed and last year's winter never left. If feels natural to be on your skis. They feel comfortable. It's like you've been reunited with a long lost lover or your favorite comfort food (eg: Bagels, Burritos, anything at IHOP). Accelerating, cruising, carving, blowing by all the snow plowing riffraff, you REMEMBER HOW to do this! It's good to be back.

You ski until the lifts close at 4pm. At days end you make a B-line for the apre ski Bar. You take off your hat and your hair looks stupid. -Which is ok, because everyone else's hair looks just as dumb. Your cheeks are rosy. You order a beer (Fat Tire). It's the best beer you've ever had. You talk about the day with your buddies. 15 minutes later you order another beer. It's the second best beer you've ever had. Your cheeks are rosier. It's good to be back.

You wake up the next morning. You can't move. Muscles you were unaware existed are throbbing in pain and soreness. Your lower back is killing. You wonder why your head hurts. You remember the role Fat Tire played the previous evening. You nod your head in acceptance and then wonder why you woke up wearing your ski goggles.. It's good to be back.

Ps. Has a company ever turned a word/phrase that's so fun to say into a word that we no longer want to use like Yahoo.com??

The most athletic vegetable in the world.. Squash

2007-01-24T19:49:00.000-05:00

Squash is similar to Racquetball in that games are played in enclosed courts, there are two players, and participants are typically wearing goofy-looking goggles.

But that is where the similarities end.

Squash is a game of skill, precision, athleticism, dexterity and thought, and the ball needs to get warmed up for it to bounce.

Racquetball is more a hard hitting game of athleticism, diving and blue balls.

Whichever game you choose, you will no doubt get one hell of a work out, and very likely suffer some resemblance of a heart attack, collapsed lung and/or heat stroke the first time you play a quality player.

I played squash for the first time in 2 years yesterday, and I cannot move right now.

My lower back feels like Dolly Parton's, my calves and hamstrings are useless, and I can hardly sit in my chair because my ass muscles hurt so much.

Nonetheless, I am psyched to get back into the game, even if it means I am a cripple for 24-36 hours hours following each match. In fact, my new years resolution (starting Feb. 1st) is to substitute drinking with squash, as I might as well be sore for 1.5 days, instead of entirely useless as is normally the case with hangovers.

I suppose I wanna be a toy R' us kid (thinking out loud)

2007-01-19T21:14:00.000-05:00

Why are so many of my acquaintances in such a hurry to grow up? Don't we have the rest of our lives to be old??

While I have been kicking and screaming into adulthood, my friends and many of my fellow mid-20 somethings have been getting engaged, sending out pre-meditated Christmas cards, acquiring graduate degrees, matching couch ensembles, mortgages, subscriptions to Hearth & Home magazine, flower vases for their coffee tables, etc.

I mean fuck, my old apartment was completely furnished off of craigslist. Double fuck, I don't even have an apartment right now. Triple f, I wouldn't even know where to buy a vase. A Quadruple f is probably something Oxana Baiul would do in combination with a sow cow

I have always taken the stance that I will officially grow up when I am either A) In a relationship, hopelessly whipped, and I slip one past the goalie, B) In a bar and Irish Car Bombs are no longer fun and tasty, or C) someone younger than me tells me to grow up.

This is not to say I don't take my professional life seriously, because we all want to be successful and contribute to a worthwhile enterprise. I just prefer to delay the inevitable. Here's to never letting the kid in us die. cheers.

Read like butterfly, Sting like a Spelling Bee

2007-01-12T11:27:00.000-05:00

What ever happened to Mega Speed Reading??

Remeber that chubby guy, Kevin Trudeau, in infomercials who scanned pages with his hand at a healthy clip (maybe 5 seconds a page) and then he would take a cognition test and score in the 95th percentile??

My first question is; 95th percentile of what?? And who else was taking this test?

Or do you remember the kid on the same infomercial who finished reading a book (with his father creepily hanging over his shoulder watching him read), and when he closes the book, he pumps his fist in delight?? Wonder what that kid is doing now?

I read at what clinical physicians call "a slow pace". Always have. So to remedy the situation back in High School, I repeatedly asked my parents to buy the Mega Speed Reading system so I could unlock the speed reading wizard inside me. But they never budged. I used to put them on guilt trips that they didn't love me and they wanted me to fail out of school and become a subway sandwich artist. (Every parents dream, right?). But still they didn't succumb to my requests.

Well, my parents were right after all. After a intensively diligent 4-second Google search, the top page came back reading:

INFOMERCIAL SCAMS.COM - MEGA SPEED READING

This was followed by minutes of sorrowful weeping, and the unnecessary throwing of objects around my room. I was duped.

But have no fear, because I just purchased Evelyn Wood's "7 days until you read like a nascar racer" program, which is a steal at $199.95.

How y'all doin'??

2007-01-11T19:39:00.000-05:00

Have you ever noticed how fun it is to speak with a different accent?? It rarely fails to bring a smile to your face- probably because you're butchering the accent terribly, but every once in a while the smile arises because you're actually pretty good at it.

My smiles are mostly derived from my ruthlessly sucky accents, or the fact that I often complement them with an impromptu ethnic dance (think irish jig or canadian tuxedo slide).. However, after my most recent road trip to the Southeast, you are now talking to the grand master flash of the Southern Accent. I am regular Davey Crockett**. While I realize it is near impossible to purvey my southern accent over a Matador blog (look for a podcast in late April) please be certain that it is perfect.

I think I was meant to be a southerner. I've talked with a few of the South's HR directors and I'm thinking about sending in my application in the next few weeks. Here are my credentials:

1) I haven't worn them in decades, but I bet I look excellent in overalls.
2) I like Chick-Fil-A restaurants and alligators.
3) I love saying 'please pass mo' pecan pie', 'way down yonder' and 'the deader the better'.
4) I am a champion of Shrimp Cocktail.
5) I'm fork-lift certified.

I realize these are stereotypes of the south, and in actuality, my opinion of the south is that I really dig it. Another actuality is that I really suck at the southern accent. But it's fun as hell to do, and I'll post it on small world too, but if any southerner wants to do a mutual language/accent swap, I'm in.

**I assume he had a southern accent.

Doing my best to not talk shit about the south

2007-01-09T14:09:00.000-05:00

Never in my life did I think I would spend any time in Asheville, North Carolina. Nor did I believe an afternoon of my existence would be spent lallygagging in Chattanooga, Tennessee. But I proved myself wrong. Twice. I also firmly believed that I would never actually use the word lallygagging in written or verbal communication. But again, I have proven myself inexact.

On a road trip from DC to Atlanta with my friend Keri, both of these unlikely events took place. It is tough to write amazing reviews about these places, but the fact of the matter is, I have to, as I am writing this under the stringent guidelines of Keri (a southerner), who articulately remarked: "Don't talk shit about the south".

The reason it is tough to write an amazing review of Asheville, NC or Chattanooga, TN is not because they aren't cool places, but rather I didn't spend enough time there to properly absorb all that there is to do.

Here is my honest review of ASHEVILLE, NC: The visitor's center is nice and offers free internet. The lady at the hotel had a really thick accent. Tuesday night is not hopping in town. Their main square has a statue of two bronzed pigs. They are surprisingly comfortable to straddle. The Biltmore Estate, the largest home in the U.S., is in Asheville (175,000 square feet). Asheville is reportedly the Berkeley, CA of the South. Or the Burlington, VT of the South. Which is a round about way of saying people smoke a lot pot there. The hotel breakfast restaurant was showing "Montel" on the big screen tv. What was scary was that all the patrons were glued to the tube like a 15 year old boy's maiden viewing of VHS porn. Overall Grade: I love Asheville.

Review of CHATTANOOGA, TN: Did you know Chattanooga was NOT on the Chattahoochee river?? Furthermore, do you know what a Hoochie Coochie is? and if so, how hot one is? Chattanooga is really quite a cool city. They have a dope river front park, a brand new Aquarium, a Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream. They also are home to the Chattanooga Lookouts, a minor league baseball team. (I only know this because I used to have one of their goofy looking team hats when I was going through puberty. (an awkward period all around).

Overall Grade: B++

In actuality, both of these places (like most places and things in the south) were very cool, and I wish I had more time to check them out. Especially the Montel Williams show on "Extreme Baby Making".

Floam, East Coast Road Tripping and Couch Surfing

2007-01-04T22:06:00.000-05:00

I got Floam for Christmas (during a Yankee Swap). I wrote a blog a while back about toys from our childhood and several comments followed highlighting the dumb toys from our younger years, and we inexplicably omitted one of the dumbest of the dumb: Floam. It is a micro beaded play-doh goo, that smells like coagulated chicken poop, and provides absolutely no enjoyment.

Anyway, after a great Christmas in Maine, I embarked on a journey. I am in the midst of a road trip from Scarborough, Maine to Atlanta, Georgia, with stops in Boston, NYC, Washington, DC and multiple hick towns between DC and Atlanta. (because those are all that exist south of DC, right?)

I have been on many road trips before, but what is especially troubling about this one is the frequency of alcohol consumption on my trip. I am learning that when you move away and then come home to visit friends, benders ensue.

Notes from the trip thus far (more elaborate posts to come):

Boston was great. Went to a bar called the Poor House and sat in the back corner of the basement portion of the bar. (I am certainly on the up and up). I slept on a couch.

NYC was a blast. I don't really remember what happened, but I do know that when I woke up, I was on a couch.

DC was an unmitigated shit show. I ate a slice of pizza the size of a pennant flag, and then went out for New Years. I slept on a sofa.

Funny story about new years (at least to me). My buddy, Mal, normally likes to lay the ground work for midnight and have a fail proof make out plan when the clock strikes midnight, so he scouts out several girls and advises them to come find him at midnight. Well, this plan backfired slightly, as one of those girls went found him and started making out with him, and when he looked up, two of the other prospective girls were standing right behind him, giving him the death stare. Pure hilarity. kinda.

The next night was in Richmond, Virgina. I slept on a love seat. My neck hurts.

The Bean Report

2006-12-26T17:59:00.001-05:00

In the little town of Freeport, Maine, you will find a bumbleclot** of retail stores and relatively low-strung shoppers (most people are on vacation). However, amidst the Fruit Republics, Gaps in the Patagonian Northfaces, and the browsers in the "Mangy Moose" lies a behemoth of a store, that quite frankly, is the bomb.

I am talking about L.L. Bean.

I hate shopping with the passion and fervor of an adolescent bull with a slip knot tied around its nuts, but for some reason, I get kind of excited to visit the L.L. Bean Store.

Maybe it's because they have a giant and entirely useless boot outside its main entrance, maybe it is the fully stocked trout pond in the middle of the store, or perhaps its the massively friendly and helpful staff who really ARE happy to be working. More than likely, it's because they have great stuff and a generous return policy.

L.L. Bean's builds customers for life, and are the epitome of high quality (In fact, if you bought a backpack in 1985 and the zipper malfunctions, they will replace the zipper or the entire bag for free. Some people take advantage of this for sure, but they suck and should be stepped on by someone wearing a boot comparable in size to the one outside the front door. eg. Paul Bunion or a Wild Thing).

L.L. Bean is active in the community. They hold concerts (with music mostly for old people), they bring in rock climbing walls to the store, offer fly fishing lessons, kayaking trips, gun safety classes, etc.

They're basically that really athletic, fun and charismatic person in high school who gets the smartest, hottest, moderately chested girl and they settle down together and have 3 amazingly beautiful children who are often candidly photographed in meadows wearing adorable outfits and not only that, but they are very financially comfortable and never talk about their money. and you know what, they deserve it.

It is truly a model retail store. Now, if only bars and pubs had such useful return policies..

**Doesn't actually work in this sentence since bumbleclot is Jamaican for fuck; damn, mothafucka........... (Urban Dictionary, 2005) Used in a sentence: 'damn dat boy ....... he played me , Bumbleclot!!'

What do hangovers and delayed/cancelled flights having in common? (Originally written 12/23)

2006-12-26T16:49:00.000-05:00

Not much.

But I hate both of them.

While I hate delays because they are inconvenient, there is nothing you can do, so you might as well just sit back and people watch. Interestingly, the people you watch dealing with the same delay often freak out, yell at airline workers and generally get their panties in a bunch. It is quite entertaining really. But seriously, airports bring out the worst in people. So here's my recommendation: If you have a significant other and you're really trying to decide if he or she's the one, book a flight to Denver for tomorrow, and see if they keep their cool. If they do, propose. If not, dump 'em**.

And I don't like hangovers because I feel (and am) utterly useless for about 8-10 hours. (12/22/06 provides proof)

**(general warning: don't take relationship advice from spoole)

Whatever happened to the...

2006-12-20T11:42:00.000-05:00

Pogo ball?

Somewhere in between pogo sticks and moon shoes, there was a brief period in time where pogo balls were the personal elevation-related toy of choice.

If my memory serves me correctly, the Pogo ball was a short lived fad. It had its heyday between approximately 1987 and 1989. I remember those glory days distinctly, as I was an enthusiastic participant in the Pogo ball revolution. In first grade recess, literally hundreds of kids (myself extremely included) would be bouncing on their pogo balls, doing nothing of note. There were no games that went a long with pogo balls. It wasn't like you were playing basketball while pogo balling, playing truth or dare while pogo balling or trying to navigate unruly terrain while pogo balling..

Aside from maybe completing a challenging hopscotch diagram, you just bounced for an extended period of time. And then the bell rung indicating the end of recess and you probably high fived a buddy, saying something like "sick p.g.b'ing session.. you got really high. (8 inches).. I can't wait for snack time" or "Great bouncing.. I like your style. If you continue to focus on your skills, I firmly believe you can go somewhere with it".

Only the really daring (future base jumpers, astronauts and people who substitute office chairs with fitness balls at work) tried to pogo ball stairs. This is because they would soon find out that the pogo ball platform had a greater diameter than the standard stair depth, and thusly, you would fall. Typically hard. (The girl pictured to blog bottom knows what I'm talking about).

Anyway, I write this not in hopes of bringing back the pogo ball (as we are all mightily aware that it was a dumb toy to begin with) but rather in wonderment and jealously as to how great it was to be a kid and to be able to occupy/engross yourself for hours on end with something as simple as bouncing on a Saturn-like apparatus. The possibilities were endless.

If I could do anything, I would do it all again. (Most especially the pogo ball era. Not so much the moon shoes era)

The Worlds Best Burrito: Anna's Taqueria of Boston vs. Gordo Burrito of San Francisco

2006-12-19T02:49:00.000-05:00

I dig burritos. Especially super steak burritos (w/ SC, franks red hot sauce and extra guac, and a medium diet coke).

During my stint in Boston, I housed many a burrito at Anna's Taqueria, a local Mexican food hot spot. If I had to guess, I probably ate about 160 burritos over three years (159 of which were super burritos). This high level of consumption was facilitated by the fact that I lived 3 minutes away from Anna's.

When I was deciding to move to the west coast, there were three elements in my life that made the decision extra difficult: 1) leaving my family, 2) leaving my friends, and 3) leaving my burritos. (note: list not necessarily in order of importance).

I took the leap of faith and moved to the west coast, and low and behold, my first living situation was located within 5 minutes of a Gordo Burrito. I had conceited the fact that Gordo's would not be nearly as good as Anna's, but I was pleasantly surprised at the robust and generous portions offered at Gordo. If Anna's was an A+, then Gordo's was an A+-. But then Gordo's started growing on me. Thusly:

Anna vs. Gordo: The Duel

1) SPEED- Edge: Anna's. They are effectively the burrito nazis. a lot of mini-side steps left while making sure to keep silent. (my friend and I clocked ourselves one time from the moment we entered the door until we exited.. 2 minutes and 7 seconds).

2) ENJOYMENT IN SAYING NAME- Major edge: GORDO's

3) BURRITO SIZE- Slight Edge: Gordo's.

4) GENEROSITY WITH STEAK- Edge: Anna's. It is documented that Gordo's has a tendency to overload the rice and beans and skimp on the steak. A serious problem.

5) GENERAL RESTAURANT AMBIANCE & DECOR- Edge: Anna's.. Honestly, what do you expect from a restaurant named Gordo's.

6) THE BAG THEY COME IN: Push. (One uses a form fitting paper bag with no handles and the other uses a baggy plastic bag with handles. It's only a matter of time before technology allows us to create a form fitting paper bag with handles..)

7) PRICE- Edge: Anna's. ($5.05 vs. $5.98) San Francisco is more expensive than Boston.

Final Verdict in one man's opinion: ANNA's.
ps. I've heard rumor that there are better burrito places in the SF Bay Area than Gordo.. If so, PLEASE elaborate (with directions).

San Francisco Radio: Star 101 point shit

2006-12-19T02:47:00.000-05:00

You know when you move to a new area, and it takes you a while to figure out what stations are good and what stations suck? Well, I have been in the Bay Area for 1.5 months, and I have concrete evidence that one station in particular is the deputy mayor of suckville.

(Also, I am aware that most people own CD's, Ipods, MP3 players, etc, but just bare with me, because I make up the minority of the population that owns none of those fine consumer goods and I listen to FM radio out of necessity.. cough..preference).

On to my point: When I first drove into the Bay Area, I was scanning to find any song that was recognizable. I found one, and immediately cemented that channel as my 6th position on my radio memory button board (what do you actually call those things? i googled it, but nothing came up.. From here on I am going to call it 'channel rememberer').

Anyway, this channel happened to be 101.3 and it was playing mostly Top 40, which was a welcome divergence after many hours in the Nevada Desert with the Unabridged Book on tape version of "The Odyssey."

In all honesty, I can deal with top 40 in very moderate doses, but this station is intolerable. They play the same 4-5 songs over and over again (eg: "Lips of an Angel" by Hinder, "Suddenly I See" by KT Tunstall, Streetcorner Symphony, Some Dixie Chicks song, a Natasha Bettingfield balad and Frey; "How to Save a Life".. In case you're wondering.. I googled those names online).

