We are completely wireless at Schrute Farm. As soon as I figure out where Mose hid the wires, we'll have the power back on.

Merry Christmas!!! Patrick made me a tree. We miss you all and wish we were home celebrating with you!



He also made a fireplace. Notice the stockings.




Get it?



Patrick enjoying his Airheads.

Poop is raining from the ceilings. Poop!

Trying not to bite it on the rocks.





At the beach where the river meets the sea. I feel like a dork labeling these pictures, but I figure you want to know what you're looking at, right?


Yes, that’s right, last week we went to Dumps River Falls where the feces is as abundant as the good times. White people at dancehall is rivaled only by chains of pale, lumpy, skimpily clad tourists attempting to billy goat their way to the top of a waterfall. Although mildly more tan and svelte, I was no less awkward than the hordes off the cruise ships. There was a lot of arm flailing and mad scrabbling for hand holds on the slippery scummy rocks. Patrick had to stand behind me to keep me from plummeting backwards into space. Once I had steadied myself enough to study my surroundings, I noticed that Patrick was making a show out of climbing without his hands. Rather than wading through the occasional pools like our fellow climbers, he would take a decidedly more precarious route around the deep water. When I called him out for showing off, he turned to me, bewildered, “I don’t want to get my wiener wet.” So we made our way upwards evading the masses by choosing the less traveled routes in order to avoid wiener contamination. I was less discriminating, the poo in the water seemed harmless in lieu of busting my butt. Patrick was graceful, but I did whatever I could to get the job done. Alan obliged us for awhile, but in the end, opted for the quickest path out of the water, meaning he had a front row seat to Patrick finally loosing his footing and plunging himself—wiener and all—into neck deep water. Since this occurred two feet from the stairs exiting the falls, Alan was not the only witness. After observing several small children bite it, Karen decided to take in the spectacle from the sidelines. Although she managed to have a Jamaican adventure of her own. In all seriousness, we enjoyed our trip to Dunns River. The falls are gorgeous and the climb was extremely entertaining (both to watch and ascend). Unfortunately, like many natural splendors, the falls suffer from tourism and pollution from upriver communities. Hence my infantile references to poop water, although I should make it clear that, while there is some fecal contamination, there are not turds floating by as you wade. Anyway, all water seems clean enough to me after spending summers in and out of Smithville lake.

Dwight: Smells pretty bad doesn't it? Ryan: Uh-huh. Dwight: It's called bullcrap.

Really? Intelligent design? Really!? All right, so you see some flaws with evolution, you have unanswered questions. Why would you make up another “science” that introduces even more unknowns? Science is meant to be challenged. That’s how we learn. We review, critique, tweak, and reproduce experiments. Question away, but suggest some way to find answers please. Seriously, if anyone can explain it to me, then go for it. I suppose what I’m really looking for is why some think that it is an appropriate topic to introduce in biology classrooms.

*A note from Patrick- Intelligent design makes a mockery of science. If anyone can please find me one peer reviewed article from a legitimate scientific journal that provides empirical evidence in support of Intelligent Design, then I will fall to bended knee, beg the Intelligent Designer’s forgiveness, and give up the pursuit of rational thought.

You told her she was the only ho for you. And that she was better than all the other hos in the world. And then... suddenly she's not your ho no mo.

Mizzou should have gotten the BCS bid over Kansas. I understand that a win over Oklahoma last Saturday would have guaranteed a national title shot and Mizzou was in control of their own destiny. However, so was Kansas a week ago and they lost and yet still find themselves playing in a BCS game. The fact that Mizzou has beaten 2 BCS bound teams (Kansas and Illinois), is ranked 6th in the BCS rankings, and has only lost to one team this season and is not invited shows what a crap system the BCS really is. I will not go into details about KU’s cream puff inflated number of wins nor the fact that Illinois got an invite despite 3 losses. I just hold the opinion that the top 10 teams in the nation should play in the top 5 bowl games. Is that just too logical? What the hell?? Also boos to Gary Pinkle for coming up with the most uncreative game plan I have ever seen; cheers to Bobby Stoops for handing Pinkle a coaching bitch-slap; Mangino has my vote for undisputed Big 12 coach of the year.

I am experiencing my first real bit of homesickness. My sister just had her baby, everyone is gearing up for the holidays, and our cable has just tossed ESPN in favor of the Deuce and completely blacked-out Food Network. I know some of you on-island blog readers are rolling your eyes at me complaining about cable and some of you at home did not think it possible a PC volunteer would have cable at all… Oh Jamaica, Jamaica my temptress! Jamaica, you Siren of the Caribbean, you lure me in with possibilities like internet and cable then dash my hope and excitement on the rocks of your shores. Saturday ABC had no sound during the Big12 Championship, so I hopped on the internet to listen to a radio broadcast of the game while I watched, but the internet radio sound delay just caused me to experience Mizzou’s pathetic performance twice--live before my eyes and with my ears ten seconds later. I am not sure I can handle the holiday season without seeing Paula Deen create Christmas ‘Savannah style y’all!’ All we have to look forward this holiday season is crime increasing exponentially. Lastly boos to my family for not posting any pictures of my nephew in which I can actually get a good look at the kid. What do you look like J. Patrick Huffman? Probably an ambiguously pink pile of newborn, but I want to see that blood relative bundle of baby looks like!

I didn’t mean for this blog to be such a downer. You know what would cheer me up? If next time I walked outside, the dumpster cats were performing The Nutcracker for my Christmas viewing pleasure. Who hasn’t ever thought to themselves, ‘I wish I could see a classic ballet put on by feral cats?’ It would also warm my heart to have some comments from home posted. And if that all falls through I can count on one of my kids at the orphanage wanting me to read to them… and when I have them go pick out a book they bring me a math textbook… and insist on me reading one long division problem after another. Of course I shouldn’t discount the unwavering companionship of the gorgeous girl I brought with me who just scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen. Man, she’s wonderful. And she did not get on the computer and add this last part herself. Nope.

three... two... one...
Patricio

Oh, you know that line on the top of the shrimp? That's feces.

Instead of providing a riveting narrative of Thanksgiving adventures, here is our Thanksgiving Photo Blog.

Ryan's famous catsh*t cookies and me enjoying one.




Here's my turkey progression. Despite having the worst oven on the planet I humbly feel that I dominated the 15 pounder.



Clearly the turkey looks a bit darker than I would have liked, but I can assure all of you that it was moist and not overdone.

Side Dishes: green bean casserole, baked mac & cheese, cornbread stuffing, Paula Deen biscuits, mashed potatoes, and gravy. Everything was made from scratch, even the fried onions that top the green bean casserole.






