Since many of you are avid New York Times readers (being part of the liberal elite), you have probably now read that I have completed my move to the City that Never Sleeps. For the record, the city DOES sleep, just standing up. Similar to giraffes, in about six, five minute intervals a day.
Anyways, after traveling through the computer-less Guatemala City airport, touching down briefly in Boston, and taking the Fung Wah southbound (see: "Riding the Dog," 7.24.06), I have finally entered the next phase of my life I like to call, "Unsucessfully Navigating Educational Bureaucracy." Apparently, my current status is Student Sans Privileges. I can get into all the buildings, I just can't do anything once I'm there. Various hurdles still include: Proving I am germ-free, unleashing my new-found borrowed wealth, 'posting my tuition' (an unknown step, which when asked, was described to me as "when my tuition posts to my account. Next!"), setting up all the utilities in my apartment, and reconfiguring my Freedom Levels to correspond to our new threat level status. So, pretty much, I've got everything completely under control.
I actually can't believe that I live in New York now. Unlike just about every other person in the world, I have never dreamed of living in the Big Apple, thought it was mostly laquered in urine on the weekends, and never had illusions of bunking with the Old Woman who lived in a shoebox. Nonetheless, I'm here and have to deal. That said, it's still NYC, so I should just shut the hell up and appreciate it. Moving on...
Regarding air travel, please be aware of our new airport regulations, in place for your safety. To preface this list for a moment, I have never complained when asked to take off my smelly shoes, am asked to empty the entire contents of my carefully-packed bag, am subjected to 'wanding' by overzealous airport screening agents, or have to show my ID 4 times in the same line. I don't want to blow up (but if this happens, I am confident in the efficacy of my seat cushion, which conveniently turns into a flotation device in the event of a mid-air explosion), but these new regulations certainly put a damper on the pleasures of recirculated air and vacuum-flush toilets.
1) No Liquids -- or anything that may or may not have once been a liquid. This includes water (the steward-prescribed two tablespoons are enough for anyone, thank you), lotion, Frosty the Snowman, your flask of "medicine," liquified natural gas (to power your laptop), and toothpaste, in addition to anything 'icky.'
2) No Talking -- Anyone seen talking during a flight relinquishes their right to a fair and speedy trial, as it is likely they are speaking in code about when they are going to mix their aloe vera and Crest in the bathroom for maximum carnage. If you do so, the stewards will have forms on hand to forward your mail to Guantamano Bay (see: X-Ray, non-medical).
3) NO CELL PHONES!! -- Despite the fact that a billion dollar piece of machinery can fly five miles high at speeds in excess of 500 mph through a lightening storm, your crappy little phone that doesn't even search the web properly can bring that puppy down like a cheetah on a wildebeast. Be reasonable people, it's just common sense.
4) No machetes -- We know the Large Sword and Knife Ban has been in effect for quite some time, I just wanted to mention it again for those traveling with small children or supervisors.
5) Call Buttons -- You are no longer able to 'ding!' the stewards. While not technically a National Security measure, it is now considered sexual harrassment, and has been discontinued (see: ashtrays, full of gum). For those passengers who still want to ask pressing questions of the flight crew such as, "Is there a patio?," or "Why do I have a flotation device on my cross-country flight?," the answers are 1) only for 1st class passengers, and 2) airlines only crash into the Great Salt Lake, and on weekends, Lake Tahoe.
For more on World War III, Joe Lieberman's candidacy in the Bull-Moose Party, and advanced breathing techniques for Sudoku, I'm sorry, I've got nothing for you.
August 11, 2006
August 3, 2006
Holy Melting 700 Club, Batman!!
Heat wave makes Pat Robertson a global warming 'convert'
VIRGINIA BEACH, VA -- The Reverend Pat Robertson says he
hasn't been a believer in global warming in the past, but this
summer's record-breaking heat is -- quote -- "making a convert
out of me."
On his "700 Club" broadcast, Robertson said, "It is getting hotter,
and the icecaps are melting and there is a buildup of carbon
dioxide in the air."
Switching sides on an issue that divides evangelical Christians,
Robertson said, "We really need to address the burning of
fossil fuels."