Another really annoying thing about 101.3 is this guy named Don Bleu, who does some stupid bloopers (bleupers) in the morning, where he typically calls an illegal immigrant and tells them they are going to be deported, and then at the end he say's something along the lines of: "Javier: IT'S ME! DON BLUE! You've been Bloopered. haha.(sidekick "haha") Perhaps you've heard of our radio show. haha. I'm a tremendous tool who deserves a hearty bludgeoning. haha."

With all that said, 101.crap is still occupying the #6 position on my channel rememberer because: 1) I haven't come across too many good substitute channel options 2) quite frankly, I don't always enjoy change, 3) laziness, and 4) I kinda like the dixie chick song.

So, I am asking for station recommendations from people in the Bay Area. So far, I have two channels that are definite locks: #1: 105.3 and #5 NPR. Outside of those two, I am in search of suitors for #2, 3, 4 and #6.

ps. I can't believe John Tesh is still alive! and on top of that, has a successful SF Bay Area radio show! I am all about intelligence for my life (his "bit"), but the next time he reminds me to take a bath to avoid getting sick or stressed, I am going to attack him with my car antennae (which sadly is only a foot long).

Santa's little helper. I wish I were joking.

2006-12-09T13:33:00.000-05:00

Update:

yes, I am still hanging x-mas lights. No, this is not a long term career move. yes, I make a decent wage and tips. No, I don't have to dress up as one of Santa's Little Helpers. You get the point.

To be honest, I have been provided with more entertainment by Dylan, (the punk rocker from Detroit with red hair, knee high boot and a top hate) than I ever thought possible.

A few things of note:

As previously mentioned, Dylan is involved with a vitamin selling pyramid scheme, which requires him to make phone calls on a semi-consistent basis. However, he also has a late $1000 phone bill from Verizon, and Verizon's first course of action was to cut off Dylan's ability to make outgoing phone calls. He can still receive incoming phone calls, but since his pyramid business is in essence a sales positions he should probably not rely on potential clients calling him. Dylan categorized Verizon's action as ruthless, adding "not being able to make phone calls has been detrimental to my business man".

Other things about Dylan. He's all about being at one with the trees when he is hanging lights, and when puts up x-mas lights and then the tree looks like crap, he shrugs it off saying "I just wasn't flowing with the tree today, you know?" I wish I didn't know, but feng shui with trees isn't my cup of tea.

He also lives in the ghetto of Oakland and typically has crack heads come up to him in the morning when he leaves his house. Just a few days ago the crack head offered to make him 1 million dollars if he signed him as his music agent. needless to say, with the booming vitamin business and a potential record signing, things are falling into place as the x-mas light hanging season winds down.

Overly friendly vendors.. I Iike it.

2006-11-30T09:32:00.000-05:00

I went to a variety/wine store to buy deodorant and shampoo. (I have been using mini hotel shampoos for the last month or so, and recently, I was using a mini deodorant stick that ran out after 2 days.)

After perusing the isle for a moment, I made my final selection of Old Spice High Endurance Deodorant (Aqua Blue) and Suave Waterfall Mist Shampoo. I picked the Old Spice because that is what I always use, and I like to stick with what works. I picked the Suave because it was cheap, and to be honest, I really don't care about my hair enough to spend over $1.99 on hair care (except perms).

When I went to the counter, the attendant declared that he too used the deodorant I had selected, and furthermore, he believed that it was clearly the best available on the open market.

To this I responded: "I look forward to using it".

This was followed by a few seconds of uneasy silence.

Then he gave me my change and that was the end of the transaction.

A couple other things of note that keep me entertained: The punk rocker fellow I work with from time to time, and whom is starting a vitamin business with no legitimate fundamentals, has the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles theme song as his ring tone. Unfortunately, Verizon has disabled Dylan's phone's ability to make outgoing phone calls because he had a $1000 bill a few months back (when he was dating a girl from Vancouver, Canada), and he doesn't want to pay. Luckily, he can still receive calls, and thusly rock out with the Heros in a Half Shell.

Make me a carrier pigeon so I can fly far far away.. and loiter around some crazy pigeon lady

2006-11-28T00:59:00.000-05:00

Happy Belated Thanksgiving Everyone!!

Wouldn't it suck to be a Turkey??? Other than the obvious awkwardness of the enlarged piece skin hanging from your neck, you spend the your life eating corn, waking people up, which in turn, pisses people off, and all you get to show for it at the end of the day is your head completely severed from your body on a silver platter while people pay homage to some nerdy Europeans who ran their boat aground on Plymouth Rock.

A thankless job to be sure.

On an unrelated not, assuming teradactyl is not a choice, if I could be any type of bird, I would be a flying squirrel.

I know what you're thinking... teradactyl's are extinct. But my choice is obvious. As a flying squirrel, I have a built in cape. All I have to do spread my arms and it looks like I am super man or Robin. Additionally, I am generally accepted by both varmint and low flying birds, two very important players in the Animal Kingdom.

Anyway, again, I hope you all had wonderful thanksgivings and ate the hell out some unsuspecting turkey.

There is no chance he won't be a millionaire

2006-11-23T11:31:00.000-05:00

In between working on the Matadortravel website (more like volunteering, as paychecks are highly non-existent) and getting my life sorted in the Bay Area, I have been working part time for the Christmas Light Pros (a company started up by my New Zealander buddy) to make money. It's pretty much what it sounds like; we set up christmas lights at peoples' houses and because we are acutely trained professionals*, they pay us an absurd amount of money to do it. I have also been looking for other jobs (commercial real estate, sales, etc), but I have found it really difficult to commit to something with the website's funded future possibly months away.

More importantly, the Christmas Light Pros business acumen and overall presentation is pretty good, I have to admit. At times it has been offset by one member of the CLP crew that dyed his hair punk rocker red, wears knee high leather boots, patched pants, a leather jacket and a top hat.

Our lives run pretty parallel to each other... He is involved with a couple of startups, and we both work to put food on the table. His start ups are: a dark Christian rock band and some herbal pill pyramid scheme he just got involved with.

It is slightly humorous to hear him speak about his new herbal pill venture. Most notably, after taking the pills, he reportedly felt "woosy, trippy and out of wack", which is alarming as the pills are meant to be a dietary supplement. Nonetheless, he has gone forward with his businessish plan. When he speaks about it, it doesn't appear that he actually know what the company does and all he says is that he has to sign people up (just like how he got signed up) and after he signs 35 people, he will get a BMW, take a carnival cruise and make $12,500 per month.

He later added that after one month of work, he would take his $12,500, sell his BMW and cruise vacation, and quit the job to travel.. I think he has it figured out. As long as he stays off the 'woosy' pills, there is no way he can fail.

*haha

10 cents on the dollar

2006-11-18T20:22:00.000-05:00

Have you ever gone to a bar with a $100 bill in your pocket and mistaken it for a 10, and you accidentally use the big bill and the bartender (who is clearly an asshole) sneakily treats your $100 bill like a 10, and you get $3 change when ordering one Jack and Coke? NO? just me.. awesome.

The best $97 mixed drink of my life.

I am pissed.

Oh yea, and the engine light in my car just went on.. Those are normally cheap to fix..

It's a narcissistic dogs life..

2006-11-17T20:21:00.000-05:00

My major duty as a guest of Jim's house is to walk Walker the dog. Other things I obviously like to do in my spare time: rub rubber, fold folding chairs, wash washers, fire firemen, etc.

Anyway, Walker kinda owns me. If I am around during the day (which I try not to be because I am out looking for jobs or at least activities to generate money), he comes to the edge of the stairs above my room (I live in the basement) and whimpers in a high pitch until I go play with him. When I resist, he sits on the ground directly above my room and pounds his hind legs on the floor boards. I then take him for a walk and typically step in Dog shit. One other thing of note, when I throw him a tennis ball, he will sprint like a bat out of hell to get the ball. Then he'll wander around for a bit and drop the ball behind a bush or in some other extremely inconvenient area and expect me to get it. I wasn't aware the the pastime of "fetch" was purposed for the human.

Sometimes I find myself talking to the dog (which probably means I should really put this job search deal in full throttle). Today, we were at the door ready to go for a walk, but I realized I needed to my keys, so first I said "Hold on a sec.." Obviously realizing Walker couldn't understand me, I quickly tried to fix my error by saying "Un momento.." As if he would understand Spanish, but not English..

Anyway, Walker has a hot spot. (possibly from banging on the floorboards...) I feel bad and hope he gets well soon.

The Odd Couple

2006-11-13T19:44:00.000-05:00

I have been in the Bay Area for 3 weeks. Since the second day of my arrival, I have been living in a basement level apartment of a family friends' friend's house (Jim's House). This may sound depressing, but in actuality, it's not that bad, and becomes only slightly depressing when I step in dog shit and track it into the house. (twice thus far).

The price is certainly right at my current accommodations, as my monthly rental price is: Walk Jim's dog, change the paper in the barometric pressure reader and change a ceiling light bulb when summonsed to do so. All and all, it is a pretty good gig.

Jim is a great fellow, who has been a Lawyer for 40 years, and is a great activist in the community, heading up the California education board, and the committee in the fight for gun control. Sadly, Jim's wife was inflicted with an early case of Alzheimer's, and is now in a full time care facility, so Jim has the house to himself.

Jim has been a great host, and I think he likes having me around. Partially to have company, but mostly so his dog doesn't shit on the carpet. About once a week, we'll have dinner together, which is nice. He lights the candles, breaks out a bottle of red wine and tells me how good I have it as a 25 year old (he typically forgets how vastly underemployed I am, and that I step is dog crap on a bi-daily basis). He loves talking about the weather (hence the barometric pressure apparatus), particularly the weather up at his fly fishing ranch in the mountains, which is situated on 600 acres of land in the middle of nowhere. He says I can use it in the spring. I don't think he realizes that I am the type of person who will DEFINITELY take him up on his offer.

Also, Jim is an avid tennis player. He has slowed considerably over the years, but can still hit the ball with power and accuracy, when the ball is hit right at him. This was a conundrum I had to consider when we played a set the other day.
I had one of two options:

1) play normally, trying to hit the ball away from the opposing player (in this case, Jim), and thusly, looking like a overly competitive ass-hole 25 year old, who is running a very friendly 65 year old around the court.

or 2) hit it right at him and keep the play going..

I chose the later. The problem though, was that he can really nail the ball when I hit it at him, and he would place the ball from corner to corner making me run around, and he would mix in drop shots to get me into net, and then once I was at net, he would lob the ball to the backcourt and make me scamper back to the ball, where I would normally try to hit the Andre Agassi- between the leg shot, and either a) hit the ball directly into the net, or b) crush my knee cap with my racket.

It was an enjoyable round of tennis, and I came out victorious (6-4), but I definitely felt like the 25 year old ass-hole on a few of my passing shots. We're playing tomorrow apparently. I am obviously carbo-loading tonight..

Keith

2006-11-13T00:54:00.000-05:00

Dear Keith,

Yo dude, come back to California. Remember me?? we drove cross country together, learned the alphabet backwards together, were underwhelmed by Mt. Rushmore together, were mesmerized/euthanized by WallDrug's advertising campaign together.

Dylan say's he could probably get you on the waiting list for the next available room at his co-op. Rent's only $350, and you get to listen to all the free music you want, as most of the co-op residents are struggling musicians. I've been wondering if they have co-ops for struggling vagabonds/writers/former all-star little leaguers who have lost their way/bowline tying contest champions who have lost their way.. I can probably find that out on Craigslist.

I've got a PT job working as a professional christmas light hanger. Not really what i thought I would be doing with a $130,000 economics degree from a relatively elite liberal arts college in Connecticut, but the hours are good, i get free water, free granola bars, plus, I get to learn more about the music industry. All I can say is: Living the dream. Living the dream. Even get reimbursed on gas mileage. living the dream. This is my "dare to be great" scenario.

Also, remember when you had you're hand in that cast?? I bet that sucked.

Hope all is average, to below average in DC, and you're getting in your non-existent car and driving west. I mean, all the cool kids are doing it. (See: Stuart Poole, Dan Mazmanian, several other equally awesome people).

zyxwvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcba. (my new signature)

ps. I just had dinner with dinosaur boy. he reminded me of the brutality during the carboniferous period, and that i am an idiot for not knowing how fast a brachiosaurus can run on land. he'll be beat up regularly once he reaches middle school. I feel as though I am living in a movie.

The San Francisco beatdown

2006-11-11T13:32:00.000-05:00

I have been in the Bay Area for about 2.5 weeks, and the beginning of my arrival to San Francisco provided me a good old fashion ass kicking. I actually got beat up by an inanimate City. In the first three days, I had my car broken into, computer stolen, went to check out an sublet/apartment (traveling 50 minutes to get there) only to call the guy while arriving to the door step and having him say "Oh yea, I thought I called you, we rented it to someone else", then I went to Sonoma Valley to go wine tasting and at the first vineyard I got some stomach bug and was nauseous/vomiting the rest of the time while my friends bounced around joyfully and intoxicated from vineyard to vineyard, while I laid in the back seat of the car.

But, as most people have have told me, "Wow. That's a shitty introduction to the city.. Well, things can only get better from here". I guess they're right. And things have slowly gotten better over the last few weeks, as I have mixed in job interviews/meetings, going out as a #2 pencil, going out and dancing/grinding with a competitive fervor, college alumni events, eating burritos, a Cal/UCLA football game, getting a new computer, figuring out how the hell a MAC works, walking the dog of the person's house I am staying at in Berkeley (I am currently in a student apartment of a family friend's house), looking for sublets in the city, working for my friends to make money, working for matadortravel.com to make no money, trying to figure out why the mechanical gas flap on my car won't open (which has basically rendered my car useless b/c I can't fill it up and I only have a quarter tank left), realizing that I am living in a state with the star of "Kindergarten Cop", "Twins", and "Junior" as Governor..

Which brings me back to the question I made in my third blog posting ever:

If the Governor of California threw Verne Troyer (mini-me), would the "i don't trust him as far as i can throw him" cliche still apply?

7 days, 4,000 miles, at least 15 stops at Subway, $500 in gas- what does it get you... your car window smashed and your computer stolen. I LOVE CA!

2006-11-06T16:23:00.000-05:00

I should have known I was in for a bad 24 hours after eating breakfast at Burger King/Taco Bell.

On our way to San Francisco from Reno, we stopped at Lake Tahoe for a moment to see a lake, log homes and a ton of Volvos.

3 hours later, we were in the heart of San Francisco looking at the row houses heavily featured in the "Full House" introduction. We obviously knocked on one of the front doors to see if Kimmy Gibbler was home.. but apparently she was out buying DJ a nutter butter.

That evening, Keith and I went to Ocean Beach to meet up with some friends and to celebrate one of our friend's birthday. I was a little on edge leaving my car unattended while it had 99% of my belongings in it, but my nerves eventually calmed down, and we went to dinner at a nice restaurant overlooking the Pacific Ocean. My calm and collectedness with regards to my car could be evidenced by the fact that I only left dinner once to check on my car and move it to a more well-lit parking area. freak.

After dinner, we had a nice bonfire on the beach, enjoyed (depending on who you were) some amateur music, drank some domestic brews and talked about how foggy it was. At the end of the evening, I found my car and all its contents were still there, and we drove to a friends house in an upscale neighborhood of San Francisco, where I figured my car would be safe..

If you read the headline, you may be able to piece together what transpired next.. The bitch of the matter was that it didn't get broken into until 10AM or so, AFTER I had gone out to the car to put my bag in it, and while I was inside for about 15 minutes, saying goodbye.

This definitely put a damper on my arrival to the Bay Area, and a dent in my wallet as I had to replace both my car window and my computer.

If there is a silver lining in all of this, it is that my I now have a MAC iBook and a whole bunch of people who feel bad for me, so they have offered to help me get settled in any way they can.

That, and now I don't leave anything visible in my car. Not even "The Odyssey" cassette tape (unabridged version).

Nevada and South Dakota: First Team All-America: Men's and Women's Misery

2006-11-03T23:24:00.000-05:00

Jackson Hole was cool. And like all great guests, we ate a ton of French Onion Soup and then took off early in the morning to tackle the 11 hour drive to Reno, NV ahead of us.

This "getting a jump on the day" was quickly thwarted 10 minutes outside Jackson Hole by a snowy mountain pass, where only cars with "Snow Tires" were admitted. We stealthily snuck by the Snow Tire Checker Police (who didn't exist), and Keith, Myself, my shitbox of a car and my all-weather radials efforted ourselves up the mountain at break-nail speeds. When we reached the top, we realized my car was morbidly overstuffed/obese with all of my belongings and getting it to slow down on ice and a severe downslope on the backside of the mountain was like getting a middle school girlfriend to throw her inhibitions to the wayside. Slow going it was, and after driving down the mountain in 2nd gear, we retreated to lower elevations and smoother, less icy roads... for the next 10 hours.

Nevada was dreadful. boring. deserted. depressing. brown. (insert any other b or d word here and you catch my drift). To combat the boredom, we popped in the unabridged book on take edition of "The Odyssey".

Sitting in the shotgun position, I fell asleep within two minutes. Keith, sitting in and performing the driver position, kept his eyes open for a good 5 minutes before opening all the windows, changing to some bogus Nevada radio station and blasting the music full tilt.. obviously waking me up in the process. Throughout the course of our drive, we attempted the Odyssey on several more occasions. In each event, I would zone out/fall asleep/want to jump out of the moving car so not to have to listen to it/etc and Keith would endure for between 5-20 minutes before nearly nodding off or succumbing to the pure misery of the unabridged dialogue of the reading.

And still, before each time putting it back in, I would excitedly ask Keith to give me a 20 second synopsis of what I missed, convinced that I would pay attention this time around. I was wrong every time.