We had 9 people eating so we had to break out the ZooPals.



Alas I failed to find the necessary ingredients for pumpkin pie, so everyone had to settle for peach pie and chocolate cherry cobbler. There was an epic mishap while creating the weave for the top of the peach pie though it did not involve anyone getting intimate with it (American Pie reference for those more than 10 years behind in their pop culture knowledge).



ThanksGIVING is a time to give thanks and just for some good old fashion giving... like us giving the turkey scraps to Dumpster Cat (there are actually 20 or so dumpster cats). And if anyone wants a cat, Erin and I are perpetuating the rumor that we are gypsies and trying to get people to take our 'pets.'


Enjoying the eats.






The rest are of the gang hanging out watching the Tigers hand the Jayhawks their first loss (complete with pre-game Cuban cigars), relaxing by the pool and some sunsets.







Welcome to the world James Patrick Huffman! Congrats Jen and Jeremy on my new 8lb 6oz nephew born this evening!!!!

-Later gators, Patricio

One day Michael came in complaining about a speed bump on the highway. I wonder who he ran over then?

I miss my shoes. My lushy green Kate Spade loafers, the pink and brown chair upholstery flats, my hideous and ragged but sinfully comfy Uggs, my obnoxious 80s-pink 3-inch tweed stilettos that I can't walk in, my sage-y corduroy tennies. All beautiful. I miss you shoes, but this is not the place for you. Here you will be scarred by gravel, smeared with mud, and scuffed by tiny swinging Jamaican feet. I'd rather know that you are safe in my closet. Although I bet you spend more time touring NKC school libraries than chilling in the closet--which is fine as long as you don't see the inside of Maggie's mouth (oh how I mourn you, black ankle boots!). I might miss my shoes less if I could make cookies. Alas, I am lacking the ingredients, a car to get more ingredients, a store that sells missing ingredients, and the income to buy the ingredients that the store that I can't get to doesn't sell. You can take your pumpkin cheesecake and shove it, Paula Dean.

About forty times a year, Michael gets really sick but has no symptoms. Dwight is always gravely concerned.

I realize that I just posted a blog the other day but in light of recent events I felt the burning desire to post again. Bear Grylls, the guy from Discovery Channel’s ‘Man vs. Wild’, just whizzed on his head wrap to cool off. Just what I would want to cool off, piss all over my head. Mmmmm. Maybe the urination thing gave me the burning desire… not that there is any association between the two, at least personally speaking. However while I was in the hospital yesterday, I was asked (twice) if anything happened to burn while urinating. “Actually, yes miss I do happen to feel a slight burning sensation when I take a leak… it happens to be the same searing pain currently ripping through my skull, and while I thank you for you concern with my manly bits, if you could kindly focus on why I am violently cookie-tossing as a result of intense nociception in my cranium, I would greatly appreciate it.” This response was not necessarily conveyed at the ‘hospital’ as I was fighting the urge to vomit, clutching my excruciating brain and wallowing in my misery. I use the word ‘hospital’ very loosely; in fact to even call it a hospital is sketch as best especially if you consider a hospital to be an institution providing medical and surgical treatment and nursing care for sick and injured people. The idea that this place might actually perform surgical procedures frightens me. We had to wait for hours and hours on a routine blood test because the ‘hospital’ did not have de-ionized water in which to complete the CBC, a rather simple hematological test I could have done myself in my lab at Mizzou. I guess I should start at the beginning with the headache that began on Friday night and carried over to Saturday morning. I woke up and set out to make Erin peanut buttercup pancakes. My headache grew exponentially as I cooked and by the time we started to eat I was dizzy and could only manage to eat a pancake and a half. What a waste of a deliciously decadent breakfast. Anyway I ended up barfing the pancakes. I mention this not to gross you all out with colorful depictions of the day’s early events, but to rather suggest that if you are going to throw up you should consider eating peanut buttercup pancakes before you do so. Because I did I was blessed with a rather tasty vomit and would recommend it over all other vomit manifestations. The decision was made to go the ‘hospital’ because severe headaches accompanied with vomiting is an early sign of Dengue Fever, which coincidentally is currently outbreaking here on the island. We called our taxi driver, Junior, to take us the few short miles down the road to the ‘hospital.’ Junior is a middle-aged, heavyset Jamaican man with a voice reminiscent of the love-child of Bobcat Goldthwait of Police Academy fame and the guy that says, “hey, hey , hey it’s Faaaaat Albert.” He is a very delightful man that has helped on more than one occasion. Despite my current condition he barely slowed over speed bumps and took corners on two wheels all the while trying to feel my neck (I was in the back seat!) and give me his diagnosis of my condition. While watching Planet Earth on Discovery Channel, Erin and I decided we want a likkle polar bear. And she maintains that they cannot show us cute baby animals then show other animals trying to snack on said baby animals, as she continues to loudly cheer for the baby caribou... I say "Go arctic wolf!" Junior did mention more than once that as a man I could not handle illness anyway. So after the harrowing taxi ride we were promptly met by a doctor, who despite her lacking facilities seemed competent. I have heard a bit of lore regarding Jamaican medical facilities but considered many of the stories to be exaggerated but after having experienced them first hand I would not be surprised by anything. For instance they had a digital thermometer, the oral kind that use the disposal sleeve, but they did not have any disposable sleeves and just used the same one taking your temperature by sticking it in your armpit. Admittedly I was a bit out of it, but I did not see them clean the instrument before or after putting the apparatus in my armpit. Also the hypodermic needles used to inject pain medications and antibiotics into my butt cheek, three shots in all, felt about the size of a meat injector. Not that I was complaining, but the neat baseball-sized bruises on my butt are interesting battle wounds. I must give kudos to the phlebotomist as she was able to get my blood despite my veins retreating as a result of the frigid accommodations. Also Erin was a trooper through the whole thing, fighting hypothermia and frostbite in her fingers, reading her book like a champ and checking every now and again to make sure I was breathing. I feel better today though the headache rages on, but the drugs help significantly. Rest assured, no Dengue, meningitis, or VD (remember the burning??). The blood test indicated bacterial infection and the antibiotics should take care of that. Here’s hoping to a speedy recovery as Erin is tiring of playing nursemaid.

VD free is the way to be… and knowing is half the battle.
Patricio out!

And I had to spend the entire winter in shorts. That is what Ryan is like: A fake brother who steals your jeans.

