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.

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Patricio