We made it to Reno, which, consistent with all things Nevada, can be summed up in one D-word.. Depressing.

Until... you win $200 like Keith did at the Blackjack table, then it becomes depressingly entertaining. I won $25, which I can't complain about, seeing as though my typical casino output involves me losing 7/8 of my money in the first 10 minutes and then bleeding the remaining 1/8 over the course of the next 30 minutes while in a bastardly foul mood.

We knew when to walk away, and thusly retreated to our hotel room at "The Celebrity Hotel and Resort" which, I would wager my entire life savings on, has never had a celebrity step foot on the premises.

The next morning, we left "the Celebrity H & R" in search of a breakfast place. After 30 minutes of search, I settled on Burger King and Keith settled on Taco Bell, as the two adjoining restaurants were all we could find in that hell hole of a city.

What do a towel, #2 pencil and Orange Mocha Frappuccino having in common??

2006-11-03T23:17:00.000-05:00

Just another typical night out on the town.

Commercialized Jackson Hole in the Wall

2006-11-01T19:21:00.000-05:00

Yellowstone to Jackson Hole:

After the torture bath, Keith and I continued winding our way through Yellowstone National Park. On our jaunt, we saw buffalo roaming (a sight that Keith was very happy to see), Old Faithful spew water in an upward direction, a snow storm at the top of a high mountain pass, and beautiful landscapes all around us.

However, we were exceptionally pissed off that we didn't see any bears mauling a buffalo. I guess there is always next year.

We exited the park and continued on our way to Jackson Hole, where we were to stay with my friends, Sam and Mareike. We arrived a little on the early side and had some time to kill, so we went to the nearest bar we could find for a beer.

Something I always find entertaining is when you overhear one sentence of a conversation, and in any context the sentence is funny.

For example, on my walk to work in Boston I always passed a veteran homeless shelter, and typically the veterans would hangout outside smoking cigarettes, talking and generally being crude. This one day, while walking around the corner, I heard only a snippet of a conversation, but it was enough to make me laugh out loud. I see this homeless man looking a fellow homeless straight in the eyes, and all I hear is: "...And that is why I am never getting married.."

At the bar in Jackson Hole, Keith and I were reminiscing about college, and as the waitress was passing by, Keith asked, "Was that the night you woke up on the stairwell?" Obviously, the waitress stopped, laughed and said "I heard that." Keith followed it up quickly by adding "it was the stairwell to heaven."

Anyway, the waitress was definitely flirting with us, as evidenced by the "watch out for those stairwells" comment when we were leaving. Little did she know, I have some pretty bad stairwell memories from childhood. Particularly from when my brother and sister would put me in a laundry basket and push me down the stairs, telling me I was "an explorer".

Jackson Hole to Reno, Nevada.

I thought Wisconsin would be a lot cheesier... (don't worry, I took the liberty of beating myself up)

2006-10-27T18:04:00.000-04:00

My 45 year-old women's car that doesn't get very good gas mileage, lacks an appropriate number of hubcaps and breaks down with predictable regularity. In Chicago

I thought the Badlands would look a lot... Badder.

The M, C and A are just to the right of the picture.

The sign on the lefthand side say's "Beware of Rattlesnakes."

THEY SHOULD BE AWARE OF US.

If I were rich, I'd buy a granite mountain range (probably in New Hampshire b/c it's the granite state), and carve my face, Keith's face, Zack Morris' face and Pinocchio's face on the wall. (and then charge an $8 parking fee, $10 entrance fee, and put "no parking/stopping/leaving at anytime" signs all along the roadway

Cold Sweats. Feverish Cold. Boiling River.

2006-10-27T17:01:00.000-04:00

Bozeman, Montana to Yellowstone National Park to Jackson Hole, Wyoming: (This was to be our shortest day of the entire trip (3 hours), but somehow we managed to stay in the car for 7 hours..)

We left my uncle's house in Bozeman at about 9AM hoping to get a jump on the day, however, Keith, who had lost two cell phone chargers in the last 72 hours, had to stop by a Verizon Wireless store to buy another charger. The Verizon store happened to be located next to a cowboy/western clothing store, and so we were further delayed from hitting the road because Keith had been talking all week about how he wanted to buy one or all of the following items on his trip cross country: 1) Cowboy Boots (but cool, non-flamboyant ones..) 2) a leather jacket (but a cool, not flamboyant one..) 3) and assless chaps (flamboyant ones).

Keith left the store with a pair of grey Carharts.

We finally left Bozeman, and drove 45 minutes to the entrance of the Yellowstone National Park. (I, the entire time, wishing that Keith had purchased the knee high cowboy boots with the Indian nativity scene on them.. for personal amusement of course.) After trying to elude the $25 admission fee by saying we already paid for a national park entrance ticket at the Badlands, we paid our $25 and continued on our way.

Our first stop was the Boiling River, which was river of thermal hot water that converged with freezing cold water, producing a torture bath. I had been to this river about 11 years ago, and remember it being a lot bigger and more fun than it was this time around.

For illustrative purposes, and to better describe the Boiling River, imagine you gather 10 of your closest friends, and give five of them buckets of cold water and 5 of them buckets of boiling water, and then have them dump the buckets on you all at once.

Not at any point was I comfortable in the springs. If I wasn't screeching in agony from boiling water gushing over my back, I was screaming like a little girl because a jetstream of freezing cold water just engulfed the entire lower portion of my body. It was like someone punching me in the stomach, and then when I bent over to clench my stomach, they smacked me in the face. And this continued for the better part of 15 minutes.

Keith didn't go in the boiling river because he had a claw on his hand wrapping his surgically repaired ring finger. wimp.

Next Post: The rest of Yellowstone National Park to Jackson Hole, Wyoming

ps. A $25 National Park Fee is reasonable to pay. What is NOT reasonable to pay is $25 just to drive the length of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Or $15 to drive through Ohio. As soon as we hit Wisconsin, we didn't pay a single toll until the Bay Bridge in San Francisco. This covers approximately 2/3 of the U.S. From Maine until we got through Chicago (1/3 of the U.S.), I paid over $60 in tolls, and the roads were worse.

pps. Best roads in the country: Nevada.

A famous American writer getting freaky deaky with a State..

2006-10-26T21:22:00.000-04:00

Wall Drug, South Dakota to Bozeman, Montana-

Soon after departing the Wall Drug Megacrap Store in South Dakota, we crossed over into Wyoming, and then Montana. This border crossing is probably comparable to the cross over from a flat chested girlfriend to a well-boobed girlfriend (with trees and rivers on her chest of course).

Montana is amazing. John Steinbeck said that of all the U.S. States, Montana was his favorite, admitting that he "had a love affair with Montana." While Keith and I didn't get as kinky as J. Steinbeck did with the state of Montana, we had a nice 7 hour drive through the rolling hills that eventually gave way to towering Mountain Ranges.

Now might be a good time to note that we WERE in fact listening to a book on TAPE of John Steinbeck. Meaning, my car lacked any discernable CD player, and we were driving cross country with only the accompaniment of a tape deck and FM radio. This was fine with me, as FM radio is my favorite form of Music (ie: the only form of music available to me because I don't own 1) a CD player. 2) CD's. 3) an Ipod. 4) a Computer anymore.. thanks to the asshole who smashed my window and stole my compaq inspiron. 5) a diskman. Basically, if it involves music. I don't own it.

Therefore, to pass time, Keith and I started playing games, practicing spanish or generally being immature. Probably the most productive thing we did during our long drive west was memorize the alphabet backwards, so in the unlikely event that we get pulled over by the police and are suspected of driving under the influence (This did NOT happen to Keith in Portland, Maine in May of 2003..), we will be able to whip off the reverse alphabet in no time, and leave the cop in a state of bewilderment at how fast we got to F, and how the final sequence of FEDCBA was pure speedy perfection.

We ended this day in Bozeman, Montana, which quickly became our favorite stop off point of the entire trip. We stayed at the house of another Aunt and Uncle pairing of mine, which was a pleasant upgrade from the Super 8 Motel's sandpaper sheets. That evening, Keith and I went to a local watering hole for some beers and food. The food was amazing, and more surprisingly, the bar was absolutely packed with people in their 20's, some of whom could even be classified as hot girls. Exhausted from the day, we ate our food, stared at the "hot" girls and then went back to my Uncles house and enjoyed a few more beers with Steve (my Uncle), while trying no pass out in mid-sentence.

Next Post: Bozeman to Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

And the superlative for flattest and fattest goes to... the Midwest

2006-10-25T20:06:00.000-04:00

We spent a Monday night in Chicago at Keith's friend's place. This night happened to coincide with a ridiculous Monday Night Football Game involving the Chicago Bears. The Bears (undeservingly) won and the city went into a synchronized seizure after the game. I think I even saw a grandmother running down the streets topless... not sure. it may have been Mike Ditka.

Keith and I pushed off early on Tuesday morning for what was to be our longest day of the trip. We winded our way through Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota and South Dakota, all of which were flat, boring and decidedly not bumpy. Keith and I nearly went insane while driving in South Dakota, and ended up in Murdo, SD at a Super 8 motel for the evening.. In no way was that depressing..

We woke up to two inches of snow and ice on the road, but we mustered forward anyway, knowing that the Badlands and Mount Rushmore were ahead of us.

If I had two recommendations in life, they would be: 1) go to the badlands. (or at least look at the pictures of someone who has been to the Badlands) and 2) Don't go to Mount Rushmore.

A timeline of our trip to Mount Rushmore:
10:30AM: Keith-"is it worth it to get off the highway and drive 30 minutes to see the face of 4 dead presidents on a granite wall??" Stu- "Probably not"
10:31AM: we get off the highway.
11:00AM: arrive to the front gates of Rushmore. (ps. we can see the faces from the entrance) 11:00:15AM: Pull in and see a $8 parking fee and assume that there is another entrance fee for each individual.
11:00:20AM: Stu looks at No U-TURN sign, looks at keith, they nod at each other and stu pulls a U-TURN
11:00:25AM: Stu looks at a DO NOT ENTER sign and enters
11:00:30AM: Stu sees a red light and NO LEFT TURN sign and runs turns left running the red light.
11:0040AM: Stu sees a NO STOPPING AT ANYTIME sign on the side of the road and stops the car so he and Keith can quickly take pictures.

In the matter of 1 minute, I violated 5 traffic laws. And in no way do I regret it. It was the best decision of my life. Mount Rushmore is not worth $18 American dollars (this assumes an individual park entrance fee of $10.. not sure if there was one).

The badlands were badass. Probably the most uninviting geographical landscape you could ever imagine. (not unsimilar to the asteroid in Armageddon- that underappreciated movie where Bruce Willis saves the day and then Ben Affleck makes out with Bruce Willis' daughter (Steven Tyler's daughter in real life) right after Bruce dies).

At this point in the trip, Keith and I were listening to John Steinbeck's book on tape "Travel's With Charlie" about a road trip cross country with his dog. Steinbeck described it best, saying: "I felt as though I shouldn't even be writing about the Badlands. They were a place I would rather be at night, instead of day."

Keith and I took several pictures next to the "Beware of Rattlesnakes" signs and continued on our way.

Side note: we were roped into the most effective advertising campaign in modern history: WALL DRUG.

This stupid outpost of a store advertised via billboards for the entire length of South Dakota. However, they never actually said what Wall Drug was. Instead, they would have a sign saying "$0.05 coffee.. WALL DRUG" or show a cowboy next to "WALL DRUG" or show a blond cowgirl straddling "WALL DRUG". It was remarkable. And yes, we definitely stopped and bought two wall drug hats. I also bought some Old Spice High Endurance Deodorant and gum.

Next post: Wall drug to Bozeman, Montana

The U.S. is surprisingly time consuming to drive across

2006-10-22T19:07:00.000-04:00

I haven't posted a blog in a while, and this is very upsetting to me. Partially because it demonstrates that my work ethic has deteriorated, but mostly because it drives home the fact that I am no longer traveling and normal day to day activities do not provide funny story fodder.

But! Some things have changed in the last month. For instance, I now use an electric tooth brush. My teeth feel dentist clean two times a day, without the awkward small chat or the dentist's chronic halitosis.. (ps. shouldn't dentists have impeccably smelling breath?). I have also moved to San Francisco, CA. And the event that preludes any large scale relocation is best described as a ROAD TRIP!!!

(I will hold off on talking about the person who smashed my car window and stole my computer within 15 hours of arriving to San Francisco until a later post.)

My Coast to Coast drive started in Maine and included stops at any and every possible family members or friends place so not to have to pay money for lodging/food/survival. I strapped on my rooftop carrier and overloaded my underperforming '98 VW Passat Wagon (which I had just pumped $1,200 into so it would pass inspection.. a very unarousing turn of events for this guy).

My first stop was Cambridge, Mass, where I stayed with my Aunt and Uncle. This was not a novel stop off point, as I had freeloaded at their place for a better part of the last 2 months. I am forever grateful to them and I owe them no less than 14 boxes of Crunchy Raisin Bran Cereal. From there I pushed on to Philadelphia, PA for my friends wedding, but not before coordinating a lovely lunch with another Aunt of mine in Palisades, New York along the way. I showed up to the country club looking like the Blue Jean wearing vagabond I was/am, and was urged to put on some Khaki pants or else our lunch would have to take place elsewhere. Lucky for me, everything I own was in my car, so I threw on a pair of tan Khakis that had become surprisingly strapping since the last time I wore them several years ago.

Lunch was great, and after saying goodbye to Joan, I pushed on to Philadelphia and checked into the hotel for the wedding reception. The next 72 hours of my life were a discernable haze, but I can vouch for the fact that my friends DID get married.

Highlights include: Asking one of the bride's uncles if he was her Grandfather.. (that didn't go over well). A round of golf at the Course that will host the 2013 U.S. Open. A great rehearsal dinner: where many people, including me, gave toasts. Songs were song, rhymes were heard and I made a fool out of myself during the speech. (But in a good way..). The dancing at the wedding was unmatched. As a gigantic circle kept its form for most of the evening. Many times I was in the middle dancing like a Ostrich having an epileptic seizure.

The wedding evening was long. I bet it was fun..

Sunday: Goodbyes were said and I continued on my journey west. I got lost two minutes after leaving the hotel. (A great sign to be sure). 5 hours later, I made it to Pittsburg. Due to the 3 nights of booze and late nights, I was an unmitigated zombie when I arrived, but I drank some caffeine and had a great time with another Aunt and Uncle pairing in Pittsburg. They had just returned from the Steelers game, which was fitting, because I felt like a football game was going on in my skull in the form of a headache.

I pushed off early for Chicago to pick up my friend.

Something that never fails to make a person laugh boisterously can be obtained in the following paragraph. My cousin was actually moving from San Francisco to New York at the same time I was moving west, and was making the reverse drive I was. Somehow, we both figured out we were in Ohio driving towards each other, and in the general vicinity of Toledo. What happened next is probably one of the more inadvertently entertaining things I can think of.. We were both in a hurry, and stopping on the highway to chat didn't make sense. Via cellphone, we realized we were about to pass each other, so in bumlick, Ohio, we described our cars/rooftop carriers and prepared to wave at one another going 80 MPH in opposite directions. It was awesome. So funny. I recommend it. Maybe even plan an entire trip with another car, just for this purpose..

8 hours later I made it to Chicago. It was raining. But for "some" reason, my friend Keith and I walked around the city in the rain for 45 minutes. Which brings me to my next point, they need to have more evenly dispersed beer stores in Chicago.

next post. Chi-town WEST

Getting reacquainted with Boston and making a wage

2006-10-03T14:03:00.000-04:00

It is amazing what a few days of manual labor will do to convince you to get up off of your ass and go get a job.

He-man would like to be added as one of your friends!

2006-09-22T13:53:00.000-04:00

Have you been roped into filling out one of these "online profiles" for a social networking site yet?? If not, wait. They are taking the world by storm. And by storm, I mean by virus. It is getting ridiculous. For the last two days I have been informing no-one in particular what music i listen to (FM because I don't own any CD's if you must know), who I would like to meet, the brand of toothpaste I use, that I don't like ryan seacrest, someday I will have children, etc.

After looking back on my profile, I find it amusing that I don't even resemble the person I present on the profile. But I guess that is what the internet is there for these days. Deception. Especially for those absolutely undeserving of life loosers who fish for underage people to stalk. They deserve their own very special place in Cancun, Mexico*.

But even more remarkable, is the number of people using the sites; especially the impressionable youth of america. Myspace.com is attracting over 50,000,000 monthly users, and in it's relative infancy is already worth many billions of dollars. The CEO is a 22 year old kid. I am 25. This makes me ask myself "what am i doing with my life".. And the answer: trying to get in on the social networking craze, cause if you can't beat 'em, join 'em and hope you don't go broke in the process.

*my own personal hell.

The only thing more expensive than New York City is repairing my car so it passes inspection

2006-09-21T14:56:00.000-04:00

New York City is the city that never sleeps. Which means we get along famously, because I suck at sleeping too. Quite probably, the only difference between New York and I is that I can be done (visited) for less than $100 a night.

I was down there last weekend for a joint birthday party for my college friends. And if you are wondering, YES, two guys threw a joint birthday party for themselves. A little fruity, sure, but if you have taken a recent look at the abundance of pastel objects hanging in Chad's closet, your query can be laid to rest. . .

Actually, Chad is quite straight. So too is how my friends and I drank the off-tasting Southern Comfort on Saturday evening.

Two things amaze me everytime I go to New York:
1) The number of people who own and use Roller Blades.
2) The dating scene. We all remember college- You go out, everyone lives within a reasonable distance of the party or bar, and when you meet someone on a romantic* level you tread about 200 yards to the closest persons dorm/apartment/house and make out. Hook ups are so easily facilitated by habitational proximity in College... Add a few million more people, more money, fancier clothes, apartments without pee-stained couches or Bob Marley posters into the equation and what you get is New York City. In closing, NYC is a glorified co-ed summer camp for adults.