Living on Eastern Standard Time is bizarre. Having the US just ‘fall back’ an hour while the time here remains constant leaves me feeling an hour early. To watch the nightly news (we get NYC news) I must wait until 11pm. I suppose this is a bit trivial, but it really affects my food network schedule. We miss Paula Dean and Giada most days. This is distressing as we both derive great pleasure from viewing Paula’s billion calorie concoctions and I generally enjoy watching Giada chop vegetables. The rain here is beginning to let up a bit, which is nice break from perpetual moistness. The rain has brought out the frogs. Remember when Erin blessed us with the knowledge that Jamaica has 17 species of frogs that have no tadpole stage? Well there have been thousands of tiny little frogs hopping about. These brown-speckled nickel-sized creatures bounce around your feet as you walk and remarkably get out of the way before you squish them. Today all the volunteers in the St. James Parish met with the PC regional security officer. I made a strong push to try to get Vespa scooters for volunteers as a safety measure, but the PC did not see the connection to safety that I did. Oh well. Work is going well as Erin and I are getting better at this whole teaching thing. I know this is a bit surprising as neither of us have much experience nor patience. Not that there are no setbacks. Last week one of our kids almost got expelled from school. When his principal ‘licked’ him he hit back and then went for a pair of scissors (with the intent to stab? I know not). After a meeting concerning the situation he is going to be allowed back at school. Recently I became the secretary of the VAC, which stands for volunteer advisory (or action or something else possibly) committee. This is pretty much student council for PC volunteers here on island. I assumed this responsibility after the newly elected secretary early terminated her service. I did not originally run and was not the least bit interested in the committee. I really wanted the ‘member-at-large’ position which is no more than a member who gets all perks and has no responsibilities what-so-ever (as is written in the VAC constitution). But I ended up with the secretary position and will take it fairly seriously as I think there are some things that the committee can really do to help volunteers. A big weekend in college football this weekend. I want everybody to know now that I am picking Ohio St. to lose (BCS mix up!), a close game and narrow victory for the Jayhawks at Okie St. (top 2 ranking?), and a 52-16 MU rout of Texas A&M at the ‘Zou. Erin is going to make chocolate chip scones for dessert tonight. Domestic Goddess???? Not quite yet, but… soon come!!!!

I’ll catch you on the flip side…
Patricio

The eyes are the groin of the face

I’m fairly sure less work is accomplished during rainy season than any other time during the year. At first I was appalled to learn that many citizens choose to skip scheduled meetings, school, work… due to a little rain. Then I realized how wet and muddy I get walking short distances in the rain, and how quickly my damp clothes and shoes develop a potent odor. Taxis are suddenly jam packed and scarce, and roads flood after 10 minutes of steady cloud excretion. The flooding is almost impressive in it’s speed and scale. Everyone back home should take a second to appreciate gutters and sewers. Really an integral, but often overlooked, component of our infrastructure. The rain (and demonic 4 and 5–year-olds) is what is keeping me from the 400 books that need to be dusted and labeled. The problem is that I am here, more or less dry, on my couch while the books are a soggy uphill walk to the mosquito and rock-throwing-child inhabited basement of a basic school. Otherwise I would currently be contentedly slapping stickers on paperbacks. In an attempt to make use of my morning, I swept and then got down on hands and knees to scrub the floor. After about 2 tiles, my effort became half-hearted and I resigned myself to just hitting the really dirty parts. Domestic goddess I still am not. I just noticed a pile of dirt under the coffee table. I have an admirer. He’s always at the stand I pass on my way to work in the afternoons. He began showing up two weeks ago when Patrick was absent. Every time I step through the hedge next to the stand, he opens his toothless maw and shouts jubilantly, “Teacha!” He usually follows this up by telling me he is back again today (a fact which I can see for myself, thanks) or mumbling something about “baby.” I’m not sure if he is calling me “baby” or if he wants me to have a baby. Either option is likely, and unwelcome. This sudden attention has made me consider running for Miss West Best Fish and Bammy. I think I have a real shot. What a sweet title, right? Who wants to be Miss America if you can instead wear the crown of Miss West Best Fish and Bammy? Not me. Taxi rides always mean a chance to catch up with the fresh new hits on Jamaican radio. Someone hit gold—maybe platinum—with the bag juice song. We were on a bus to Matt’s house when we heard it. Bag juice is sugar water that comes in small plastic bags. It costs J$10 and is the sole cause of diabetes on the island. The dancehall ode praising this adored potable is reminiscent of the peanut butter jelly song. Except that this is no novelty ditty. Oh no, it is serious musical poetry that shares airtime with Sean Kingston and the molestation song. I know it is an actual radio-worthy song because they interrupt it with sirens, air horns, and the Irie jingle. That’s how we roll here in Jamaica.

I did not become a Lackawanna County volunteer sheriff’s deputy to make friends. And by the way, I haven’t.

Usually our blogging consists of interesting anecdotes or maybe a humorous poem written about one’s bathroom. However, this one is more serious. Not that this is a huge deal… but I would like to share with all of our subscribers that Thursday night I, Patricio, was mugged.

Okay, the story…

I traveled to visit our friend Ryan in May Pen. He is working in his community on a football (soccer) field and community center. This weekend was supposed to kickoff the retaining wall for the field. So naturally he called Peace Corps Jamaica’s resident concrete expert. I went down to see what I could do to help out. Ryan is getting ready to move into a new place, so when I arrived in May Pen, I met Ryan and accompanied him to meet with Ann the Wonderful, our PC Safety and Security officer, who was in town to inspect Ryan’s new abode. After viewing Ryan’s new digs, we went with Ann to visit Tiff-Tiff at her site. By the time we returned to Ryan's, it was around 8:00. As Ann pulled away, Ryan and I realized we were locked out of his house. Having nowhere else to go and feeling some hunger pains we traveled back into town to get some grub. After a quick bite, we caught a taxi back to his street and were dropped off at the bottom of his hill. When I say the bottom of the hill, I mean we were less than ¼ mile from his house. About halfway up the hill a man with a bandana wrapped around his face jumped out of the bushes and demanded our phones and wallets. Ryan emphatically told the man we had no money or phones, but I had just received a text message and was holding my phone in my hand… with all the buttons and screen lit up. I couldn’t really say I didn’t have a phone so I threw the phone to the other side of the street. I forgot to add that he had his shirt over his hand and it looked as if he was holding a gun. This proved to be a pretty scary moment as it would not be that far of a stretch to think a mugger in May Pen would hold you up with a gun. Well the man picked up my phone and demanded what was in our pockets. When he went down to pick up my phone his ‘gun’ looked a bit suspect. When I took two bills out of my pocket I wadded them up separately and threw them down hoping he would try to pick both up at the same time. My thinking was if both hands were occupied Ryan or I or both would have a chance to tackle the man or punt his face. Anyway, he carefully picked up the cash and at that point we saw that he had just been using the handle of a knife to pose as his gun. Which was immaterial as in hindsight, we did not need to get into a knife fight over less than $40 US. Our mugger took off back into the bushes and we tried to call the police on Ryan’s phone. When the police did not answer we walked back down the street to catch a taxi to the police station. When we arrived at the corner we saw our assailant. I yelled at him, threw a rock, and decided to give chase. We lost him around a corner but were able to flag down a police jeep. The body armor clad police complete with their assault rifles took us around the area in search of our mugger. No luck. We spent the next couple hours filling out a report at the police station. Ann turned around and came back to meet us at the station and took us home and made sure we went inside.