The religious broadcaster told viewers, "If we are contributing
to the destruction of this planet, we need to do something about it."
Copyright 2006 Associated Press.
-------------------------------------------
¨But, he added, ¨hurricanes, which look like baby fetuses, are still
caused by the Homosexual Abortion Agenda. Just wanted to
make that clear...¨
August 1, 2006
Me llamo Pam Wooall
Well, I arrived in Guatemala City to a sign outside the airport waiting for me. So it read, ¨Pam Wooall,¨close enough for this gringo. I got on. And so began my introduction to the joys of diesel fumes, the importance of a 13-year old Spanish education, and the pros and cons of ignoring what I thought to be the rules of the road.
Pass on the wrong side of the road just before a blind curve? Sure! When you discover that this maneuver just granted you a one way ticket to a head on collision, just force the adjacent car into the breakdown lane! Follow these simple suggestions, and you too will get the joys of driving in Guatemala in the comfort of your own language, with all the pleasures of outrageous insurance premiums.
That said, Sasha has arranged an outstanding itinerary for us during my relatively short week here in the Land of the Altitudinally Challenged. Within 24 hours of arriving to her still infirm self in Panajachel (Spanish for Venice Beach Boardwalk), we were checking into our room perched cliffside on Lake Atitlan. After chastising her for her poor choice of dual-volcano views, accessible only by (chicken) boat, we managed to find time in our busy afternoon to relax. The next day, after leaving the requisite amount of clothing absentmindedly behind at the hotel (I had already donated my ATM card to the fine people of Panajachel the day before), we boarded a 'chicken bus' for Quetzaltenango, where she is studying Spanish (adonde Sasha esta estudiando espanol). We even managed to rent a cardboard box of live chickens for the trip to solidify the nickname. I tell you, Sasha doesn't miss a trick...
Let me digress for a moment on the fact that while this blog (remember - boring, laughable, obnoxious griping) does not center on the great liberal nation of East Bushistan, this country I'm in sure could go for some freedomizing. But, as always, I digress...
Today we went to an indigenous villiage high in the mountains, which sustained considerable damage during last year's Hurricane Stan. You know, that hurricane we waited for with bated breath, hoping that it did not hit the Gulf Coast? Well, it hit Guatemala instead. Remember all those CNN reports on the devastation it caused? No, of course not. Anderson Cooper had problems with his Visa (he is on the Too-White-to-Travel Watch List).
Anyways, the Mayan village of Xeabaj (shay-a-bah) was buried under numerous landslides, with the people escaping to the schoolhouse only hours before. USAID is on the scene, along with what appears to be Habitat for Humanity (seemingly populated solely by folks south of the Maxon-Dixon line -- Jimmy Carter's got some Yankee-recruitin' to do...). We had the distinct privilege of planting trees on what I can only acertain to be land that was too steep even for the Mayans to undertake such a dangerous task. Fortunately, we did not lose anyone to the death-defying brambles. As previous emails from Sasha will attest, it is located on simply breathtaking land, which I plan to develop 100 - 120 luxury condos once I get out of business school. The return on indigenous investment is just too good to pass up.
What? I'm an inconsiderate, gringo bastard, you say? Perhaps, but a 3-bedroom penthouse that I could sell you at a discounted 'friend-price' might change your mind... In any case, back to multi-colored, Mayan dispair. The kids in this village are just too cute, and the women incredibly skeptical that we are going to steal them for their organs. I feces you not. It just goes to show, one widely-populated email chain can just ruin it for the rest of us. Overall, I'm really glad Sasha took me there. We went with her school, which for all I can tell, is filled with people who are one degree of separation from all of you. They either teach in Berkeley High, live in JP, or are within spitting distance of our new place in Brooklyn. It's frickin' eerie... To sum up, you haven't lived until you've seen an indigenous person on a cell phone.
If this is becoming too long to read, chalk it up to the one book you read this summer. You know me, I freedom ramble.
Anyways, next on the list is Antigua, the land of photographed doors (I don't know why, but it seems as though that's all anyone does there), followed by the mystical, fantastically un-buried Mayan city of Tikal (where they all used to go on holiday prior to the Great Mayan Peekaboo).