* in no way do I suggest that romantic encounters were the norm. It was typically two people who were coherent enough to stand, yet wishy washy enough to misplace 3 or 4 of their functioning motor skills.

Just because I have SICK overalls doesn't mean you can put me in a cage.

2006-09-15T11:11:00.000-04:00

I keep having this recurring nightmare where I arrive to school naked and every points and laughs at me.. I guess it's a good thing I am so buff.

My closest guess to what a liog looks like

It was just an innocent gasoline fight

2006-09-14T16:01:00.000-04:00

You are all very lucky I returned home. This is because I am the leading good luck charm (according to unnamed sources and Veronica Corningstone) when it comes to gas prices. When I left the U.S. in February, the regular gas price was about $2.65/gallon. It was as high as $3.21/gallon when I returned in mid-August and in less than one month, my presence has obviously led it to drop to $2.47/gallon (at "Gas with a Smile" in Somerville, MA), with more wiggle room to go. My educated guess is that it will be free my mid-november.

Other reasons you may be lucky I am back in the U.S.:
-You have relatives or friends in a foreign country.

-Hanging out with someone who is unemployed and looking for a job boosts your self-esteem and general self-worth.

-You have an affinity for under-performing burgundy stationwagons

-Nomads cause you great joy and/or you are having a party and need to boost your attendence level. Last weekend I was in San Francisco and this weekend I will be in NYC for a B-day party and the weekend after I may be in San Fran for a website Launch party. ps. Maine isn't close to either of those American cities. Nor is it close to vetoing the Hawley-Smoot act.

Stu's Tips for Travel: Part Uno

2006-09-06T12:13:00.000-04:00

Rules 1 through 5:

1) If you are a guy: never travel in a group with more women than men unless you like complexity. Self explanitory really. This is especially true when going out to a restaurant and you don't like dessert because girls will continually ask you why you aren't ordering dessert and then they will turn back to their female counterparts and say things like "GUYS don't like dessert!", "why don't guys like dessert?" "I LOVE LOVE LOVE Chocolate... And cheesecake... and nugget" " I can't believe he didn't order dessert". The upside is there is a few moment of undistilled silence when the desserts arrive.

2) If you are traveling alone, be wary of who you choose to travel with. It's easy to start traveling with someone, but it is infinitely more difficult (legistically and amiably) to ditch them. It is especially vexing to discover someone's unlikability on the first day of a 4 day tour in a claustrophobic automobile in the desert.

3) Don't expect to find love in a Hostel. This is no slight to the female backpacker population (excluding the unshaven hippie ones of course), but the likelihood of finding a reasonable match, and then ensuring the clothes on her body have been thoroughly washed within a reasonable timeframe, and then wooing her, and THEN convincing her to shimmy up to your top bunk in a smelly room of 7 others (at least 5 of which are snorring uncontrollably) and then making out with her is less than optimal.

4) Buses are a necessary evil. You will be uncomfortable, you won't sleep, you may get peed on, you may be standing for an extended period of time, 3 to 4 screaming kids will be encroaching on your personal bubble of space, and if they aren't, a large person will. You will not be able to go to the bathroom at your leisure (unless you take the peeing on people approach like the little kid who found my foot to be an appropriate urine receptical), your bus will likely break down, you will be cold at night, you will probably get to watch "White Chicks" in Spanish, and if you take ambian you will need to either puke or diarrhea (allegedly). BUT, on the flip side, it is cheap and sometimes you get to where you want to go.

5) Citizens of Latin American countries don't use clocks, schedulers, calendars, alarms, palm pilots or any other instrument that might lead them to arrive somewhere on time. This is a good thing to know. Especially when waiting in the seedy part of town for a pick up. Rule of thumb: If they say 8pm, add a day and a half.

I need a vacation from my vacation from my vacation..

2006-09-04T14:29:00.000-04:00

Yes, I know, I am a massive brat for having all this vacation time... But, even though I haven't been gainfully employed since 4:30PM on January 26th, 2006, I am overly exhausted and need about 2-3 days of down time which hopefully includes the complete second and third seasons of "Entourage" on DVD. (Or at least Laguna Beach)

I have had a great reimmersion to the US. I had one week of family vacation, followed by a bachelor party weekend, followed by one week of vacation with my high school buddies, followed by a lobster bake, followed by me being as sick as crack addict because I haven't had a good night sleep since 7:00AM January 25th.

I have managed to sleep unproductively in 56 different beds since the end of January. However, I am optimistic that my bed-hopping will stop soon. (ps. And if you are just tuning into the blog, please do not think that I am some womanizing man-whore. I am talking about sleeping in beds because of travel necessity, not female companionship. pps. get your mind out of the gutter.)

Since I have been home I have had lobster 5 times. I missed those goofy bastards.

Highly unemployed

2006-08-18T14:32:00.000-04:00

What have I been doing since I got home you ask?? Well, other than NOTHING, here's a taste of my re-americanization.

First, I went out in Boston and purchased several $5 beers, which was budget crippling.
Second, I registered my car for $142, which was budget crippling and downright unexpected.
Thirdly, reconnected my cell phone, which only took 3 hours on the phone with some verizon customer rep from Atlanta or Texas. A pleasing day time activity to be sure.
Fourthly, I went to the dentist, which is an costly day time activity.
Fifthly, to combat my wallet hemorraging and also to reconnect with my fellow american bretheren, I went to Walmart. And as suspected, both the parking lot and store interior are filled with what scientist call; wife beater wearing WT.

It's good to be home.

Things I missed most while being away (in order of importance):
1) TIE: Hidden Valley Ranch Dressing and my Family
3) TIE: Bagels and my Friends.
5) Thick maine accents
6) My middle aged woman car (Burgundy in color) that is making a disagreeable thumping noise near the front right tire that wasn't there 6 months ago. I CAN'T wait to fix that one..
7) Being able to communicate with over half of the population.. very underrated.
8) 4 consecutive episodes of sportcenter in the morning.
9) Anna's super Burrito with everything over there (pointing to a collection of condiments near the burrito maker).
10) A lot. but mostly, home.

I will be kind of out of internet range for a good portion of August, but I will be putting up posts from time to time. So, if you have any interest, I hope you keep checking out what this exceedingly mature, well-groomed traveling intellect who exclusively writes in cursive is up to. By the way, Chilean soup tasted like crap and so now begins the "American Pot Pie" phase of consumption.

Unofficially home

2006-08-15T17:18:00.000-04:00

I am a 25-year old male, continually dabbling in a quarter life crisis. Having left South America (with zero pay, a nomad lifestyle and a kick ass mullet), I packed up my belongings and returned to the United States. I know approximately 2,000 people in the U.S., my english is improving, and i love Sahne Nuss Chocolate bars (which don't exist in North America). Join me as I become a re-matriculated citizen in my own country. (PG-15 and three quarters).
ps. I hope the re-matriculation ceremony includes a ribbon.

Unofficially, The End.

Goodbyes suck ass

2006-08-14T15:29:00.000-04:00

Sentimental side note of the day (part two of a two or three part series): I had to say farewell to the Arniboldi's last night because they stayed up at their ski house for the long weekend, and I needed to get back to Santiago to catch my flight. I was incredibly fortunate to meet the Arniboldis and I will never be able to repay them for their generosity, hospitality and for them taking me in as their gringo son. They played a huge role in the success of my trip, and were are big reason I ended up coming to South America to begin with. Furthermore, they taught me that Chileans dominate most board games and that mostly countries with latitudes of 49 degrees or higher host indoor tennis tournaments. It was a sad goodbye, but I am confident that we will see each other again in the future. (They will certainly be seeing a lot of me during Season III of Lost).

Another sentimental side note: The Arniboldi's have a massive furry white dog. I have never been able to remember his name, so I just called him "oso blanco" (white bear). Sadly, white bear is on very sick and may have cancer. This make me very sad, because I love to goofy bastard. Dogs just moved from On notice to Chill with Me.

On the topic of animal humanity, I think I need to confess a certain incident that occured about 8 years ago on Interstate-95. I was driving down the highway with my highschool girlfriend going about 75mph, and while passing a line of cars that were moving slowly in the right lane, a mother duck and her 10 ducklings in tow started crossing the highway. When I saw them, they were about 200 feet in front of me. I had three options:

1) Stop my car in the passing lane from a speed of 75 mph and with traffic behind me. This was a bad option.

2) Vear my car over into the other lane, thusly either engaging in a high speed side collision with the car next to me, or running that car off the road. This was a bad option.. OR

3) Staying the course and wipe out a full family of 11. This was an unfortunate option.

Long story short, it was either us or the ducks, so the mother duck met my front bumper with a thud, and the remaining baby ducks (who I don't think I explicitly killed) were left to fend for themselves without a mother. I still hold out hope that a few of them survived.. WHY COULDN'T THEY HAVE BEEN PIGEONS??? or giga pets?? I feel bad.

Along those lines, I have given up my angst towards many things:

Chill with Me: Dogs, Dinosaurs, Steak, Ear Muffs, Duck Duck Goose, Argentine Vendors laughing at my 'Benjamins', Olga, Shats, People giving me horn, Stray Dogs, Sahne Nuss.

Upgraded from "On Notice" to Chill with Me: Bolivian Buses, Screaming kids on buses kicking my seat and farting, Not outsourcing my travel planning, Dish rags.

Upgraded from "Dead to Me" to On Notice: Chess, Mandarin Oranges, Hangovers, The Secretary of the Treasury, salami.

Still Dead to Me: Mamushka Chocolate Store, persons who stole my Camera, Nalgene, Spaulding Jacket, ski gloves, ear plugs and headlamp.

I am Sorry: Ducks

If there was a male equivalent to a ski bunny, I would have been it.. (perhaps a ski moose or ski mountain lion..)

2006-08-13T18:58:00.000-04:00

I Just returned from a ski weekend with the Arniboldi's, which can be considered a wild successful for the following reasons:

1) I got a new nickname: I have never had a nickname. However, since I now have stupidly shaggy hair with a detectable mullet, they have stopped calling me Estuar and now refer to me as "Sawyer," (the guy who has stupidly shaggy hair and trouble with authority from the TV Show, "Lost"). To make myself feel better, I now call "Pedro" (the tall, skinny 15-year old Arnibolidi with short hair) "Hurley" (the 4oo lb. fat 30-year old with long hair and an imaginary friend from "Lost"). I don't get it either.

2) I entered and won a ski race on Saturday. This impressed the Arniboldis. And as Lucho (Father Arniboldi) pointed out: It was especially impressive since I had been on a deserted Island for the last two years.

3) There was a lost in translation story, which always provides me entertainment:. I was watching Tennis with Lucho, and I asked him "Where do Roger Federer's endorsements come from?". Lucho methodically began telling me that Canada, Russia and a few other locations in Europe are where most of the indoors tournaments take place. However, those tournaments are typically boring, lack the high profile players, attract crappy sponsors, etc, etc.. About 2 minutes into his answer, he speculated "I think we misunderstand one another.. you did not ask about indoors tournaments, did you??" I said, "no... endorsements... but it is good to know more about the indoor tennis too".

4) The ski/snow pants I borrowed made me look sleek and slender. So too did the rear entry ski boots.

Things that weren't so successful: my ability to win board/card games against any member of the Arniboldi family. Games they destroyed me in on multiple occasions this weekend:
Connect Four (0-2)
Poker (0-1)
Chess (0-7) (I lost one game in 4 moves)
Othello (1-4)
Bullshit (0-2)
Dice game where bluffing is heavily involved (1-15)
Mario Brothers (0-1)
Sudoku (1-1)
Rocks Paper Scissors (1-2)
life (the game and real thing) (0-36).

Basically, I was humiliated. But I DID win a ski race in purple snow pants... against 10-years olds.

It's like "Speed" meets "Groundhog day" only i don't get to make out with Sandra Bullock or the bad actress from Groundhog Day.

2006-08-11T14:22:00.000-04:00

It is almost redundant at this point, but... My bus broke down on the way back to Santiago. We experienced electrical difficulties while crossing the Andes, leaving us stranded on a mountain pass with over 10 feet of accumulated snow for three hours without heat. I played Sudoku to stay warm.

In total, I spent 364 hours on buses in the last 6 months, which if you do the math is more than 15 days (two+ weeks) of bus riding. This includes 14 overnight trips sleeping (more like unsleeping) on buses. In other words, 1/12 of my trip was spent in a bus seat. And most of that time was spent saddled next to crying toddlers or an imposing (size-wise) seat mate. (I got peed on once too).

Overall, I have covered over 20,000 miles by bus, plane, car, boat, dingy, strawboat, 4x4, finicular, train, foot, bike, gondola, donkey, etc. Ok Stu, we get it!! enough complaining about transport. (And to that I respond; I just want to give reason to any future case of hemorrhoids).

The last leg of my journey ends at the Arniboldi's in Santiago, Chile. We are going skiing this weekend, and I am borrowing their extra ski equipment that, as they pointed out, was last utilized by a middle-aged woman many years back. ALL I can hope is that the ski pants don't make my butt look fat.

Sentimental side note of the day (part one of a two or three part series): I have no idea how many people read this blog, but I have heard from many of you and I appreciate your mostly kind words. I understand how it could be hard or annoying to read about some unemployed 25-year old wandering around South America visiting national parks, checking out the South American nightlife and getting goosed by midgets while you are working hard back home. (I know most of you are particularly jealous of the midget goosing incident). I just wanted to say that I really appreciate you taking the time to read one, some or all of my postings, and writing these posts has be really fun for me. And if you didn't get a shout out, let me know, and I will try to squeeze you in in the next few days. Thanks, Estuar Pole (My name to every South American who tries to pronounce it).

March of the Penguins... or Brazilians if you prefer.

2006-08-09T17:03:00.000-04:00

Bariloche is a destination ski town attracting visitors from around the World. And by "around the World", I mean mostly Brazil. The town is bustling with Brazilians who just want to get a glimpse of snow, make snowballs and throw them. Each person seems to be having the time of his or her life and parades around with a massive smile comensurate with a guy who just received a paid weekend getaway to Vegas with his friends from his girlfriend, wife or wives (assuming they practice polygamy).

Since Brazilians don't wear anything but skimpy swim suits, none of them own any winter clothing, and thusly, they all arrive here and rent ski outfits. Variety is a little spotty...

If you notice, the people are waiting in line for ski lifts, yet they don't have any of the necessary equipment to actually ski. Instead, they go up to the mountain wearing moon boots, have a snowball fight while waiting in the lift line, ride the lift up the mountain, have a snowball fight up on the mountain, and then ride down the lift down where they point and laugh at each other for wearing such stupid outfits. It's a vicious cycle.

In other news (And I can report this after the fact (mom), because I am not in a wheelchair): I nearly broke my neck when I accidently skied off a 12 foot cliff and landed on a flat section which consequently ejected me out of my skis and I proceeded to land directly on my head, leaving a 5-inch deep imprint of my head in the packed/wet snow. Immediately thereafter, I obviously took out my plaster of paris kit and saved the formation.

This just in: I am about to get on my final bus journey of my trip (20 hours).. I can no longer see the monitor through my cascading tears of sadness.

More luggage lightening.

2006-08-09T15:27:00.000-04:00

I lost things of sentimental value again (montage set to Leanne Rhymes "How do I live without you" or Barry White's "My First, My Last, My Everything" below). I had my Spaulding Polyester Jacket and my swix ski gloves stolen. I bought the Jacket in Australian a while back, and it made me feel cool. Now I will have to rely on my Patagonia Fleece.. which we all know is Social Suicide. On a less important scale, the gloves were about 6 years old and had yet to fully mature.

My Jacket, along with my friend's Jacket were taken from a Bar last night. Christy's jacket contained a her camera and credit card, which is infinitely worse than the items I lost in my jacket.

Items such as a camera and/or credit card are quite common at a bar establishment. What isn't as typical are the items I had in my pockets while visiting the bar/nightclub last night. In my left pocket was my ear plugs, Bolivian coins and a half-roll of toilet paper, and in my right pocket was my gloves and my headlamp.

I wonder what the thief was thinking when he rummaged through my jacket pockets... "Sooo.. I just robbed this guy who definitely frequents nightclubs as evidenced by the coolness of his nifty jacket, but apparently he thinks the music is too loud, doesn't trust the supplied single-ply TP and clearly thinks the level of light is inadequate.. Weird. Oh well, I guess I should get back to my video game and being the miserable piece of shit that I am... MAAAM.. MEATLOAF!!!

I am obviously pissed about losing my stuff, but I feel worse for Christy. If there was ever a bright side to having my camera stolen in Peru, it is that it CAN'T be stolen again in Argentina.

One other note from the evening: The rock band at the nightclub was pretty good, and the English lady we were hanging out with asked them upwards of 8 times (in complete seriousness) if they would play a Britney Spears song. It was kind of like a drunk chick asking Pearl Jam to do a bang-up rendition of "My heart will go on" by Celine Deon.

RIP Blue, Blue and White Spaulding Jacket. 2002-2006 (Cue Barry or Leanne..... now.)

Caught taking a photo of a photo of a party of cinco

2006-08-07T19:17:00.000-04:00

Soo.. I was telling you about the man with 4 wives. There is a computer in the Hostel with a backround picture of the happy couple (multiple??), and I wanted to take a picture of it for documentation purposes and to give myself a hearty laugh 5 months from now when I am withering away in a cubicle.