So that’s the play-by-play. At this point, there are just a lot of coulda, woulda, shouldas going through my head. I am a bit disappointed that I got held up, especially considering that we gave up two years of our lives to help better his country. WTF? I realize that there are dirtbags everywhere but getting robbed definitely makes it hard to let ones guard down again, which happens to be pretty necessary to get along here. I am super glad that Erin was not there. I would be significantly more upset if she had been subjected to that situation. Sorry Ryan, but I am glad it was you that was held up with me. It is hard enough to come into a new country, new culture, and adjust/acclimate/assimilate without a mugging experience in the back of your mind. It is especially bad right now because I happen to be quite sick. I feel better though being back at our own place and after eating some of Erin’s double-dipped French toast.

i want you to know that it takes more patience than i am endowed with to post pictures

Here are some pictures of views from our new place. Both are of our view of the ocean. One was taken from our porch and the other was just 50 feet from our door.




These pictures are of Patricio jumping off of the cliffs in Negril. Everyone coming to visit us should be required to jump off these beautiful rock formations.

It kind of had a funky smell. At Christmas, the tree helped.

It is true, our new digs came with a funky smell. Although the smell may be from us. There is an odor emanating from our mountain of dirty clothes. Dirty. As in we spend all day sweating profusely and then leave clothes in big, mildewy piles for weeks. I have yet to master the domestic arts of Jamaica. Which is why the clothes sit in heaps. I spent hours doing laundry by hand yesterday. It made my hands bleed and the clothes are still stinky and the pile is still immense. Sigh. We just finished a fabulous dinner. We made our own tortillas, and guacamole. I know. The stove shocks you if you are barefoot. Actually I am having a difficult time concentrating. The Girls Next Door is on. It’s Kendra’s 21st birthday, her boob popped out and she was too drunk to notice. I would like a pimp cup. Our shower here is quite chilly, and this, unfortunately, makes Patrick reluctant to use it. It also doesn’t drain well and the tap is about shoulder height, which makes acrobatics necessary. BUT, there are no cockroaches crawling out of the drain. Nothing makes your skin crawl like plagues of roaches when you’re naked. Our porch kicks ass. You can see and hear the ocean from it. Besides the porch, and the lack of cranky women asking us when we’re getting out of their houses, my favorite thing here is the artwork. Behind the couch, there is giant parrot. It has a lilac plumage. My least favorite part is the MU poster on the wall. Are you going to let this nonsense stand, Dad? I thought not. Speaking of father figures, Alan and Meg visited last week. I don’t consider Meg a father figure. I do like the word inane. Sometimes I act that way. These pictures are of Alan and Patrick launching themselves off of the cliffs in Negril. How cool are elephants? One just crunched Jeff Corwin’s arm with his trunk. Awesome. The kids at our village were convinced that Meg was Patrick’s mom. I’m fairly sure that all white people look similar to them and that our ages are indeterminate. Every time I am with another white person people ask if we siblings. I’m not really sure what the logic behind that is. Luckily, we enjoyed mostly sunny days for the duration of the week. We put those days to good use, making our guests move all of our stuff from our former abode to our new haven. What a vacation. Our Jamaican friends came for a housewarming this last weekend. Matt made a delicious cheesecake that was for Tiff, but which we all partook of. In spite of our anomalously hectic lifestyle, things are going along swimmingly at the children’s village. We have a loyal contingent of diligent homework doers. Both of us feel extremely lucky to be placed where we are. I can’t stress how wonderful the staff is, and the children are pretty much all we talk about. As I wrap up, I would like to once again express our gratitude to family and friends for acting as our pipeline to the States. Alan, it was wonderful seeing you and we can’t thank you enough for acting the part of courier. Moms, the library and school paraphernalia is invaluable. The children are already nuts about the flash cards and books. Jen, the book is wonderful and the Office stuff is prominently displayed on our fridge. G-Ma, I’m told you sent the lovely, soft sheets. This is a relief from the hideously scratchy sheets we picked up here. Aunt Della and Laura, thanks for the kitchen stuff. Meg, I’m glad you came to visit and I’m glad you brought tampons and chocolate. Downside to American TV channels—you see things you can’t have i.e. pumpkin lattes and donuts.

Technically, I am in Human Resouces, and Dwight was asking about human anotomy... I'm just sad the public school system failed him so badly.