I intend to sacrifice a goat for the Sox. Old meets new, while simultaneously pushing the boundaries of common decency. What could be more 21st century? Then back to taking pictures of doors, before I board my last rump-numbing, Boston drivers'-got-nothin-on-these-guys van ride back to Guatemala airport.
I'll keep an eye out for the 'Rim Toodle' sign. How else will I know it's for me...?
Pass on the wrong side of the road just before a blind curve? Sure! When you discover that this maneuver just granted you a one way ticket to a head on collision, just force the adjacent car into the breakdown lane! Follow these simple suggestions, and you too will get the joys of driving in Guatemala in the comfort of your own language, with all the pleasures of outrageous insurance premiums.
That said, Sasha has arranged an outstanding itinerary for us during my relatively short week here in the Land of the Altitudinally Challenged. Within 24 hours of arriving to her still infirm self in Panajachel (Spanish for Venice Beach Boardwalk), we were checking into our room perched cliffside on Lake Atitlan. After chastising her for her poor choice of dual-volcano views, accessible only by (chicken) boat, we managed to find time in our busy afternoon to relax. The next day, after leaving the requisite amount of clothing absentmindedly behind at the hotel (I had already donated my ATM card to the fine people of Panajachel the day before), we boarded a 'chicken bus' for Quetzaltenango, where she is studying Spanish (adonde Sasha esta estudiando espanol). We even managed to rent a cardboard box of live chickens for the trip to solidify the nickname. I tell you, Sasha doesn't miss a trick...
Let me digress for a moment on the fact that while this blog (remember - boring, laughable, obnoxious griping) does not center on the great liberal nation of East Bushistan, this country I'm in sure could go for some freedomizing. But, as always, I digress...
Today we went to an indigenous villiage high in the mountains, which sustained considerable damage during last year's Hurricane Stan. You know, that hurricane we waited for with bated breath, hoping that it did not hit the Gulf Coast? Well, it hit Guatemala instead. Remember all those CNN reports on the devastation it caused? No, of course not. Anderson Cooper had problems with his Visa (he is on the Too-White-to-Travel Watch List).
Anyways, the Mayan village of Xeabaj (shay-a-bah) was buried under numerous landslides, with the people escaping to the schoolhouse only hours before. USAID is on the scene, along with what appears to be Habitat for Humanity (seemingly populated solely by folks south of the Maxon-Dixon line -- Jimmy Carter's got some Yankee-recruitin' to do...). We had the distinct privilege of planting trees on what I can only acertain to be land that was too steep even for the Mayans to undertake such a dangerous task. Fortunately, we did not lose anyone to the death-defying brambles. As previous emails from Sasha will attest, it is located on simply breathtaking land, which I plan to develop 100 - 120 luxury condos once I get out of business school. The return on indigenous investment is just too good to pass up.
What? I'm an inconsiderate, gringo bastard, you say? Perhaps, but a 3-bedroom penthouse that I could sell you at a discounted 'friend-price' might change your mind... In any case, back to multi-colored, Mayan dispair. The kids in this village are just too cute, and the women incredibly skeptical that we are going to steal them for their organs. I feces you not. It just goes to show, one widely-populated email chain can just ruin it for the rest of us. Overall, I'm really glad Sasha took me there. We went with her school, which for all I can tell, is filled with people who are one degree of separation from all of you. They either teach in Berkeley High, live in JP, or are within spitting distance of our new place in Brooklyn. It's frickin' eerie... To sum up, you haven't lived until you've seen an indigenous person on a cell phone.
If this is becoming too long to read, chalk it up to the one book you read this summer. You know me, I freedom ramble.
Anyways, next on the list is Antigua, the land of photographed doors (I don't know why, but it seems as though that's all anyone does there), followed by the mystical, fantastically un-buried Mayan city of Tikal (where they all used to go on holiday prior to the Great Mayan Peekaboo).
I intend to sacrifice a goat for the Sox. Old meets new, while simultaneously pushing the boundaries of common decency. What could be more 21st century? Then back to taking pictures of doors, before I board my last rump-numbing, Boston drivers'-got-nothin-on-these-guys van ride back to Guatemala airport.
I'll keep an eye out for the 'Rim Toodle' sign. How else will I know it's for me...?
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