I had to be covert in order to take this picture, and when the opportunity arose to take it, I grabbed my camera (my backup film camera) and zoomed in to get a good close up of the happy Party of 5. (fyi: Neve Campbell was not present). Unbenounced to me, my film camera (which I hadn't used in one calendar year) was on red eye shutter flash, and when I pressed down to take the picture the intricate 7 second strobe-light process commenced. At about second 2, one of the 4 wives (NOT Sarah Love Hewitt) walked around the corner and saw me taking a picture of the computer. After darting into another room, the final flash finally flashed and the camera took very magnified picture of the beige wall. The lady proceeded to turn off the monitor, and thusly I only have a mental picture of the love pentagon.

Other news: I used shampoo in the hostel shower today that smelled like chicken.
In a related story, I am off to go eat steak. (My fingers are crossed that the restaurant sells meat-scented conditioner..)

Revenge of the nerd (and some weird freaky deaky $hit)

2006-08-06T17:58:00.000-04:00

I'll admit it; The loss of my water bottle was an operator error. I got off a bus, put him on the sidewalk while organizing my luggage and then walked away leaving him chilling on the curb. I am pissed at myself for this, but don't worry, I am not as distraught Tom Hanks was when he lost his volleyball in Cast Away. (Although, i did take all my clothes off and wore a dangly piece of cloth around my waist for a few days).

I was persuaded to put on some additional layers when I arrived to Bariloche, Argentina (via a 20 hour bus ride), because Bariloche is a ski town, and ski towns typically have climates that require more than shredded loincloths. (Although, I will probably test this theory).

I have traveled to Bariloche before and decided to return for my last week in South America because I liked it so much. Actually, the real reason I came back was to eat $8 filet mignon at a really good steak restaurant, buy almonds wrapped in Chocolatey goodness and cast a spell on the Mamushka Chocolate Store (Reference Blog : April 14, 2006).

One thing I didn't prepared for: Staying at a hostel that has four attractive female employees in their mid to late 30's... and learning that they were ALL married to the same 60-year old man. Hostel Polygamous is a cool place (and by cool, I mean cheap), and the vibe is somewhat "Eyes Wide Shut," as you never know what type of freaky stuff is going on next door (like woman 1, 2, 3 or 4 performing an at-home catheterization) or if the old man is going to plop dead on the floor due to frivolous overstimulaton. I'll obviously keep you posted on if he drops dead. But don't hold your breath, the guy must be like the energizer bunny.. or at least a NBA Player.

Forced goodbyes are the hardest.. Take Care little buddy..

2006-08-03T16:23:00.000-04:00

I lost my Nalgene water bottle with the blue strap and worn duct tape. This upsets me almost more than having my Camera stolen. Seriously.

I am sure you all possess those items of minimal economic value, but you have had them so long that the sentimental value becomes lofty. Well, that was my water bottle. Water bottles do not typically have long half-lives, so our courtship over the last few years was something special.

The last places my water bottle was with me:
1) Squished up against the cold bus window by obese woman in adjacent seat. What a shitty way to go.

Please view the following photographic montage with a heavy heart and either the song "What the world needs now, is love, sweet love" by Burt Bacharach or "Happy Together..." by The Turtles stuck in your head. RIP white water bottle with blue strappy thing and duct tape. 1998-2006. Forever yours, Stu

Excuse me a moment while I weep mightily (yet masculinly).

"I am sorry sir, we are going to have to ask you to go hump yourself"

2006-08-02T19:14:00.000-04:00

After 40 hours of bus rides, I made if from Bolivia to a Chilean City named Iquique. I had a flight the next day from Arica, Chile (5 hours north of Iquique by bus) to Santiago, but I knew my flight made a stop in Iquique. Mmm.. the wheels were in motion.

Effectively, (and to make this more U.S. friendly) I was in Washington D.C. and had a flight the next day from New York City to Atlanta with a stopover in Washington D.C. As a major in Economics and a graduate of nursery school, I knew it was in my best interest to ask the airlines if they could change my ticket to embark from Iquique, rather than Arica. This seemed quite reasonable, and I believed my pleadings that I had just endured 2 straight overnight buses and the thought of another 5 hours on a bus to Arica ONLY to return to the spot I am right now made me suicidal would more than cripple the heart cords of the lady working at the airline desk.

In addition, I winningly (eventually losingly) pleaded that I had ALREADY paid for the seat of the first leg and they could re-sell my seat on that flight if they preferred. Afterall, generating revenues for big, greedy, face-less corporations is something I strive for.. (So too is halitosis, scurvy, hangnails, a heavy dose of thalidomide to curb my future pregnant wife's morning sickness, male pattern baldness, etc..).

Understanding my dilema, the lady at the counter said she could ABSOLUTELY help me out for a change fee of $160. My rambled thoughts at this moment in time: "WHAT THE F! Are they kidding me with this $160 bull$hit? The plane is going to stop in Iquique anyway! It's not like I am causing them any inconvenience! In fact, I am one less person to give their shitty peanuts to on the first leg of the flight! Not to mention, I smell gamey as hell after not showering for 2 days and the lady sitting next to me on the last bus was comparable to an incoming tide in terms of slowly sneaking her oversized body over on to me/my seat. I paid for my seat. She didn't. (I should have asked her to compensate me a percentage of the ticket fare commensurate with the percentage of my seat she occupied). Similarly, I think she shattered my clavical when pinning me up against the ice cold window.. I can hardly contain my excitement for my first Sahne Nuss..

After the thought bubbles dissipated, I suggested that it would be cheaper to buy a one way ticket from Iquique to Arica for $50USD, and then fly from Arica BACK TO IQUIQUE and then on to Santiago. She said "Yes, but that would be stupid."

If I knew how to say "you just proved my point asshole" in spanish, I would have been dropping that line like Mr. & Mrs. Jackson dropped Michael as a baby.

Long story short, the 5 hour bus ride was the perfect night cap to 2 days on a bus, and I was utterly giddy with resentment when we stopped over in Iquique today on my flight to Santiago.

The only thing that should be added to scotch is more scotch

2006-07-31T17:20:00.000-04:00

The wedding was on Saturday, and it is monday afternoon and I am still hungover. Quite an event to be sure.

I made the typical American mistake and showed up to the wedding 30 minutes early to get a seat and settle in (this was a trick taught to me by my always-punctual father). Little did I know that I would be there 45 minutes before people even started thinking about showing up. I know about Bolivian time, but I figured they would at least start weddings on time. As the bride was walking down the isle, the church was about half full with people trickling in as the ceremony processed. Because the bride was a former miss-Bolivia, the TV station camera crews were at the wedding too, which provided further distraction among the many erupting cellphones.

After the church ceremony we caravaned over to the well decorated reception hall for dinner, drinks and dancing. Each table was given a bottle of Scotch. This was the first sign of things to come. They need to put a general warning on the Johnny Walker bottles, that reads something like "Contents of bottle may taste like fire at first, but after a few drinks, you won't be able to distinguish the contents of this bottle with the contents of an Dasani bottle. Furthermore, repeated consumption of this liquid will lessen your inhibitions and make you dance like a retard. (Especially if you are the only gringo at a Bolivian wedding). Don't give to minors. But if you do, take pictures." Or something like that.

The reception lasted until 7:30AM. I bailed out at 5:30AM because my ride was leaving, and my feet weren't cooperating properly. (Although, I am happy to report that I wasn't the drunkest person in the car ride home. That award goes to the gentleman who fell out of the car in front of his house. He too failed to read the General Warning label on the Scotch Bottles.

I was pretty useless on Sunday and got on a 12-hour overnight bus which, due to road blocks of civil unrest, took 18 hours. Now I am waiting to board another 18 hour overnight bus to get back to Chile. I can't wait to see what they are protesting in the streets tonight!!

The upside of a bad economy

2006-07-29T15:59:00.000-04:00

A few bullet points:

- Santa Cruz has been really hot and muggy of late, so I slept with the windows wide open the other night, which prompted a rouge brigade of mosquitos to surge a sneak attack upon every inch of my body, leaving dime sized welts all over. This leads me to my next topic: is there anything more satisfying (yet you know it's a bad idea) than scratching bug bites??? (Maybe the saran wrap over the toilet prank.. But that is it.).

- I played golf the other day for the first time since last fall. I shot a 54 on the front nine and a 40 on the back nine. This leads me to my next topic: Is there anything more frustrating than sucking at golf?? (Maybe having someone saran wrap your toilet when you have diarrhea).

-I was invited to go to Gaby's brother's wedding, and accepted before they had a chance to rescind their invitation. I am psyched to go to a Bolivian wedding. Plus, Miss Bolivia 2000 (the bride-to-be) is sure to have some talented looking friends. One minor dilema is that evening attire isn't exactly a useful item to have in my traveling backpack, and thusly, I have been scurrying around town trying to throw together a respectable wedding outfit that will hopefully:

1) Fit. (Most bolivians are not tall and lanky with blond hair and bugbites all over them).
2) Not be a marching band outfit or matador costume with shiny buttons (because almost every clothing shop displays these types of clown outfits in the front windows).
and 3) be affordable.

I happened to kill all three birds with a stone or two as I am borrowing a shirt and tie, I have black socks, I bought a pair of shiny black shoes for $10.99 and I rented a suit for... (drumroll please).... $7.50. I LOVE BOLIVIA.

Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I guess I'll go eat Coagulated Cowblood Sausage

2006-07-27T19:47:00.000-04:00

As Americans (and I am making the general assumption that all four of you who read this are of U.S. origin, especially since you are (in alphabetical order) my: Brother, Dad, Mom, Sister), we live structured day to day lives and enjoy rigid scheduling that allows us to know WHERE we are going to be WHEN we going to be there. We believe punctuality is a virtue and tardiness, in addition to being a funny sounding word, is a personality flaw. (ps. when is someone going to invent the word partiness/partyness?... or fartiness for that matter?)

At some point in our lives, we have all been told to show up 5-15 minutes early for an appointment, interview or experimental medical treatment screening that pays $50 per day if you are a good candidate and don't eat too many of the free donuts. Similarly, how many times have we wanted to bludgeon the decreer/messenger of the old adage: "the early bird gets the worm!!" (Even if said bird DOES get said worm, it CAN'T taste nearly as delicious as their gummy counterparts).

Well, in Bolivia (and the rest of South America for that matter) they have NO concept of being on time. Their motto is more akin to: "the early bird gets to wait for the other birds because all the other birds don't give a shit, and if you DO happen to eat the worm, you can rest assured you will vomit and/or diarrhea for one calendar day". This is because South Americans are very adaptable and volatile plans are the norm. (and their food causes tummy problems).

I mention this because I have been trying to meet up with my New Zealand buddy in Santa Cruz for the last few days, and every time I tell him to meet us somewhere at say, 11AM, we get in the car at 1pm to meet him.

This is where I postulate that South American's need cell phones infinitely more than U.S. Americans. At least in the states we make plans with rendevoux points and meeting times, and typically stick to our appointments. Here, if you tried to meet up with friends without a cellphone, you'd always be that person at a bar sitting alone, and when people ask if they can grab one of your unoccupied chairs, you'd respond: "Sorry, my friends are coming" and then look around to confirm that you are searching for your friends. The worst part about it is you don't have a cellphone or the accompanying games to pass the time while your friends are standing you up.

On the topic of eating worms: I ate some sausage last night and after I swallowed it, my friends informed me that I had just consumed coagulated cowblood sausage. Later that night, I squirted an entire tube of colgate triple action toothpaste in my mouth and burned my clothes.

This one goes out to the single men in Greenland.. God Speed.

2006-07-26T21:25:00.000-04:00

After 30+ nights of subpar sleeping, the sleep deprivation has finally caught up with me in the form of a hacking cough, a nasty sore throat and a cold that is too legit to quit. On the bright side, I left the high altitude areas and I am now in Santa Cruz, Bolivia which is unofficially, the "good-looking person" capital of Bolivia.

I am staying with my step-sister's (Elizabeth A.) friend from College (Gaby), who lives in Santa Cruz and is a great host. Gaby literally knows everyone in Santa Cruz. When we walk down the street, she has to stop every 5th step as a new person she knows appears. (I imagine it is what Big Bird or Elmo experiences when walking down sesame street. EVERYONE KNOWS THEM!)

As Gaby's brother, who is getting married on Saturday to Miss Bolivia 2000, pointed out, "There are two hells in Bolivia: 1) Being single in Oruro (A Bolivian city that has reportedly been beaten with the ugly stick) and 2) being married in Santa Cruz".

He said this in front of his fiance, which made me chuckle.

Beersmuggleosaurus Rex.

2006-07-24T17:12:00.000-04:00

I spent 5 days in Sucre, Bolivia, which be some sort of touristic record. It is an ok city, but there isn't much to do other than take spanish classes, eat fruit drinks and see dinosaur tracks. The classes were above average, the drinks were refreshing and the tracks made an impression. (Handsdown, the 3rd most awesome pun I have ever made).

The most interesting thing about the tracks was that they were located along on a vertical wall, making it look like dinosaurs could walk up walls like a spider, gecko or suction cup man. [To facilitate visually: Imagine the Green Monster at Fenway Park was grey with T-rex, brontosaurus, tricerotops, etc footprints all over the wall, and that is what it looked like, only the wall was a lot bigger and there weren't any drunk red sox fans swearing or eating hot dogs on top.]

The explanation of the vertical prints was not that dinosaurs could walk up vertical slopes, hills or artificial baseball boundaries, but rather the dinosaurs left those tracks on flat land and then over the millions of years of platectonics and Continental shifts (which created the Andes Mountain Range), the flat land was gradually levered up to its current vertical position. (I wish I could explain it better, but I am not a paleontologist, geologist or capable of wracking my brain for a more involved explanation.)

On the topic of stadiums: My friend, Kelly K., and her family are longtime Buffalo Bills season ticket holders (poor saps), and they have been going to games since she was a little kid. I mention this because her father is a very cool guy who has his priorities in order. (He can also bowl perfect 300 game, which is admirable). When Kelly was 10, her father suffed her jacket and snow pants with 12-ounce cans of beer to sneak them into the stadium for consumption during the game. On one particular occasion while entering the stadium, Kelly (10-years old mind you) was stopped by security and searched. The guards found the beers hidden amongst her outwear and started demanding who the girl's parents were. Knowing he had already tragically lost the beer, Mr. K continued walking into the stadium pretending not to know her.

This would typically be Exhibit B for dead-beat-dadhood, but I can assure you, Kelly's dad is legit. (Unlike the Buffalo Bills chances for the next 10-15 years).

The blind leading the blinder

2006-07-20T17:54:00.000-04:00

Since I have been in South America for 5 months and I still don't speak spanish "fluently", I went to Sucre, Bolivia to live with a family and take spanish classes last week, hoping I would leave the city with a greater understanding of the Spanish. Unintentionally, I left with a great understanding of english.

The house: A typical bolivian house costs $20,000 to build. In the U.S., $20,000 is easily spent on window finishings and throw pillows. (don't even get me started on the uselessness of throw pillows). This house was still very much underconstruction, as I had to climb over stacks of bricks, mounds of sand and coils of wire to get to the bathroom. And when I finally arrived to the bath room , I was typically greeted by a centrally located pile of dog shit left by the family's friendly pooch. Unhygenically, these were typically left for over 24 hours, and soon after they were cleaned, the dog would renew the bathroom's subscription to his poo.

Also, the house had exceptionally low doorways. On exactly 4 occasions, I crushed my head on one of these "homestead quirks" and Two of these collisions occured within 3 minutes of each other, which made me feel especially stupid while crippled on the floor clutching my head. Happily, I only drew blood once.

The Class: My professor said I spoke spanish "Muy Bien" (Which means Very Good, or possibly; Very Bean). After our first lesson, she asked if I wanted to help teach her english class. Since this extra class would keep me away from the host-family home and thusly lower my odds of brain damage and stepping in dog shit, I agreed.

Little did I know that by "help", she actually meant "you teach the class by yourself (eventhough you have never taught before and don't really know what a pro-noun means) while I go do other stuff". It was great. I love teaching english to beginners, as you have control of what they know. (This is probably Exhibit A of why I should not be aloud to teach).

Important phrases I taught: "You need to wash yourself", "Give me your wallet", Ditto (to be said after someone speaks in english to you and you don't understand), "sun's out, guns out", etc.

My worst student was named Axel.

(On a side note: I would like to apologize to every teacher I have ever had that I laughed at when they got chalk on their hands, clothes, faces, pants, etc. At the end of my first class, my jacket looked like the baseboard of a fingerprint crime scene investigation).

La Pazshank Redemption

2006-07-20T17:10:00.000-04:00

La Paz, Bolivia: Under Things to Do & See:

San Pedro Prison- The 1500 prisoners here engage in various activities to get money to survive. English speaking inmates make money by conducting escorted tours of the prison- like a zoo, but with people. To contact your guide, walk confidently through the main gate and tell one of the prisoners in the courtyard that you are looking for Willie, James or Thomas. Don't fuss with the police or guards, but deal directly with the prisoners instead. Bring another $20 USD in small bills if you want to buy any of the toys or other handicrafts made my the prisoners. There are also a few good restaurants inside if the tour whets your appetite. Bring ID, but no valuables or cameras. (2002, South America Lonely Planet)..

WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Are they kidding.

For investigative purposes, my friends and I went to the prison last sunday to take a tour. I was scared shitless walking up to the front gates, seeing hundreds of prisoners hanging around in the courtyard either yelling at passer-bys, looking shady or plotting their escape. Unfortunately, (and by unfortunately, i mean THANK GOD), we were turned away at the gate by some guards saying there were no tours that day. We were a little more persistent than the average hopeful tour taker, so we walked around the back of the prison to talk with one of the guards and asked if we could get in the back way.. He contemplated for a few seconds, rapidly accepted our $10 bolivianos and vanished into the prison, leaving us outside..