I would like to have a one-sided discussion with myself about the upcoming Oklahoma vs. Missouri game. Before I initiate my dialogue I would like to offer my congratulations to all of you Kansas fans out there (Tony Smith and others). Mark Mangino’s coaching has far exceeded my expectations and I assume he will continue to make decent progress barring a coronary. Todd Reesing has actually blossomed into respectable QB and Aqib Talib is a damn fine athlete that I would be proud to have play for my team. But what does a 5-0 record (4 of those wins and the huge stats are against superfluously lollipop-ish nobodies) get you? I guess a 20th ranking just because you beat KSU in Manhattan. But really do you want to give KSU so much credit that beating the likes of a NCAA violating, underachieving football team like them vaults you from being unranked to 20th? The only other ranked team with as much of a cream puff schedule is Hawaii and they can hardly help that fact considering they play in the WAC. I guess I am just a bit bitter that 11th ranked Mizzou is predicted to be blown out against OU. Really? Really? I agree that it is going to be hard fought game considering it is to be played in Norman. OU is a good team, but not great as some of the OU teams of lore. They already lost a game to Colorado (a solid team but 4-2 nevertheless) and they barely beat a pedestrian Texas squad (who lost to a very pedestrian KSU squad). I am not trying to say that Mizzou is a world-beater, but to predict a blow out, be reasonable. Mizzou-OU will be a good game that should be a good yardstick to measure how Mizzou will fare against good defenses (one that matches up quite favorably for OU against Mizzou’s offense). I am also angry that it will not be televised, not that we have TV’s readily available to watch American football. The shirts we are pictured in are courtesy of the Columbia Meschers. Erin wears hers daily and refuses to take it off unless we are washing it. GO TIGERS! Enough about that, on to all things Jamaica.
The husband of our landlord came home this last week. He is a delightful person with an amazing outlook on life. He laughs regularly and seems genuinely pleased to be sharing his home with Erin and me. He is somewhat of a famous musician as he is one of the heroes of Calypso. He spends half the year now traveling on cruise ships playing for passengers and writing music. His passion for music is infectious and makes me want my guitar sent down. But this half of a year away fell during our initial time here. I marvel to think how different our host family experience would have been different had he been here from the onset.
So instead of a weekend of confinement Erin and I visited our friend Matt. He lives on the south coast in a beautiful area. The pictures that are posted are of views that one would see walking out his front door. The hills in his area are luscious shades of green and the ocean is not too far away. It is nice to get away from the tourist Mecca that is Montego Bay. It was a pleasant feeling not to be noticed as tourists. This change in perception made me very jealous of Matt’s location. It seems to me that he is getting more of the quintessential ‘peace corps experience.’ I guess that getting the stereotypical PC experience is pretty difficult to get in Jamaica, or not as every PC experience is probably vastly different and I should not be vain enough to assume I know what it should be. It is what it is. Anyway, we had a great time hanging out listening to music and eating Matt’s vegetarian meals. The only bad part of the weekend was having to leave.
So Erin and I have a very busy week planned. We continue our after school homework program and we have a retreat this weekend that we are to prepare a session about sexual health/HIV/personal hygiene/decision making/budgeting (we should find out Thursday…hopefully). This week two of our friends, Ryan and Tiffanie, are having their birthdays and subsequent parties this weekend. Also Erin’s roommate, Meg, is flying in on Friday night and my father is flying in on Saturday afternoon. To top it all off we are moving no later than Oct 15th but quite possibly earlier. It will be a hectic especially if we get told we can move in the 13th or the 14th. Whatever happens should be a good time and there should be plenty of stories to write about on the ol’ blog. This is especially true with our first human sacrifices to the Jamaican taxis and the first ones to experience Country Western Music night at the beach café. Well E-Dawg is in a sour mood so I am going to go try and pull her out of her funk for the second time today.

And that’s the way the cookie crumbles…
Patricio

I need to give you your Christmas gift now, because um...well I'll just tell you. The past few months I've been sending Dwight letters from the CIA.

Santa came to Jamaica today. He arrive a little earI can’t describe to you how wonderful it was! We had no less than 7 packages from home. Crazy, right? It makes us feel so cared for and loved. So this whole blog is a gigantic thank you to any and all who send us things, or shoot us the occasional email, or take the time to leave comments on the ol’ blog, or make ridiculously expensive phone calls. All of those things go a long way towards brightening our lives here. It gives us a taste of home and reminds us of the friends and family we miss on a daily basis. Things are a little crazy in our nook of JamRock at the moment. We’re looking to strike out on our own, and it’s more difficult to find a place than we anticipated. So Christmas in October came just in time. I now have enough chocolate to revive myself each evening after human jungle gym time. Even though this is Patrick's account, this is actually Erin.

I can travel anywhere, except Cuba, and I will travel to New Zealand and walk the Lord of the Rings trail to Mordor and I will hike Mount Doom!

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs
And as silently steal away.
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Erin and I listen to music almost as much as we read, which we do like it's our job. The music I have been listening to here in Jamaica has various purposes. Sometimes I use it to unwind after teaching/herding our pint-sized pupils, sometimes I use it to put me in a better mood, sometimes I use it to put me to sleep, and sometimes I use it for background noise. Whatever the reason, listening to an iTunes playlist makes me feel like Erin and I are not so isolated here in the Caribbean. If you are in need of some playlist ideas, here is what frequently is featured in mine...

Fire It Up
Modest Mouse
We We Dead Before the Ship Even Sank

Going to California
Led Zeppelin
IV

Jazz Selections
Miles Davis
Kind of Blue

Shoot the Moon
Norah Jones
Come Away With Me

All Night, More Justice
Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley
Welcome to Jamrock, Halfway Tree

Imagine
Jack Johnson
Instant Karma

Glory Bound
Martin Sexton
Black Sheep

Tomorrow Comes a Day Too Soon
Flogging Molly
Whiskey on a Sunday

Born to Run (acoustic)
Bruce Springsteen
Chimes of Freedom

Black Rain, Steal My Kisses
Ben Harper
Both Sides of the Gun, Live From Mars

Neighborhood #1, Neighborhood #2
The Arcade Fire
Funeral

While We Cry (live)
Kenny Wayne Shepherd
Ledbetter Heights

Whiskey in a Jar
Metallica
Garage Inc.

Top of the World, Year to the Day
Van Halen
Right Here, Right Now, Van Halen III

Melissa, Blue Sky
The Allman Brothers Band
Eat a Peach

Rock n Roll, Please
Eric Hutchinson
That Could Have Gone Better

Stranglehold
Ted Nugent
Great Gonzos!

I'm OUT!!
Patrick

So I put out a bunch of extra candy on my desk so the kids will come talk to me. Like the witch in Hansel and Gretel.

What a week. It has been one of those whirlwind types and I am not sure what I should tell you first. One would think lacking the ability to identify a quality starting point would be problematic. It is not. The beauty of blogging is that I am justified in blabbering on indefinitely. I apologize in advance for lack of intrigue, as I enjoy giving more of an anecdotal account of our interesting happenings rather than weekly overview. But due to interest expressed by certain family members about to our daily life, I am going to try to bring you all up to date. So… our library is coming along slowly. We have gone through about 250 books so far, but progress is slow because everything is so dirty and requires cleaning. We are planning on color-coding the books by reading level. So any of you librarian types wishing to donate some colored spine labels should feel free to contact Laura or Jill (thanks Moms for coordinating). Were shooting for 6 sections: Early Readers, Everybody, Intermediate, Advanced, Adult, and Non-Fiction. I can feel all of you out there with library science degrees shuddering at our lack of alphabetization and careless disregard for the Library of Congress shelving system. Sorry about that. Our aim is to create a system easy enough to operate that di pikni dem (children for those of you who didn’t pay attention during patwa lessons) can run the library without Erin and my supervision. If any of you are so inclined on one of you trips to visit us, you are more than welcome to add a true librarian’s touch to our modest work in progress. Everyday around 3 o’clock we leave the library and head to the multipurpose room at the orphanage to begin our homework help sessions. The kids look so endearing in their little uniforms that it lulls you into a precariously elevated sense of confidence about your ability to control one’s classroom. Instead of calling what we do there ‘homework help,’ I think a more accurate expression would be ‘melee in which a modest amount of homework gets completed and even less learning takes place.’ Generally speaking the kids are very respectful calling us ‘sir’ and ‘miss’ and listening to us when we discourage negative behavior. It is only once we have turned our backs that they return to their running amok-edness. Despite being turdballs when we do not give them our undivided attention, they really are quite fun and undeniably endearing. Last weekend when our beach clean-up was over, I walked with one of the aunties to accompany the 10 children back to the village. About halfway up the large hill home 8 of the ten spontaneously and simultaneously scampered off into the dense brush alongside the road. The kids did not look back and the perturbed auntie and I finished our walk with two kids. The auntie, still fuming, storms into the director’s to find the social worker (2nd in command) and detail the blatant disobedience we experienced. Just then one of the hooligans walks in with a june plum in each hand and a mouth full of the same. The social worker and the auntie took him outside and were preparing to give him a stern talking to when they were interrupted by the blaring horn of a 2-ton flatbed truck. As the truck rolled up, reggae music cranked, the remaining 8 troublemakers could be seen gyrating to the music, each sporting a large Cheshire grin and holding a box full of ‘borrowed’ june plums. It was hard to not crack a smile and marvel at the audacity of their arrival (so I lied about the anecdotes). Anyway… We are struggling with how to deal with the disparity amongst the children in their learning. Some kids can function at their grade level and some kids that are supposed to be doing fractions do not have addition/subtraction understanding. But that is why we are here. Today we meet with the principal and counselor of a nearby school to discuss starting a HIV/sexual health/life skills program at their school. They were very excited and even volunteered us to join the ‘Guidance Committee.’ Throughout the week we have continued our search of new living arrangements. Hopefully by the time we have company coming to visit Oct 12 we aren’t homeless.

Patricio out!!

And I know what you're thinking. Won't that just shed more light on the penises. But that is a risk we have to take.

For a change, Patrick and I are writing this blog together. This is because our weekend was peppered with one spectacularly awesome incident after another and we couldn't decide who got to write about it. So we're sharing. Both the writing and the bottle of white rum. Kidding. -Ish. Well, first off, a series of unfortunate events forced us to search for a new place to live, hopefully of our own. We're optimistic and supremely excited to have more freedom and privacy. Patrick feels oppressed in our present situation as he cannot wander about the house in his underwear. This includes venturing into the kitchen to fetch a swig of juice. I must concede that I myself wouldn't mind more scantily clad migratory behavior as Jamaica is quite warm. Cross your fingers for us, we are hoping some of our leads pay off. And a big thanks to the other volunteers in our area who have been instrumental to our housing search. So our living arrangements have been a pressing concern since last Thursday. Luckily, we've had an interesting weekend and thus have been granted a reprieve from our domestic concerns. We began our weekend with a trip to a local seaside bar/restaurant with other volunteers and a visitor from abroad. The restaurant was literally right on the water with the omnipresent white plastic patio chairs and cheap beer and reasonably priced entrées. But what really makes this establishment special is the live music. To our extreme delight, Friday nights are country western music night!!! You may be asking yourself, “Do Jamaicans like country music?” The answer to that is a hearty, “yes.” Throughout the night we were treated to music from the greats including Jimmy Buffet, Kenny Rogers, and Johnny Cash. Let’s not forget “The Rooster Song” which Patrick sang at boy scout camp, “No Balls at All” a particular favorite of the Jamaicans present, and “The Pum Pum Song” I do not know the real name of this song, but the chorus goes “pum, pum, pum” and in Jamaican slang “pum pum” means girlie bits. Perhaps the best part of “The Pum Pum Song” was listening to the band and the Jamaicans discuss whether the rest of the restaurant understood “pum pum.” They then proceeded to enlighten the table of gay, foreign men using food analogies. This incident cleared up some confusion at our table as to whether we had accidentally stumbled upon a gay bar. So the band. Haha. The band was two pieces of beef jerky holding guitars with microphones attached. Patrick felt that the band members were Hispanic Jamaicans. I agree that their Patwa was exceptional, however I think they were just tanned and leathery white people. Regardless of nationality, they were brown and wrinkly. Just like beef jerky, if it were dressed in western shirts, worn Levis adorned with monstrous belt buckles, well-loved 10 gallons, and dusty cowboy boots. Oh yes, these boys took their job seriously. Not only did they bother to learn all of their songs, they pre-recorded drum beats on their keyboard. We were just wondering, in the land of dancehall, how often does a country band get to perform? We say, “not often enough!” Great night. Everyone who visits will be treated to country night. Quite the incentive, eh? The next morning, we participated in international beach clean-up day. The two of us, plus several other volunteers trouped down to the nearby fishing village with about 20 kids. We filled 15 large garbage bags before the kids lost interest. After that, we bravely ventured into the water with the children. We almost drowned. At all times, we would have at least 4 kids dangling from our necks and arms. I spent a good deal of the time attempting to keep my swimsuit in place. It couldn’t withstand the kids literally crawling up me, or them pulling at the straps to marvel at how white I was. It was a long, exhausting day. All of the white people burned their noses. We did enjoy a fabulous lunch courtesy of a local Rasta. Thanks for your comments last time! We enjoyed them. Miss you all! -Patrick and Erin

p.s. It was me, Erin, who picked the phallic quote. All issues concerning the appropriateness of the phallic quote should be directed to me.

I swore to myself if I ever got to walk around the room as manager, people would laugh as they saw me coming, and they'd applaud as I walked away.

Hokay, so… The first picture is of Joe, Tiff-Tiff, Ryan, Matt, and of course Erin and me (from left to right). This was taken before a fun night of ‘bleaching,’ a term used to describe partying in Jamaica. Jamaicans party late, and when I say late I would be vastly more accurate in saying very early. One does not really go to a party/club/etc. until 11 o’clock (late) at the earliest and the party does not get hoppin’ until 1 or 2 (early) and it will last until 4,5 or 6 o’clock (also early by most standards). Partying that late (or early??!#$... I’m confused) then forces one to sleep all day and never see the sun, leading to a lack of a good tan, hence ‘bleaching.’ And for those of you that think our PC adventure-o-fun is nothing more than an extension of our college experience (you know who you are Jill Smith, though you are probably not isolated in this assumption based on stories and pictures), we merely engage in acts such as ‘bleaching’ in an effort to thrust ourselves into Jamaican culture thereby assimilating rapidly to assume our rightful status as Ja-mericans. Picture two is later that morning. Picture three is what you might see if you walked out of our driveway and immediately turned 90 degrees to your right. The ocean is in the background about 300 yds away. Picture four is Ryan and me bobsledding. I know most of you know that the Disney Corporation made a wonderfully touching movie about the heroic story of some non-stereotypical Jamaicans that became Olympian bobsledders and here there is a restaurant to commemorate the cinematic magnum opus. I am sure we will take all of you who come to visit to the Bobsled Café because it actually has pretty good pizza and decent veggie burgers. The final picture is of our beach that happened to be captured on a day that was very windy and thus the water is cloudy and not all that pretty. My apologies.