He came back out and said it would be more to get in, but we could talk to an inmate if we wanted. We agreed, and he went to fetch an english speaking Dutch prisoner named Sebastian, who had been there for 14 months on Drug Trafficking charges, and had 4 more months to go. It was utterly surreal to speak to a prisoner through a metal door with only a barred 5 inch by 5 inch slot to see his face. After asking a few questions, like how bad it is in there? How he got caught? how's the cuisine at the restaurants? etc, he asked us if we would contact the Holland Embassy for him, because he had no one helping him... We couldn't help but feel bad, and my friend gave him a pack of cigarettes.

We obviously didn't go to the embassy, and at the end of the day while we were enjoying a well administered food coma at a restaurant (a time when smokers typically enjoy a cigarette), my friend admits; "I really wish I didn't give him my cigarettes."

The Death Road: Fun for ALL ages!!

2006-07-19T19:31:00.000-04:00

Going with what Bolivia has to offer, I did the "Death Road" a few days ago in La Paz. For those unfamiliar, the Death Road was voted the most dangerous road in the world (by either JD Power & Associates or Teen People. Not sure), and to harness the danger, agencies offer bike tours traveling along this expanse of cliffy and mountainous road. The entire trip lasts 75 kilometers, starting at an elevation of 4,700 meters (about 15,000 feet) and ending at 1,200 meters (about 3,800 feet). To the layman, that is 11,200 feet of vertical drop in a few hours on a bike, mostly along roads tucked along a mountain ridge with cliffs/direct drop offs of up to 3,000 feet. (The day before I did it, a truck fell off the edge killing 4 people. I was safe on a bike. However, I realized about halfway through the bike ride that we actually had to drive back up the road that we were riding down. That was a sucky realization).

In my group, I figured I would be dueling for first place with a 31-year old Irish guy, however, when we hit the road, I found myself jockeying for 1st position with an older guy from Switzerland. We had some intense over takes, and whenever we would continue biking from a break, he would bolt off of the line like a Swiss version of Seabiscut. Truely impressive off the block. In the beginning, we were like arch enemies in heated competition, who couldn't even look at each other. By the end when we were exhausted however, we started giving each other props. (Sadly, due to his age and place of origin, he had no idea what props meant). You can imagine my sheepishness, when at the end of the road I asked him his age and he said: 73. ^[Picture below, the man was half-man, half-beast.. (you can tell by his sunglasses).]

He was 48 years older than me, and I was on the brink of talking shit to him. I need serious help. Regardless, Alberto, who was in fact 73 (i verified by checking his ID) and had 9 children, is in tremedous shape and is an avid skier, tennis player and all around bad ass. When I asked him if he liked soccer and golf, he indicated that soccer was for pussies and golf is something he'll take up when he's old..

I finally met my hero.

(Peter Pan, if you reading this, don't pay any attention to the last comment).

The Italian blocker of..

2006-07-18T17:26:00.000-04:00

When I was on the "Isla Del Sol" Boat tour, I saw a fellow puking off the side of the boat. This fellow happened to be my New Zealander buddy, Hakan, from the Salt Flats tour (See person in foreground in penis photograph from Salt Flats (6/25)). At the time, I was traveling with 2 Italian girls, and Hakan was a good addition to the group.

One of the Italian girls was the former personal shopper for David Beckham (See english soccer player that many females find attractive, and who can bend it like himself). Apparently, D. Beckham had asked about the girl (Raffaella) to see if she was single. If you don't know about David B., he had a highly publicized affair on his wife, Posh Spice, and so my first comment was: "THAT WAS YOU!!!! NO WAY!!! YOU'RE FAMOUS!!!" She quickly responded with: "No... I wish."

As you can imagine, Raffaella was attractive, but I had no chance, as I am me, and her traveling friend had decided that I was the object of her affection, and she earmarked me as "hers" pretty quickly, thusly negating any possibility of me and David Beckham's mistress making out. Sadly, her friend's earmarking, wasn't met with an equal and opposite marked ear by me.

Ps. Mom: you would be happy to know that the girl thinks you "grew me very well". Soon after that very nice compliment, I introduced her to the verb: To Raise.

The magical bus. (and by magical, I mean stupid)

2006-07-17T20:14:00.000-04:00

I have many things to write about regarding the weekend in La Paz, Bolivia, the highest city in the world (altitude-wise and tourist-robbery wise). But first, I have to go on a rant..

I hate Bolivian buses. After doing my research to find the safest bus line, I settled on Tours Copacabana to go from La Paz to Potosi, Bolivia, a town with the deepest and most dangerous mines in the world. I was excited to go underground and see the miserable working conditions the miners endure. Instead however, our bus broke down at 3AM and we didn't get a replacement bus until 11AM. If you're counting, that equates to 8 hours of freezing your ass off because you are not Bolivian and you don't know to bring a 4 inch thick wool blanket with you because the buses don't have heat and break down regularly. (Although, I have to admit, I did have a polyester spaulding jacket several milimeters thick).

To add insult to injury, I took a 1/4 of an ambien sleeping pill hoping I could fall asleep and put it all behind me. But alas (and once again), the ambien wreaked havoc on my stomach, as I was wavering between puking and turtle pooping my brains out. What was particularly annoying (while waiting for the other bus) was that the current bus had no bathroom and the driver locked the cabin door so no one could get out. This extra security was decisively counterproductive to my stomach situation.

On top of that, there was a fat 4-year old wearing ear muffs and snow pants in the seat behind me, kicking the back of my seat and the metal heater (none functional of course) most of the night. And when he wasn't doing that, he was either farting boisterously or staring at my bag of food hoping I didn't want to eat my Sour Cream and Onion Pringles.

We finally got a new bus and I made it to Potosi, but it was too late for the Mine tour, so I forged on to my final destination, Sucre, Bolivia. I would rather have 5 of the previously mentioned bus rides than the one from Potosi to Sucre. I was flanked on my port (left) side by a Bolivian woman who really knows how to fill a bus seat (or two) and her two young children sitting on her lap and crying at pretty consistent intervals. To the stern (behind me) was two 5-year old girls, who literally did not stop shouting the entire 3 hour trip. My seat was reclined, so their vocal instruments were approximately 10 inches away from my ear. When ever they saw a street vendor they would shout out "MANDARIN!!! QUIERO MANDARIN". They would typically shout this for the next 5-10 kilometers. The drivers, hearing this banter turned on the radio, and wouldn't you know it, they were playing the same bolivian tape that I had to listen to about 15 times on my Salt Flat Tour, and the same tape that made me want to pluck out my eye balls.

In the end, I put in my ear plugs and started eating my Pringles, which are rather crunchy when you plug your ears.

Chill with Me: Ear Muffs, Argentine Vendors laughing at my 'Benjamins', Olga, Shats, People giving me horn, Stray Dogs.

On Notice: Bolivian Buses, The two girls on the bus behind me, Hangovers, Not outsourcing my travel planning, Dish rags, dogs.

Dead to Me: Mandarin Oranges, The Secretary of the Treasury, Mamushka Chocolate Store, salami.

Her name was LOLA, she was a (3rd world) showgirl...

2006-07-16T17:55:00.000-04:00

Copacabana is a Bolivian tourist town on Lake Titicaca. It is much cooler than Puno, Peru, and I went there to embark on the famed Isla Del Sol (Island of the Sun) tour. The tour cost $3 USD and the boat that took us to the Island could not have cost much more than that. Fortunately, had the boat capsized, 50% of the people on board would have had their own life preserver.

The tour included 4 hours of boating, a three hour walk and guided tour that explained why the lake was named Titicaca. Contrary to popular belief, it does NOT mean "boob poop", but rather "Cat Rock" because the Isla Del Sol has a large rock that several indigenous fellows thought looked like a puma when they were in the midst of a 3-day alcohol binge hundreds of years ago. I stared at the rock for 30 minutes and the only animal I could come up with was a retarded turtle. (I obviously support the renaming of the lake to "turtle shit".)

Overall, the trip was good and on the boat ride home I met an incredibly nice and slightly overweight middle-aged woman from Forth Worth, Texas. I was surprised when she said I reminded her of a Texas Billionaire adventurist (John Appleton) who recently died during a skydiving accident. I guess it was a compliment. I was increasingly surprised when she mentioned that she had 1,500 skydives under her belt. Not bad for a 7th grade teacher from Texas who doesn't have the typical skydiving build.

My hotel in Copacabana was of note. The shower was one of those electrical showers that heat up the water as it passes. Thusly, to have any warmth, you have to turn the faucet way down to the point that the water pressure is commensurate with someone taking a pee on you. (And not a "Guy pee" the morning after a night of heavy beer drinking, but rather a dehydrated 10-year old peeing when his/her parents force them to go to the bathroom before a long care ride). Furthermore, the showerhead was pretty low and electrocuted me whenever I touched it. This was not very conducive to washing my hair with my hands.

The hotel also locked me out the first night, so I had to scale a 12 foot outer fence, and then pick the lock on another door to get in. When I was about 75% up the first fence, I found it interesting that a girl walking down the street thought I was in the talking mood, and moreso, if I had any cocaine to sell her. Regaining my balance and realizing we were looking for boosts of a different kind, I said "No", and finished my ascent.

They left a FLOATER!!!

2006-07-12T18:51:00.000-04:00

Christy and I are no longer traveling together as she went back to Buenos Aires and I took a flight to Lake Titicaca on the Peru/Bolivia border. Thusly, I forged on to unchartered territories.

My first stop was Puno, Peru, which is a large town on the western side of Lake Titicaca. The claim to fame of Puno are the Floating Islands a few kilometers off the town shore that are made of reeds (2-5 meters thick), and have houses, schools and mini shops on the islands. These Islands are located in water depths in excess of 20 meters, and were reportedly erected because of outside invasion (probably Spanish or Google) which forced the locals to flee and set up shop on a few layers of squishy reeds. Sad story really.

However.. Having traveled to different parts of the lake, I have developed a new theory to the existence of the Floating Islands.. The people of Puno realized they were situated on the dirtiest, boggiest, (essentially shittiest) part of the lake, and in desperate need of tourist revenue, decided to park a few islands made of straw, with some likewise straw huts, and place a few people out there everyday pretending that they live on the islands. This is the only thing that makes sense. Because they're located in the middle of nowhere, they're practically living their life on a sinking ship, it is freezing cold and fires are seemingly counterproductive.

Nonetheless, seeing the islands and the reed boats used to bar hop from island to island was remarkable. I can't wait to get my disposable camera developed in 6-8 months time, as is consistent with my film development history.

The Lima Report

2006-07-11T16:20:00.000-04:00

My friend, Christy, had her passport stolen in Cuzco and thusly, she had to take an immediate trip to Lima to the U.S. Embassy. I didn't have to go, but since my grandparents used to live there and it is a major South American City, I figured I would tag along. Plus, I had to see for myself how dangerous it was. (And if necessary, some ass kicking would have to be penciled in).

As it turned out, Lima was great. I don't know why. The landscape of the city looks like Hartford, Connecticut*, there is a constant cloud cover that hasn't lifted since March, half of the cab drivers are looking to pick you up and drive you to a far off place, rob you, steal your clothes and then make you sing Rod Stewart's "I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was younger" while sitting indian style on glass. Ok, Lima may not be great, but I think the timing of the visit was exactly what I needed after 4 days of camping.

The first night in Lima, we were on a strip of the City that could have been lifted, shipped and placed on any length of Route 1 in the U.S. and nobody would have blinked an eye. Our hotel the first night was strategically placed adjacent to a Pizza Hut, 3 KFC's, Burger King, McDonalds, two Shopping malls, 6 casinos, Hush Puppies and Payless shoe stores, and two movie theaters.

The second night, we stayed in the touristy part of the city, which was located on the cliffs overlooking the ocean and had a boardwalk/retail/restaurant area that could only be designed by Tommy Hilfiger, Donald Trump or some other entirely American person/brand/tool. I was happy though, as I got to watch the World Cup consolation game in Hooters, directly before watching "The Lake House" at the Movie theater, all the while contemplating whether I was up for a game of bowling or the Casino afterward. I chose the casino. I would love to see how badly the American Critics ripped up "The Shit House" (A movie with Keenu and Bullock, and another bus somewhat prominently involved).

*This is not a good thing

It's good to have friends with digital cameras.

2006-07-10T19:24:00.000-04:00

Stu finishing up a 3,000 foot rock climb. He is exhausted. This can be evidenced by the fact that his tongue is out.

Tired yet impressed with the surroundings.

Sadly, Wendy wasn't wearing her orange pants at Machu Picchu.

Who else is going to bring you.. A bottle of rum.. there they go.. (lyrics by Rod Stuart)

2006-07-08T13:48:00.000-04:00

My depression has started to subside having realized that Christy took a lot of the same pictures as me. Although, I still want to beat the living crap out of the dude (or possibly dudette) who stole my camera. Buying a $300-$400 camera right now will cripple my budget for the remainder of the my trip. Especially since I wanted to spend $500 for the next 36 days.

Ok, that's enough whining about the camera.

About the Inca Trail: An option on the Inca Trail is to hire a porter (a Peruvian male between 18 and 65) to carry your things the entire length of the trail. There were exactly 16 porters for our group of 12 people. This isn't exactly roughing it, and I had mixed feelings about the practice, as it seems very caste system-esque. (I used a porter for one day and he only carried my sleeping bag and jar of peanut butter). The porters are superhuman. They carry over 60 lbs of supplies (food, tents, propane tanks, cooking utensils, sleeping bags, Wendy at times, etc and sprint up massive mountains with only sandels on their feet. Over the course of the 4-day trek the typical porter reportedly earns around $30 USD. I can assure you two things; 1) they deserve much more than that, and 2) their calves are bigger than 50 of my biceps. These men are some of the most physically fit specimens I have ever seen, and when I was huffing and puffing up the trail with my 35-40 lb. pack, these fellows would bounce by me smiling with their 60 lbs worth of items wrapped up in a tarp and strapped to their back. Simply amazing. I was particularly pleased with the porter who toted the beer.

The porters can often be seen munching on "coca leaves", which is the plant derivative of cocaine and helps with altitude sickness. Coca is completely safe to chew, and can be purchased just about anywhere. Many of us were curious about the cocaine making process and asked our guide if he knew how it was made. After giving an meticulous 12 point presentation on the process, he added, "Or that is what I hear.." Regardless, I tried chewing on the leaves, and I can give you first hand evidence that it tastes terrible and makes you hike slower. In case you think that I am becoming a drug addict, please know that I haven't slept over 5 hours in the last two weeks and I still refuse to take a sleeping pill for fear of becoming addicted.

Since Machu Picchu, I have been in Lima, Peru, which is unofficially billed as one of the least safe places for tourists to go. We got picked up at the Airport by a taxi service with bullet proof windows. It's ok though, since I am on the brink of sporting a fully functional mullet, I am starting to blend in.

I don't know what people were talking about. So far, I have loved Lima.. It reminds of the Jersey Shore*.

*I have never been to the Jersey Shore.

ps. On the last day of the hike, I tried to be a porter for a day and loaded my pack with extra crap, full water bottles, and big rock for a while. In the end, I think I had about 42 lbs in my pack. I also think I had a heart attack. The porters earned my respect many times over.

Officially overtly depressed.. kind of, definitely, yes.

2006-07-06T23:18:00.000-04:00

It took 4 months and 18 days for one of the low life scum thieves to get their hands on my personal property and run away with my belongings. Yesterday, I had my camera stolen while I was sitting in an Internet cafe sending off a fax. It was securely tucked away in my jacket pocket.. Or so I thought.

It is a hopeless feeling. Especially after you just spent 4 days hiking the Inca Trail and Machu Picchu ruins, taking 100 pictures along the way.. 100 pictures that had yet to be backed up on CD or uploaded to my snapfish account. So, essentially, I have no pictorial evidence that I actually hiked the Inca Trail. At least I have Wendy as my alibi.

In all honesty, This is one of the most annoying things that has happened to me in my 25 years, which is a decent reminder that I have led a pretty charmed life. In the meantime, I look forward to getting intimately reacquainted with all 35mm of the disposable Kodak cameras.

Looking for Peter Pan's Wendy

2006-07-05T15:01:00.000-04:00

Hope everyone is recovering from their respective 4th of July parties.

I am recovering from hiking many kilometers along the Inca trail to the Machu Picchu ruins. I remember being weary of my group at the onset of the trip, thinking it was full of duds, feminist vegetarians, and old people who would slow us down.. Happily, I can now admit that I judged a Peruvian book by its cover, and I was completely wrong. Our group was an assemblance of some of the most inadvertently entertaining characters I would hope to meet. (partially because the feminist vegetarians were switched to a different group, and mostly because we were allowed to drink on the hike).

The cast of characters were highlighted by a 19-year old Canadian whose voice was a duplicate of Napoleon Dynamite and was constantly eating, a 55-year old Dutch fellow who was gearing up for the gay Olympics in Montreal and had a discernible crush on said 19-year old Canadian boy, and WENDY, the 60 year old Australian woman with the mouth of a sailor.

At first glance, you would think Wendy was a sweet grandmother ready to flash a picture of her grandchild and gush over that child's rosy cheeks and breastfeeding capabilities. However, upon further review, there was much more to Wendy than initially detected.

First, I must give Wendy props for completing the 4-day Inka Trail trail, as it is a rigorous 32-mile hike (up hill and down hill) at elevations upward of 14,000 feet. Secondly, I must thank Wendy for being a sport and urging us to drink at any given moment.

Wendy had a sense of fashion that manifested itself in her donning an orange fleece, orange pants and an orange baseball hat with a perfectly horizontal brim at all moments of the trip. I wore a orange shirt for most of the trip, which smelled like hell at the end of the hike. Ironically, Wendy's tent mate relayed the same sentiments about Wendy's personal space.