The more I ruminate about the ‘extension of our college experience’ section of my post, I feel it necessary to offer you this nugget of wisdom… Less than 1% of the world’s population has been enrolled in university level education. I am fortunate enough to have a college degree and to have acquired a wealth of knowledge during my career at Mizzou. This in mind, I experience obligatory urges to share the gift of a college experience with those not providential to have had one of their own. This develops mostly in the form of imparting practical knowledge and skills to others, but every now and again in the form of dancing as a result of the ingestion of alcohol.

Thank you if you take the time to read our blog. If you can spare uno momento to leave a comment, please do as we would love to hear from you. Even if you can only spare the time to leave a comment such as, “I read your blog. Love Bernard” it lets us know people read our entries and makes us feel loved. Hope all is well for you.

Patricio

Pam? How do girls your age feel about futons?

It has come to our attention that individuals are dissatisfied with the information that we choose to post in our blog. I am atempting to remedy this now. I don't want my mother to think that this is just an extended college experience. It's more like high school really. Lots of rules and everyone is in everyone else's business. You know what I have come to love while in Jamaica? Jalapeno Pringles. Delicious. I've really taken to Jamaican cuisine, as you can see. Okay, onto what we are doing and where we are. Forgive me any redundancy that may occur. Our main project is to start an after school homework/literacy program at a local private orphanage. We will have children of all ages and grade levels. There are about 100 children at the orphanage and they attend myriad different schools in the area. School starts on Monday, and we'll be there when the kids get out to help them with homework. For the first couple weeks, the plan is to assess the children and get them to show up. After a bit, we would like to begin carrying out lessons of our own about literacy, life skills, health, etc. We're also hoping to have the orphanage library open in October. It will depend on how soon we can get it fumigated. I am sure I have written about the library, but here is more about it anyway. It's in the basement of the kindergarten that is near the orphanage. It is smaller than a colllege dorm room and there are a lot of mosquitos. Once we get rid of the termite poo, I think it will be quite lovely. I think we're going to arrange the books by grade level and have the children color pictures to decorate the walls. It faces a dirty, but melodic little creek, and it's fairly cool as it's always in shade. We're going to teach some of the older children to keep track of check-outs and they are going to run the library for a little pocket money. The set-up of the orphanage is unique. It is arranged in a little village. There are about 12 houses, each one has a mother and an auntie and 8-10 children of mixed ages and sexes. It is long term care, so they try to find children that probably won't be adopted. The village serves as a community for them, and their adopted mothers and siblings as family. It's an interesting idea. We really enjoy the mothers. They are friendly and clearly insane. They have to be there 24/7 taking care of up to 10 children. Very selfless. They humble me. There are, of course, general rules, but each mother is the head of her own house and they all run things a little differently. She does her own shopping and cooking and whatnot. It's not like an institutional orphanage at all. The village is at the top of a hill. It's fairly scenic. There's a creek that has the potential to be pretty, and a lot of green. The concrete buildings all match, they're painted blue and beige. They kind of form a horseshoe shape on the side of the hill. We are currently living at the bottom of the hill, about a 10 minute walk from the village. The road we take to get up there is one lane and rapidly disentegrating. It's mostly a giant bumpy pothole with a few patches of asphalt. It's lined on both sides with dense vegetation. At first I thought it was really secluded, but then people started popping out of the bush with machetes and goats and I realized that the vegetation is not that dense on one side and that there are houses nearby, You can still, however, get the illusion of isolation while walking as long as no one is blaring dancehall music. It's devestatingly hot if you attempt to summit the hill around noon. Other times, there is some shade. There is a lot of horse poop and dead frogs in the road. I feel bad for the frogs. I like them. The children try to kill them. The kids are funny. They really like Patrick. The little ones want him to throw them, and they climb all over him. They come to me only when his arms are already full. If I come without him they ask where he is. They scatter when I attempt to chat with them. Most of the older children are polite and a bit uninterested in us. The little ones get pretty excited and they are totally unintelligable. We have a hard time even catching their names. The house closest to the road is full of little boys and you can hear them all yelling right as you enter the village. It's amusing. Alright, did you appreciate this? Or was it boring? Provide me with some feedback, please.

Uh, no, I only give my organs to my real friends. Go get yourself a monkey kidney

Sorry about the poem to my bathroom. I realize that is a bit bizarre, but hey that’s me. It really is quite funny the things one miss when they are removed from their home. I figured it would be more like… well I stared that thought thinking I could verbalize my expectations for my homesickness, but alas I cannot. I guess it would be more accurate to say that I am surprised how much I miss American grocery stores, my bed, black beans, Bob Jones, etc. I definitely miss people more than things, but I was just unprepared for consciously missing some of these things. I am not too beat over the absence of these things, but I wanted to make Chipolte type burritos and couldn’t find black beans anywhere. I was prepared to look for ‘Frijoles Negros’ but was unsuccessful on that front as well. Grrrr.

So the elections here were interesting. To give y’all a frame of reference… imagine a democrat voter getting a verbal lashing from a republican voter and deciding to get a rock and chuck it at the republican. More rock throwing ensues and both leave their debate ducking for cover. Not everybody is so politically violent, but many people here are very passionate about their politics. The voter turn out here was only 60%, which surprised me because everybody has A LOT to say about Jamaican politics. The JLP won the election and I guess there are some hard feelings about it. But it did not stop some JLP supporters from having a party in downtown MoBay, and pretty much getting smashed in Sam Sharpe Square. Hopefully things return to normal soon as Erin and I really want to wear some green outside without making a political statement.

We read down here in Jamaica. I feel that ‘avid reader’ should be included in PC required skills. We have read all of the books we brought with us and have started to borrow books from other volunteers. There is an organization here that distributes donations from the US called Food for the Poor. We much of what they get in the form of books is trash that didn’t sell in the states and the publisher wanted a tax write-off. They received something like 450 copies of Madeline Albright’s memoirs. ‘Yes’ to your next question, I resorted to reading the 500-page autobiography of the former secretary of state. It’s a pretty dry read but hey it’s has words and pages and fills in some of the vastness that is my spare time. I would not recommend it to anyone that could get their hands on any other type of literature. Well enjoy the pics and my poem to my bathroom.

One Love
Patricio

Yay, Kevin! Woohoo for Kevin, for stinking up the bathroom.

**** Warning! This blog entry contains humor of the scatological variety. Read at your own Risk ****


An Ode to My Bathroom (the one I deperately miss in KC)

Oh throne room in KC, I thought my missing of you would wane,
But it increases ever so, for here roaches come out of the drain.