It wasn't until the second day that Wendy's true colors (a blend of orange and... orange) started to show. That day, we finished a tough hike that saw us climb 3,600 feet in elevation to Dead Woman's Pass (basically a pass with a big mound at the top that looks like a boob of a woman lying down.. I have no idea why she has to be dead) and then descend another 2,000 feet to camp. When we made it to our campsite, we sat down for a well prepared meal and enjoyed some afternoon tea. After the meal, Everyone had left the lunch table except for me, two others and Wendy, who was sitting at the end of the table by herself. I felt compelled to check in on Wendy, so I asked her how she was feeling. After a short pause and a muscle cringing turn in our general direction, she answered "I'm COMPLETELY Fucked", followed by; "I can't move".

Luckily for us, she managed to move, and the next day she was back on the trail declaring that she could NOT WAIT for happy hour, and that someone should really get the dead woman (on the mountain) a blanket as her nipples appeared to be erect. She was the soundbite machine.. When pressed about her family life, she said she had two sons, adding "my 2nd son is an asshole, and if he was my first born child, I would have never have had a second... I tell this to his face. Often."

Other than dropping f-bombs and s-words like a second grader who just learned to swear, Wendy's specialty was afternoon cocktails. On the last night, we all enjoyed some local beers, wines and spirits, and while most of drank about 3 or 4 bottles of beer, Wendy opted for 3 or 4 bottles of wine. Soon after, she was performing the Tango in the middle of a room that has probably never been Tangoed or danced in. When she came back to her wine (and the table) after shaking it on the non-dance floor, she leaned over to me and my friend, and whispered with a laugh; "you know the worst thing about it.. My pants are on backwards." And sure enough, the back pockets of her orange pants were front pockets. Later that night, she and the 55-year old man training for the Montreal Olympics, were both kicked out of the bar.

The next day, she was chipper and unaffected by the previous nights escapades. When we were saying our goodbyes, we realized we would both be in Bolivia in the weeks ahead, and I suggested we should meet up and get crazy (alcohol wise) like the previous night. In the most convincing response I have ever heard, she replied "Crazy?? (laugh) Last night was nothing." I have never been more certain that a person was telling the truth. I can't wait for Bolivia Smivia.

I don't often write about people I travel with. Not today my friends.

2006-06-30T14:17:00.000-04:00

I am currently traveling with a friend from Boston, and we are hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu starting tomorrow. Christy has asked me why she hasn't received a shout out on the blog yet. I am hopeful this posting satisfies that criteria.

Aside from being very cool, Christy is among 3% of the population with something called the Simian Crease. The Simian Crease is defined as "a single line (crease) that runs across the palm of the hand. People normally have three creases in their palms". (Works Cited: A Website). I had never heard of it, and when I asked Christy to explain further, she noted that it is typical in people with down syndrome or with people who are genius'.

This provided for further discussion, as I was trying to determine which end of the spectrum Christy fell on... Judging by the fact she went to Princeton, (pre-med, engineering and econ) and is choosing between Business, Med or Finishing School (or possibly all three at once), I have to conclude that the findings are inconclusive.. Just kidding, she is a genius. This can be evidenced by the fact that she thinks the you can't smoke in the shower because you'll get electrocuted. (actually, that was another person I knew in High School, I have just never had the forum to share that person's views.) Honestly, Christy has said some stupid things, but none come to mind right now. I'll obviously keep you posted..

ps. I will be out of internet range until July 4th, at which point I will shall pretend to be Scandanavian so not to draw attention to my big bad American self.

Happy 4th of July Everyone!

pps. just met with our hiking group. We are between 10-40 years younger than everyone in our group. If you do the math, that means there is a 65 year old Australian woman named Wendy in our group who probably won't be leading the pack. We also have another outwardly vegetarian woman who asked if there would be bathrooms at regular intrevals along the trail. Our tour guide said "yes, Bushes you idiot".

ppps. This post was written under the expressed written consent of Christy, INC.

What could be more fun than 13,000 used car salesmen in one room?

2006-06-30T09:18:00.000-04:00

Thus far, Cuzco is one of my favorite places I have visited along my travels. I am too lazy to explain why, but just be confident it involves a picturesque mountain city, old Incan architecture and a television station that broadcasts RED SOX games.. YES, that is correct.. For the first time in 2006, I saw a Boston Red Sox game, and besides not knowing who the hell half of the players are, I was like a Hurley (fat kid from "Lost") stuck in a cake when watching it. SO HAPPY. They beat the Mets, Ortiz hit a homerun, Papelbon saved the game and I felt as though I was watching the game from the 66th floor of the Prudential Building while watching it on the 9 inch mostly color TV in the hotel room.

In other news, Cuzco is filled with street merchants who are merciless when it comes to making a sale. They will not quit until you start running away from them yelling NO GRACIAS. "Buy my voodoo doll that sits on your index finger and has two eyes, no nose and a piece of yarn representing its mouth!!", "have this sweater with a donkey on it", "enjoy my wool socks that are too big to serve any practical use", "want to smoke drugs", etc. they plead.

For the first few days, I was stalwart in my no purchase stance, however yesterday I cracked when my friend, Christy, and I were in the outskirts of the city and we saw a friendly, yet desperate street vendor huddled in a corner with some gloves, hats, sweaters and wool dolls. I decided to try on a hat. The lady flattered me by saying it looked really "fantastico". I didn't want to buy it, but she kept pushing more and more hats in my face to try on. At this point, it would have been more of a hastle to walk away than pay the $1.67 for the hat, so I bought it and went on my way feeling weak and defeated by the merchant.

On this note, in hopes of avoiding the future street vendors' harrassement, I intend on buying one of everything (Stockings, Sweaters, Wool Pants, Hat, Gloves, wooden shoes, a voodoo doll for every finger, a water bottle holder, wierd jewelry, postcards (taping them too my chest), etc) and wear it at all times so they know that I am not a potential buyer of their low grade product.. Who's the sucker now??

On this note's note, the hat that I was roped into buying was decidedly girly. So Mom, or sis, I hope you like your future homecoming gift.. It was VERY expensive.

The many colors of Cuzco, Peru

2006-06-29T12:07:00.000-04:00

From the comfort of the Arniboldi's home in Santiago, I ventured northward for 4 hours on a plane, and 17 hours on a bus to get to Cuzco, Peru, the access point to Machu Picchu. In the last 4 nights I have slept a cumulative 16 hours, partially because the high altitude (10,000 feet) and mostly because sleep is for the weak.. I am just kidding, I would slay a new born llama right now for a restful 8-hour night of sleep.

The good news is that I finally finished my poorly planned 3-week bus tour of Argentina, Bolivia, Chile and Peru, which saw my ass perched in bus seats for 130 hours, (not including 3 days crammed in the backseat of a Toyota Land Cruiser), 6 nights sleeping on buses, 4 hours on a plane (Yea, I buckled and bought a flight instead of a 28 hour bus ride. I don't feel bad about this.) And other than the stray night of puking violently on a bus and some stern border patrolmen thinking I was Pablo Escobar, I made it with flying colors.

Speaking of which, Cuzco is a beatiful ancient Incan City up in the Andes Mountains. One peculiar item of note in Cuzco, is that almost every building and flag pole flies a rainbow colored flag, not un-identical to the Gay Pride flags seen in the U.S. After some investigative questioning, I found out that it is just the Cuzco flag, and has nothing to do with the City's sexual preference.

What do you say when you've misplaced your "Lost" DVD?

2006-06-27T17:25:00.000-04:00

I have stayed in one place for more than 2 days, which is mountainous considering my last month of backtracking and getting a sore ass on buses. (The camera obviously didn't help).

I was in Santiago, Chile for the last 4 days and have enjoyed the perks of living as an Arniboldi. (For those of you unfamiliar, the Arniboldi's are the sugar daddy family of sorts I stay with in Santiago. They are amazing, and if I ever amount to anything, they will receive a large dedication. For instance, when I win Wimbleton in 2008 or 2009, I will owe it all to the Arniboldi's, pilates and a daily regiment of ginseng. )

News from the Arniboldi household: Pedro (the hilarious 15-year old son, who is possibly more mature than me) was recently ranked #3 in his entire grade. When pressed for his opinions on #1 and #2, he summed it up with "stupid assholes". (Later that day, I taught he and his buddy the meaning of Mo Fo).

The other big news was that Lucho, the father and least proficient English speaker in the family, received two massive boxes for his birthday containing the "Learn English Now!" language programs (Volumes 1 and 2) involving CD-ROMS, videos, CD's, Books, an English speaking Indian to be placed in the cupboard, etc. When I came home to the house that day, he was less than pleased with me, adding "This fault is all yours". Apparently on a previous visit while having lunch with Lucho's mother and the rest of the family, she noticed Lucho's English was not up to snuff compared to everyone else. So her big birthday present to Lucho was this very expensive language program and nothing else. He says that I owe him a big birthday present because I caused all of this. In due time, I shall make up for my blunder. In the meantime, it is entertaining to see him strolling around the house with "1 O'clock, 2 O'clock, 3 O'clock Rock" stuck in his head. I of course jump in to provide baritone support.

General Recommendation: If you have an addictive personality, I advise not purchasing seasons 1 and 2 of the TV show "Lost" and putting it in a DVD player connected to a television. Day's of your life with be lost. (see how I did that) BOOYA!

Wonder if Tiger Beat needs a new lead photographer

2006-06-25T09:55:00.000-04:00

I didn't get a digita camera until January 2006. Does that make me slow?

2006-06-25T09:17:00.000-04:00

Rock Tree formed by centuries of earth, wind and fire (and rain) albums.

The lake is 2 miles away. Lucas (pictured) is 20 minutes away from going on strike.

Normally I am pretty flame retardent, but I spilled gas all over myself.

One gringo surrounded by Kiwi's (New Zealanders). Don't let our new age hand gestures suggest that we are comfortable.

30-second recap of days 2 and 3 in salty 4x4

2006-06-22T22:06:00.000-04:00

Day 2 on 4x4 tour: After the 2nd worst night sleep ever (the first being the night I slept on a stair case in college), we hopped back into the 4x4 and Lucas pressed play on his audio cassette for the 11 time in less than 24 hours. I hate Bolivian music, especially when it is played in repetition like me commenting on my biceps.

We went to semi-famous "rock tree" rock sculpture, then went to the middle of the desert, where 5 of the passengers were enchanted by the mirage effect, and tried walking to a 'nearby' frozen lake that was actually 2.5 miles away. I waited in and around the car pleading with Lucas to go pick them up. He had none of it.. Sink holes was his number one counterpoint. Touche. Went to Lunch at some random dirt town and I played an 11-year old Bolivian girl (who was an attendant at a convenient store) named Maribel at tic tac toe on the side of our dusty Toyota. And by played, I mean, kicked her ass. I won two out of three, and we tied the third. I rule. We stayed at a nice hostel with real mattresses, hot water, interior space about 40 degrees (f) and a hidden area to store llama parts.

Day 3: Woke up for sunrise at 6:15AM. The sun rising is a surprisingly slow process. After freezing our asses off, it finally came up at 7:09AM. The third and final day of the trip took us through the Salt Flats, which is a 27KM by 15KM expanse of dried salt (the biggest in the world), where the main purpose of visiting is to take pictures making use of the zero horizon/zero perspective such as having one person squatting close to the camera with their pants down like they are taking a dump, and another person really far away imitating the turd portion of the process. While we didn't do that one, we tried some other ones which made me feel mildly creative for thinking of. The penis one being my Mona Lisa.

The island of Cacti (Cactus') was next, followed by Lucas blowing up at one of the girls in the 4x4 because she asked too many questions. I agreed with his assessment. To round out the trip, We saw a hotel made of salt, a dead armadillo carcass and Lucas' face light up upon receiving a $5 tip. (this was half of what he made for the entire 3 day tour). ps. tour companies in South America are thieves. So are the thieves in Bolivia.

Fun with Shadows (I use the term "fun" loosely)

2006-06-22T21:43:00.000-04:00

Bolivia is the number 2 importer of red food coloring. (Behind only Luxembourg)

Have I mentioned that I apolize for posting such small pictures.

I met the BFG along my travels. He was training for a decathalon and smelled gamey.

Tragic smelting accident.

Bolivia is the second largest exporter of Sumo Wrestlers in the world. (behind only Luxembourg)

Driver with death wishes, high altitudes, LLAMAS HEADS ARE FALLING OFF!!

2006-06-21T19:14:00.000-04:00

As I may have mentioned, I went on a 3-day tour through the Bolivian Desert and Salt Flats last week. It was rather exceptional and the following is what I like to call.. words and pictures about the trip.

Day 1: We showed up to the Bolivian border crossing, which consisted of 2 mud huts and an abandoned multi-colored bus.

BOLIVIAN BORDER PATROL

After spending less than three minutes with the rigorous Bolivian border patrolmen, we proceeded down to a frozen lake and a crooked sign indicating that Bolivian belongs to the Bolivians and boarded the 4x4.

THERE'S A NEW MAYOR IN TOWN

It was precisely this time that I had my first negative run in with our driver, Lucas. I say negative, because Lucas, a Bolivian with one functioning eye, had strapped all of our luggage to the roof (under a tarp) when I realized he included my day pack with the roof luggage. This all transpired when I was in the bathroom (which had toilet bowls filled will solid toilet bowl shaped ice), so after initially thinking my bag had been stolen, I kindly asked if I could get my day pack. This was anything but pleasing to Lucas. It took him 3 minutes to unstrap the tarp, 5 seconds to get my bag, and another 7 minutes to re-secure the tarp. As I would surmise later, Lucas spent those 10 minutes and 5 seconds plotting my death.

RIGHT BEFORE LUCAS HATES ME (I see him eyeing my orange day bag)

Because I am tall and mostly lanky (I say 'mostly' because my biceps could cause the entire sorority sister population to faint upon viewing... (those periods were me taking a moment to kiss each bicep)), the group decided that I got to ride shotgun for the first day. We had seven people and our driver, Lucas (who never took his sunglasses off ever). The cast of characters included 2 Americans, 2 New Zealanders, an Israeli Couple and one Frenchman. Off we went, and as we hit the open/bumpy/dirt road, our cycloptic driver popped in a cassette tape of traditional bolivian music. (I could feel the culture absorption). After checking out some old lava rocks, and performing the finishing touches on a rock pyramid that I slaved away on, we arrived at a hotspring pool next to a frozen lake, threw on our bathing suits and lounged for an hour. The whole time, Lucas sat in the 4x4, probably pondering the best method of disposing 7 bodies. .

I ACED INDUSTRIAL ARTS (And by slaved away on, I mean, that one rock was exceptionally heavy)

TRI DELTS.. DON'T BE SHY (there are no less than 8 girls passed out to the left of the picture. Unfortunately, my camera doesn't have the wideangle feature)

After drying off in 2 minutes due to the intense sun and dryness, we got back in the 4x4 a drove to some 424 degree (f) gysers. Sadly, the air temperature around the gysers was about 400 degrees less than the bubbly water temperature. In my state of frigidity, I had serious thoughts of jumping in, but then I realized I was wearing no jewelry (other than my all hemp outfit), and thusly, i would have no evidence that i actually existed if I jumped in.

The day was rounded out with a 1 hour walk around a red lake at an altitude of 4,278 meters (I was nearly certain that I would keel over and die from altitudal exphixiation), and then we tried sleeping in 0 degree weather (in the same altitude) with beds that can only be described as two inches of llama fur wrapped in cardboard wine boxes perched upon three metal bars.

ps. right outside our dormitory style room for 8-people was a llama head, recently (and seemingly tragically for him/her) separated from its body.

Just to put it in perspective.

2006-06-19T14:35:00.000-04:00

Locate Bolivia.. I was at the lake in Bolivia last friday. By next monday, I will have gone from there to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Then Buenos Aires to Santiago, Chile (to go skiing), and then from Santiago to Machu Picchu, Peru. Wouldn't it have been a little easier to go from the lake in Bolivia directly to Machu Picchu?? Perhaps, but that just seems lazy..

(Mind you, South America hasn't had a cunning leader such as Mr. Eisenhower implement a worthwhile highway infrastructure between all of these points. Most especially in Peru and Bolivia).

2-day long bus trip from Bolivia to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Flat tires, people peeing/pooping themselves and vomiting are prominently involved.

2006-06-19T12:39:00.000-04:00

Uyuni, Bolivia: Friday, June 16th
4:50AM: Wake up to catch 5:30 Bus
5:20AM: See bus pulling out, so I chase after it and bang on the door. Driver shakes his head at me, indicating that it wasn't my bus and I should stop banging on his door immediately.
5:30AM: My "bus" is a 8-person Toyota Land Cruiser.
5:32AM: I find that I have been assigned "asiento dos" (seat 2) which means I am sitting shotgun. This is pleasing to me. Especially since the other people in the back are sitting on benches facing each other.
5:35AM: I open the door to sit down in asiento 2, only to hear "Uno Mas Amigo" (One more Friend). One more what?? I think..
5:36AM: Stocky Bolivian with mild case of halitosis jumps in front of me and plops down in my seat. We are sharing the front seat.. He brought a blanket, it was 10 degrees (f) out. He is my immediate friend.
5:40AM: We leave pavement and hit the washboard dirt road (this is a common theme until Argentina). I see stocky Bolivian do the cross on his chest.. why? I wonder (answer: Bolivian buses are simply not safe).
5:45AM: I am freezing cold and squished up against the freezing cold door. There are 14 people in the Toyota, and the driver has the window down with his head out due to the unseethroughable windshield.
6:15AM: One hour away from sun rise, we get a flat tire. I provide my headlamp to help fix the tire. It comes back with head lice.
The Next Hour: I go from freezing to just really cold. (the heat in the 4x4 hasn't worked since the mid-80's)
7:00AM: We catch up to another 4x4 that won't let us pass. We try anyway.
7:15AM: Large sack of potatoes (or walnuts) fall from the roof of the other 4x4 (we'll call the other 4x4 Bob). Since we are nice, we stop and pick it up. Since I was sitting up front, it was put on my lap. The potatoes (or walnuts) are cold like a dead baby penguin.
7:15-8:15AM: Honking, we try catching up to Bob to get his attention and give him his nuts back. Bob thinks we're trying to pass, so he twarts our attempts by swerving into us. Bob sucks.
8:15AM: the replacement tire blows. We stop at a random mining town where we give Bob (who had stopped) his sack of nuts back. We have a 2 hour wait for a new car to arrive (because they have no more spare tires). I go to a restaurant and watch the 1st half of the Argentina vs. Serbia Montenegro soccer game. It is 3-0 at half time. I am down o-2 versus the travel gods.

10:30AM: New 4x4 arrives and we load into the Toyota. I once again have shotgun "to myself".
Until we start moving and someone (not the stocky Bolivian from before) pounds on the passenger side door and hops in pushing me to the non-existent middle seat with no cushioning, a 90 degree back rest and the clutch in my crotch.
10:30AM-12:30PM: Misery. My face is 3 inches away from the rear view mirror.
12:35PM: I ask the guy sitting shotgun with me; "podemos cambiar asientos a la uno??" (Can we change seats at 1pm).
12:35PM: "No" responds Bolivian, shaking his finger.
12:36-1:00PM: I stare at him cursing him under my breath. ps. my comfort level is at an all time low.

1:00PM: Stop for lunch at a mostly abandoned village where some ladies are cooking nearly dead animals on their grills in front of their mud houses. I eat chicken. It tastes dead.
1:35PM: Get back on road. The guy sitting shot gun with me tries to make amends by saying that there are only 30 minutes left and that I should take a picture of the rock formation up ahead. The rock formation was cool, so i took my camera out and snapped a picture. The remainder of the Toyota constituency starts laughing at me for taking a picture. bastards. My ass kills from sitting on the wood plank for 3 hours.
2:00PM: Arrive in TUPIZA, BOLIVIA and wait for 2:30PM bus to VILLAZON, BOLIVIA on the Argentine/Bolivia border. I am assigned no seat, which means I am standing for the 2 hour bus ride..

2:57PM: My water bottle is on the floor, and I see a water-like substance collecting on the floor beneath my water bottle. I think someone has spilled their drink so I continue handling my water bottle like normal. I find out later it was pee from an 8 year old boy.
3:15PM: The 8-year old boy's 2-year old brother (who stared at me for a better part of 2 hours) shits his diaper. The mom changed him on seat. It smell like certifiable baby doodie. (He was probably staring at me when dumping in him pants).
3:15-4:30PM: I neither pee nor poop my pants.
4:45PM: Get to the Villazon and walk across the border to Argentina. It was a surprisingly easy border crossing. I wonder why... Also, I see pavement for the first time in approximately 12 hours).

5:00PM: I FINALLY FIND AN ATM, pay back the people I am traveling with, eat stale bread and check email while waiting for the 7PM bus, which gets me into SALTA, ARG at 2AM.. supposedly.

8PM: After falling asleep relatively quickly, I wake up to find the bus stopped and surrounded by Argentine National Guardsmen. We all get off, collect our luggage and get searched. This takes 2 hours. No drugs were found.
10PM: Get back on bus, we continue on and I pass out.
12AM: Wake up to Argentine National Guardsman (now on the bus) checking everyones' passport and questioning suspicious passengers.
12:15AM: I give my passport to the officer, and he forcefully asks me what I am doing, where I am coming from and where I am going. I tell him I am writing for a travel website (matadortravel.com), I am coming from Bolivia, and I am going to Buenos Aires (40 hours of bus rides) for 2 days. Then I am going to Santiago, Chile (20 hours of bus rides) for 3 days, and then I am going to Machu Picchu, Peru (40 hours of bus rides). The officer, knowing that Uyuni, Bolivia was only 10 hours of bus rides away from Machu Picchu, gave me the most skeptical look I have ever seen, and probably thought that he had located the drug smuggling culprit. He called his officer buddy over and told him my travel route. A laugh was heard. (It's not like I DIDN'T know my travel route was unreasonable, but I was already committed). After a few more minutes of questioning (in spanish), they got tired of my miserable grammar and vocab and gave up, allowing me to go back to sleep.

1-4AM: In and out of sleep. Get to Salta at 4AM and check into a hostel. I am put in a room with 7 others. The hostel worker opens the door to the room and turns on the light, opening up a chorus of "what are you doing", "turn the light off", "fuck you" from the seven inhabitants, who now know me as "that guy who came in at 4AM and turned on all the lights, and who sucks".

6AM: There is a professional snorer below me on the bunk bed. Finally fall asleep.

11AM: Wake up and prepare for my 20 hour bus ride to Buenos Aires.

2PM: Get on bus. I have a seat that turns into a bed. It is more comfortable than my bed at home. Me and my two Norwegian buddies on the bus are giddy like 13 year old girls accidentally running into a boyband member at a regional mall.

6pm: "White Chicks" is the chosen movie for the 4th bus ride in the last 1.5 months for me. In case you can't tell from the title, the film is a magnificant atrocity, which gets worse with each viewing.
9PM-3AM: Sleep. Helped by a sleeping pill given to me by a friend.
3AM: Wake up feeling terrible.
3AM-7AM: Awake
7AM: Start Puking. Possibly from the sleeping pill.
8AM: Arrive to Buenos Aires, Sunday, June 18th. Puke aggressively for about 5 minutes near the taxi stand. Once I am done, I start walking towards one of the taxis. Having seen my projectile display, the driver speeds off. I eventually catch a cab to my friends apartment, where I spent the rest of the day on the couch. I moved approximately 22 feet all day. I feel much better today.

Moral of the story: The trip from Bolivia to BA is like taking the D.C. Metro system, just without the comfort, speed and general ease. ps. I get on a 20 hour bus tomorrow.

A tour that starts at 4AM and doesn't promise you a personal meeting with Santa Clause is definitely bogus.

2006-06-19T12:20:00.000-04:00

I believe I mentioned taking a Geyser tour in a desert town in Chile. I further believe that I concluded that it was a tour not worth taking. I should have known from the brochure that this was a Junior Varsity operation, that failed basic proof reading.

Bolivia Smivia

2006-06-15T21:01:00.000-04:00

I neglected to write that I was going on a 3-day 4x4 tour through the Bolivian Desert and Salt Flats. While I was neglecting to inform my blog of my trip, I also neglected to properly prepare for being in Bolivia. It is officially third world, and I officially have no way of getting money because they don't have ATMs. This presents a minor problem. Right now, I am borrowing money from a friend and tomorrow after a 9 hour bus ride, I plan on going to every store/hotel/travel agency to see if they will forward me money via my credit card. Thus far, I am 0-5 in that department.

Also, since last Tuesday (June 6), I have taken 40 hours of bus rides, 20 hours of sitting in a Toyota Land Cruiser and 8 minutes in a gondola. This might also be a good time to expound on the fact that tomorrow's 9 hour bus ride is a prelude to a 3 hour bus ride, which shall preface a 7 hour bus ride, which will be piggybacked by a 22 hour bus ride, hopefully landing me in Buenos Aires sometime on Sunday. I refer back to my "geographical" prowess in trip planning.

I look forward to writing about the salt flat trip, zero horizon, anarctic conditions, our driver with one eye, what llama meat tastes like (burning), etc. but for now, I am about to run out of money at the Bolivian internet place that has anything but a speedy connection.

Soccer, Bus, Bus, bad swimming experience, Soccer.

2006-06-12T18:44:00.000-04:00

After I posted the picture of my visible distraction with a watermelon rhine, I had to jet to the nearest television to watch Argentina's opening World Cup Match against Ivory Coast. When I walked out of the internet cafe at 3:58 for a 4:00pm game, the city of Salta (and the rest of Argentina) failed to exist. At least outdoors. There was not a soul in the streets. I had never seen anything like it, so i went to the nearest (open) corner store, bought a liter of beer for $1 and found myself a seat in the back of the room at a local emporium equipped with a big screen and a less than clear feed. The 2 hour game went Argentina's way, and the 3 hours of celebrating in the street seemed to go Argentina's way too. It was round 1, game 1. Imagine Argentina is the state of Georgia, Soccer is NASCAR, and then multiply that by 12,000.

Since then, I hopped a bus back across the border to Chile where we crossed the Andes and 13,000 foot mountains. The buses climb the mountains on roads that zig zag endlessly up and down. This was my first experience with the high altitudes and just as we were entering the uphill "Z" formation of the road, I procured an altitude induced bloody nose. I grabbed some tissues, and made my way to the bathroom in the back, where I proceeded to be knocked around like a ragdoll for about 22 "Z's". At least my nose stopped bleeding. (My forehead found the door to be more forgiving than the window).

After the 12 hour daytime bus ride, My friend, Liz, and I made it to San Pedro De Atacama, and soon found out that none of the hostels have heat and the Desert is mindnumbingly cold at night. To combat the coldness, we made the illadvised decision to book a 4AM tour that took us to geisers and assured us that the sunrise would epic. At 4AM, it was 14 degrees (f), and I only had clothing meant for Autumn in the Berkshires. This, combined with the fact that it started with a 2.5 hour bus ride, I didn't locate the reclining lever on my seat until we pulled into the geiser parking lot, we were driving in the bus when the sun rose, and I went swimming in luke warm geiser pool in 30 degree weather, all adds up to a tour not worth taking.

In other news, the U.S. soccer team looked pretty pathetic today.. But it still pissed me off when the commentator shared those same sentiments over and over and over. Where does he get off making hurtfully accurate remarks like that.

F-ing seeded watermelons!! I explicitly asked for seedless!! ps. vanilla yoghurt is divine.

2006-06-10T13:44:00.000-04:00

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L.A. stands for Love Actually

2006-06-09T16:48:00.000-04:00

Argentines are some of the most loving people you will ever meet. Besides than the fact that couples are making out everywhere you look (mostly because everyone lives with their parents until marriage and have no place else to get some lovin'), you can see the caring nature of these people in the most unassuming places, like at the bus station.

It is rather touching to see 3-4 family members per passenger crowd around a departing bus, hugging and kissing their loved one goodbye. Or when the bus is pulling out and half of the passengers are standing plastered against the windows waving their arms wildly, as their non-passenger family members do the same from the bus platform. On my overnight bus last night, we stopped at a bus station at 3AM to pick up more passengers, and sure enough, there was a crowd of people hugging and smiling like an Argentine had just won American Idol, sending off the 15 people getting on the bus.

I comment on this because I found it really nice while peering out my window preparing to endure a 13 hour bus ride in anything but a comfortable bus seat. When was the last time we saw someone off at the bus stop, airport or teacup ride at a carnival..

I should add that the 15 people who got on the bus at 3AM were all 15-year old girls, who felt that conversation was more necessary than sleep between the hours of 3AM and 9AM.

They were probably just giddy from the hugs they received.

I am what you call "Geographically Retarded"

2006-06-07T20:34:00.000-04:00

After some deep soul searching, I am officially at peace with the ridiculous Argentine vendors who won't sell me chocolate when I want to pay with a $100 peso bill. They are unofficially chill with me. I now have a beef with the Treasury/the printing press man. These a$$clowns are officially dead to me.

I left the massive amounts of falling water and the spring break scene in Iguazu Falls, and went back to Buenos Aires last weekend. The crew went out Friday night, and all of us woke up Saturday with unyielding conviction to never go out again.

Since then, I hopped an overnight bus to Cordoba, the second largest city in Argentina, to meet up with a friend I met a few weeks back. Liz and I went out last night, and I woke up today with unyielding conviction to never go out again.

The bus ride from Buenos Aires to Cordoba marked the beginning of the most assinine trip (geographically) that has probably ever been put together. In the next 2-3 weeks, I will probably log over 200 hours of bus time, 5,100 miles and re-cross my tracks at least twice. My travel agent is an idiot.

Please picture a map of the United States of America: Once you have located Atlanta, GA, imagine I take a bus to Kansas, and then continue northward to Nebraska, followed by a festive transfer via 4 x 4 to Chicago (to see a lot of salt). Then south to St. Louis and finally back to Atlanta (to get my computer and see friends from the states). Whereby, I will then take a bus from Atlanta to New Mexico (to get a my sleeping bag and get beat in Tennis by my Chilean mom), and continue northward via bus to Wyoming. Then I will cross the Wyoming/Montana Border patrol and drive 10 hours to Cuzco, Peru.

I bet none of you thought Machu Picchu was in Montana.

Chill with Me: Argentine Vendors laughing at my 'Benjamins', Olga, Shats, People giving me horn, Stray Dogs.

On Notice: Hangovers, Not outsourcing my travel planning, Dish rags, dogs.

Dead to Me: The Secretary of the Treasury, Mamushka Chocolate Store, salami.

Boiling point has been reached. Difficult to believe I haven't written about this yet..

2006-06-05T16:31:00.000-04:00

In South American Countries (certainly in Argentina), they circulate monetary bills that are useless. This disutility is not because the denomination is economically useless, or due to a military coup and Marshall Law breaking loose. Rather, the bills are TOO LARGE. The argentines inability to break a bill of high denomination is the most frustrating thing since my last Fruit Mentos pack that gave me all pinks, when I clearly favor yellows.

In the states, we've all gone to a local store with a $50 or a $100 bill and the attendent will begrudgingly accept it. Afterall, it would be negligent business practice to not accept money from customers.. Right? Verdad?? Am I missing something???

I just went to three stores trying to break my $100 peso bill, which is approximately equivalent to a $33 USD bill. (A denomination that should be surfacing in the States by mid-2007. In honor of Rolling Rocks 100-year anniversary of course). At the first store, I announced my intentions to purchase water, crackers and candy bar with a $100 bill, as this was all I had. My proposition was met with an abrupt "no esta bien" (not ok) and she coldly turned her back on me like I was trying to sell her used gum or something*.

At the second place, I didn't announce the contents of my wallet, hoping I could make a sneak attack and force him in to a $5 USD sale with a $33 USD bill. No dice. He twarted my advance with a brisk "no amigo". (No friend). He then turned to his amigo and laughed at this amigo trying to pay with a $100 bill that is readily prevalent in the Argentine economy, but never accepted because no one has ever put the crazy idea in motion to actually accept pesos and turn a mild profit. I left the items on the counter and stormed out.

The third attempt took place at a Disco Supermarket (basically the Stop and Shop/Shaws of Argentina). If anyplace could break my blacksheep of a bill, this place could. I collected a few more items to make it look like the $100 peso bill would be more equitably distributed.

I seemingly ruined the day of the cashier upon I presenting the hundo bill, and she even pleaded with me to give her a $20. I said no, standing my ground, and after she asked if I had the 40 cents to round the purchase, she yelled "CAMBIO" (change) to no one in particular. She then motioned for me to step to the side to allow other customers to pay with their cuter and smaller bills. After observing the finalized purchases of 2-3 fellow shoppers, a lady came over with change for exactly one $100 peso, and I finally received my change of $87. It took me three stores, 25 minutes and several curse words to finally obtain 2.25 liters of water, a massive Sahne Nuss and Mentos.

ps. Not to harp on the subject... But f-ing 10 out of 12 were pink. 1 orange, 1 yellow. No esta bien.

*There was a good 4-5 year time period in grade school, when the ABC gum offering joke rarely failed to kill in the humor arena) Right? Verdad?? Am I missing something???.

SO much water.

2006-06-04T17:45:00.000-04:00

Moments after this picture was taken I was NOT all smiles, as Harrison Ford leaped to his demise while shooting a scene for "Fugitive 2: The Very Prosthetic Leg"

Few words can describe the magnitude of the Iguazu Waterfalls. (Or my bicep).

2006-06-04T17:25:00.000-04:00

Therefore, I will not try to use awkwardly strung together sentences or obscure movie references to summarize the awesome scenery at Iguazu. Rather, I will just post some pictures.

I love 99.9% of Canadians

2006-06-01T19:48:00.000-04:00

I am staying at the ultimate spring break hostel in Puerto Iguazu, Argentina. (And for the record, I went to Cancun, Mexico and believe that is where you go when you die and don't go to heaven). The Hostel-Inn hostel has a huge pool, a tiki bar, a volleyball court, a soccer field, many indoor games (ping pong, pool, foos ball, chess, probably dungeons and dragons, etc) and four computers offering free internet service. This free internet comes under the stipulation that you shall not exceed 20 minutes of world wide web action if people are waiting.

I normally don't mind if people extend their world wide webage to the 25-30 minute mark, but anything beyond that point is just plain rude.

Rudeness is something that clearly failed to register with 2 girls utilizing the 2 central terminals a few nights ago. These two girls had used well over 1.5 hours of the net* (*internet) while there was a healthy line of 6 people waiting behind them. I finally made it to the left flank computer and sat next to one of the squatters. After about 10 minutes, I casually leaned over and inquired if the girl (lets not call her Joy) has seen the posting that read "20 MINUTE TIME LIMIT IF PEOPLE ARE WAITING."

You would have thought that I slaughtered her first newborn with the scathing look she gave me. Canadians are typically friendly. She missed that boat.

I closed the junk mail window of my hotmail account (which pleasantly reminded me that men can easily sextuple the size of their male member in just days) and removed myself from the tension and visibly miserable Canuck, hoping to never cross paths with her again.

The next day, I went to see the falls. (Which, I shall write about at length later, because they are the definition of neato). As luck would have it, I boarded a boat to go to a small island and seated next to me was 'Not Joy', the Canadian princess of misery. Trying to put the past behind me, I offered a superficial conversation starter of "Hey there, how did you get to the falls today?" (And yes, I know I need to take a class to learn to ask more profound questions).

'Anti-Joy' abruptly answered in irritated breath with "I was in the same van as you. I sat right behind you." I spent the rest of the boat ride staring straight ahead hoping a crocidile would snatch her from the boat.