I love you for your ability to always have water that's hot
For on this tiny island, water is most often not.

The height of your toilet is the perfect height for me,
'cause it fits just right for either poop or pee.
I miss you KC toilet, my toilet here's too tall
I must dump from such great heights that I'm afraid to fall.

Your water pressure rushes forth and flows at comfortable speed,
Acrobatics to get wet, for that there is no need.
To get pressure in my showers here I have to coax and beg,
and even then the water feels like someone's peeing down my leg.

My memory of you, my W.C. friend, it is fading fast,
the last time we were together is in the far away past.
I miss family, I miss my friends, but mostly I miss you
I can't wait to fly home so I can take a poo.

**p.s. Contrary to what it says in my poem, I miss my family and friends more than I miss my bathrrom. You know chaps... poetic license.

Bears, beets, Battlestar Galactica

Ryan is convinced that we have a ghost in one of our rooms here. It kept changing the volume on his iPod while he was trying to sleep. It most be a recent addition to the ghostly realm since it knows how to work an iPod. The party was in Mo Bay this weekend. We had four of our friends staying with us and our neighbor had several volunteers staying with him, and still more people were visiting others in the area. Friday night we went out to Pier 1 because Matt needed a Buddha statue and some decorative pillows. Haha, no, Pier 1 is not a store where one can buy overpriced items to clutter up the house, it's actually a club. It's on a pier and that means that everyone throws their empties into the water. What is wrong with people? Does the ocean look like a landfill? Or a toilet? Well, it is not. Anyway, Americans are goofy. It's fun to watch a group of us seizing in the midst of rythym-endowed Jamaicans. I had a lovely time making an ass of myself. The rum helped. We went to the beach a couple of times. Ryan stepped on a sea urchin. The water was rough and cloudy and smelled a little bit like New Jersey. Usually it is smooth and clear and salty-fresh. It was entertaining to watch the boys attempt to ride the waves though. Everyone got a sunburn. People keep asking why I don't look tan, it's because I don't go to the beach often. I am here to do work, you know. Matt and Joe left on Sunday, but Tiffanie and Ryan are still here because of elections. They were yesterday (Monday) and Sista P and the PNP lost. Except that the are doing a recount, so it will be a few days before it is all over. People may be a bit high strung about the outcome, and it's somewhat safer here than where Tiff and Ryan live. It's wonderful to have company, but we're kind of stuck in the house because of elections. We actually resorted to watching Varsity Blues one night. So about a month after our arrival I had reached my yearly quota of peas and rice. We were eating a lot of peas and rice. Recently, in an effort to cut back on peas and rice, we have begun experimenting with tofu. I say we, but we all know that Patrick has the culinary skills. We had some pretty delcious stir fry one night, and some fried tofu strips antother night. He made them just like chicken strips, and it tasted kind of like mozzarella sticks. I recommend them. The boys made chicken lasagna one night. It was also quite tasty. School starts next week, so hopefully we will have more interesting things to report.

So you know who turned out to be kinda a creep? Ben Franklin. And, Elizabeth, the stripper, gave me great advice, which rhymed.

The thing about a $78 million embassy is that it should not leak. I realize that there were only a couple leaks and we were in the midst of a hurricane. Would I be so far off base as to assume that if the federal government spent that amount of money on an embassy in a country that regularly gets hit by hurricanes, that they build a hurricane proof building. WTF. So at the embassy we had the first of our two swearing in ceremonies because the ambassador was hightailing it out of Jamaica ASAP. So Ryan and I got all duded up in our suits and big pimped our swearing in. This was especially funny because while Ryan and I rocked tailored suits, everybody else was in their pajamas having not showered for three days. When I went to shake hands with the ambassador she looked at my boots and asked if I was from Texas. “No ma’am! I from Kansas City, Missouri, the BBQ capital of the World!” Although I was originally was going for a pimp suit of sorts when getting my suit made, most everybody said I was more Tony Montana or a Colombian drug lord. I guess that suits me fine… pun intended.

Fast forward to after the Pegasus fire… After our fun with the fire we spent the next 8 hours in a room full of Peace Corps folk at the hotel next to the Pegasus. Our second imprisonment of the week was vastly shorter than our time in the embassy, but we were not prepared for this sentence. Our downfall would be this lack of preparedness for we had nothing to do for most of the day. The hotel staff did bring us games after a few hours. I dominated the game of ‘Life’ but that can only sustain me for so long considering I have the attention span of a goldfish. Finally they did find places for us to stay for the night and Erin and I, accompanied by Ryan and Matt, headed over to the Hilton Hotel. The lobby of the Hilton was very nice, but the rest of the hotel was a real $hithole, I was very surprised. Also those Hilton bastards refused to serve us dinner. We had to go back to the hotel where we spent all day and finally managed to get some pizza at 11:30. We were pretty tired and the four of us zonked out shortly following our meal.
The next day we were moved to the Knutsford Court Hotel. This hotel rocked. The staff was very helpful, the rooms were nice, and the meals filling (and had enough protein in them to keep me from getting headaches). Also there was a troop of British soldiers staying at the hotel that had been undergoing 6 weeks of jungle training. Many of our Peace Corps girls were quite enchanted by the boys from across the moat with their clever little accents. I thought they were good chaps until they started arguing which of our girls they were going to try to get with. I was okay with this until I realized that the girl at the top of their lists was Erin (rightfully so considering her majestical beauty and fantasical charm (I originally had not made this part about Erin sound so sarcastic as I do think she is quite attractive and charming… but she thought I was making fun of her and asked me to change it. I did so, only adding a bit of sarcasm)). I made it very clear to them that she was off limits and was meet with prompt apologies. I did play a bit of matchmaker and set up one of the Brits with a breakfast date with a girl from our group. I’m pretty sure he crashed and burned but hey you can’t say I’m not all about multinational cooperation and the globalization of dating.
The rest of our stay was fairly boring; we had our final tests (which I have major comments I wish to make about them but feel compelled to self-censure for big brother reads our blog!!) and had our final Patwa oral exam. All of which went fine and our week culminated with our ‘real’ swearing in ceremony at the Peace Corps office with all of the staff present. Ryan and I again looked stunning in our suits and Erin even got dressed up for the occasion and looked amazing. And although my favorite language trainer Dania left her home in Jamaica to study in America, she saw pictures of Ryan and me and was ‘proud’ of us and thought we looked quite ‘dapper.’

Our blog entries definitely do no justice to our experiences as of late… be sure to check out my book available fall 2009 for the best and most dramatic representations. PEACE